Читать книгу The Maverick's Summer Sweetheart - Stacy Connelly - Страница 10

Chapter One

“This is awesome! Don’t you think so, Dad?”

As rancher Hank Harlow reluctantly handed over the keys for his classic Ford pickup to the valet and watched a uniformed kid roughly half his age and half his size carry his own luggage toward the impressive entrance of Maverick Manor, he had to admit it sure was different.

Not that Hank had never stayed in a fancy hotel before. He had—even if that one time had been on his honeymoon. He didn’t spend much time thinking of that long-ago weekend. It was over...as was his marriage.

“Dad!” His preteen daughter, Janie, turned back with an exasperated sigh that only preteen daughters seemed capable of. Standing in front of the iron-trimmed double doors, she threw her arms out wide. “Did you even hear me? Isn’t this awesome?”

Dad... That was what Hank thought was awesome. His little girl still calling him “Dad” even though she, like the rest of the tiny town of Rust Creek Falls, Montana, now knew the truth.

With a last glance back at the disappearing bumper of his F-150, Hank jogged over to his daughter. “You are right, kiddo. This place is awesome.”

Hugging Janie to his side, he stepped into the lobby. Hank was familiar with the local hotel and its unique story. The timber-and-stone mansion was once a private home locals referred to as Bledsoe’s Folly. For years the place had stood empty and abandoned, until Nate Crawford had turned it into the fanciest hotel for miles around. Perched on a mountainside with gorgeous views of the town below, the hotel was a prime location for parties and special events.

But this would be Hank’s first time as a guest. And not just for an overnight stay. Nope. When Hank asked Janie how she wanted to spend her first week of summer vacation, this was his daughter’s request—a stay at Maverick Manor.

He didn’t get it. He really didn’t. Staying in a hotel in their own hometown? Sleeping in a strange bed, living out of a suitcase, using ridiculously tiny travel toiletries? All less than thirty miles from the Bar H, his ranch and Janie’s home away from home when she wasn’t living with her mother and Anne’s new husband, Daniel Stockton.

She’s growing up, Hank, Anne had told him. She wants to experience new things.

Over the past several years, Hank had suffered through quite a few new things—including his divorce, the return of Anne’s first love, her remarriage, Janie calling another man Dad...

Yeah, he’d had enough of new at a time when he wanted nothing more than to hang on to the way things used to be.

Janie has been missing Abby, Anne had added. She’s feeling a bit disconnected from her best friend, who’s off having all these exciting adventures. Janie wants to be seen as mature and sophisticated, too.

Hank had bitten his tongue at that. Janie had just completed the sixth grade. No one in the sixth grade needed to feel mature or sophisticated. Certainly not his tomboy daughter! But Anne might have a point when it came to Janie’s best friend. Abby’s mother, Marissa, had married Autry Jones, and since then the family had been living in Paris, where Autry worked for his family’s company. Hank supposed Paris did seem new and exciting compared to little ol’ Rust Creek Falls, where everyone knew everyone else.

And if staying at Maverick Manor was what Janie wanted, then Hank would make sure this summer vacation was everything his daughter hoped it would be.

“So, what do you want to do first, Janie?” he asked as they waited in line to check in.

Janie grinned up at him. “I want to check out the room and the view. Oh, and then order room service and see what movies are showing and—”

Hank nodded at his daughter’s unbridled enthusiasm and tried not to think how the views from the Bar H were the best around or how he and Janie could have shared snacks and watched her favorite flicks right from the comfort of their very own couch.

She’ll be a teenager in a few months, Hank, he could hear Anne telling him. She won’t be a little girl forever.

Not forever. At the rate things were changing, not even for long. As he forced a smile at the woman behind the desk, Hank tried hard not to look into a future where he’d be sitting on that couch, watching movies and eating popcorn...alone.

* * *

Gemma Chapman eyed her reflection in the full-length mirror. The black satiny bikini she’d found in a 5th Avenue boutique had been exactly what she was looking for three months ago. A little sexy, a little revealing, perfect for grabbing her groom’s attention on their honeymoon.

Now she didn’t know what she’d been thinking.

Discovering only weeks before the wedding that the man she had planned to marry had been sleeping with her best friend had Gemma questioning everything.

Including swimwear.

On paper—like in their engagement announcement and the photo taken by one of New York’s most in-demand wedding photographers—she and Chad Matthews had been perfect for each other. Both of them came from affluent families. Both of them had attended prestigious prep schools before going to Ivy League colleges. Gemma worked in the financial district at an investment company, while Chad was already a junior member at a top law firm. They knew the same people and were members at the same club. They both enjoyed an evening at the theater and dining at the trendiest restaurants, followed by a night on the town. And if Gemma had ever longed for something more, her mother was always there to remind her not only how to act, but how to feel.

You should feel honored your stepfather wants to adopt you.

You should feel fortunate Chesterton Prep has accepted you.

You should feel thrilled your stepfather arranged an interview with Carlston, Landry and Greer.

You should feel so excited that Chad proposed.

Walking in on her fiancé and her best friend, Gemma hadn’t needed anyone to tell her how she should feel. Angry...betrayed...humiliated... Certainly she had felt all of that, but shouldn’t she have also felt heartbroken? And how was it that a relationship that looked so perfect on the outside could end up being so empty inside?

Chad’s infidelity had made Gemma start to question what else in her life wasn’t as perfect as it seemed. And while her mother was certain Gemma would feel completely miserable on a honeymoon by herself, she had kept her first-class reservation and had arrived in Rust Creek Falls earlier that day.

Unlike her cheating scumbag of an ex, Maverick Manor was exactly as advertised. The bathroom had had all the amenities of a modern hotel but with an added old-fashioned flair in the enormous claw-foot tub and a raised sink reminiscent of a water basin. And though the spacious bedroom—with its hand-scraped wood floors and exposed-beam ceiling—had the same rugged and handcrafted design as the rest of the hotel, the honeymoon suite also boasted a faux-bearskin rug that was spread out in front of a river-rock fireplace and a four-poster bed draped with a sheer white canopy. Romantic touches a newlywed couple would expect.

Which was all the more reason to leave the suite behind and head for the pool.

From what Gemma had seen on her way to her room, the hotel’s newly constructed pool looked exactly as it had in the website photos—with rock walls and a waterfall and a spa built to resemble a natural hot spring. The wide wall of windows looked out onto a breathtaking mountain view, and the huge glass panels that could be closed during colder months were open for the summer.

Ignoring the swimsuit for a moment, Gemma adjusted the beaded headband holding back her shoulder-length black hair and eyed the makeup she’d touched up after the long flight. Just a few swipes of mascara on her darkly lashed green eyes and a hint of peachy lip gloss. She was, after all, only going down to the pool. Not that she actually planned to get in the pool—at least not more than dipping her manicured feet into the shallow end.

Realizing she was simply wasting time, she finally muttered, “Oh, get over yourself!” The swimsuit wasn’t that revealing, and she had the white terry-cloth hotel robe to take with her.

She hadn’t come all this way to sit in her room, feeling sorry for herself. She could have done that back in her New York apartment. But this was Montana. A land of wide-open spaces, majestic mountains and towering trees. And Rust Creek Falls had been calling to her since she’d first stumbled across the name of the town, a piece of a puzzle that Gemma hoped might fit into one of the empty places in her childhood.

If nothing else, she wanted to experience what might have been. And in the process, she wanted to wipe all the poor Gemma thoughts from everyone’s minds.

Starting with her own.

* * *

Before heading down to the pool, Gemma had packed her tote with half a dozen or so brochures she’d picked up in the lobby—touting everything from the local bar and donut shop, to nearby hiking and camping sites, to a place called Sunshine Farm, which had been dubbed “The Lonelyhearts Ranch” after people who stayed there started finding their true loves.

For the past several months, Gemma had scoured the internet, trying to learn all she could about Rust Creek Falls. She’d been fascinated to discover a blog written by a former New Yorker who had arrived after a devastating flood several years ago. Lissa Roarke’s description of the location and the way the community had pulled together in the face of such adversity had added another layer to Gemma’s curiosity about the tiny town.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been down by the pool, the shrieks of laughter echoing through a space filled with the scent of sunscreen and chlorine, before she became aware of the young girl dripping by the side of her chair.

“Is that the latest edition?” the girl asked, pointing to the glossy magazine on Gemma’s lounger. “The one with the article about Lyle? You know, the former singer of 2LOVEU?”

Sixty-hour workweeks, with her reading material limited to The Wall Street Journal and endless finance articles, threatened to make Gemma a dull girl. She did her best to balance all those facts and figures she needed to know in her job as a financial adviser by focusing on the lifestyles of the rich and famous in her free time. And now that she was on vacation, she was far more interested in which super couple was breaking up than in what stock might be splitting.

“I think it is.”

“Oh, my gosh!” the girl gushed as she plopped down onto the seat next to Gemma’s. “I’ve been dying to read that. Crawford’s General Store is sooo slow about getting the newest issues. I actually saw Lyle back when he was in 2LOVEU. My best friend, Abby, and I went to Seattle to see him in concert there. It was the most exciting night of my life!”

Five minutes ago, Gemma wouldn’t have thought she had anything to talk about with a girl who was maybe ten? Eleven? But she quickly found herself charmed by the tiny blonde’s enthusiasm. She was all skinny arms and legs in a navy polka-dot halter-style top and matching boy shorts, and her light blue eyes were already a little red-rimmed from her time in the pool. But the girl had an outgoing smile and confidence Gemma hadn’t mastered until she was in her late teens.

“I saw him once, too, when he was on his solo tour in New York City.”

“No! Really? Are you from New York? That must be so exciting! I’ve lived here, like, my whole life! My name’s Janie. If there’s anything you want to know about Rust Creek Falls, I can totally tell you all about it. Like the time Brenna and Travis starred on The Great Roundup—you know, the reality show on TV?”

“You actually know the couple who married in the show’s finale?” Gemma hadn’t seen the program when it originally aired, but she’d come across it in her search of Rust Creek Falls. When she’d learned two of the cast members were from the small town, she’d binge-watched the entire season, eager to learn who won the grand prize—and whether the couple had hooked up just for ratings or if they had fallen in love for real.

“I do. I know just about everyone in town!”

Janie’s eager boast was enough for Gemma to take the words with a grain of salt, but she still had to wonder. If the town truly was that close-knit, then maybe...

Gemma didn’t mean to tune out the girl’s happy chatter as her thoughts started to wander, but with a glance across the far side of the pool, her attention instantly snapped back to the present. All exhaustion from the months of planning the “wedding that wasn’t” fled as her heart slammed in her chest and every nerve ending came to vibrant life at the sight of a gorgeous guy lifting himself out of the deep end. Though she knew it had to be her imagination, he almost seemed to be moving in some kind of super-sexy slow motion. Water sluiced off his broad shoulders and chest, down six-pack abs and along equally muscular legs as he rose to stand on the concrete decking.

She had seen plenty of buff, good-looking guys at the gym where she worked out, but this guy—no, this man—was different. He was more rugged and real, and with the mountains as a backdrop behind him, Gemma had the split-second fantasy that this could be an honest-to-goodness cowboy. Certainly there was nothing manscaped or metrosexual about him. As he shook the water from his brown hair and then raised both hands to push it back from his wide forehead, she caught sight of a few faded scars—one thin line along the underside of his tanned forearm and another ragged lightning bolt running down the length of his lean rib cage.

No way did those muscles come from a gym.

As he reached for a towel hanging over the back of a nearby lounge chair, he glanced over and his dark blue eyes met Gemma’s gaze. She knew she should look away—she really did—but once he started running that towel down the length of his arms and across that wide chest...

She couldn’t even blink, let alone find a way to break her mesmerized stare.

A slow smile broke over his handsome features, crinkling the crow’s-feet at the corners of his eyes and warming Gemma from the inside out. She felt almost pinned in place on the pale blue lounger as a small shiver raced from the top of her head, all the way down to her purple-painted toenails.

As she watched, he lifted his fingers toward his lips. He wasn’t actually going to blow her a kiss, was he? That certainly didn’t seem like a cowboy thing to do. Tip an imaginary hat, maybe, but not—

The thought had barely formed in her mind when the man did indeed raise his fingers to his mouth—to give a shrill, sharp whistle that echoed through the enclosed space and had the young girl on the lounger next to Gemma’s giving a slight start.

Janie’s chatter cut off abruptly as she glanced across the pool toward the man who now had those impressive arms crossed over his equally impressive chest. Janie’s shoulders slumped slightly. “That’s my dad.”

“Your dad?” Gemma didn’t know why the statement surprised her. She would have guessed the man was in his late thirties, possibly early forties. Certainly old enough to be Janie’s father.

Somehow, though, her fantasy cowboy hadn’t come with a preteen daughter.

“Yeah. He’s always watching over me. It’s like he doesn’t know I’m practically a teenager already,” she added with an eye roll. “I better go see what he wants.”

With that, Janie bounced up from the lounge chair and rushed over to her father’s side. He grinned down at his petite daughter, love written in every rugged line of his face, as he listened to the young girl whose hands were moving almost as fast as her mouth.

Of course. That broad smile had been for Janie, not for Gemma.

The gorgeous maybe-cowboy was a dad with a cute blonde daughter and no doubt an equally cute blonde wife.

And Gemma felt like the world’s biggest fool. Again.

* * *

“Dad! You’ve got to meet Gemma!”

Hank grinned at Janie’s enthusiasm as he draped the damp towel over the back of a chair. Her blue eyes were bright with excitement, despite being a little red from all the chlorine, and he decided that maybe this vacation wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

Once they’d checked in the day before, they had explored the hotel a bit, making plans for the next several days. That morning, they had hiked the trails around the hotel before having a late lunch in the dining room. After waiting half an hour—because, yes, he was that kind of dad—they changed into swimsuits and hit the pool.

Hank couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a day to relax. The Bar H had a capable foreman who could run the ranch in his absence, but Hank was not a weekend cowboy. His typical days, especially when Janie was at her mother’s, consisted of waking before dawn and working until he was ready to drop.

Sleeping in and spending an afternoon by the pool with Janie were luxuries he appreciated far more than any of the hotel’s other high-class amenities. Of course, he wasn’t sure what they were going to do tomorrow or the next day or the day after that.

One day of lazing around was about all he could take, and he was already anticipating his daughter growing bored. But so far Janie was having a good time, and if she’d made a little friend, it would help her to have someone to play with.

“Where is she?”

“Da-ad.” His daughter rolled her eyes in sheer exasperation. “Didn’t you see me talking to her right over there?”

She pointed in the direction of the stunning brunette a man would have to be dead not to notice. “That’s Gemma?”

Janie nodded. “She’s from New York City! Isn’t that cool? Did you see the headband she’s wearing and how it totally matches her flip-flops? And her tote bag? I bet she bought it at some super-famous store in New York.”

Headband? Flip-flops? Bag? No, no and...no. Hank hadn’t paid attention to any of those things and was a little surprised that his tomboy daughter had. Which wasn’t to say he hadn’t locked in on other details about the woman. Like the long black hair shimmering in a sleek wave down her back. The stunning green eyes were so bright, they seemed to glow from within. And when she slid the hotel robe from her shoulders to reveal a barely there bikini that highlighted her slender curves, Hank had found himself wishing the pool wasn’t heated. He could have used an instant ice bath to cool the sudden desire burning through his veins.

All of which was so unlike him.

“You’ve gotta meet her, Dad!” Janie insisted as she tugged on his arm.

“Janie, she’s here on vacation. You shouldn’t be bothering her.”

“I wasn’t, Dad. She’s all by herself.”

A woman like that on a vacation for one? She had to have a husband or boyfriend she was planning to meet up with later. And even if she didn’t, Hank had a type, and the women who fit the mold were ones like his ex-wife, Anne. Pretty and sweet in a girl-next-door kind of way.

Janie was right about this woman. She was all big-city style and sophistication. And gorgeous or not, crazy spark or not, New York City was a helluva lot of doors away from Rust Creek Falls.

Even so, Hank reluctantly allowed Janie to drag him across the damp concrete decking, toward the woman reclining on the pale blue lounge chair. For a split second, he thought he saw the brunette’s eyes widen ever so slightly and drop to his naked chest as he approached.

Checking him out?

Naw, that had to be his imagination playing games with him.

“Gemma, this is my dad, Hank Harlow,” Janie said with enough pride in her voice to have his neck heating slightly. “Dad, this is Gemma...”

“Chapman.” Swinging those long, lovely legs over the side of the lounger, Gemma leaned forward to hold out her hand. A half a dozen or so slender gold bracelets jingled as they slid down her arm.

Hank had always considered himself something of a gentleman, but it was hard to know where to look when all that female flesh was on display. Bathing suits were a rarity in Montana, and though she was hardly the only one wearing a bikini, no other woman at the Maverick Manor pool wore one quite so well.

The black satin was a stark contrast to her creamy skin, the narrow straps cutting across her collarbones and molding to the curves of her breasts. Her stomach was smooth and flat, the indentation of her hip bones hollowing out ever so slightly right where the bikini bottom stretched across her belly. Her waist was slender enough that he could likely span it with both hands, and just the thought of feeling that smooth skin sliding against his palms had Hank breaking out into a sweat.

Long-ingrained manners had him taking her hand, instantly registering the delicate bones, as he gruffly murmured, “Miz Chapman.”

A small half smile curved her lips, and that heat started spreading out from his neck until his whole body felt on fire. “Please, call me Gemma.”

“Gemma...” Realizing he’d been holding on for far too long as he ran his thumb across her silky-smooth skin, he practically jerked his hand away from hers. He lifted his arm, wishing for his old and familiar hat to hide behind, and had to settle for running his fingers through his too long, damp hair instead. “Nice to meet you. Hope Janie here hasn’t been talking your ear off.”

As expected, his daughter gave a huffing sigh, one that had Gemma’s smile widening. “Not at all. She’s been keeping me company.”

Was Janie right? Could Gemma be vacationing alone? Interest and anticipation buzzed along his nerve endings even as Hank dismissed the possibility. Okay, so maybe he had thought a time or two about jumping back in the dating pool, but this... This would be like launching right off Owl Rock and into the rushing waterfall that gave the town its name. He’d be in over his head the moment he hit water.

“I was telling my dad how you’re from New York. And—Oh!” Janie’s eyes widened as she grabbed hold of his hand. “Gemma...have you seen the new Disney musical on Broadway?”

Hank tried not to groan. Ever since Janie’s favorite actress had left her hit television series to pursue a stage career, his daughter had been obsessed with New York.

“Have I seen it?”

Gemma rose to her feet, and Hank realized she was taller than he first thought, the top of her head coming right to his chin. The perfect height for holding her in his arms. Not that Hank had any intention of testing out that theory.

He was a small-town single dad who hadn’t been on a date in well over a decade. Besides, if he needed a visual reference for the phrase out of his league, Gemma Chapman would be it.

“I love going to the theater,” she was saying, “and that’s one of my favorite musicals.”

“I know all the songs,” Janie boasted.

“Which one do you like best?”

This time Hank didn’t bother holding back the groan. One Gemma clearly heard as she shot him a look. Her dewy lips pressed together, trying to hide a smile, as his beautiful, smart, talented and completely tone-deaf daughter started belting out the Oscar-winning song.

A few people in nearby lounge chairs glanced over, but Janie didn’t care. Obviously Gemma didn’t either, as she too started to sing. Thanks to Janie, Hank had heard the song and seen the DVD numerous times, and the words—like the melody—had been little more than background noise.

But Gemma didn’t sing the lyrics so much as she seemed to embrace them. No keeping it in, no holding back...just letting it go. And as she lifted her head, her long dark hair trailing down her slender back, something inside Hank sparked to life. Something that had been, well, frozen for far too long.

Get a grip, Harlow! You’re way too old to be taking life lessons from Disney.

By the big finale, the people around them gave a round of applause that had Gemma laughing breathlessly. Even though a bloom of color brightened her cheeks, she brazened out the sudden attention and gave a graceful curtsy, one that Janie immediately copied.

“This afternoon’s entertainment has been brought to you by Janie and Gemma,” Gemma added with all the flourish of an MC hosting an awards ceremony.

“That was awesome!” Janie practically bounced on her bare toes in her excitement.

“Janie’s right. That was...awesome,” Hank echoed. The blush in Gemma’s cheeks deepened as their gazes met and held, but just like she had with the unexpected applause, she didn’t back down. Awareness rippled between them, and Hank wasn’t sure when he had moved, but he suddenly noticed a puddle of water from his navy trunks had formed at his feet and was inching toward Gemma’s purple-painted toes and sequined flip-flops.

Who wore sequins at a pool?

He took a stumbling step back to keep from dripping on her fancy shoes, nearly tripping over the lounger behind him. He’d barely caught his balance when Janie added, “I totally wanted to go to New York to see the musical, but we’d already booked the hotel here. I’m hoping I can go later this summer with my other dad.”

“Other dad?” At that, Gemma’s dark brows winged upward as she gave him a somewhat-surprised look.

His face already burning, Hank quickly said, “My ex-wife remarried a year and a half ago.”

“Ah, I see.”

Did she? Somehow Hank doubted it. Not that he was about to explain that Dan Stockton was more than simply Janie’s stepdad. The man was in fact Janie’s biological father. And the daughter Hank had raised from birth—the baby girl he’d held in his arms when she was only minutes old, the one he’d rocked into the wee hours of the morning when she was sick or teething, the one who’d taken her first stumbling steps while holding on to his thumbs—was not actually his.

And neither was the woman he’d been married to.

In reality Hank had been little more than a placeholder in Anne’s life. A second-best substitute who had stepped in at a time when she had been alone and afraid. From the start Anne had been completely honest. She’d told him all about Daniel Stockton, the young man she had been in love with since high school. How she had thought they would be together forever, how he had disappeared after his parents were killed in a car accident and how she was pregnant with his child.

Hank had asked Anne to marry him anyway, believing in time she would forget about Dan. He’d been so sure that if he took care of her and treated her right, eventually she would grow to love him. And Anne had said yes, certain Dan Stockton was never coming back to Rust Creek Falls.

In the end, though, they’d both been wrong.