“That’s okay,” Hank said. “I’ve got a bigger part in mind.”
The role of a lifetime.
Chapter Eleven
Gemma jumped at the sudden blare of a taxi’s horn. The people swarming the sidewalk around her didn’t seem to notice the obnoxious blast, too busy talking on cell phones as they jostled for position and pushed toward the crosswalk. She’d been back in New York for three weeks, and everything still seemed so loud, so crowded, so overwhelming.
Every breath she took seemed coated with heavy black exhaust. How had she never noticed that before? Temperatures had hit ninety degrees already, the rising heat adding to rising tempers, and Gemma longed for the cool breeze and open spaces of Montana.
How could she possibly miss a place she’d called home for less than two weeks? Why did she feel as if the wide-open spaces were tied to her heart, calling her back and making her question why she had ever left? Could she really trade in the Big Apple for Big Sky country? And if she were honest with herself, did any of that longing have to do with the place she’d left behind? Or was it all tied to the man she’d left behind?
The man who hadn’t asked her to stay.
She had wanted a Wild West vacation to remember. Falling for Hank Harlow had made everything about her time in Rust Creek Falls impossible to forget. Not that the friends she’d met there were making it any easier on her. Natalie had texted or emailed every few days with the latest gossip. Ellie Traub had gone through some old family photos and emailed Gemma the scanned images of her father. And Gemma and Janie had talked on the phone or over video a few times a week since she’d left Rust Creek Falls.
But even though Janie always made a point of telling Gemma her dad said hi, she had yet to speak to Hank. The one time Gemma had picked up the phone to call him, he’d let her call go straight through to voice mail. Only when she’d sent him the text about Janie had he bothered to respond.
Which had been another blow to Gemma’s already bruised heart.
Still, she couldn’t help wondering if he’d convinced Janie that she should audition for the play at the Rust Creek Falls community center. If anyone could help Janie overcome that fear, it would be Hank.
If not for him, Gemma never would have ridden a horse. Never would have learned to line dance. Never would have fallen so hopelessly, helplessly in love.
Even though each breath she took battered her bruised and broken heart, Gemma couldn’t regret her time in Montana. Hank had done more than help her fill in a missing part of her past. He’d given her the courage to grab hold of her own future.
Her boss had been shocked when she’d given her notice, and he’d held out the promotion like a diamond-studded carrot in front of her. “You’d work with the top clients,” he’d offered. “The largest portfolios.”
Little had he realized, that promise was all the more reason for Gemma to leave.
It wouldn’t be easy, but she was prepared to make sacrifices to live life on her own terms. Even if that meant selling off her wardrobe and moving out of her apartment. But while she would miss living in the city, that too would have its benefits. She had a feeling she could get used to working from home while barefoot and wearing a comfortable pair of jeans. Maybe she could find a pet-friendly building and look into adopting a rescue dog to keep her company.
Of course a dog would be happier with a fenced-in yard, where it could run and play. Or better yet, an area with no fences. Just miles and miles of green grass and towering mountains and crystal clear streams...
Gemma swallowed a laugh before it could turn into a sob. Maybe she’d just buy a ranch so her soon-to-be-rescued dog wouldn’t miss out on a life she could only dream of. Only, it wasn’t the ranch Gemma was missing. It was the rancher.
Rust Creek Falls can’t compare to the life you have in the city.
What did he know about her life in New York anyway? Not nearly enough if he thought she’d be happier there without him than in Rust Creek Falls with him.
City girl.
That was what he’d called her from the start. He’d told her to go because he didn’t believe she had it in her to stay.
Picking up her pace, Gemma stalked down the sidewalk, cutting her way through the pedestrian traffic. He thought he knew her so well. Ha!
If the last months had taught her anything, it was that she was done doing what everyone thought she should do. From now on she was doing what she wanted to do.
And she wanted to go back to Rust Creek Falls.
Gemma nearly stumbled at the thought.
Could she really do it? Could she really go back? Giving up her apartment and her designer wardrobe was one thing, but to leave the energy and excitement of New York for the rugged wilderness of Montana?
Sweetheart, I think you’ve got more grit and determination than any woman I’ve ever met.
As Hank’s amused voice echoed through her thoughts, Gemma smiled for the first time since leaving the Bar H.
Hank Harlow, you have no idea.
Something inside her broke loose, and Gemma suddenly felt free, like she was riding on Lightning again, the green grass speeding by beneath her, the warm summer breeze blowing through her hair. She could almost imagine the rhythmic beat of the horse’s hooves. Only instead of the dull thud of hitting rich Montana soil, she heard the metallic clink of horseshoes striking concrete.
Surely her imagination was playing tricks on her. Torturing her with memories. But as the sound grew louder, closer, the pace slowing from a trot to a walk, it was Gemma’s heart that took off at a gallop, and she couldn’t stand not knowing for one second longer.
It’s a mounted policeman, she warned herself as she turned around. Or a horse-drawn carriage from Central Park.
It wouldn’t be, couldn’t be—
“Hank.”
Her heart pounding in her chest, Gemma couldn’t believe what she was seeing—a cowboy riding a chestnut horse down the crowded street. Not just any cowboy, but her Rust Creek Falls cowboy. The man who’d stolen her heart the moment he’d climbed up behind her on Lightning and given her the ride of her life.
Seeming oblivious to the pedestrians who’d stopped to stare, Hank swung down from the saddle, his boots hitting the New York City sidewalk. He looped the reins over a nearby parking meter as casually as if it were the hitching post in front of the Ace in the Hole.
She heard an older woman murmur something about John Wayne, and he tipped his hat at a couple of giggling teenage girls who’d pulled out their cell phones to capture the moment.
Gemma might have thought she was dreaming, but she’d never dreamed of Hank Harlow in his cowboy hat and jeans riding up to her apartment building. It was too crazy, too unbelievable, too perfect for her to have even imagined. Which could only mean one thing...
He was real, and he was here!
“Hank, what—what are you doing here?”
He turned back to the horse, and Gemma realized there was a brown paper bag hooked over the saddle horn. “You forgot this,” he said as he pulled out her cowboy hat.
“Oh.” Tears blurred her vision as she reached for the straw hat, but she could still see the wry smile on his lips.
“You always do get so emotional about clothes.” But the amusement fled as the tears started to fall. “Ah, Gem, sweetheart. Don’t cry.” His hands were the rough, hardworking hands of a rancher, but his touch was whisper-soft as he brushed the tears from her cheeks.
“What are you doing here, Hank?”
“When I found that hat...” His throat moved as he swallowed. “I figured you left it behind because you didn’t want it anymore. A Stetson like that doesn’t really fit in in the big city.”
“I love this hat.” She’d been so upset that last day on the ranch when she’d barely been able to put one foot in front of the other, she’d forgotten all about it. And she didn’t fit in in the
big city. Not anymore.
But were they really standing on a street corner in New York, amid a crowd of curious bystanders, talking about hats? And then as she remembered why she’d been so upset that day, a burst of anger had her reaching out and slapping him in the chest with the straw brim. “And I love the stupid, stubborn cowboy who gave it to me and then told me to leave!”
He caught her wrist, pulling her closer into his arms. “I didn’t tell you to leave. I told you to go home.”
“I was home,” she whispered around the ache in her throat. “With you on the Bar H.”
He rubbed his thumb over the inside of her wrist, the simple touch enough to make her weak in the knees. “You needed to come back here.”
His gaze searched hers as he plucked the hat from her hand and settled it gently on her head. “I needed you to come back here,” he admitted, “to know that you were sure. To know that you wouldn’t change your mind in a year or two or twenty.”
“I love you, Hank, and that will never change. Not in a year or two or twenty.”
Taking a moment, he looked around the busy street with the rushing traffic and towering buildings and at the crowd of strangers who’d gathered around them with a wry smile. “What do you think? Are you ready to give this all up to be a Montana cowgirl?”
“A cowgirl! I think I’ll actually need to learn to ride before I can call myself a cowgirl. So until I earn that title, this city girl will be a cowboy’s bride.”
Hank’s eyebrows rose. “Did you just propose?”
For a panicked moment, Gemma thought she’d assumed too much. But then she saw the spark in his eyes, and she knew. “You’re an old-fashioned guy, Hank, with an impressionable daughter. And I’m sure you don’t expect me to give up my life here, move halfway across the country, just to shack up with you.”
“That’s true. But there are some things us country boys like to do ourselves.”
Gemma gasped—a sound echoed by the female onlookers—as Hank knelt on the sidewalk in front of her. She blinked quickly to clear the tears blurring her vision, not wanting to miss a single detail of the moment she would cherish forever. The brim of his hat cast a shadow over his handsome face, but Gemma could still see the love shining out from eyes as brilliant as Montana’s Big Sky. He pulled a small velvet box from his pocket and opened it to reveal a glittering platinum engagement ring.
“When I told you I was rusty, I wasn’t just talking about my dating skills.” Tapping on his chest, he said, “I was pretty sure this old thing had rusted shut, too. I never expected to fall in love. I never expected...you. You broke my heart wide open, Gemma Chapman, and I can’t imagine my life without you in it. Will you marry me?”
“Yes, yes, yes!” Gemma couldn’t stop saying the word as Hank surged to his feet and spun her around in dizzying circles until she tipped her head back in breathless laughter.
Amid the honking horns and squealing brakes, Gemma heard another sound—the whistles and cheers of the New Yorkers who’d stopped to witness and celebrate the sight of a real-life cowboy proposing on a crowded city sidewalk. Only as he set her back on her feet did Gemma finally say, “Just promise me that we aren’t riding that horse all the way back to Montana!”
Hank glanced over to his borrowed ride as the horse tossed its head with a jingle of reins. “This guy’s staying here while you and I have reservations for first-class plane tickets back home.”
Home to Rust Creek Falls.
Gemma didn’t know if she’d ever be a true cowgirl, but she could still be whoever she wanted to be. Wife, mother, lover.
“So, I guess the only thing we need to decide is where we’ll spend our honeymoon.”
Gemma laughed at the teasing glint in Hank’s eyes. “At Maverick Manor, of course!” She couldn’t think of a better place to start her new life with Hank than the hotel where her two-week honeymoon for one turned into a lifetime love for two!
* * *
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The Cowboy’s Secret Family
by Judy Duarte
Chapter One
The new Dodge Ram pickup bounced along the graveled drive that led to the Double G Ranch, where Matt Grimes intended to hole up until he recovered from his injury and could return to the rodeo circuit.
The afternoon sun’s glare was damn near blinding, so he reached for the visor, only to miss spotting another pothole, this one bigger than the last. Pain shot through his bum knee, and he swore under his breath. He’d have to convince Uncle George that it was finally time to pave the blasted road or they’d need an all-terrain vehicle to get to the house.
Matt hadn’t been home since the Christmas before last, so he probably should have called to let his uncle know he was coming, but he’d decided to surprise him.
He swerved to avoid another hole, a quick move that jarred his knee again, and he gritted his teeth in pain. The last bull he’d ridden, Grave Digger, had thrown him to the ground, stepping on him in the process. He hadn’t suffered a fracture, only tissue damage. But it hurt like hell, and the doctor seemed to think it would take a while for him to heal.
But come hell or high water, Matt was determined to compete in the Rocking Chair Rodeo, which would benefit two of his favorite charities—a local home for retired cowboys, as well as one for abused and neglected kids. On top of that, Esteban Enterprises had used Matt’s name to promote the rodeo, and all the ads and posters sported his photo and practically claimed Local Boy Makes Good. Hopefully, he’d heal quickly so he could live up to the hype.
When he pulled up to the small ranch house and parked, he remained behind the wheel for a while, rubbing the ache in his knee and stunned as he scanned the yard and noticed how different things were. Damn. His uncle had been busy. No wonder he hadn’t gotten around to fixing the road yet.
A lamb stood under a canopy covering part of a small pen near the barn. A new chic
ken coop had been built, too, with several hens clucking and pecking at the ground. A black-and-white Shetland pony was corralled near the house and an unfamiliar car was parked in the drive.
What in the hell was going on? Had Uncle George hired someone new? He had ranch hands who worked the cattle, but he’d never put a lot of effort into the yard.
Matt climbed out of the truck, wincing when he put weight on his right leg. As he reached for his cane, a mixed-breed dog wearing a red Western kerchief around its neck rushed at him, barking as if it had super-canine strength and planned to take on a pack of wolves.
Before Matt had to fend off the shepherd-mix with his cane, Uncle George stepped out onto the porch from inside the house, squinting at the glare caused by the sunlight hitting a metal wind chime—a fancy addition that hadn’t been there before.
George lifted his hand to shade his eyes and called off the stupid mutt. It obeyed the old man’s gruff tone, but it still eyed Matt as if it wasn’t yet convinced he wasn’t a burglar who’d come to rob the ranch at gunpoint.
“What’s going on?” Matt asked, his voice edged with irritation.
The screen door screeched open again, and out walked a little girl in pigtails wearing a white blouse with a green 4-H kerchief tied around her neck, blue jeans and sneakers. The dog took a look at her, wagged its tail and then began barking at Matt all over again.
The girl hurried to the mutt, dropped to her knees and hugged the dog’s neck. “Shush, Sweetie Pie. It’s okay.”
“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Uncle George finally said. “My long-lost nephew. What’d you do? Lose your cell phone?”
“I’ve been busy.” While that was true, Matt still should have called. Maybe then he’d know who that little girl was. Had his uncle taken on a babysitting gig to supplement his Social Security? And what was with the menagerie—ponies, chickens, dogs and who knew what else?
A soft breeze kicked up, causing the wind chime to tinkle, while Matt tried to make sense of it all. Before he could prod his uncle for an explanation, the girl turned to the house and called out, “Mommy! Hurry up. We’re going to be late to the 4-H meeting.”
The Maverick's Summer Sweetheart Page 19
