Читать книгу The Maverick's Summer Sweetheart - Stacy Connelly - Страница 11

Chapter Two

“What else do you like to do, Janie?” Gemma asked. “Other than sing?”

Sitting across a table loaded with chips, popcorn and soft drinks, Hank gave a wry half smile. She had a feeling their impromptu duet had embarrassed him, but he hadn’t let it show, praising his daughter’s efforts...if not her actual talent.

A completely different reaction to how Gemma’s own mother and stepfather would have responded. In Diane and Gregory Chapman’s socially structured mind, everything had a time and a place. Performing on stage at a carefully orchestrated and choreographed pageant or school performance was one thing. Singing a cappella poolside was something else.

Her mother would have been mortified, and Gemma didn’t even have to try hard to picture how the disappointment and disapproval would have pulled at the features so similar to her own. When Gemma wasn’t struggling to rub the image of Chad and Melanie from the inside of her eyelids, she was trying to forget her mother’s reaction when she called off the wedding.

Think of the embarrassment, Gemma!

Because, yes, the real scandal was Gemma calling off the wedding weeks before her walk down the aisle. Not her fiancé’s sleeping with her best friend.

But to her mother and stepfather, her engagement to Chad had been about more than two people pledging to forsake all others. The wedding would also have united the Chapman and Matthews families. Gemma had no doubt her business-minded stepfather had viewed it in terms of a merger rather than as a marriage. A check mark in the asset column of some mental balance sheet Gregory Chapman kept. To him, the boarding schools and etiquette lessons were finally paying off since Gemma caught the eye of one of NYC’s most eligible bachelors.

Determined not to think of the embarrassment, of her broken engagement or her mother, Gemma focused her attention on Janie...and on Hank.

Janie had already asked dozens of rapid-fire questions about Gemma’s life—where she worked, where she lived, where she shopped, if she knew anyone famous. It didn’t seem to matter much what answer Gemma gave; Janie still thought everything about New York was the most exciting thing ever.

Her father certainly seemed harder to impress. Money, clothes, fame... None of that had the somewhat-silent man seated across from her raising so much as an eyebrow. Not that Gemma was trying to impress him... Was she?

Certainly it would be much easier to regain a bit of equilibrium if Hank wasn’t so impressive without even trying. He’d pulled a faded T-shirt on, but the soft blue cotton only molded to those broad shoulders, the sleeves hugging a pair of well-defined biceps. His thick brown hair had dried with a bit of a wave, the too-long locks falling across his wide forehead and curling at the strong column of his neck.

On another man, the tousled hair might have looked boyish or at least done something to soften his masculine features. On Hank, it only drew attention to his rugged features and the solid set of his jaw.

There was nothing boyish or soft about Hank Harlow.

Gemma didn’t think he was trying for any kind of fashion statement. More likely he was a month or two beyond needing a haircut. But instead of being turned off by the overgrown style, she longed to run her hands through a man’s hair without worrying about encountering more product than she put in her own.

So distracted by the tempting fantasy, Gemma almost forgot the question she asked by the time Janie stated, “I love to go horseback riding.”

Horseback riding... Gemma had never been on a horse.

At least not that she remembered.

Many years ago, when she had been around Janie’s age, Gemma had found an old picture of herself as a toddler. In the photo, she’d been stumbling toward the camera in a red bandanna-print shirt and denim overalls, with a pink cowboy hat on her head and a pair of fawn-colored boots on her feet.

The picture and the outfit had stood out in such sharp contrast to the typical professional shots of Gemma in frilly, girlie dresses that—as the overly imaginative child she’d been and thanks to a Disney remake she’d just seen—she had been convinced the girl in the photo was her separated-at-birth twin sister.

Her mother, who evidently had not seen either version of the motion picture, had shaken her head in exasperation. “Honestly, Gemma, I don’t know where you come up with these ideas. That is a picture of you at some Halloween party or playing dress up.”

Though disappointed, Gemma had believed her mother. But after finding a box of mementos while looking for “something old” for her wedding, she’d started to wonder. Not about some imaginary long-lost sibling, but about her long-lost father. She’d started feeling more and more like the designer suits and latest fashions she wore were the costumes, hiding a completely different person inside.

Two weeks wasn’t much time to discover her inner cowgirl, but Gemma was determined to try.

“Horseback riding is definitely on my list,” she stated.

“Your list?” Hank echoed.

Gemma nodded. “My vacation to-do list.”

“You have a to-do list for your vacation? I thought the whole point of a vacation was not having to do anything.”

“I want to experience everything I can. To find out what life in Rust Creek Falls is all about.”

At that, Hank gave a slight snort. “This is not what Rust Creek Falls is all about.”

He waved a hand, and in an instant she could feel his palm against hers once more. The work-roughened skin, the slight rise of hardened calluses, the strong fingers. Such a contrast to the sensual, almost seductive stroke of his thumb across the back of her hand when they’d shaken hands earlier, and the memory alone had gooseflesh racing up her arm. “This is a hotel.”

“A hotel in Rust Creek Falls,” she pointed out.

“Where all the city folks stay when they’re wanting a ‘real Western experience.’” With a nod toward the artfully crafted rock waterfall pouring into the crystal clear pool, he added, “But there isn’t much real or even Western about this place. Other than its location.”

Of course the hotel would be for tourists—city folks, as Hank had so plainly pointed out—like her. But even if he was right, the hotel was simply a place to stay. And besides... “Janie told me she’s lived here her whole life, and you don’t exactly strike me as ‘city folk.’”

She lowered her voice to mimic Hank’s deep drawl, drawing an instant giggle from Janie. He shot his daughter a mock scowl before reaching over and tousling her damp blond hair. The simple father-daughter exchange grabbed hold of a decades-old longing in Gemma’s heart.

“This is a vacation for us, too,” he said finally. “A chance to get away from real life in Rust Creek Falls for a week. But then we’ll head back home and everything will be back to the way it was before.”

As Hank glanced over at her and their gazes caught, a very different kind of longing took over. Was there some message Gemma should read into that statement? Something along the lines of what happens at Maverick Manor...

Not that Gemma was in any shape to even think of dating, something her heart and her brain were in complete agreement about. Her body, though, had other ideas. Despite his views on “city folk,” she was way too attracted to Hank Harlow. More than his rugged good looks, she was drawn to his deep drawl, subtle humor and slightly old-fashioned manners.

And while Hank was right that the setting might not have been authentically Western, the swift rush of attraction racing through her certainly fell under the heading of wild.

After taking a swallow of raspberry-flavored iced tea to soothe her suddenly dry throat, Gemma did her best to direct her thoughts back to where they belonged. “I picked up some brochures in the lobby about the horseback-riding tours around town. Is there a certain stable you go to when you want to ride?”

Janie giggled again, and Gemma noticed the quick look the girl exchanged with her father. “Um, yeah, the stables at our ranch.”

“Ranch?” No wonder Hank didn’t think much about imitation waterfalls and guided trail rides set up through a concierge. She turned to him. “So, you’re a real cowboy?”

“As opposed to the fake kind?” he asked.

“As opposed to... Oh, I don’t know.” The truth was, she knew pathetically little about any kind of cowboy—real or fake. But she certainly knew plenty about men who weren’t who they pretended to be.

“He’s not a cowboy. He’s a rancher,” Janie corrected, the voice of authority. “This is his first vacation in, like, forever. The Bar H is a cattle ranch, and my dad runs the whole place.”

Gemma noticed a slight smile on Hank’s lips as he listened to his daughter go on. The same smile had been on his face when he’d praised Janie’s singing. Clearly he was indulging the girl and didn’t want to correct her exaggerations. Dozens of horses? Hundreds of cattle? Ten thousand acres? Janie must have meant one thousand, though Gemma found even that number hard to imagine.

Still, it was sweet the way he was humoring the young girl, and one thing that wasn’t overstated was Janie’s pride and love for her father. The refrain that had haunted Gemma’s childhood whispered through her mind once more as she contemplated the love Hank clearly held in return for his daughter.

What if...?

Shifting in his chair, Hank said, “All right, Janie, enough. Gemma doesn’t want to hear about all that.” Beneath that rancher’s tan, a hint of embarrassed color was darkening his cheekbones.

“But Gemma said she wanted to go horseback riding and—Hey, Dad, you should take her!”

Now it was Gemma’s turn to feel uncomfortable. “Oh, Janie, that’s sweet of you to offer, but your dad’s here on vacation. With you.”

“I know, but I’m signed up for all kinds of stuff through the hotel this week. My dad’s not. He’ll be all alone.”

Gemma glanced over at Hank, expecting another half grin at his daughter’s somewhat-dramatic statement. Only he wasn’t smiling, and Gemma realized the truth in his daughter’s words. The slight reticence she sensed about him was more than the rancher’s simply being the strong, silent type. This was a man who’d been hurt in the past.

Was it the divorce? His ex-wife’s remarriage? Was he still in love with her?

Gemma’s heart cramped a little at the thought, even though the feeling—any feeling for this man—was preposterous. They didn’t even know each other and had barely exchanged more than a few words. And though he hadn’t come straight out and said so, he’d made his views on city folks crystal clear. But if Gemma wanted to truly experience Rust Creek Falls, having a local as a guide would help. And if he happened to be a gorgeous cowboy with eyes as blue as Montana’s Big Sky, well, that certainly wouldn’t hurt!

“I’m sure Gemma can find a trail guide who can take her riding,” Hank told his daughter.

“But, Dad!”

Gemma was glad for Janie’s instant objection as it kept her from making one of her own. She didn’t want some hired tour guide. She wanted...

Oh, no. Not going there, Gem!

“You have to take her. You’re the best!” Janie was saying.

Hank opened his mouth, but Gemma beat him to the punch. “I did come all the way to Montana for my very first horseback ride. Seems only right that I should have the chance to learn from the best.”

As Gemma held Hank’s gaze, that same small shiver of awareness raced down her spine. She didn’t know what was happening between the two of them, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that for a city girl from Manhattan and a Montana cowboy—sorry, make that Montana rancher—she and Hank Harlow had more in common than anyone might think.

* * *

“Is that what you’re wearing to dinner tonight?” Janie asked as Hank stepped out of his side of the suite. The room was decorated with the same upscale Western decor as the rest of the hotel—all warm shades of rust and brown, hardwood floors, rough-hewn furniture and even a river-rock fireplace in the shared living space between the two bedrooms.

His daughter was seated on the couch, parked in front of the oversize television, remote in hand. But she flicked the television show off as she pushed to her feet and eyed him with a frown.

Hank glanced down, trying to see what had his little girl making that face. His long-sleeved checkered shirt was buttoned properly, his brown leather belt was pulled through all the loops and his dark denim jeans were zipped.

“What else would I wear?” he asked his daughter. He could dress in the dark, pulling clothes from his closet while completely blind, and end up with an outfit exactly like the one he had on.

Short-sleeved button-down shirts for summer, long sleeves for spring and fall, and a few sweaters thrown in for winter, along with his leather duster. Add in his most comfortable boots and his favorite hat, and there wasn’t a place in Rust Creek Falls where he wouldn’t meet the dress code. That was assuming Rust Creek Falls actually had any restaurants where a dress code was required—which it didn’t.

“You should, I don’t know, wear a tie or something.”

“Now, Janie, you know that I do not own a tie.” It was something of a joke between them—how some kids bought ties for Father’s Day. Last year Janie had bought him a pair of spurs. The year before that, it had been a snakeskin hatband. Before that she had given him a new pair of work gloves. Always something he could wear, but never, ever a tie.

“I know, but I bet Gemma’s gonna dress up.”

Hank doubted the big-city beauty knew how to dress down. Even if she tried to fit in, he imagined her hat and boots would be some designer brand and color-coordinated as well. Like the way her purple toenail polish, complete with tiny, delicate painted-on flowers that were practically works of art, had perfectly matched her oversize floral-print tote bag.

It was a ridiculous thing for a grown man to have noticed. Even worse to have his interest caught by such a detail. But like the rest of Gemma Chapman, the delicate, feminine touch fascinated Hank more than he wanted to admit.

He was simply out of practice when it came to the opposite sex. It wasn’t like women walked around the Bar H in flip-flops all the time. Hell, it wasn’t like many women walked around the Bar H period.

“Sorry, kiddo, but this is the best I brought with me.”

Janie sighed. “You’re supposed to dress up when you go out on a date.”

“Whoa! Hey, no one said anything about this being a date. It’s dinner.” Between two total strangers who were complete opposites and a preteen chaperone. Although even with those built-in safeguards, Hank wasn’t sure why or even how he’d ended up agreeing to share a meal with Gemma Chapman.

The conversation had started out innocently enough when Janie, who always seemed to be starving even though they’d all snacked on chips and popcorn by the pool, asked about their plans for dinner. Or rather Gemma’s plans for dinner.

“I was thinking about checking out a place I read about online. I’m guessing the two of you have heard of it. It’s called the Ace in the Hole?”

“The Ace?” Gemma Chapman at the local cowboy bar? Alone? On a Saturday night? “Uh, no, ma’am. You don’t want to go there.”

Her dark eyebrows rose at that—though Hank wasn’t sure if the move was in reaction to his slipping and calling her “ma’am” or from telling her not to go. “Why not? It sounded like fun. A real Western experience.”

The bar had its moments and was certainly popular enough, but on a Saturday night the place could get more than a little rowdy with just-been-paid and partying cowboys—all of whom would be more than happy to show Gemma a “real Western experience.”

“It’s just not the place for a woman like you.”

“A woman like me?” This time Hank had no doubt his words had sparked her reaction. She tossed that long black hair back in a challenging gesture that reminded Hank of a spirited filly. He doubted a city girl like Gemma would appreciate that comparison, but he did.

Before he knew it, he’d offered to take Gemma—and Janie—to the Ace in the Hole for an early dinner. His plan was for the three of them to get in and get out before the late-night crowd showed up and the music and dancing started.

He didn’t want to look too closely at the reasons why the idea of Gemma in another man’s arms bothered him. And thinking about her in his own arms... Well, that was equally dangerous territory.

“Okay, okay,” Janie was saying, “so it’s just dinner.” His daughter put so much emphasis on the two words, he half expected them to appear over her head in some kind of dialogue bubble. “You should still try to look nice.”

Lifting a hand, Hank rubbed at the back of his neck, where his too-long hair brushed well below the collar. Sad thing was, he actually had tried to look nice, shaving a second time and trying to get the slight wave in his hair combed back off his forehead. “’Fraid this is as good as it gets, kiddo. But what about you?”

Janie had changed into sweatpants and a long-sleeved T-shirt, her typical movie-night apparel, after her quick shower to wash the chlorine from her hair. “That doesn’t look like what you’d want to wear going out to dinner.”

“I, um... I’m not feeling that great.”

“What’s wrong? Was it too many snacks down by the pool? I knew we shouldn’t have had chips and popcorn.”

Not to mention the refills on the sugary soda. Anne was always warning him about indulging Janie’s sweet tooth, but Hank had a hard time resisting—both his daughter as well as his own love of snacks.

Striding toward the hotel phone, he asked, “Should I see if the gift shop has something for an upset stomach?” The tiny space tucked away in the corner of the lobby had the typical tiny travel-sized necessities that guests frequently forgot to pack. Likely the store would have something for a stomachache as well.

“No, Dad, it’s not my stomach. It’s...my head. Probably just too much sun down by the pool.”

“Okay,” Hank drawled, not sure how that could be, considering the pool was mostly enclosed, with only muted sunlight streaming through the wall of windows. Janie tugged on the hem of her shirt as her gaze flitted about the room, a sure sign she was fibbing, but why? She’d been the one so gung ho about this dinner. “If you don’t feel well, I’ll call Gemma’s room and cancel—”

“No!” Janie practically shouted before catching herself. “I mean, it would be rude to cancel so late.” Sinking down onto the sofa, she pulled a pillow into her lap. “I can just rest here and order room service. But you—you should still go.”

This time, as she looked up at him—her sweet face so earnest, so sincere, so eager—Hank knew for a fact she was faking. And the reason why was pretty clear. Janie wasn’t interested in dinner for the three of them. She was trying to finagle a dinner between him and Gemma.

So much for his preteen chaperone.

“Janie...”

Enough warning entered his voice that she at least dropped the wide-eyed expression. “Please, Dad, go! I’ll be fine here. One of my favorite movies is on tonight, and I’ll order something super healthy like what Mom would make for dinner. And you can go and have fun with Gemma.”

Have fun with Gemma...

The image of his future—sitting alone in front of the television—had his denial dying in his throat. Ever since Anne had remarried, Janie—hell, Janie and Anne and half of Rust Creek Falls, it seemed sometimes—had been pushing him to start dating. But his daughter was especially worried about him being by himself. As frequently as he insisted that he was fine, she wasn’t buying it.

Fine isn’t the same as happy, Hank.

The voice echoing through his mind wasn’t his daughter’s, but his mother’s. Penny Harlow had passed away a few years after Hank’s marriage to Anne. Though she had loved her granddaughter and adored her daughter-in-law, Penny had seen then what Hank refused to believe.

You deserve someone who will love you for who you are.

Who he was hadn’t been the problem in his marriage. The issue was who he wasn’t. After five years of marriage, Hank had been forced to face facts. He wasn’t Daniel Stockton, the only man Anne would ever—could ever—love.

And if Hank wanted something more out of life than being “just fine” by himself, then he needed to make some kind of effort. Perhaps he could look at Gemma Chapman as a very, very short-term solution. Going out would make Janie happy, and maybe a few evenings with Gemma would be a way of easing back into the dating scene.

At the end of her vacation, Gemma would go back to the big city, and Hank would go back to the Bar H. And then when he did meet a woman who was more of his type than a gorgeous out-of-towner from New York, he would have already gotten his legs back beneath him. He would hopefully be ready to start dating, and he wouldn’t have to feel so foolish and nervous and jump-out-of-his-skin uncomfortable. Which was everything he felt and more as he stepped out of the suite and headed for dinner with Gemma Chapman.

* * *

Five minutes later and Hank had to admit the evening was off to an inauspicious start. First Janie bailed with what he believed was a phony headache, and now he was starting to wonder if Gemma had given him a fake room number. He’d followed the sequential plaques, but the row of doors ended one shy of the room number Gemma had told him was hers.

A young couple emerged at the end of the hallway, and Hank quickly stepped back, feeling like some kind of stalker lurking outside of their room. But the twentysomethings didn’t even notice him. With their arms wrapped around each other, they were in their own love-filled world as the guy bent to murmur something into the laughing girl’s ear. As they made their way toward the lobby, stopping every few feet to kiss beneath the glowing lights of the old-fashioned sconces, Hank wondered why they’d even bothered to leave the room...and if he’d ever been that young.

It certainly didn’t feel that way now. By the time he’d been old enough to drink, he’d already been running the family ranch, having taken over following his father’s stroke. At a time when many of his friends were off at college or finding themselves by trying out different part-time jobs, Hank’s steps had carried him over the well-worn trails that had been carved out by generations of Harlows before him.

For nearly a decade, Hank had done little more than work, eat and sleep, his patterns following that of his cattle as spring calving gave way to fall roundup in the same way that the sun rose and the sun set, and the next thing he’d known, his early twenties were gone and he was pushing thirty.

He’d never minded the long hours, the extreme weather, the backbreaking and sometimes heartbreaking life on the ranch. At the time, he’d believed he was working toward something—50 percent ownership of the Rolling Hills spread, the equal share his father had once owned with Hank’s uncle.

But the years of long-term care for his father had taken their toll. A proud man, his father had sold some of his shares to his brother to pay for the in-home assistance he required. After his father’s passing, Hank had tried to buy back those shares only to be told by his uncle that they weren’t for sale.

Hank had mourned the loss of his father, but he had seen that coming as his father’s health had slowly deteriorated. The blow his uncle had landed had blindsided Hank, leaving him reeling as his world was pulled out from beneath him.

Doesn’t matter how hard you work or what you think you have to offer. Rolling Hills will never be yours.

So Hank had done what he never thought he would—he sold his uncle what was left of his holdings in the family ranch and walked away. His mother, who had tired of ranch life, had moved with him to Bozeman and settled into a small active adult community. That was about the time when he met Anne, and for a while he’d believed life could be different. After they married, he took his share of the money from selling the ranch and moved to Rust Creek Falls. He bought the Bar H, Janie was born and the three of them were a family.

But just like Rolling Hills, no matter how hard he worked, no matter how much he thought he had to offer, that family wasn’t his either. And since the divorce, he’d fallen back into the long hours, pushing himself the way he had when he was in his teens, and ignoring the aches and pains that were his body’s way of reminding him that he wasn’t a kid anymore.

Ah, hell, one thing he knew for sure was that he was too old for the way his heart was pounding in his chest and his palms were sweating at the thought of seeing Gemma Chapman again. This was a mistake, no doubt about it.

Turning around at the dead end in the hallway, Hank heard the squeak of wheels and spotted a hotel employee pushing a dinner cart his way.

“Excuse me,” he said to the young woman. “I’m looking for one of your guests.”

The tiny woman’s shoulders straightened as she tightened her grip on the handle. “I’m sorry, sir, but it’s against hotel policy to divulge any of our guests’ room numbers.”

Yep, no doubt about it. He was definitely giving off some kind of stalker vibe.

“Sorry—what I meant was that I’m looking for suite 103.”

Somehow, knowing Gemma’s room number didn’t seem to help his cause. The woman drew the cart closer to her as if she thought he was going to abscond with it. He glanced down at the white linen-covered cart decked out with a fancy champagne bottle, two paper-thin crystal flutes, glistening oysters on a bed of ice and a decadent heart-shaped arrangement of chocolate-covered strawberries.

Even if he hadn’t been a cattle rancher, Hank would always consider himself a meat and potatoes kind of guy. Just the idea of swallowing the slimy shellfish had his stomach turning. And if he ever actually tried... Well, he was pretty sure something equally disgusting would come back up.

“Suite 103?” she echoed. “The honeymoon suite?”

“The honey—what?”

The word caught in Hank’s throat as he once again locked in on the over-the-top romantic spread on the cart. This time, though, he caught sight of something he’d missed. A square envelope propped against the ice bucket. The word congratulations was written in bright red script across the front. Along with the names of the happy couple...

Gemma and Chad.

Who the hell is Chad?

Even as the question ricocheted around Hank’s head, the answer was obvious.

“Yes, sir,” the server acknowledged. “Suite 103 is the honeymoon suite. Perhaps you’ve made a mistake.”

There was no perhaps about it. Hank didn’t know what Gemma Chapman’s game was, but he wasn’t up for playing the fool.