The Maverick's Summer Sweetheart

by Stacy Connelly

  Jerk.

  “Great! I’ll go tell Ms. Mitchell that you and Gemma are gonna help out!”

  “Whoa, Janie.” He glanced over, and something in his expression made Gemma wonder what he saw as he searched her features. The anger she was determined to show...or the hurt she was trying to hide? “You have to remember Gemma’s from New York. City girls and nature don’t mix.”

  “Oh, and you’re such an expert on city girls, aren’t you, Hank?” she muttered beneath her breath. Turning to Janie with a smile, Gemma said, “Tell Ms. Mitchell I’m happy to help chaperone.”

  As the girl ran off to inform the guide, Gemma turned back to Hank, who met her challenging glare with lifted eyebrows. “What? You really don’t think I can manage a nature walk?”

  “I think it’ll be mighty entertaining watching you try.” His blue-eyed gaze took a slow sweep from head to toe, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

  Entertaining? Only as she glanced down at her own feet did Gemma remember the strappy heels she’d put on that morning.

  Ones that had “city girl” written all over them.

  * * *

  Last night, as he’d lain wide awake, staring at an unfamiliar ceiling, Hank had told himself he didn’t care that Gemma Chapman was—at least as far as he was concerned—off-limits. He wasn’t looking for a relationship and certainly not with someone so completely his opposite.

  But the relief that had rushed through him, leaving him as weak-kneed as a newborn colt at those words—I am not married, and I am not engaged—told Hank he cared a damn sight more than he wanted to admit.

  But it still didn’t answer his question from last night.

  Who the hell is Chad?

  Hank still didn’t know what the story was, but as a man who took pride in being both honest and fair, his quick judgment and poor treatment of Gemma made him ashamed of himself. His chest tightened a bit at the thought of her sitting in her room—in the damn honeymoon suite, of all places—waiting for him to show up and questioning why he hadn’t.

  Sure, the romantic room service order had been pretty damning evidence, but the conclusions he’d jumped to had more to do with him than with Gemma. No doubt left over from his marriage, where he’d spent years looking over his shoulder for the man who would eventually take his place.

  He never should have agreed to dinner last night. If he hadn’t, it would have saved him—both of them—a bit of misery. Annoyed, irritated and not wanting to admit how disappointed he was over what might have been, Hank rubbed a hand over the back of his neck.

  The kids gathered around the front of the hotel were getting equally restless—the boys jostling each other around, while the girls were snapping picture after picture on their cell phones.

  Everyone was waiting for Gemma. Because of course a city girl would require a wardrobe change for every occasion.

  Low blow, Harlow, his conscience chided. Gemma hadn’t planned for a nature walk that morning, and no way could she go on a hike in heels. He didn’t even know how she managed to walk across the hotel’s patterned carpet without breaking an ankle, but he’d sure as hell enjoyed watching her go. Those killer heels made her legs look a mile long as she’d stalked from the lobby with a determined flick of her long dark hair.

  He should have known a woman like Gemma would take his comment about city girls and nature as some kind of dare. Hadn’t he intended it that way? A challenge to get Gemma to agree to spend more time with him, when keeping their distance would be best for both of them?

  He’d get through chaperoning this nature walk—assuming Gemma ever came back down from the honeymoon suite, and—

  “Okay!” the young female guide announced. “Looks like we’re all ready to go!”

  Hank opened his mouth to protest that they were still waiting for Gemma when a dark, perky ponytail caught his eye. And once he got a good look at the outfit Gemma had changed into, he couldn’t have spoken to save his life. He had no doubt the black yoga outfit was some well-known designer label, but that wasn’t what had his jaw dropping to his chest.

  The sleek material outlined her every curve with such a faithful hand, the pants and matching jacket might as well have been painted on. And when she bent over to do some kind of stretch, he had to drag his gaze away before his eyeballs popped out of his head.

  He turned his attention to the Maverick Manor employee as she discussed the route they would take, along with nature-friendly etiquette that included collecting their trash, not picking any of the wildflowers along the trail and keeping their distance from any wildlife they might encounter.

  “Um...wildlife?”

  A slight waver shook Gemma’s voice. Just another reminder that she didn’t belong in Rust Creek Falls. She likely wouldn’t last five minutes out on the trail.

  “It’s always a good idea to be aware of your surroundings,” the guide was saying. “And with that in mind, we’re going to have a buddy system on this hike. So everyone match up two by two!”

  Hank instantly looked to Janie, but his bighearted daughter had found her match in a younger girl. The dark-haired girl had latched on to Janie like a lifeline, and Hank didn’t have the heart to break the pair apart. But as Janie caught his eye, she broke away from her new friend and rushed to his side. “Dad, you should be Gemma’s partner!”

  “Janie—” His protest fell on deaf ears as his daughter continued.

  “You heard what the guide said. Everyone needs a buddy. Besides—” Janie added, shooting him a look of reproach that was 100 percent Anne “—aren’t you the one who said city girls and nature don’t mix?”

  Yeah, he’d said that all right. Because when it came to Gemma Chapman, it was easier to focus on their differences than on that instant attraction he’d felt the day before. A potential spark that he’d no doubt blown. But that was just as well. A city girl like her with a cowboy like him?

  That was the combination that didn’t mix.

  * * *

  When Janie first mentioned the nature hike, Gemma had imagined a short walk around the manor’s sculpted grounds. Instead their guide took them on a trail away from Maverick Manor. Within mere minutes they had left the hotel and—as far as Gemma could tell—civilization behind. The farther they walked into the untamed land, the more uncertain she felt about...everything.

  Including her footwear, she realized, as her heel hit a loose rock.

  Gemma’s leather ankle boots might have been made for walking the sidewalks of New York, but after twenty minutes, she had to admit they weren’t fashioned for hiking the Montana wilderness.

  Wasn’t she supposed to be feeling at one with her surroundings? Experiencing some connection with the land? So far the only connection she’d made was with a low-hanging pine branch that had slapped her in the face when she’d been focused more on the path beneath her feet than the trail up ahead.

  “You okay back there?”

  Gritting her teeth, Gemma glared at Hank’s broad back. She had no intention of admitting any of her concerns to the cocky, confident cowboy walking a few yards in front of her.

  “Just peachy,” she called out.

  Truthfully, though, the trails leading from Maverick Manor were awe-inspiring. Evergreens rose on either side of the narrow dirt path and snowcapped granite peaks towered in the distance. But for a woman who lived her life surrounded by glass-and-chrome skyscrapers, Gemma found the Big Sky of Montana surprisingly claustrophobic, as nature seemed to be closing in on every side. Each time she heard a rustle in the underbrush or in the branches overhead, she cringed, thinking of the guide’s warning to maintain a safe distance from any wildlife.

  Safe distance. Gemma snorted. Right, because what was she going to do if she came across a bear? Run up and poke it with a stick? Who actually needed a warning like that?

  You’ll hate it, her mother had predicted when Gemma told
her of her plan to go to Montana for her honeymoon. You won’t want to stay in the middle of nowhere for two days, let alone two weeks.

  Gemma didn’t want to believe her mother was right.

  Not about Montana, and not about the honeymoon. Not about the stories—the lies?—she’d told about Gemma’s father.

  “You don’t have to do this, you know.” Hank slowed his steps until she drew up alongside him. Janie and the rest of the kids, along with the hotel guide, had left them in the dust. Or more precisely in the mud, as the summer rains had made hiking the trails a watery version of hopscotch as she tried jumping over the puddles along the way.

  He didn’t seem to have any trouble navigating the path, looking completely at ease. His faded jeans hugged his long legs and the Western-style shirt he wore made his eyes look as blue as the skies overhead. He fit in so perfectly here, whereas she...

  “If you want to go back—”

  “I’m not going back to New York. Not yet.”

  Hank frowned. “Who said anything about New York? I meant the hotel.”

  “Oh.” Gemma shook her head. “We can’t do that. You heard what Janie said. The hotel wanted extra chaperones to make sure none of the kids fell behind.”

  Of course, with as far ahead as the kids were, there was no chance they would fall behind Hank and Gemma. He had been the one to volunteer the two of them to bring up the rear, no doubt expecting the city girl to fail miserably at Nature Walk 101.

  Or maybe he was just trying to make things easier on you, a rational voice suggested. But Gemma wasn’t in the mood for rational.

  “I have to do this,” she muttered, the words ending on a gasp as her boot heel hit a particularly slimy patch of mud and slipped right out from under her.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for a fall into the cold puddle. Instead she fell back against a warm, solid chest. Her stunned gasp froze in her throat as Hank’s muscular arm wrapped around her rib cage, just below her breasts.

  “You okay?” he murmured in her ear.

  As she glanced over her shoulder, their eyes met, their faces mere inches apart. All it would take was for either of them to give an inch, and their lips would meet. As it was, Gemma felt the brush of warm breath against her skin. Awareness skittered across her nerve endings, and a shiver raised goose bumps across her flesh. The woodsy scent of his aftershave was a perfect complement to the evergreens surrounding them, and she wanted nothing more than to breathe him in.

  Almost too late, she remembered his “entertaining” comment and jerked out of his embrace before he could offer some kind of “I told you so.” She nearly slipped again, and as she righted herself, she held out a hand as if warding him off. “I’ve got it. I’m fine.”

  An impassive look on his face, Hank raised both of those impressive arms in an innocent-man gesture as he took a step back.

  Innocent... Ha!

  There was nothing innocent about the way her body responded to his. All of which made her voice sharper than she intended when she said, “I don’t need your help.”

  “No, of course not.”

  Her cheeks heating, Gemma started back up the trail.

  Falling into step with her, he said, “I don’t suppose you want to tell me why you have to do this.”

  No one had understood. Not her friends. Not Chad. Certainly not her mother. So why did she think Hank Harlow might be the one person who would? She gave an inelegant snort as she skirted around a large rock in the middle of the muddy path.

  Yeah, right. Because he’d proved the night before how well he understood her.

  “This was all part of my Rust Creek Falls experience. You know, right up there with seducing a stranger on my honeymoon.”

  Gemma had the pleasure of watching those sculpted cheekbones turn red. “You’re not going to let me forget that, are you?”

  “Not anytime soon.” She tossed her ponytail over her shoulder, but a little too much of her focus was on the hair flip and not enough on her next step. Her heel hit a rock. Her ankle twisted, but instead of the loose rock giving way beneath her foot, the whole trail seemed to disappear. She barely had time to scream before she was suddenly sliding down the steep embankment.

  Branches and brush slapped at her face, but the undergrowth wasn’t sturdy enough to slow her descent. Digging in her expensive boot heels had no effect, and for a split second Gemma pictured herself catapulting right off the side of a mountain.

  Instead she splashed down into a muddy stream no more than a foot deep, but filled with enough cold water to steal what little breath she had left in her lungs. Gemma barely managed more than a shallow inhalation when she heard a wild crashing coming from the trail above. She cringed, covering her head with her hands. Was half the mountain about to give way on top of her?

  “Gemma!” Concern filled Hank’s voice as he half hopped, half slid down the same unintentional path she’d taken. “Are you okay?”

  Lowering her arms, she took stock of the situation. She was wet and cold and thoroughly embarrassed. “I’m fine.”

  As he stared down at her, Hank’s lips started to curve in a smile he wasn’t trying all too hard to hide. He braced his hands on his hips. “Well, talk about something I won’t be forgetting anytime soon...”

  Gemma wouldn’t have thought her face could get any hotter, but as anger burned away her embarrassment, she figured flames were about to start shooting from her eyes. Of course Hank could come crashing down the side of a mountain without a single speck of dirt or mud anywhere beyond the soles of his boots. Of course he could stand there looking all spotless and smug.

  “You were just waiting for this, weren’t you?” she muttered. “‘City girls and nature don’t mix,’” she echoed, dropping her voice an octave.

  “Well, you’ve certainly proved me wrong. You’re mixed up in nature right up to your eyebrows.”

  Gemma tried to push to her feet only to slip back onto her butt with a soggy splat. Her hand fisted in the muck, mud oozing between her fingers, as Hank’s deep chuckle sent a shiver down her spine. The rugged sound was enough to make her belly clench, and despite her feeling like a fool, she couldn’t help noticing the flash of his perfect white teeth and the way his blue eyes crinkled at the corners.

  Bad enough that he was laughing at her. Did he have to look so good doing it?

  Without giving herself a chance to think, she drew back a fistful of mud and fired. But as Hank bent down to help her up, the mud she’d aimed at his broad chest hit him right in the face.

  For a stunned second, neither of them moved as the black slime dripped from his stubbled jaw onto his shirt. Finally he straightened and slowly lifted a hand. He wiped the mud from his face, shaking it from his fingers to plop into the wet ground at his feet.

  Gemma swallowed. “Okay, I totally didn’t mean to do that.”

  Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out a folded white handkerchief. Because of course a man like Hank Harlow would carry one. She was pretty sure his wasn’t monogrammed or made from pure silk. Which was probably a good thing considering the black muck he was wiping from his handsome face.

  “You accidentally threw mud at me?”

  “No, I purposely threw the mud. I accidentally hit you in the face. I was aiming for your chest.”

  “You missed.”

  “You moved—”

  Gemma didn’t have a chance to finish her sentence before Hank moved again. This time, reaching out for her with retribution gleaming in his blue eyes. Gemma tried to scramble away with no better luck pulling herself out on the second try.

  Hank, however, had no such trouble. Catching her by the upper arms, he lifted her out of the mud and smack up against that broad chest she’d been aiming for. And if Gemma thought her sudden descent down the mountain had sent her pulse skyrocketing, that was nothing compared to Hank’s lifting her
into his arms. She braced her damp hands against his shoulders, the solid strength obvious beneath the thin material of his shirt.

  Gemma wasn’t sure what he’d initially intended, but Hank froze the moment their bodies came into contact. Heat flared in his eyes as he searched her features, and with her breasts pressed to the solid wall of his chest, she sensed the subtle change in the cadence of his breathing. Her gaze dropped to his mouth, so close to her own, and she ran her tongue along her suddenly tingling lips.

  “Tell me about Chad.”

  Gemma jerked away and took a few soggy steps backward. Talk about being doused with cold mud! Gemma didn’t want to think about her former fiancé, let alone talk about...

  “Wait... What do you know about Chad?”

  Hank lifted a broad shoulder in a diffident shrug. “Not much. Just that the guy evidently likes champagne, oysters and chocolate-covered strawberries.”

  “Chocolate...” Gemma’s jaw dropped as he recited the exact menu from last night’s room service order. “How—”

  “I also know the guy’s a total idiot.”

  “Because he likes champagne and oysters?” She doubted the combination would appeal to a rancher like Hank. Not that she could blame him where the oysters were concerned. Slimy little things... No wonder Chad liked them.

  “He’s an idiot for leaving you to eat them in the honeymoon suite alone.”

  Gemma’s lips twisted at that. Walking over to a nearby boulder, she sat and pulled off her boots to pour out a rush of muddy water. “Chad didn’t leave me alone in the honeymoon suite last night, Hank. You did.”

  Hank flinched and ran a hand through his hair, grimacing again when he came across some mud splattered by his ear. “Yeah, and I’m an idiot, too. It’s no excuse, but it’s been over a decade since I’ve been out on a date. Getting ready last night, all I could think was that I was bound to make a fool of myself in front of a woman like you—just like I did.”