Layla had never felt so foolish. Her face flamed like a summer bonfire, and she turned away from a still-chuckling Darren and a surly Logan. She’d never seen his eyes so dark and dangerous, and her dreams of providing a winter wonderland of fun for her clients evaporated right there on the old Olsen farm.
She pinched her meal ticket between her thumb and forefinger and strode toward the line of people waiting to pick up their boxed lunch. She collected hers, chose her chips, her favorite flavor of cookie—oatmeal raisin—and a cold bottle of water.
Once through the line, though, she didn’t know where to go. Being alone at this picnic was worse than being there with a pair of brothers. Possibly. Possibly not. Layla wasn’t sure. She knew a lot of people in town, and she’d taken two steps tow
