Falling for the Rancher

by Roxanne Rustand

  Just not to Claire.

  Emotion balled in her throat for a moment, but she shoved it away.

  Don’t be ridiculous.

  “Come on, Alex,” she called without looking back. An icy wind hit her, making long red strands of her hair dance in front of her face. Letting her know Evan still held the door.

  Alex brought her up short with a hand on her arm. “Can’t I stay with Mr. Evan?”

  She latched on to her son’s wrist and tugged him toward the wide front desk in the lobby, where Mrs. Clarkson, an eccentric old lady known around town for wearing clothes she’d knit out of socks or upholstery material, folded a pamphlet detailing frequently asked questions about utility bills.

  Mrs. Clarkson rested her hands on top of the pamphlet and smiled over at them as if completing one piece out of the four-inch stack beside her was a huge accomplishment that they should acknowledge with a round of applause. Yellow edged her teeth from years of guzzling coffee.

  Claire made a mental note to call her dentist and set up a whitening appointment. Maybe even halve her personal coffee consumption, as well. Ha. Not likely. The three or four cups she was currently downing were barely keeping her running as it was.

  Claire craned her head toward Alex and spoke in a low voice. “How do you even know that man?”

  “Mr. Evan?” He brushed his shaggy hair from his eyes. “He helps in Sunday school.”

  “I’ve never seen him when I dropped you off. Don’t the Holcombs—Toby and Jenna, your friend Kasey’s parents—don’t they run your class?”

  “Well, yeah. But Mr. Evan helps, too. He’s some kind of big deal in children’s ministry.” Alex angled his head. “He’s late to my class and has to go early because he directs traffic and greets.”

  Of course. She knew about those things and should have guessed about his additional involvement. Since returning to Goose Harbor Claire had noticed that Evan had his hands in just about every part of town—helping on several committees, building the sets for the local play troupe and volunteering at most of the seasonal events.

  Once Evan became a greeter at church Claire had opted for entering through the side door. Not that she thought she could avoid him forever. If she’d wanted to do, it would have been easy. She could have chosen to attend a church outside town, but she wouldn’t allow his presence to dictate where she went and didn’t go. At least not when it came to church and the only community and people she knew. Claire had resigned herself to the fact that at some point she and Evan would have to speak and function around each other. And why not? They were both adults now and could act as such. More than a decade had passed since they’d parted ways.

  Since he’d decided he didn’t want her.

  An overwhelming wave of sorrow slammed through Claire’s chest. Swells of doubt and fear carrying the reminders of all she’d missed out on in life—love, family, dreams. But she was making her own future now, one that didn’t depend upon a man. That’s how it always should have been.

  She let go of Alex and dug her nails into the edge of the shiny counter.

  Mrs. Clarkson leaned over the front desk and cleared her throat. “What can I do you for?” Despite living in Goose Harbor for more than forty years, the subtle country twang from her youth hummed through her words from time to time. Mrs. Clarkson was fond of speaking about her childhood in Alabama, although she had never returned after she married, that Claire was aware of.

  Claire set her portfolio on the counter and pulled out the application, her letter for the town newsletter detailing her ideas and the petition with the needed signatures. “Just handing these in.”

  Mrs. Clarkson adjusted her red-framed glasses. A fake diamond sparkled near each temple. “Running for mayor! Oh, how nice. Although—and I mean no offense, dear—but between you and me I sure wish we had an Ashby for our mayor. This town always ran best with someone from that family at the helm.” She licked her thumb and used it to flip to the next page. “But there I go. Talking on and on about the old days. Mr. and Mrs. Ashby were both fine mayors—the best—but they are long gone. God rest them both. Do you know that sweet Maggie West still leaves flowers on their graves? Well, but she’s Maggie Ashby now, isn’t she? She and Kellen do make a pretty pair. Wouldn’t it have been wonderful if Kellen was running for office? I find him to be such a kind man. Although, I’m sure you’d do just fine, too.”

  For more than forty years Henry Ashby had been the mayor of Goose Harbor, and after he passed, his wife, Ida, took over. After her death, Doyle Ellis had been the only one to run for the position. But he’d announced his resignation at the Christmas tree lighting ceremony a few months ago and had sold his house and left town a month later, leaving the position vacant. For now, the head of the town board, Mr. Banks, kept everything running, but everyone knew he wanted out of that responsibility as soon as possible.

  Hence the special and rushed election.

  Mrs. Clarkson shuffled through the paperwork again, branding each sheet with a Received On stamp bearing the time and date. “Well, now.” Stamp. Stamp. “It seems we’ll have ourselves a real election then, this time around. Don’t know how long it’s been since we had ourselves one of those. Decades and then some, I think.”

  “A real election?” Claire closed her portfolio and shoved it back under her arm. “Someone else is running?”

  That complicated things some. She’d planned on being the only one on the ballot.

  Mrs. Clarkson grinned and nodded. “Why, yes, someone else is running.” She held up an application with neat block lettering.

  Evan’s handwriting.

  Claire’s stomach performed an impressive somersault before she regrouped, fisting her hand. Hadn’t Evan already done enough damage in her life? Well, she wasn’t about to let that man steal another one of her dreams.

  Claire jerked her head back. “We’ll see about that.” She grabbed Alex’s hand and spun toward the front door, the heels of her boots clicking across the floor.

  So today was the day, after all.

  It was time to finally have a conversation with the man who’d left her stranded on her wedding day.

  * * *

  Evan flipped up the collar on his coat and then dug around in his pockets for his gloves.

  And fine, he was lingering, too.

  Claire Atwood had finally spoken to him. Sure, it hadn’t been something kind, but that didn’t matter. He’d spent the last year wanting to say hi and ease the awkwardness that pulsed between them, but she’d evaded him every time he’d worked up the nerve to break the silence.

  She’d been back in town for more than a year and had gone out of her way to dodge him, to the point of crossing to the other side of the street when she happened to spot him downtown. Not that he blamed her. He had left her crying on the steps of the county courthouse.

  He didn’t deserve her attention, not then and not now.

  However, the image was burned into his memory—her in a knee-skimming white dress and her red hair tumbling around her shoulders as she sobbed into her hands—forever there to lance pain and regret through him. It sprang to his mind at the worst moments. Like now. A pressure point causing him to wince, desperately making him want to burst through the double doors of town hall and apologize. Explain. Beg her to forgive him.

  But to what aim? All those years ago, her father had been right. Evan had been a small-town boy with no ambitions outside of Goose Harbor. He was simple, whereas Claire had possessed big dreams, and she was smart. Brilliant. Evan had heard through the very active Goose Harbor grapevine that Claire had accomplished a lot since their failed wedding. Unless the gossip was mistaken, she’d earned her doctorate and had traveled abroad, studying art history. If they’d married, that never would have happened. Evan would have held her back. He wasn’t good enough for her, not then and not now. Even he k
new that.

  Still, it had hurt to walk away. He wished she at least knew that part.

  Evan focused on putting his gloves on. Flexed his hands a few times but still couldn’t get his feet to go forward.

  The ship that was his future with Claire had sailed many, many years ago. Sailed and sunk like one of the many abandoned boats that lined the bottom of Lake Michigan. If Claire had wanted to discuss their past she wouldn’t have disappeared for more than a decade. She wouldn’t have hopped on a plane the same day as their failed wedding ceremony. He’d sent notes to her by way of her mother and had never heard back. He hadn’t known any of her new information—address, phone number, email address—but most of his hadn’t changed. She could have called and demanded answers at any point.

  But she hadn’t.

  Truth was, Claire had narrowly missed destroying her life that day, and she probably knew it. The day Evan regretted most was no doubt the biggest relief of her life. No matter what she had thought she felt for him at eighteen years old, it was painfully obvious that she didn’t feel anything warm toward him now. So much the better.

  She deserved more than being shackled to a Daniels.

  Though he’d admit to anyone she looked pretty today. Since returning from New York she often strutted around town too polished, too fancy, wearing designer everything—using her exterior to keep people at a distance the same as she had in their old days together. Today, though, she’d been flustered because of Alex. The kelly green coat she wore had been buttoned lopsided, the delicate point of her nose was red and winter’s breeze had run telltale fingers through her hair, leaving the long auburn strands tangled and dusted with snowflakes.

  He didn’t know if he’d ever seen her more beautiful.

  We haven’t talked in twelve years. Let’s not start now.

  Yup, eleven years of her in New York, and the past year she’d spent in Goose Harbor avoiding him. Her math was sound, and the implications drove nails through any last hopes he might have clung to of them ever getting along again.

  The memory of her words pierced his thoughts, leaving his throat suddenly dry. Evan dug farther into his coat pocket for a cough drop. He popped it into his mouth and let the menthol pour through his sinuses. Took a deep breath. Started to leave.

  “Wait!” Claire’s voice stopped him.

  Evan swung around. Sure enough, Claire was stepping toward him at a fast clip, Alex jogging behind her. Her heels hit a slick spot on the narrow path to the town hall and she started to tip backward.

  “Whoa.” Evan dived forward, quickly slipping his arms around her waist and preventing her from tumbling to the hard ground. His hands came flush against her back, cradling her toward him. Why had he put his gloves on? He would have enjoyed the feel of her hair draped over the back of his hands one more time...

  Alex whooped. “Good catch!” Then he bent down, scrambling to collect all Claire’s scattered paperwork.

  During the process of almost falling, she’d dropped the thick folder-type thing she’d been clutching, and had grabbed on to the lapels of his coat for dear life. Inches from him—close enough to count the freckles she tried to hide—Claire’s soft blue eyes frantically moved over his face until their gazes finally met. She sucked in a sharp breath but didn’t shove away. His heart pounded like a Sawzall, and just like that he was eighteen again with the woman he had loved in his arms. The woman he had wanted to spend every day of the rest of his life with.

  You’ll hold her back, son. You’ll be a weight around her neck. She’ll grow to hate you. Is that what you want? If you love her like you say you do, then let go. It was the first—and more than likely, the only—time he and Sesser Atwood would ever agree so wholeheartedly.

  Evan shook that thought away and focused. “I got you.”

  Smooth, Evan. State the obvious. Women adore that.

  “I don’t want you to,” she whispered. Then her eyes snapped to life and she pushed against his chest.

  Ah, right, there it was. The resentment he usually saw setting her features.

  Evan let his arms fall away. He swallowed the last of his cough drop, savoring the burning feeling of it going down his throat, grounding him. With her standing nearby, having called to him, he finally summoned the courage to start the conversation he wished he’d had back before she ran to New York City. Might as well get the awkwardness over with. “Claire, this is long overdue, but I need to—”

  “Why are you running for mayor?” She crossed her arms over her chest and tapped out a Morse code message detailing her annoyance with the toe of her pointed glossy boot.

  Not what he’d expected. Then again, Mrs. Clarkson was known for spreading everyone’s business around, in a kindly, grandmotherly way, of course. Claire probably went in to hand over a payment for her family’s water or refuse bill, and Mrs. Clarkson couldn’t help but tell her all about Evan submitting his application to get on the ballot and run at the final hour.

  He scratched the spot where his neck met his jaw. “Oh, that. I guess, why not? The position’s open.”

  And because he and his brother Brice planned to use his clout as mayor to help get a new boatyard and dock built. One that would give Sesser Atwood a run for his money and loosen the chokehold monopoly he had on the shipping business in Goose Harbor. On all businesses in town.

  A political tidbit Evan hardly needed to share with the tycoon’s daughter.

  “That’s it?” More toe tapping. A nervous habit he recognized from the old days. Back when he’d known what every single movement she made meant. Known that if her shoulders slumped a certain way she’d had a bad weekend with her parents or an argument with her father. Before she gave a presentation or speech in class, she used to tap her foot faster than his 18-volt jigsaw running on the highest setting.

  Evan pointed down and didn’t even fight the smirk he felt tugging at his lips. “You’re going to wear out your shoe doing that, you know. Not much is different, huh?”

  She stopped and shifted her weight. Narrowed her eyes, and her stare went hard. “Everything is different. And don’t change the subject.”

  If looks could kill... The set of her shoulders and jaw told him she was ready for battle. With her expression of fury and her red hair fanned over her shoulders while fat snowflakes fell between them, she looked like a snow queen ready to save her kingdom from an invading army. Sparks and quips made up her favorite line of defense, but he wasn’t intimidated. Claire survived by keeping people at a distance, by making them believe she was all burrs and thorns.

  Too bad he knew better.

  Break through her barriers and she became the sweetest, most sincere person he’d ever met. Her rigid exterior was nothing more than a wall for a terrified girl to hide her heart behind. She only needed someone to cheer her on and infuse some courage into her, something neither of her parents had ever done. At least...that’s how she’d been twelve years ago.

  In the past, the best way to reach over her wall was to act like her glares had no effect on him.

  “So what if I’m running?” Evan slipped his hands into his pockets and gave an exaggerated shrug. “Why do you care?”

  Alex handed Claire the padded folder, which he’d jammed all her papers into, so they stuck out at odd angles. “She wants to know because she’s running, too.”

  “You’re running?” Evan rocked forward. “But you don’t even like this place.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “That’s so not true.” She jabbed her pointer finger in his direction. “And don’t you dare say that on the campaign trail. You have no proof to back up your claim.”

  “Campaign trail? Tell me you’re not serious.” She was joking...wasn’t she? Evan hadn’t planned to do much besides getting on the ballot. Everyone in town already knew him.

  Alex chuckled. “She is always serious. I know t
his is a fact.”

  Evan winked at Alex. He enjoyed how the kid phrased things.

  Claire pressed a hand to Alex’s chest, as if Evan’s very presence might tarnish the boy. She must not be aware that Evan hung out with her son every Sunday. Maybe he should tell her the reason he’d been asked to help out in the seven-and eight-year-old class was because Toby and Jenna Holcomb didn’t know how to reach her often angry son. So far, he and Alex had come to a tentative friendship, but her mama-arm protective grab on Alex didn’t bode well for Evan’s continued involvement.

  “See? You have nothing to say,” Claire said. “No proof that I don’t like this place and no reason why you should continue your run for office.”

  “No proof? Now let’s see... How about you left our humble harbor without so much as looking back, and were gone for more than eleven years? You can’t like Goose Harbor all that much—not enough to want to be the mayor—if you didn’t even want to be here.”

  She leaned closer, her voice low, rumbling. “I like Goose Harbor fine.”

  Evan leaned in, too. “Not as much as you seemed to like New York.”

  Her eyes flashed. “The reason I left wasn’t because I didn’t like it here.”

  “Yeah?” He cocked his head, challenging her. They’d always known how to press each other’s buttons. Evidently that much hadn’t changed, either. “Then why’d you leave?”

  Claire’s lips pulled a little. “I left because I didn’t like you.”

  Alex’s mouth dropped open. “My friend Kasey would call that a burn.”

  And she’d be right.

  Evan filled his chest with a lungful of air and then another. Growing up with an abusive father had taught him to rein in his anger and his reactions, not to speak when he felt wounded, because usually what he had to say only worsened the situation. And to process through the reasons someone would behave a certain way before letting words rule his emotions.