Marriage, Maverick Style!

by Christine Rimmer

  “Are you good?”

  “Now, how do you think I’m going to answer that?”

  “Tell me you’re terrific. I like a woman with confidence.”

  She took off her hat and dropped it on the bench between them. “Glad to hear it. Because when it comes to design, I know my stuff.” Even if I was blackballed from the industry and am highly unlikely to work in a major design firm or ad agency ever again.

  “Where did you study?”

  “The School of Visual Arts.”

  “In New York?”

  She poked him with her elbow. “Your look of complete surprise is not the least flattering.”

  “That’s a great school.” He said it with real admiration.

  She shouldn’t bask in his approval. But she did. “One of the best. I worked in New York for a while after I graduated.”

  “What brought you home to Bozeman?”

  “Now, that’s a long story. One you don’t need to hear right this minute.”

  “But I would love to hear it.” He was leaning close again, his arm along the back of the bench behind her, all manly and much too exciting. “You should tell me. Now.” How did he do that? Have her longing to open her mouth and blather out every stupid mistake she’d ever made?

  Uh-uh. Not happening. “But I’m not telling you now—so let it go.”

  “Maybe you’ll tell me someday?” He sounded almost wistful, and that made her like him more, made her think that he was more than just some cocky rich guy, that there was at least a little vulnerability under the swagger.

  “I guess anything’s possible,” she answered, keeping it vague, longing to move on from the uncomfortable subject.

  Again, he retreated to his side of the bench. She drank a sip of ginger ale. Finally, he said, “You looked amazing in that stork costume.”

  “Oh, please.”

  “You did. You looked dorky and sweet and intriguing and original.”

  “Dorky, huh?”

  “Yeah. Dorky. And perfect. Almost as perfect as you look right now. I couldn’t wait to meet you. And now I never want to leave your side.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  He put up a hand as though swearing an oath. “Honest truth.”

  She let out a big, fake sigh. “Not so perfect with babies, unfortunately. Poor little Gil—that’s Kayla and my cousin Trey’s baby, the one I was holding during the parade.”

  “I remember.”

  “Did you hear him wailing?”

  “I did. Yes.”

  “He’s probably scarred for life after having me hold him for the whole parade.”

  “I’m not much of a baby person, either,” Carson confessed with very little regret.

  She teased, “So you’re saying that we have something in common?”

  “I’ll bet we have a lot in common.” He sounded way too sincere for her peace of mind. She tried to think of something light and easy to say in response, but she had nothing. He picked up her hat, tipped it back and forth so the rhinestone accents glittered in the sunlight, and then set it back down between them. “Any particular reason you rode the Gazette’s float?”

  “Two reasons. One, I need work and I’m trying to get in good with the paper’s editor and publisher. I love Rust Creek Falls and I’m considering moving here permanently—if I can pull enough business together from my website and locally to make ends meet, that is.”

  “And the second reason?”

  She leaned closer and whispered in his ear, “The stork costume fit me.”

  He chuckled at that. Then he asked about her family. “Ryan told me that you’re staying at your grandmother’s boardinghouse.”

  She explained that she had two sisters, one of whom still lived in Bozeman, as did their mom and dad. “My other sister, Claire, her husband, Levi, and Bekka, their little girl, live here at the boardinghouse. Levi manages a furniture store in Kalispell and Claire is the boardinghouse cook.”

  Carson listened to her ramble on. He really seemed to want to know everything about her. She found his interest flattering.

  Maybe too flattering. Was she playing with fire?

  Of course not. She’d met an interesting, attentive man, and she was enjoying his company.

  Nothing wrong with that.

  Eventually, they got up and each took a beer from the coolers. They visited with friends and family until the barbecue came off the smokers; then they sat together at a picnic table with Ryan and Kristen, Trey and Kayla. Tessa’s sister Claire and her husband, Levi, joined them, too.

  Tessa was having a fabulous time.

  Her original fears about Carson seemed so silly now. He liked her. She liked him.

  It was a beautiful day, and she was spending it with a handsome, hunky guy. It would go nowhere, and she was happy with that. Before very long he would return to his glamorous life in LA. She would stay right here in Rust Creek Falls, enjoying her summer break and trying to figure out what to do with the rest of her life.

  Later, as twilight fell, she and Carson got a blanket from his car. They spread the blanket on the grass, got comfortable and talked some more.

  She confessed that she was kind of at a crossroads, trying to decide where to take her graphic design career. There was her nice, safe job in Bozeman and the growing business she was building through her website. “I kind of want to try leaving the Bozeman job and focusing on freelancing independently, but it’s tricky.”

  He stuck his long legs out in front of him and crossed them at the ankles. “I thought you said you wanted to move here, to Rust Creek Falls.”

  “I do, but that doesn’t really fit with my ambitions for work. I’m slowly accepting that eventually I need to choose between trying again for a more ambitious career and a move here.”

  “Go big,” he suggested.

  “And what, exactly, does that mean?”

  He shrugged. “You need to be where the action is. Why don’t you move to LA?”

  She set her hat on the blanket between them and stretched out on her back. Folding her hands on her stomach, she stared up at the darkening sky. “You weren’t listening to me.”

  He leaned over her and touched her chin with a light brush of his finger, causing a bunch of small, winged creatures to take flight in her belly. “I would be there. To help you get settled.”

  She tried to keep it light. “Oh, I just bet you would.”

  “Can you dial back the sarcasm?” He held her eyes.

  “Carson, you hardly know me.”

  “And that’s my point. I want to know you better.”

  There was a moment—a long, sweet one—when he gazed down at her and she looked up at him. The world seemed wide-open at that moment, bright and so beautiful, bursting with hope and limitless possibility.

  He whispered, “It’s just a thought.”

  “Don’t tempt me.” She meant it to sound teasing. Flirtatious. But somehow, it came out too soft. Too full of yearning.

  But then the band started playing over by the portable dance floor beneath the warm glow of the party lights strung between the trees.

  “Come on.” He took her hand and pulled her to her feet. “Let’s dance.”

  And they did dance. For over an hour, they never left the floor. He was more than a foot taller than her, but when he wrapped his big arms around her, it felt only...right. He knew the two-step and how to line dance.

  When she told him she hadn’t expected an LA boy to know the cowboy dances, he laughed. “You oughta see my disco moves.”

  “Okay, Carson. Now you’re starting to freak me out.”

  Eventually, they got bottles of water from the coolers and returned to the blanket. Theirs was a great spot, out of the way of the action, shadowed and private, with only
the thick swirl of the stars and the waning moon overhead for light.

  They whispered together like a couple of bad children plotting insurrections against unwary adults. He told her that he’d been married to his high school sweetheart, Marianne. “Marianne wanted to start a family right away.”

  “And you didn’t want kids, right?”

  “Right. I realized I’d married too young. We divorced. She remarried a couple of years later. Her husband Greg’s a great guy. They have four kids.”

  She stretched out on her back again and stared up at the stars. “So you’re saying she’s happy?”

  “Very. I don’t see much of her anymore, but it’s good between us, you know? We’re past all the ugly stuff. She ended up finding just what she wanted.”

  “And what about you?”

  “I’m happy, too. I like my life. It’s all worked out fine.” He leaned over her, bending closer.

  It just seemed so natural, so absolutely right, to offer her mouth to him, to welcome his kiss.

  His lips settled over hers, light as a breath. They were every bit as soft and supple as they looked. She sighed in welcome as little prickles of pleasure danced through her, and she was glad, so glad, that she’d denied her silly fears and come to the park, after all. That she’d met this charming man and was sharing a great evening with him.

  When he pulled back, his eyes were darker than ever. “What is it about you, Tessa? I can’t take my eyes off you. I feel like I’ve known you forever. And how come you taste so good?”

  She laughed. “Oh, you silver-tongued devil, you.” She was trying to decide whether or not to kiss him again when a raspy throat-clearing sound came from a clump of bushes about ten feet away.

  Tessa sat up. “What was that?”

  Carson challenged, “Who’s there?”

  Branches rustled—and an old man emerged from right out of the center of a big bush. He wore baggy black jeans, a frayed rope for a belt, battered lace-up work boots and the dingy top half of a union suit as a shirt. Bristly gray whiskers peppered his wattled cheeks. What was left of his hair stood up at all angles.

  Tessa recognized him instantly. “Homer Gilmore, were you eavesdropping on us?”

  Chapter Three

  Homer Gilmore blinked as though waking himself from a sound sleep—and then he grinned wide, showing crooked, yellowed teeth. “Well, if it ain’t little Tessa Strickland. Stayin’ at your grandma’s place for the summer?”

  “Yes, I am. And you didn’t answer my question.”

  Homer scratched his stubbly cheek. “Me? Eavesdropping?” He put on a hurt expression. “Tessa, you know me better than that.”

  Beside her, Carson rose smoothly to his feet and held down a hand for her. She took it, and he pulled her up to stand beside him.

  Homer came toward them.

  Carson seemed bemused. “Homer Gilmore. Face-to-face at last.”

  Homer recognized him. “Carson Drake.” He accepted Carson’s offered hand and gave it a quick pump before letting go. “Told you I’d be in touch.”

  “So then, that really was you on the phone?”

  “’Course it was.” Homer had a mason jar of clear liquid in his left hand. “Here.” He shoved it toward Carson.

  Carson eyed the jar doubtfully. “What’s this?”

  “This is what you came here to get.” Homer grabbed Carson’s hand and slapped the jar into it.

  “No kidding.” Carson held the jar up toward the party lights in the distance. “Homer Gilmore’s magic moonshine?”

  “The one and only.” Homer spoke proudly, puffing out his scrawny chest. “Truth is, I like your style, kid. And here’s what I want you to do. Try a taste or two. See what you think. Then we can talk.”

  “I’m sorry.” Carson actually did sound regretful. “It doesn’t work that way.” He tried to hand the jar back.

  Homer refused to take it. “I say how it works. Taste it.”

  “Look, we need a meeting. A real meeting. Yes, there should be sampling, but formal sampling, in a professional setting. And chemical analysis, of course—but all that comes later. First, how about we meet for dinner and we can discuss—”

  “Hold on.” Homer put up a hand. “We’ll get to the talk and the dang analysis. But first, you try it. This deal goes nowhere until you do.”

  “Homer, you’re not listening to me. I can’t just—”

  “Nope. Stop. You heard what I said. Have yourself a taste. After that, we’ll talk.”

  “When, exactly, will we talk?”

  “Don’t get pushy, kid. I’ll be in touch.”

  Carson opened his mouth to say something else—but then shut it without saying anything. Tessa got that. What was the point? Homer wasn’t listening. With a wink and a nod in her direction, the old man turned and walked away. Tessa and Carson stared after him as he vanished into the darkness of the trees.

  Baffled, Carson stared down at the jar in his hand. “I don’t believe this.”

  Tessa dropped to the blanket again. “It’s Homer. What can you expect?”

  “You think he might be crazy?”

  “Of course not. He’s a little peculiar, that’s all. Being an oddball doesn’t make you crazy. Kayla had it right. He really does have a good heart.”

  “If you say so.” But he seemed far from convinced. She patted the space beside her. He folded his tall frame down next to her. “So...” He set the jar on the blanket next to her hat. For several seconds, they stared at it together. Over near the dance floor, the band launched into the next number.

  Tessa laughed when she recognized the song. “That’s ‘Alcohol’ by Brad Paisley. Perfect, huh?”

  Carson slanted her a look full of mischief and delicious badness. “Want to try it?”

  She did want to try it. She was really, really curious—just to know how it might taste, to maybe get a sense of whether or not any of the outrageous rumors about it might be true.

  “Tessa?” he prompted when she failed to answer him.

  She tried to remind herself of all the reasons that taking a chance on Homer’s moonshine was not a good idea. “It could be dangerous...”

  “You really think it’s all that bad?”

  “I didn’t say bad. But you’ve heard the stories.”

  He flapped his arms. “Bok-bok-bok.”

  She laughed and gave his shoulder a playful shove. “Don’t make chicken sounds at me. I’m being responsible.”

  He leaned a little closer. “And what fun is that?”

  Oh, she did like him. She liked him a lot—liked him more and more the longer she was with him. He was not only hot. He was fun and smart and perceptive.

  And a very good kisser.

  Did he see in her eyes that she was thinking about kissing him? Seemed like he must have, because he leaned even closer and brushed a second kiss against her mouth.

  So good.

  His lips settled more firmly on hers. She sighed in pure delight and had to resist the sharp desire to slide a hand up around his neck and pull him closer still.

  She was probably in big trouble.

  But the more she got to know him, the less she feared her attraction to him and the more it just felt right to be sitting beside him under the stars with the band playing country favorites. The night had a glow about it, even here in the shadows on their private little square of blanket. She was having so much fun with him, loving every minute of this night. She never wanted it to end. She wanted to sit here and enjoy the man beside her and maybe, a little later, to get up and dance some more. And after that, to steal another kiss.

  And another after that.

  He reached for the mason jar and unscrewed the lid.

  She leaned close and whispered, “You shouldn’t have
done that. It’s all over now. Our lives will never be the same.”

  He arched an eyebrow at her. “The temptation is just too great. I can’t resist.” He sniffed at the open jar. “Smells like a peach.” He tipped his head to the side, his expression suddenly far away. “I’ve always loved peaches.”

  “Peaches? No, really?”

  “Really.” He offered her the jar.

  She took it and sniffed the contents for herself. “Hmm. Smells like summer.”

  “What’d I tell you?”

  “But not peaches. Blackberries. Just a hint.” She really wanted to taste it now. “I adore blackberries. They’re my favorite fruit.”

  He wrapped his big hand over hers, and they held the jar together. He sniffed again, then insisted, “Admit it. It smells like peaches.”

  “No, Carson.” She shook a finger at him. “Blackberries.”

  “Peaches.”

  “Blackberries. And look.” She pulled the jar free of his grip and held it up to the party lights. “It even has a faint purple tint. Can’t you see it?”

  He took it from her hand and raised it high to decide for himself. “Looks more golden to me.” He faked a serious expression. “And really, it would be a bad idea to taste it. Right?”

  “Right. Bad idea to—Carson!” She let out a silly shriek as he took a careful sip from the jar. And then she leaned closer and asked, wide-eyed, “Well?”

  He swallowed. Slowly. “That’s good. Really good.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “Blackberries, right?” She nodded, holding his gaze, certain she could get him to nod along with her.

  But his head went the other way—side to side. “Peaches. Definitely. And a hint of a moonshine burn going down. Gives it a nice kick.”

  “You’re just playing with me.”

  He looked slightly wounded. “Never.”

  Only one way to make sure. “Give me that.”

  He held it away. “You’d better not. You never know what might happen.”

  “Knock it off, Carson. Hand it over.”

  “Whoa. Suddenly you’re a tough girl.”