She had to make certain that he didn’t find her. Because that man was nothing but trouble for someone like her.
Oh, yeah. One look at him and she knew it all.
Because he had it all. Tall, broad-shouldered and killer-hot, he had dark, intense eyes and thick brown hair, chiseled cheekbones and a beautiful, soft, dangerous mouth. He’d looked like he owned the place—the steps he stood on, the town hall behind him, the whole of Rust Creek Falls and the valley and mountains around it.
Tessa could tell just from the perfect cut of his jacket and the proud set of those broad shoulders that he had money to burn.
Just the sight of him, just the way he’d looked at her...
Oh, she knew the kind of man he was, knew that look he gave her. That look was as dangerous as that beautiful mouth of his.
The last time she’d met a man who gave her that kind of look, she’d thrown away her job, her future, everything, to follow him—and ended up two years later running home to Bozeman to try to glue the shattered pieces of her life back together.
No way could she afford a disaster like that again.
Kayla glanced down at her. “You doing okay, Tessa?”
“Fine,” she lied and rocked the howling Gil some more.
“Just hold on. We’re almost there.”
There was Rust Creek Falls Elementary School, where the parade had started and would end after a slow and stately procession up one side of Main Street and back down the other.
Why couldn’t they hurry a little?
At this pace, he would probably be waiting for her, standing there in the parking lot, the sun picking up bronze highlights in his thick brown hair, looking like a dream come true when she knew very well he was really her worst nightmare just waiting to happen all over again.
Yes, she’d been instantly and powerfully attracted to him. The look on that too-handsome face had said he felt the same. And that was the problem.
Tessa knew all too well where such powerful attractions led: to the complete destruction of the life she’d so painstakingly built for herself. She would not make that mistake twice. Uh-uh. No way.
Five minutes later—minutes that seemed like forever—they turned into the school parking lot. As soon as the float stopped rolling, Tessa jumped to her feet. Taking pity on her, Kayla set down her Lady Liberty torch and reached for the baby.
Gil stopped crying the second his mother’s arms closed around him. “Thanks, Tessa.” Kayla gave her a glowing, new-mommy smile.
Tessa was already jumping to the blacktop, headed for her battered mini-SUV on the far side of the lot. “No problem. Happy to help,” she called back with a quick wave.
“We’ll see you at the picnic,” Kayla called after her.
Tessa waved again but didn’t answer. She wouldn’t be going to the Memorial Day picnic in the park, after all. He was far too likely to show up there, all ready to help her ruin her life for a second time.
She hurried on, grateful beyond measure that she’d thought to drive her car. It wasn’t that far to her grandmother’s boardinghouse, but her stupid webbed stork feet would have really slowed her down. Not to mention, she was far too noticeable dressed as a big white bird.
Yes, she realized it was absurd to imagine that the dark-eyed stranger with whom she’d exchanged a single heated glance might be coming to find her, might even now be on her trail, determined to run her to ground. Absurd, but still...
She knew he would be looking for her, knew it in the shiver beneath her skin, the rapid tattoo of her pulse, the heated rush of her blood through her veins. She could taste it on her tongue with every shaky breath she drew.
It was ridiculous for her to think it, but she thought it, anyway. He would be coming after her.
And she needed to make sure he didn’t find her. Getting to the safety of the boardinghouse was priority number one.
Main Street was packed with parade-goers, so she took North Broomtail Road. Tessa had her windows down. As she rolled along, she could smell the burning hickory wood from the big cast-iron smokers trucked to Rust Creek Falls Park before dawn. The giant racks of ribs and barbecue would have been slow-smoking all day long. The picnic in the park would go on for the rest of the day and into the night.
At Cedar Street she turned left. A minute later, she was pulling into the parking lot behind a ramshackle four-story Victorian—her grandmother’s boardinghouse. Strickland’s Boarding House was purple, or it used to be years ago. The color had slowly faded to lavender gray.
Tessa parked, jumped out and headed for the steps to the back porch, her ridiculous orange stork feet slapping the ground with each step. She didn’t breathe easy until she was inside and on her way up the narrow back stairs.
In her room, she shut and locked the door and wiggled out of the stork suit. She felt sweaty and nervous and completely out of sorts, so she put on her robe, grabbed her toiletries caddy and went down the hall to the bathroom she shared with the tenant in the room next to hers. It was blessedly empty—the whole house felt empty and quiet. Everyone was probably celebrating on Main Street or over at the park.
She took her time, had a nice, soothing shower, slathered herself in lotion afterward and put real care into blowing her unruly curls into smooth, silky waves. She put on makeup, too—which didn’t make a lot of sense if she planned to hide in her room for the rest of the day.
But that was the thing. By the time she got around to applying makeup, an hour had passed since she’d locked eyes with the stranger on Main Street. As the minutes ticked by, her panic and dread had faded down to a faint edginess mixed with a really annoying sense of anticipation.
Come on. He was just a guy—yeah, a really hot guy with beautiful, intense eyes and a mouth made for kissing. But just a guy, nonetheless. It was hardly a crime to be hot and rich and look kissable, now, was it?
She’d overreacted—that was all. And it was silly to let a shared glance with a stranger ruin her holiday. The more she considered the situation, the more determined she became not to run away from this guy.
She was not hiding in her room.
She was taking this out-of-nowhere attraction as a good sign, a sort of reawakening, an indication that she really had recovered—from the awful, depressing way it had ended with Miles and from the loss of the hard-earned, successful life that she’d so cavalierly thrown away to be with him.
Tessa returned to her room and dressed in a white tank that showed a little bit of tummy. She pulled on skinny jeans and her favorite red cowboy boots. She looked good, she thought. Confident. And relaxed.
On the way out the door, she grabbed her Peter Grimm straw cowboy hat with the studs and rhinestones, the leopard-print accents and the crimson cross overlay. The park was half a block from the boardinghouse, so she left her car in the boardinghouse lot and walked.
She was going to have a good time today, damn it. The past didn’t own her. Not anymore.
A single shared glance during the parade didn’t mean a thing. That man was a complete stranger, and he’d probably forgotten all about her by now.
Most likely, she’d never see the guy again.
Chapter Two
Tessa left the sidewalk and started across the rough park grass. She strode confidently toward the rows of coolers filled with ice and canned soft drinks.
Halfway there, Ryan Roarke caught her arm. “Tessa. Come on over here. There’s someone I want you to meet.”
She turned—and there he was, not twenty feet away under a cottonwood, with Kristen, Kayla and Trey. He stared right at her, a sinful look in those beautiful eyes and a smile playing at the corners of his too-tempting mouth. She half stumbled at the sight of him.
Ryan steadied her. “Whoa. You okay?”
She was. Absolutely. She was meeting Mr. Tall, Dark and Danger
ous, and it would be fine. Because he was not Miles and now was not then. “Whoa is right. I think I stepped in a gopher hole.”
Ryan, who was playful and smooth and a little bit goofy all at the same time, gave her a knowing grin. “Gotta watch out for those.”
“Tell me about it.”
Ryan led her to the group under the cottonwood. She gave Kristen and Trey each a hug and touched Kayla’s arm in greeting.
And then the moment came. He spoke to her. “Hello, Tessa.” She lifted her chin and met those dark eyes—really, he was much too tall. Six-four, at least. Too tall, too hot, too...everything. She felt breathless all over again, felt that hungry shiver slide beneath her skin.
Ryan said, “Tessa, this is Carson Drake. He’s up from LA on business. I’ve known him for years, used to do legal work for him now and then.”
Tessa swallowed her breathlessness and teased, “Are you telling me he’s harmless and I should trust him?”
Ryan hesitated. “Harmless. Hmm. Don’t know if I’d go that far.”
“Don’t listen to him,” the man himself cut in gruffly. Then he stage-whispered to Ryan, “You’re supposed to be on my side, remember?”
“Well, I am on your side, man. I’m just not sure if harmless is the right word for you.”
Kristen moved in close to her husband. She tipped her head up and pressed a kiss to Ryan’s square jaw. “Sweetheart, Tessa’s all grown up. She can handle Carson.”
Tessa made a show of rolling her eyes. “Why am I feeling like I’m being set up here?”
“Because I asked to meet you.” That deep, velvety voice rubbed along her nerve endings like an actual caress. Her stomach hollowed out as she stared into his eyes. The warning bells in her head started ringing again, loud and clear.
She ignored them. They were getting no power over her. It was a beautiful day, and she meant to have fun. She looked straight at Carson again, took the full force of those dark eyes head-on. “So, Carson. What kind of business is it that brings you to Rust Creek Falls?”
Ryan volunteered, “He’s here to try and make a deal with Homer Gilmore.”
She kept looking at Carson. He stared right back at her. “What could Homer possibly have that you would want?”
“I want to talk to him about that famous moonshine of his.”
“You want to buy some moonshine?”
“I want to buy the formula.”
“Had any luck with that?”
“Not a lot. I’ve been here two weeks trying to set up a meeting with the man. It’s not happening—though Homer has called me four times.” Carson’s brow furrowed. “At least, I think it was him. But then, I understand he’s homeless. Does he even have a phone? And how did he get my cell number, anyway? Maybe someone’s just pranking me.” He sent Ryan a suspicious glance.
Ryan put up both hands. “Don’t give me that look. If you’ve been pranked, it wasn’t me.”
Kayla suggested, “Homer always knows more than you’d think. He’s a very bright man, and he has a big heart. He’s just a little bit odd.”
Tessa asked Carson, “So what did Homer—if it even was Homer—say when he called you?”
He gazed at her so steadily. A ripple of pleasure spread through her at the obvious admiration in his eyes. “Homer told me that he knew I was looking for him and he was ‘working’ on it.”
“Working on what?”
Carson lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “Your guess is as good as mine. He said he might be willing to talk business with me. Soon.”
Trey prompted, “And?”
“And that’s it.”
“He called you four times and that’s all he said?” Kristen asked.
“Pretty much. It was discouraging. You’d think a homeless person would be eager to meet with someone who only wants to make him rich. Not Homer Gilmore, apparently.”
“You’re serious?” Tessa didn’t really get it. “You want to buy Homer’s moonshine formula and that’s going to make him rich?”
“That’s right.” Carson reached out and took her hand. His touch sent warmth cascading through her. He pulled her closer—and she let him. “Come on. Let’s get a drink.” He wrapped her fingers around his arm. She felt the pricey fabric of his sport coat, the rock-hard muscles beneath, and she didn’t know whether she was scared to death or exhilarated. Carson Drake was even more gorgeous and magnetic close up than from a distance. And he smelled amazing. He probably had his aftershave made specifically for him—bespoke, no doubt, from that famous perfumer in London, at a cost of thousands for a formula all his own.
And it was worth every penny, too.
He gave her a smile.
Pow! A lightning strike of wonderfulness, a hot blast of pure pleasure. It felt so good, to have this particular man looking at her as though there was no one else in the world—too good, and she knew it.
She’d been here before and she should get away. Fast.
But she did nothing of the sort. Instead, she said, “I’ll have a drink with you—but only if you tell me more about how you’re going to buy Homer’s moonshine formula and then make him rich.”
“Done.”
They waved at the others and he led her to the row of coolers, where he grabbed a Budweiser and she took a ginger ale. Arm in arm, they wandered beneath the trees looking for a place to sit—and stopping to visit with just about everyone they passed. Two weeks he’d said he’d been in town. He certainly hadn’t wasted any time getting to know people.
Eventually, they found a rough wooden bench at the foot of a giant fir tree. They sat down together, and Carson told her about his clubs and restaurants in Southern California and about Drake Distilleries.
“I know your products,” she said. “High-end Scotch, rye and whiskey. Vodka and gin, too. And are you telling me you’re hoping to bottle and sell Homer’s moonshine in liquor stores all over the country?”
“All over the world, as a matter of fact.”
“Wow.”
“My family has been making good liquor for nearly a hundred years. When the story of the magic moonshine popped up on the wire services and the web, I read all about it. That was when it happened. I got the shiver.”
“Which shiver is that?”
“The one I get when I have a great idea—like packaging Homer’s moonshine for international distribution under the Drake label.”
“Sounds a little crazy to me.”
“Sometimes the best ideas are kind of crazy. I called Ryan. He gave me more details. Homer’s famous formula is supposed to be delicious. I want to find out if it’s as good as everyone seems to think—and if it is, I want it.”
“Be careful,” she warned. “Last Fourth of July, people drank Homer’s moonshine and then did things they didn’t even remember the next morning.”
“I take my business seriously,” he replied, his eyes level on hers. “And there are a lot of laws governing the bottling and distribution of alcoholic spirits. If I ever get my hands on Homer’s formula, there will be extensive testing and trials before the finished product ever reaches the marketplace.”
She tipped her head down and found herself staring at his boots. They were cowboy boots. Designer cowboy boots. The kind that cost as much as a used car. She sighed at the sight and lifted her gaze to him again. “It is kind of magical, what happened last year. I wasn’t here, but everyone said people had the best time of their lives. There was a lot of hooking up.”
“Thus, the Baby Bonanza.”
“Exactly. People behaved way out of character, lost all control. Homer put the moonshine in the wedding punch, which was only supposed to have a small amount of sparkling wine in it. Nobody knew what they were drinking.”
“I heard about that, too. The old fool is lucky nobody sued his ass.”
“Was he ever arrested or even sued?”
“Nope. By then, folks were past wanting him to pay for what he’d done. It was getting to be something of a town legend, one of those stories people tell their kids, who turn around and tell their kids. It was as if Homer’s moonshine allowed people to be...swept away, to do the things they would ordinarily only dream of doing. I mean, this little town is not the kind of place where people go to a wedding reception in the park and then wake up the next morning with a stranger, minus their clothes.”
He leaned closer, so his forehead almost touched the brim of her hat, bringing the heat of his big body and the wonderful, subtle scent of his skin. “The whole aphrodisiac angle could be interesting—for marketing, I mean.”
“Marketing.” She put some effort into sounding less breathless and more sarcastic. “Because sex sells, right?”
“You said it—I didn’t.” His mouth was only inches from hers.
She thought about kissing him, and wanted that. Too much. To get a little distance, she brought up her hands and pushed lightly at his chest. “You’re in my space.”
One corner of that sinful mouth kicked up. “I think I like it in your space.”
She kept her hands on that broad, hard chest, felt the strong, even beating of his heart—and slowly shook her head.
He took the hint, leaning back against the bench again and sipping his beer. “Ryan tells me you’re from Bozeman.”
“Born, bred and raised.”
“You have a job there in Bozeman, Tessa?”
“I’m a graphic designer. I freelance with a small Bozeman firm—and I mean very small, so small the owner closes it down every summer.”
“And that gives you a chance to have a nice, long visit in beautiful Rust Creek Falls every year?”
“Exactly. I also take work on my own. I have a website, StricklandGraphix.com—that’s an x instead of a cs, in case you’d like to pay me a whole bunch of money to design your next marketing campaign.”
Marriage, Maverick Style! Page 2
