One More Taste

by Melissa Cutler

  “You want to christen the truck? All right, then. That would be one way to celebrate it getting fixed up after two plunges into Lake Bandit.”

  Emily bolted upright, her eyes wide and a sly smile on her lips. “Forget necking. I’ve got a better idea to christen it.”

  “Well, so did I. I thought we’d do a lot more than just neck.”

  “No, no, no. I have a plan.” She threw off the blanket and stood.

  He loved it when she got this way, so caught up with passion for a new idea that she barely remembered that the rest of the world existed. Usually, though, she only got that way about cooking, and now that she was on the verge of opening up her restaurant, Subterranean, those light bulb moments were hitting her faster than ever. “Do tell. The suspense is killing me.”

  “I think we should try to roll your truck onto the resort property.”

  Knox groaned and rolled his neck. “That’s your big idea? We’ve tried that. A lot. It doesn’t work.”

  “We haven’t tried it since everything came out about Ty being your dad. We’ve haven’t tried it since we bought the resort. There’s something in the air tonight. I feel like this is our shot. I think your dad’s ready to stop haunting your truck.”

  Knox eased up to standing, then patted the roof of the cab. “That would be a shame. I’m pretty fond of having a haunted truck.”

  “Well, then, maybe it’s time your fatherly ghost knows it’s time to stop holding you back.”

  He lassoed her into a hug. “I like the way you think.”

  “I know.” She tapped her temple. “I like the way I think, too.”

  Full of love, he took a good long look at the woman he was going to marry. “Emily, I have a question for you.”

  “What?”

  He pecked a kiss on her lips. “Do you want to drive or push?”

  She let out a triumphant whoop of laughter. “I’ll drive.”

  “You know how to start it by popping the clutch?”

  She leapt over the side of the bed and onto the ground. “Done it a million times.”

  All Knox could do was laugh; she was so single-minded in her enthusiasm. He jumped out of the truck and watched Emily get settled in the driver’s seat. “See if you can get it right to the edge of the hill before it dies. Sometimes it’s generous to me like that.”

  She flashed him a thumbs-up and started the engine.

  Knox moseyed behind the truck as she eased it to the property line and stopped. It took a second for Knox to register the chug of the engine. It hadn’t died.

  Emily looked at Knox through the side mirror, a questioning look on her face. “Knox, are you seeing this?”

  Hope bloomed in his chest. “Let it go forward a few more inches.”

  She let up on the brake and the truck rolled forward—and remained on.

  Holy Mother of God. “Keep going. The engine doesn’t seem like it wants to die.” He watched in awe as she slowly rolled the truck all the way over the property line, where she hit the brakes again.

  The next time Emily looked at him through the mirror, her smile could have lit up the night. “What the hell’s going on, Knox?”

  “I have no idea.”

  She threw her head back and laughed. “Don’t just stand there,” she called. “Get in! Come drive this truck of yours around your newly purchased luxury resort. I’ll slide over.”

  Feeling like he was in a dream, Knox walked the length of the truck, listening to that chug chug chug.

  He stopped at the driver’s door, but before opening it, he bent down and used the side mirror as an ear. “Thank you.”

  When Knox climbed behind the wheel of the truck, his heart busting with pure joy. He didn’t realize he was crying until he felt the wetness on his cheek. A glance at Emily told him she was getting weepy, too.

  “Do you think this means your dad’s gone?” she asked quietly.

  His dad. For all his faults, Clint Briscoe had been Knox’s dad for thirty-two years, and he’d done the very best he could. Knox knew he’d never stop calling him Dad, just as sure as he was that his dad was watching over him from on High.

  Knox’s relationship with Ty was still awkward at times, but they were working on figuring out their place in the other’s life, and in the month since the truth had come out, they’d managed to settle into a mostly comfortable peace. Really, it was impossible to stay angry with the man who’d lost his business and was in the process of what would probably be a costly divorce. Not to mention that Ty had lost a daughter, as well.

  In truth, the whole family was grieving Haylie’s absence. At least she was safe. She’d called Emily a couple of times to check in, though she would never say where she was. At least the calls had managed to set the family’s minds at ease and had given Emily the opportunity to tell her that Knox had made short work of firing Wendell. The last Knox had heard, Wendell had gone to live with his mother in El Paso. Hopefully, that was far away from wherever Haylie was putting down new roots.

  Knox rolled his eyes heavenward. “I don’t think my dad’s gone, but I do think it means he’s resting now. He’s at peace.”

  Emily reached across the seat and took his hand. “You set him free.”

  “I’m the one who’s been set free, Emily. By you.” Unsatisfied with merely holding her hand, he reached over and pulled her right alongside his hip and stretched his arm around her. “That’s better.”

  Her gaze roved over the resort. “This is ours now. I still can’t believe it. We’re the keepers of the Briscoe legacy. And I’m not even a Briscoe yet.”

  “Sounds like we’d better get that ring on your finger this December instead of waiting.”

  “December? Does that mean you’re a believer in the resort’s holiday wedding magic now, too?”

  “Consider me a new convert about how much magic’s in the air around here.”

  She settled back in his arm and cupped his cheek, then gave him a slow, sweet kiss. “Who would’ve thought Knox Briscoe, businessman, self-made millionaire entrepreneur, would believe in ghosts and magic?”

  “On the other hand, not everyone is lucky enough to drive a haunted truck, so I consider myself lucky to have been enlightened in that way. Ready to go meet our family for movie night?”

  Emily sighed. “Ready as I’ll ever be, but how about we take the long way around, give this old truck a tour of the place? Plus, I’m not quite ready to share you yet tonight.”

  With his arm still around Emily, Knox eased up on the brake and pressed the gas. The truck rolled forward, just as it was supposed to. He took his time going down the hill, feeling the breeze in his hair and soaking in every moment. He took a left at the bottom of the hill and drove them along the water, which had turned golden in the setting sun. Somewhere near the middle of the lake, movement caught his eye. He looked in time to watch a familiar silver carp splash back into the water.

  Rising behind the hills, the moon shone down on the crystal clear night. And all around them, the sights and sounds and smells of Briscoe Ranch’s holiday season were in full effect. Laughing and cuddling, they kept driving, taking a slow, back road tour of their home, sweet home. Life just didn’t get any more magical than that.

  Read on for an excerpt from Melissa Cutler’s next book

  ONE WILD NIGHT

  Coming soon from St. Martin’s Paperbacks

  Chapter One

  If only Skye Martinez could run a fever on command. Or, after a few bites of the eggplant parmesan that Mrs. Biaggi of Vito’s Eatery just delivered to the table, maybe she could fake food poisoning. Anything to get her out of this disaster of a blind date, the latest in a string of them. That was the trouble with living in a small Texas town. All the good men were taken—along with most of the bad ones too.

  “And here’s your meatball, Sweetums,” Mrs. Biaggi said.

  Sweetums, in this case, was Vince Biaggi, Skye’s date—and Mrs. Biaggi’s son.

  Yeah.

  Skye was gonna kil
l Granny June for this one.

  “It looks great, as always, Mother,” Vince said, digging in. With a mouth full of meatball, he poked his fork in Skye’s direction. “Now you see why I wanted us to eat here. There’s no sense paying for dinner when we can eat for free.”

  Naturally.

  Mrs. Biaggi gave Skye a nudge and a wink. “Vince brings all his first dates here. It gives his Pops and me a chance to check out the merchandise.”

  And now she was merchandise. Good to know.

  She took a despairing glance at her phone, which she’s positioned strategically at the opening of her purse. Twenty minutes until her sister Gloria was scheduled to call, in case Skye needed to fake an emergency and escape. When she raised her gaze, it was find Vince and his mother beaming at her.

  “Go on and try the eggplant parmesan,” Mrs. Biaggi said. “It’s been Vince’s favorite since he was just a little squirt.”

  Skye made slow work of slicing the eggplant cutlet as her mind scrolled through possible ways to make Granny June pay. Maybe she’d reprogram the horn on Granny’s riding scooter to play chicken noises. Or set her up on a blind date disaster of her own. God knew there were plenty of toothless or senile senior men at Skye’s church. Or maybe Skye could get her mom to whip up one of her old world curses to turn Granny’s hair bright blue.

  Then again, probably Granny June would approve of that one.

  Granny June Briscoe was the matriarch of the family-owned Briscoe Ranch Resort where Skye’s family had worked for almost four decades, and where Skye worked in housekeeping. Usually, Granny June had a knack for matchmaking—which was the only reason Skye had agreed go on a date with the son of one of Granny’s Bingo buddies. Well, that, and the fact that Skye had made a decision to abandon her rebellious nature and settle down like the good Catholic woman she was raised to be.

  She had a bite of food halfway to her lips when, miracle of miracles, her phone chimed with an incoming text. It was all she could do to hide her relief.

  “Oh Gosh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize I’d left the volume on. Excuse me,” she murmured with a smile of apology as she set her fork down and lifted the phone.

  The text read, This wedding is bananas crazy.

  It wasn’t from her sister, but from her friend Remedy, the head wedding planner at Briscoe Ranch. In Skye’s ample experience at the resort, all weddings fell somewhere on the crazy spectrum, so tonight’s affair would have to be extra gonzo for Remedy to text something like that.

  Skye waved her phone at Vince. “Sorry, it’s my mom. Just a sec.” Oh, how the lies rolled off her tongue. But she couldn’t find it in her heart to care as she let her fingers fly over the touch keys.

  Crazier than the date I’m on? she texted.

  Looking at Mrs. Biaggi and Vince, she forced her smile to stay apologetic while waiting for Remedy’s reply. It came a minute later.

  Better hurry if you want to see the maid of honor doing tequila shots from the best man’s belt buckle flask with no hands.

  That did sound bananas crazy—and exactly what Skye needed to salvage her Saturday night. A zing of delicious, addictive adrenaline pulsed through her veins. It was only a small fix of her preferred vice—nowhere near enough to satisfy the rebellious streak she’d been cursed with—but it was way more of a thrill than she’d expected out of the night.

  “Aw, shoot,” Skye said, taking her purse handles in one hand and waving her phone in the other as she stood. Her napkin fell from her lap to the floor, but she didn’t dare risk losing momentum by stooping to pick it up. “My mom needs me. My dad, with his bad back … he fell again and he’s stuck. She can’t get him off the floor on her own.” Which was kind of the truth. Sort of. He’d fallen a few times lately and had needed Skye’s help to hoist him up again.

  She sent up a quick mental prayer for forgiveness for using her dad’s disability as an excuse. Then she dashed off a second prayer for forgiveness about lying in the first place, covering all her bases. One thing she wouldn’t feel guilty about was running out on their free meal.

  Vince looked as lost as a boy who was just told his dog had to visit a farm far, far away. He poked at his half-eaten meatball. “But our date’s not over.”

  Yeah, buddy, it is. “I’ll text you.”

  Another lie, another prayer. Such was life.

  Skye grabbed a dinner roll from the table, nodded to a still agape Mrs. Biaggi, and dashed through the front door. She’d driven herself to the restaurant, a rule she’d learned the hard way a few years back while on another excruciating blind date. In fact, she’d come to think of inviting a guy to pick her up at home for a date as a big relationship step—one that the men she’d dated had seldom made it to.

  Racing the clock, hoping to catch the maid of honor’s and groom’s belt buckle antics, Skye arrived at Briscoe Ranch Resort’s in record time. After tossing her car keys to her cousin Marco who was working valet that night, she hot-footed it through the lobby and ascended the grand staircase, headed to the ballroom on the second level.

  What she saw as she crested the stairs didn’t disappoint. With a small crowd surrounding them, Remedy and her assistant Tabby were pushing a luggage trolley through a small crowd of onlookers. Seated on the base of the trolley was a very, very drunk young woman who slumped against one of the trolley’s brass poles as her eyes fluttered open and closed. The voluminous yellow bridesmaid’s dress she wore billowed out around her like she was being eaten alive by Pac-Man.

  Skye’s mouth fell open at the sight, but she sprang to action again when the yellow dress caught in the trolley’s wheels, and rushed over to free the material. “Is this the maid of honor?”

  Remedy flashed a wry smile. “Oh, yes. And it’s time for her to turn in for the night.” She patted the woman on the top of her elaborate, hairspray-crispy updo. “Sound good, Kimberly?”

  Kimberly groaned. Her head lolled to the side.

  “I think it’s a little past time,” Tabby muttered.

  With Skye clearing the crowd from their path, Remedy and Tabby wheeled the trolley to the elevators, where Remedy got on her phone to request that someone meet them at Kimberly’s room with the master key to let them in, since they hadn’t snagged her clutch purse during their hustle to get her off the bride and groom’s sweetheart table and out of the ballroom.

  “So, your date was a bust?” Remedy asked Skye once they were in an elevator, headed to the fifth floor.

  Skye pressed her fingers to her temples. “This guy was even worse than the last one. Remember him? He kept steering the conversation back to his plant collection and making double entendres about propagating succulents.”

  Remedy snorted out a laugh. “This guy was worse?”

  “He took me to dinner at his parents’ restaurant so he wouldn’t have to pay and so they could scope out the merchandise.”

  Remedy gave her a playful hit on the shoulder. “Ew!”

  “Right? I know I said I wanted to settle down with a nice, vanilla, Catholic guy, but Vince Biaggi was a little too vanilla. I have to believe that in the danger-and-drama spectrum of Vince on one end and Mike the Mistake on the other, there’s got to be some middle ground.”

  Mike the Mistake was Skye’s ex-husband. Except she couldn’t quite get the word ex-husband past her lips. Partly because, eight years later, she was still reeling in disbelief that she’d ever been that out-of-control twenty-year-old who’d allowed the thrill of rebellion to intoxicate her into marrying a lion keeper with an international traveling circus—even if they’d only lasted for three months. And partly out of respect for her faith and her parents, both of which strictly forbid divorce. That three-month marriage had caused her nothing but pain and had resulted in the greatest sin of her life—a sin she could never afford to make again. Which was why she had to get it right next time when it came to choosing a mate, because next time would be forever, for real.

  On the fifth floor, they rounded the corner and found Skye’s mom leanin
g against the wall just outside of Kimberley’s hotel room door. Clad in the resort’s standard-issue middle management uniform of a burgundy skirt suit, she held herself with the noble bearing that came with being the fierce loving, no-nonsense heart of both the resort and the Martinez family. She’d put on some pounds since Skye’s dad’s health had deteriorated a few years earlier, and they’d pleasantly softened her compact, athletic build in a way that made Skye want to hug her every chance she got—not that her mother appreciated any random display of affection.

  “Hey, Mom,” Skye said. “What are you doing here? What good is it being in charge if you keep working Saturday nights?”

  Her mom flashed the key fob at room 524’s door, then shouldered it open and held it for Remedy and the luggage trolley. “Your father was driving me crazy. You know how grouchy he gets when his back’s hurting him. I made him a poultice of herbs, brewed up my abuela’s tea, and sent him to bed.” She frowned sympathetically at Kimberly as Remedy and Tabby wheeled her in. “Poor thing.”

  “Kimberly made some bad choices tonight,” Tabby said as she pushed.

  Her mom shifted her focus to Remedy, a brow raised in a bid for more details, but Remedy just shook her head. “It involves the best man’s belt buckle. You don’t want to know.”

  “You’re right,” Skye’s mom said, following them farther into the room. “Where are her friends? Why aren’t they taking care of her?”

  “The DJ had them busy running through the gamut of eighties dance styles at the reception,” Remedy said. “Kimberly was attempting the Running Man on top of a table while a couple of groomsman were filming up her skirt when I found her.”

  “Bastards,” her mom muttered. “Speaking of which … Skye, I thought you were on a date tonight.”

  The trolley wheels snagged on something, giving Skye a chance to look around. The room was a wreck. Every horizontal surface was covered with discarded champagne flutes, makeup, plastic dry cleaning bags, and glitter. So much glitter.