Читать книгу The Last Single Maverick - Christine Rimmer - Страница 9

The phone by the bed was ringing.

With a groan of protest, Joss lifted her head from the pillow and squinted at the bedside clock. Nine-fifteen in the morning. Not what you’d call early. Unless you’d lain wide awake until the wee hours, stewing over your bad choices, angry at your mother, wondering what you were going to do with your life….

And the phone was still ringing.

Surely, eventually, it would cycle back to the front desk, because she didn’t want to answer it. Who could it be except her mother calling to beg her to come back to Kenny—or Kenny calling to demand she stop being “petty” and quit making such a big deal over a tiny little incident that had meant exactly nothing?

Hah.

She reached over and grabbed the phone and barked into it, “I do not want to hear another word about it. Do you understand?”

The voice of her new best friend answered, “Aunt Melba is going to be disappointed. You know she was really looking forward to seeing you in church.”

Joss dragged herself to a sitting position and swiped her tangled hair back off her face. “Ugh. And wait a minute. Did I actually tell her I would be there?”

“No,” Jace admitted. “You hedged. Aunt Melba assumed. I said you’d be there.”

“So thoughtful of you to make my commitments for me.”

“Did I mention I brought coffee?”

“Brought? Where are you?”

“Waiting in the hallway outside your door.”

She grinned. She couldn’t stop herself. “That is so not fair.”

“Vanilla latte. Just sayin’.”

“All right, all right. You sold me.” She hung up, grabbed her robe and belted it as she hurried to let him in. When she opened the door, he held out the tall Starbucks cup. She took it, sipped and gestured him inside, shutting the door and then leaning back against it with a sigh. “Yum. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He gave her one of those knock-your-socks-off smiles of his. Really, he was looking great, freshly showered and shaved, in a different pair of expensive boots, tan slacks, a button-down shirt and a nicely cut sport coat.

She grumbled, “At least someone got a good night’s sleep.”

He took in her blenderized hair, the robe, her bare feet—and her grumpy expression. “Sorry to wake you up.”

“No, you’re not.”

“You’re right. I’m not.” He took her shoulders, turned her around and pointed her toward the bedroom. “Go on. Get ready. We don’t want to be late. Aunt Melba would never forgive us.”

“Who’s this ‘we,’ cowboy?” She muttered over her shoulder, but she went. And she took her latte with her.

Twenty minutes later, she emerged feeling church-ready in a pink silk blouse and an oyster-white skirt, with a favorite pair of low-heeled slingbacks in a slightly lighter pink than the blouse. She’d pinned her hair up loosely and worn the pearl earrings her mom had given her when she graduated from high school.

Jace said, “You look amazing.”

She realized she felt better. A lot better. Jace seemed to have that effect on her. He cheered her up, had her looking on the bright side, thinking that something exciting and fun could be happening any minute. She grabbed her pink purse and off they went.

Thunder Canyon Community Church, Jace explained, was in what the locals called Old Town, with its narrower, tree-lined streets and buildings that had stood since pioneer times.

Joss loved the church on sight. It was, to her, the perfect little white clapboard church, with tall windows all along the sides and a single spire in front that housed the bell tower. A mature box elder tree shaded the church steps and the small square of front lawn.

The doors into the reception area stood wide as the church bell finished chiming. Inside, the organist was playing something suitably reverent, yet inviting. People smiled and said hello. Melba was there, wearing a blue flowered dress and a little blue hat, standing guard over the open guestbook. She greeted them with an approving smile and showed them where to sign.

Joss signed her name and “Sacramento, California,” for her address. She felt a little tug of glumness, to be reminded that she didn’t have a place to call her own anymore, that all her household possessions were packed up in boxes and stacked in a rented storage unit, waiting for her to figure out what to do with her life.

But the glumness quickly passed when Jace took her arm. They entered the sanctuary and the organ music swelled louder. The sun shone in the tall windows and Jace’s brother Ethan signaled them up to a pew near the front. Lizzie, on Ethan’s other side, leaned across her husband to greet them as they sat down.

The service was as lovely and comforting as the little white church itself. Joss even knew the words to a couple of the hymns. The pleasant-faced pastor gave a sermon on God’s grace, and somehow all of Joss’s problems seemed insignificant, workable. Just part of life.

After the service, Lizzie reminded them that she would love to treat them to free muffins at her bakery. Meanwhile, Ethan said he wanted Jace to take a tour of his Thunder Canyon office building.

Jace said, “No, thanks. Gotta go,” and herded Joss toward the exit.

Melba was at her post by the guestbook. She told them how glad she was that they had come. “And I want to see you both at the Historical Society Museum very soon. I’ve been helping out there several times a week. Thunder Canyon is a fascinating place with a rich history. While you’re in town, you might as well learn something.”

Joss only smiled and nodded. Jace ended up promising he would drop by the museum soon.

From the church, they went over to Lizzie’s bakery, where they split a complimentary blueberry muffin and each had a ham and egg croissant and a tall glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice. Jace seemed to know everyone. He introduced her to a guy named Connor McFarlane and his wife, Tori, who was pregnant and just starting to show. Tori taught at the high school. Connor was not only the heir to the McFarlane House hotel chain, but he was also a major investor in the resort.

Joss also met Grant Clifton, his wife, Stephanie, and their little boy, AJ. The child was seventeen months old and adorable, with golden curls and a sunny smile. Stephanie let Joss hold him. He was so sweet and friendly, dimpling at her, laying his plump little hand against her cheek, even leaning his blond head on her shoulder. Joss gave him back to his mom with a little tug of regret. She wished she could have several little ones just like him.

Maybe someday…

Grant Clifton seemed vaguely familiar. When he explained that he managed the resort, Joss realized she’d seen him behind the front desk once and another time at the resort’s best restaurant, the Gallatin Room.

That was the great thing about a small town like this one, Joss thought. You could get to know almost everyone. And when you walked down the street, people just naturally smiled and said hi.

After they left the bakery, Jace took her hand. They started strolling west down Main Street, enjoying the sunshine, looking in the windows of the quaint little shops. It felt good to have her hand in his. Really good. Maybe too good.

She let him lead her along for another block before she realized they were going the wrong direction and hung back. “Hey, wait a minute. Your car’s that way.” She pointed over her shoulder. They’d left his fancy SUV back near the church.

“So? It’s not going anywhere.” He tugged on her hand. “Come on, I want to show you the Hitching Post—you know, that great old bar and restaurant I told you about yesterday?”

She eased her fingers from his grip. “Right, the one where you hooked up with Theresa Duvall.”

He stood there on the corner, his dark hair showing glints of bronze in the sun, and looked at her reproachfully. “What did I do?”

She hung her head and stared down at her pretty pink slingbacks. “Not a thing. Sorry, that was low.”

“Yeah, it was. But I’ll get over it. Hey, look at me.”

Reluctantly, she raised her head. His eyes gleamed. With just a look, he made her want to smile at him. But she didn’t.

On that corner was a homey-looking restaurant with flowered café curtains in the windows. The restaurant was closed. He stepped into the alcove by the door and tipped his head at her, signaling her to join him.

“We can’t stand here on the corner forever,” she groused, as an older couple walked past her and went on across the street.

He chuckled. “We’re not standing on the corner. You are.” He waved her into the alcove with him. “Come on. Come here…”

Reluctantly, she went. “What?”

He whispered in her ear, “I love the Hitching Post.”

“Whoop-de-do.” She spun her index finger in the air.

“Joss, about your attitude?”

“Yeah?”

“Lighten up.”

She knew he had a point. “Okay, okay. So why do you love the Hitching Post?”

He sat on the wide window ledge next to the door. “Good memories, that’s why. When I was a kid, we always used to go there every time we came to town. My dad would take us. We’d get burgers and fries and milkshakes on the restaurant side, where they allowed kids, and it was a special thing, with all of us together, with my dad relaxed and really with us, you know, focused on the family? He used to call us his little mavericks. I thought that was so cool. It seems to me that we went to the Hitching Post often, even though I know that we couldn’t have. I was only six when he died. And we only got to visit Thunder Canyon now and then in the summer. But I do remember clearly that on our last visit here before he died, my dad took me to the Hitching Post alone, the two of us. For some reason, Jackson didn’t even get to come. It was just me and my dad and I was the happiest kid on the planet.” He rose from the window ledge. His eyes holding hers, he took a few stray strands of her hair and guided them back behind her ear. A small shiver cascaded through her and she wanted to move even closer to him—at the same time as she knew she ought to step back.

“Okay,” she said softly. “I get it now—why that place is so special to you.”

“Good.” His caressing tone hovered somewhere on the border between gentle and intimate. “I mean, nothing against Theresa, but she’s not what I think about when the Hitching Post comes to mind.”

Joss felt rotten, and not only for razzing him about Theresa. There was also the uncomfortable fact that she was starting to wonder what it might feel like to kiss him. Plus, she was flat-out envious of him.

He had a great big, terrific family. And he’d had a dad, a real dad, until he was six, a dad who hadn’t left him willingly. Then, when he lost his dad, he’d gotten kind Pete Wexler as a stepdad. Her dad, on the other hand, had walked out before she even had a chance to know him. Her family consisted of her and her mom and right now, her mom only lectured her.

He was grinning again. “So come on, let’s go to the Hitching Post.”

“I don’t know. It’s past noon. Maybe I should just go back up to the resort.”

His grin faded. He blew out a breath. “Okay, Joss. what’s up with you?”

“I just… I feel low now, that’s all.”

“Why? A few minutes ago you seemed to be having a great time.”

“I was.”

“So what happened? You realized you were having too much fun?”

She opened her mouth to tell him how off-base he was, but then she saw that he might actually have a point. “I keep thinking I can’t just hang around in Montana doing nothing forever.”

“You’re right, but there’s no problem. You’re only hanging around in Montana doing nothing for another week. Then you can go back home and knock yourself out finding another job and a new apartment.”

Now she felt hurt. Really, her emotions were all over the map today. “How can you make a joke of it, Jace? It’s not a joke.”

“I know it’s not.” He said the words gently. And then he asked, “Are you bored?”

“No!” She wasn’t. Not in the least. “Are you kidding? I’m having a great time—or I was, just like you said, until a few minutes ago. And then, I don’t know, all at once I felt low and cranky.”

Jace stuffed his hands in his pockets. And then he just stood there next to the glass-topped, café-curtained door of the closed restaurant, watching her, waiting.

She busted herself. “Okay, my life’s a mess. And right now, I feel guilty about it. I mean, at least up at the resort I’m busy being defiant, you know? Having my un-honeymoon, hating all men. But here, with you…” She didn’t know quite how to explain it.

Jace did it for her. “Here, with me, you’re having a good time. And you don’t feel you have the right to have a good time. And not only are you having a good time when you don’t have the right to, but you’re also having it with a man.” He widened his eyes and spoke in a spooky half whisper. “A man you just met… yesterday.” She didn’t know whether to laugh or punch him in the arm. Then he put on a look of pretend disapproval. “Face it, Joss. Your mother would never approve.”

“This is not about my mother.” She said it with way too much heat. “And I really, well, I just want to go back to the resort now. Please.”

He gave her a long look. And then he nodded. “All right, but would you do one little favor for me first?”

She resisted the sudden need to tap her foot. “Fine. What?”

“The Town Square’s back there about two blocks. It’s that small park we passed after we left the bakery?”

“I remember it. What about it?”

“We’ll stop there, sit on a bench under a tree and talk a little bit more. And then I’ll take you back up Thunder Mountain.”

She folded her arms across her middle and looked at him sideways. “Talk about what?”

“I don’t know. The weather, the Dallas Cowboys, the meaning of life…”

“Oh, very funny.”

“We’ll just talk, that’s all, about whatever subject pops into our heads. And not for long, I promise. Half an hour, max. Then it’s back to the resort for you.”

She accused, “I know you’re going to try and make me feel better about everything. Don’t deny it.”

“I wouldn’t dream of denying it. Yes, Jocelyn Marie, the ugly truth is I am going to try and make you feel better. That is my evil plan. So what do you say? The Town Square? A measly little half hour of your time?”

He didn’t wait for her answer, but only reached for her hand again.

The little park was a lovely, grassy, tree-shaded place. They found a bench under a willow, the drooping branches like a veil, hiding them from the rest of the world.

“Nice, huh?” he asked her, after brushing a few leaves off the bench seat and gallantly gesturing for her to sit first. She did, smoothing her skirt under her, crossing her legs and folding her hands around her knee. He dropped down next to her. “Kind of private. If we whisper, no one will even know we’re here.”

She laughed. He really was so charming. “How old are you, ten?”

“Only at heart. Tell me a secret.”

She gave him a deadpan stare. “You first.”

He thought it over, shrugged. “Once I kissed a toad.”

“Eeww. Why?”

“Jackson dared me. He was always a troublemaker. And I was his second banana, you know? He would come up with these wild-ass ideas and I felt honor-bound to go along. But then, somehow, if there was something gross involved, he would always manage to get me to go first. Then he would mock me. Once I kissed the toad, he told me I was going to get warts on my lips.”

“Oh, that’s just mean.”

“He could be, yeah. But he’s also… the best, you know?”

“How?”

“He’d take a bullet for me. For anyone in the family. That’s how he is. You can count on him. Even in the old days, when you never knew what stunt he was going to pull next, you always knew he had your back.”

“So you’re saying he’s settled down, then—from the days when he made you kiss that toad?”

Jace nodded. “He was the bad boy of the family. He drank too much and he chased women and he swore that no female was ever going to hogtie him. But then he met Laila. She changed his tune right quick. Now he’s got a ring on his finger and contentment in his heart. I’ve never seen him as happy as he is now.” He studied her face. His gaze was warm. She thought how she was kind of glad he’d insisted they come here before he took her back up the mountain, how being with him really did lift her spirits. “Your turn,” he said. “Cough up that secret.”

“I always wanted to get married,” she heard herself say. “Ever since I was little. I wanted… a real family. I wanted the family I never had. A man I could love and trust. Several kids. Growing up, it was always so quiet at home, with just my mom and me. My mom likes things tidy. I learned early to clean up after myself. So our small house was neat and orderly, with a hushed kind of feeling about it. I dreamed of one of those big, old Craftsman-style houses, with the pillars in front and the wide, deep front porch—you know the kind?”

“I do.”

“I dreamed of bikes on their sides on the front lawn, of toys all over the living room floor, of spilled milk and crayon drawings scrawled in bright colors on the walls, because the children who lived there were rambunctious and adventurous and couldn’t resist a whole wall to color on. I dreamed of a bunch of laughing, crying, screaming, chattering kids, everybody talking over everybody else, of music on the stereo and the TV on too loud. And I saw myself in the middle of all of it, loving every minute of it. Me, the Mom. And I saw my husband coming in the door and stepping over the scattered toys to take me in his arms after a hard day’s work. I pictured him kissing me, a real, hot, toe-curling kiss, the kind that would make our older kids groan and tell us to get a room.”

“Wow,” he said. “That’s a lot better secret than kissing a toad.”

A leaf drifted down into her lap. She brushed it away and confessed, “I always felt guilty about my dream for my life, you know? My mom did the best she could. But all I wanted was to grow up and get out of there, to find my steady, patient, good-natured guy and start having a whole bunch of rowdy kids.”

“Joss.” He touched her hair again, so lightly, guiding a hank of it back over her shoulder. “I’m beginning to think there is altogether too much guilt going on in your head.”

“Yeah, probably. But my mom tried so hard, she worked so hard, to do right by me, to make a good life for me.”

“Just because you dreamed of a different way to be a mom doesn’t make your mom’s way bad.”

She gave a low chuckle. “You amaze me, you know that?”

“In a good way, I hope.”

“In a great way. When I met you I thought you were just another hot guy trying to get laid. But instead, you’re a shrink and a philosopher, with a little Mahatma Gandhi thrown in for good measure.”