The Bitterroot Inn (Jamison Valley Book 5)

by Devney Perry

“Nothing.” His face relaxed into a grin. “It’s just, he’s a lucky kid. You’re a good mom.”

  I’d been keeping track of Hunter’s compliments.

  That one just hit the top of the chart.

  “Thank you.”

  Hunter jogged ahead to load Coby in the car, and with his back to me, I hop-skipped my next three steps. I worried daily that I was being a good mom to Coby—I probably always would—but Hunter’s compliment was enough to banish those insecurities for today.

  Reaching the car just as Hunter was closing Coby’s door, I tossed the fishing pole in the back. By the time I closed the hatch, Hunter was just getting into the driver’s seat. “You know, I can drive. This is my car.”

  “Blondie, don’t pretend to protest when we both know you like to ride shotgun with me at the wheel. I saw that smile when you handed over your keys for me to drive up to the lake last week.”

  He had me there.

  So I just smiled and got in the passenger seat. I was buckling my seat belt when my phone rang in my lap.

  My face scrunched up at another unknown number. Chances were this was probably a legitimate call for the inn, but since I was still on edge from the reporter’s call earlier, I ignored it and let it go to voicemail.

  The missed-call banner popped up on the screen at the same time Hunter’s phone started ringing. He pulled it out of his jeans pocket and frowned.

  “Do you need to get that?” I asked. “We can wait in the car while you take it outside.”

  “It’s no one important.” He declined the call and dropped his phone in his lap. With a quick smile to Coby in the back, he turned the key in the ignition.

  We were almost back at the motel when my phone rang again. Another unknown number. If this was the reporter, I’d give her kudos for her persistence. With a grunt, I declined this call too.

  “Everything okay?” Hunter asked.

  “Probably just a telemarketer.”

  I hated lying but today wasn’t the day to get into the reason why I was being hounded by a reporter. That story would come some other time. Hunter hadn’t asked about Coby’s father yet and I was glad for it, because when he did ask, I wanted to give him the full story. I wanted him to know what he was getting into with us.

  I just hoped that once he learned about my past, he wouldn’t run away to his house in the foothills and stay away for good.

  Hunter

  I was about one phone call away from blocking Nell’s number.

  She’d called eleven times during Cars. Eleven. If I hadn’t been on call, I would have shut off the damn phone, but as it was, I had to decline it every time and tell Maisy it was no big deal when she’d repeatedly offered to pause the movie.

  But finally, the calls stopped as we sat down for the homemade cheeseburger pizza Maisy had made for dinner.

  Three pieces demolished, I went back for a fourth. “This is the best pizza I’ve ever had.” Considering how much pizza I’d consumed during undergrad and med school, that was saying something.

  “I’m glad you like it.” Maisy smiled proudly and dug into her own slice. “Eat as much as you like.”

  I patted my stomach. “I will, but I’ll be running an extra mile tomorrow. Pizza has always been one of my weaknesses.”

  “Mine too. That and cookies.”

  I smiled. I loved that Maisy wasn’t afraid to eat. She had an awesome body, probably from working her ass off every day, but she didn’t stress about calories. Every meal we’d shared, she had never ordered a salad or picked at her plate.

  “Cookies rank up there on my list, but probably not as much as other temptations.”

  “What’s a tem-pation?” Coby asked.

  “A temp-ta-tion. It’s something you have a hard time resisting. An indulgence.” He was still confused so I kept going. “Something you go crazy over. Like pizza or cookies.”

  He bounced in his seat. “I know. Like cheeseburgers!”

  I laughed. Damn this kid was smart. “Like cheeseburgers. Or gummy worms.”

  “Gummy worms?” Maisy and Coby asked at the same time.

  I nodded. “I can’t resist. I’m a sucker for gummy worms. Especially sour ones. And Lay’s potato chips. I used to survive on those alone in college.”

  “Any other temptations I should know about?” Maisy asked.

  I locked my gaze with hers. “You.”

  She smiled but didn’t look away, even as her cheeks flushed.

  “Do you like brownies?” Coby asked, forcing me to break away from Maisy.

  “Yeah, bud. I like brownies. Especially ones with chocolate chips.”

  “Me too.”

  Damn, this was nice. It was all I could think about as we finished our meal. Coby, Maisy and I were so comfortable around each other. Everything was easy here. If only I could ignore the world outside her door and stay in this loft for the rest of my life.

  Maisy stood and started clearing plates to the kitchen before I could offer to clean up. “I’ve got dishes tonight.”

  “Coby, bud, why don’t you go get Pickle’s leash and we’ll take him for his walk?”

  “Okay!” He scrambled off the seat.

  I grabbed his yellow plate and took it into the kitchen, setting it on the counter. “Thanks for dinner tonight and all of the other nights this week.”

  “It was my pleasure.”

  I leaned a hip against the counter, studying her perfect profile as she faced the sink. “You don’t have to cook for me, you know? You’ve got a lot going on and making me food isn’t necessary. I can just eat downtown.”

  “I want to,” she said as she rinsed a fork. “I cook plenty for me and Coby, so setting aside some for you is no big deal. Besides, I hate the idea of you always eating out or only eating junk. I’ve got too much of my mom in me to let you survive on processed foods alone.”

  I opened my mouth to thank her again but nothing came out.

  She’d rendered me speechless.

  Other than my mother, no one had ever really cared about what I had to eat. I’d never gone hungry, our house chef had made sure to always have something prepared, but he’d done it out of obligation, not love. Maisy was feeding me simply because she cared.

  All those years ago, when I’d first seen Maisy in the maternity ward of the hospital, I had made an assumption about her. Spending time with her these last two weeks, I now knew I’d been right.

  Maisy Holt was pure joy. She was goodness personified. She was a beam of sunshine breaking through the clouds in my life.

  I’d walked away from her back then.

  I’d avoided her the last time I’d lived in Prescott.

  I wouldn’t do either ever again. I wasn’t giving her up without a fight.

  I’d come to Prescott with a plan: to look out for this beautiful soul. My plan had just changed. Now I was here to win her heart.

  Maybe—if she could fall in love with me—she wouldn’t push me away when she learned the truth. Maybe she’d love me enough to forgive all the omissions and the half-truths.

  Maisy deserved the full story. The entire truth.

  Just not yet.

  Until the time was right, my secrets were my burdens to bear. Then, when the time was right, she’d get it all. Every miserable detail. She could ask me any question her heart desired and I’d give all the answers.

  But not yet.

  Not until I won her over completely and stood a chance at keeping her—forever.

  As I stared at her profile, determination coursed through my veins. I had never faced a bigger challenge but I’d never had this much to gain. Three hearts were on the line here: Maisy’s, Coby’s and mine, and I’d do whatever it took not to break them all.

  “Ready!” Coby bounced into the kitchen with Pickle’s leash.

  I tore my eyes away from Maisy and stood tall, smiling down at the overexcited puppy and his boy. “I’ll take these two out for a walk.”

  Maisy stopped washing and worried her bottom lip. “O
h, um . . . that’s okay. We can all go when I’m done with this.”

  Shit. Did she not trust me alone with Coby? She’d declined my offer to watch him earlier so she could paint, and now this. Winning her over was going to be fucking hard if she didn’t trust me with her son.

  But, not wanting her to be uncomfortable, I backpedaled. “I get it. It’s too soon for a strange man to be alone with your son. No pressure at all, I just wanted to help.”

  “Oh, no. It’s not that.” She giggled. “I trust you with Coby.”

  One sentence and my shoulders sagged. I trust you with Coby. “Then what?”

  She scrunched up her nose. “Pickle has had, um . . . diarrhea. Coby gave him too much people food last night and I didn’t want you to have to deal with that mess.”

  “I’ve got the dog.” I snagged the leash from Coby and picked up Pickle. “You do the dishes and take a five-minute break.” I winked at her, loving how it always made her smile, then walked outside with my own wide grin.

  “You know what’s special, Coby?”

  “What?” he asked, hopping down the steps.

  “Your mom’s smile.”

  He looked over his shoulder. “Why?”

  “Because it never stops.”

  “Huh?”

  I shook my head and chuckled. “Never mind, bud. Here.” I set down the puppy at the base of the stairs and hooked on his leash. “You can lead Pickle but I’ll take care of his poop. Okay?”

  “Okay.” And off they went into the grass.

  One day when he was a little older, I’d explain why Maisy’s smile was special. And then when he was a lot older, I’d explain how lucky he was to have inherited his smile from her and not his father.

  Coby was the spitting image of Everett. His hair. His eyes. The shape of his face. Everything except for that smile. Everett’s smile had always been too cold. Too calculating. A genuine smile on his mirror image’s face suited it much better.

  Physical traits aside, Coby was otherwise one-hundred-percent Maisy. He had her curious nature. He had her energy and spirit. And his presence brought peace to my heart, just like his mother’s.

  Maisy and Coby Holt were remarkable people, proving something I’d always known.

  Everett Carlson had been one stupid motherfucker.

  Four hours later, I was lying on the bed in my room, listening for sounds next door. The second I heard a faint rustling through the wall, I flew off the bed and walked outside in my old jeans and white T-shirt.

  “Maisy, it’s me, Hunter.” I smiled as I called out from the walkway outside the room. “I’m coming over there.” I took a few steps. “Here I come.” One more step. “I’m not going to attack you so please don’t throw a paintbrush at my head.”

  I stepped into the doorway and held up my hands to ward off a potential attack.

  “Ha ha,” she muttered. I dropped my hands to catch her rolling her eyes but smiling. “You’re freaking hilarious, Faraday.”

  Entering the empty room, my eyes immediately feasted on Maisy’s bare, toned legs. She was wearing cutoff denim shorts and a white tank top, exposing her smooth and lightly tanned skin. Her electric-blue sports bra was peeking out underneath her tank top and she was barefoot, her toes painted the same blue as the bra.

  When she bent to set down the paint tray she’d been holding, I quickly adjusted my dick so she wouldn’t see the tent in my jeans.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  I crossed the room and took a paintbrush from the box in the middle of the floor. “I’m helping you paint.”

  “Have you ever painted before?”

  “Walls? No. The last time I remember painting was with Crayola watercolors in middle-school art. But I’m kind of a smart guy so you can teach me.”

  She sighed. “Hunter, you don’t have to do this. I really appreciate the offer but you’re already doing so much with the photographs and—”

  “Hey.” I stopped her and stepped into her space. “Let me help. Please.”

  Her breath hitched as I leaned just a bit closer. She smelled so good. So sweet. Fuck, I want to kiss her. I wanted to wrap her in my arms and take her mouth. To hold her all night long after I’d exhausted her completely.

  But tonight, she needed to get this room painted, and if I kissed her, it was going to take a while.

  Our first kiss was going to be the lasting kind. The kind she’d never forget. The kiss that erased all others from her past.

  Tonight, we didn’t have that kind of time, so instead, I leaned down and whispered in her ear. “Are you going to teach me to paint?”

  She shivered as she whispered back, “Yes.”

  I grinned and forced my feet to take a backward step. Then we got to work.

  Three hours later, the ceiling was white, the walls were “dove gray,” and I had paint specks all over my clothes, hair and skin.

  “Thank you,” Maisy said as she surveyed our work. “This would have taken me a lot longer by myself. Now Michael might actually be able to go home and not sleep on my couch.”

  “Anytime.”

  I meant that too. I’d help her anytime. The smile on my face would last all week just because I got to spend my Sunday night working side by side with Maisy.

  Maisy

  When I was twelve, I planned my dream wedding. My cousin had just gotten married and I’d spent an entire day of summer vacation filling the better portion of my diary with ideas and drawings for my own wedding. I’d wanted pink. Everything pink. The cake. The flowers. The dresses. Lots and lots of pink.

  Had I seen the majesty of Beau and Sabrina’s wedding back then, that diary would have been a whole lot different.

  Sabrina and Beau were married at six o’clock in an open meadow not too far up into the mountains. With the smell of pine in the spring air and the sun’s bright rays slowly fading to a glow, the two of them stood together and exchanged their vows. There were no chairs, no aisles and no fancy decorations. Just Beau and Sabrina standing with the minister as close friends and family stood by to watch.

  Beau and Sabrina were so in love, I don’t think they even knew the rest of us were there.

  After their kiss and some pictures, we all came back into town for the reception. While the ceremony had been simple and intimate, the reception was another story. Sabrina had gone all out to plan an extravagant party for hundreds of guests.

  There weren’t a lot of large event venues in small-town Montana, so Sabrina had been limited to the school cafeteria. She’d magically transformed the space. Now it looked more like a fancy ballroom in a city hotel than the room where I’d eaten my lunches as a child.

  “This is something else,” Dad said for the third time as he looked around the room. We were dancing on the large wooden floor in front of the stage where the live band was playing.

  “It sure is. It’s beautiful.”

  The entire ceiling had been strung with lights that gave the room a soft glow. Round tables and chairs, all covered with fancy linens, filled the floor space behind and around the dance floor. The plain walls had been hidden with black curtains lining the entire room. Stunning floral arrangements of green and ivory adorned every table.

  “Wasn’t that some dinner?” Dad asked.

  “I ate way too much. Coby was too busy playing so I ate my plate and most of his. But it was totally worth it.” Prime rib, Copper River salmon, roasted potatoes, fresh dinner rolls and about a half dozen salads. I’d tried it all.

  “Do you think it was okay that I hit the carving station a couple extra times?” Dad asked.

  I giggled and reached up high, smoothing the worry lines on his forehead. “I think the father of the groom can eat as much as he wants. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

  Brock Holt was no small human. He was Beau’s size except for the huge beer belly he’d been growing over the last ten years, and wow, Dad could eat.

  “Thanks.” He smiled and twirled me around. “Your brother seems happy.”
<
br />   “He sure does.”

  We both looked over to Beau slow dancing with Sabrina. Beau was wearing a simple suit instead of a tux, something Sabrina had surprised him with at his fitting, and Sabrina was in a gorgeous white dress, the top half all lace with half sleeves and an open cutout at the back.

  “Are you having fun?” Dad asked.

  “Yeah. This has been a great night.”

  “You look beautiful, honey. That dress suits you.”

  I leaned further into his chest. “Thanks, Dad.”

  I loved my bridesmaid dress. True to everything else about this wedding, it was classy. A simple black chiffon V-neck dress with an A-line skirt cut at tea length. I didn’t have to wear Spanx, I could wear a normal bra, and the skirt had pockets for my phone and lip gloss.

  Bonus, it made me feel pretty.

  “Coby sure did look grown-up today in his suit,” Dad said.

  “Isn’t that the truth? Can you believe he’ll be four this summer? It feels like just yesterday I was bringing him home.”

  Dad gazed adoringly over my shoulder. I craned my neck to see Coby and a slew of other boys racing around the tables. Coby had shed his jacket for dinner but had refused to take off the bow tie his aunt Sabrina had bought special, just for him.

  “It’s hard for your old man to believe you’re all grown-up,” Dad said, pulling me a bit closer. “Beau’s married. Michael’s barely looked away from Alana all night. You’ve got Coby and the inn. I’m getting old. I miss the days when you kids needed me around.”

  “We still need you, Dad.”

  “You do?”

  I nodded. “Especially me. You have to train my dog.”

  He smiled at my joke and twirled me again. “You’re not still mad about that, are you?”

  “No. Of course not. You know I can’t hold a grudge for long.” The minute someone apologized to me, anger and resentment just flittered away.

  “That’s because my Maisy-girl’s heart is too sweet for grudges.”

  “Some might call me a doormat.”

  He scoffed. “Absolutely not. You’re forgiving, not a doormat. And I think that’s a damn strong trait. When someone hurts you, the easy thing to do is cut them out, but you don’t. You give second chances when people probably don’t deserve them. You keep your heart open instead of becoming bitter and jaded. There’s nothing doormat about you.”