by Maisey Yates
“Which we have. Trust me. But Silver Creek has sort of become big with retirees. And tourists too. A good thing, because Elk Haven has really benefitted from that.”
“Do you get a lot of guests?”
“Yes. But we’re still just hanging on in the slow season. It warms up in June, so next month we’ll start getting guests and then some through ski season. It’s cold and miserable here if you aren’t into winter sports, but those that are tend to be pretty die-hard. Which works for me.”
“Do you ski?” she asked.
“No. I hate snow. It’s cold. It’s wet. It’s hell to try and wade through to get ranch work done in the winter.”
“You’re not in a great place to hate snow, Mr. Mitchell,” she said, getting out of the truck and looking up and down the street. There was a bronze-cast statue of a frolicking foal in front of the post office, and down behind that was a cowboy, frozen in metal, his rope above his head, his horse captured mid-stride.
“No. But it’s home.” He smiled, and she felt it echo through her body, a tightening response she couldn’t control or stop. The way he said home. The way he so clearly felt it. And how sexy he looked thinking about it. It made her feel all warm inside. And warm in . . . places.
Not okay, Kelsey. Not okay.
She cleared her throat and looked up at the mountains that surrounded the town, blue peaks blending into the sky. “I’d love to feel that way about a place.”
“You don’t feel that way about Portland?”
She followed him down the sidewalk, working to keep up with his long strides. “I like Portland. It’s quirky and it’s fun. You can get donuts twenty-four hours a day. And there are these little cafes that are word of mouth only. One of them makes you feel like you’re underwater. Anything you want, they have it, weirder than you could have imagined. It’s just . . . it’s different from how I grew up. And I love that. But I don’t know if it feels like home. But then, home doesn’t feel like home either, because I don’t really fit in there.”
“Why is that? Did your mother drop you on your head or . . . ?”
She snorted a laugh. “The other theory is that I was delivered by FedEx. Either is plausible.”
“Maybe FedEx dropped you in transit.” Another one of those smiles.
“Ah, yeah. Funny. Never heard that one.”
“Expectation is a funny thing. It either pushes you to try harder so you don’t disappoint or it pushes you in the opposite direction. So how do you even know what to do with a kid?” he asked, his tone serious.
“I don’t know,” she said, frowning. “My parents—and I love them dearly—drive me crazy.”
“Mine were the best,” he said, an odd note in his tone. “My dad was hard. He expected the best from us, but we knew it was because he knew we were capable of greatness. Cade especially. He lived his dream. He went pro. That came from being pushed. At least, that’s how I remember him. That’s how I knew him when he was alive.”
There was something more there, something more he wasn’t saying, and not on accident. “I, on the other hand, got pushed in the other direction,” she said. “What about your mom?”
“She was the support. She was . . . she made us all strong. She made sure we knew we were loved. And when she got . . .” He paused, looking past her, his eyes unfocused. “When she died, everything went to hell. We all wish we could have had longer with her. But Lark . . . I really wish Lark would have had longer with both of our parents. She was too young to lose them.”
“There’s never a good time.”
He stopped walking and turned to face her. “We’re not going to screw our kid up, are we?”
His face, the seriousness, the depth of concern, stole her breath straight from her lungs. “Do you . . . I mean . . . have you made a decision for sure, or . . . ?”
“I haven’t stopped thinking about it. Not since I found out you were pregnant. In some ways it would be simpler to just walk away, but . . . there’s not really anything simple about knowing you have a son or daughter somewhere. One you’ll never know. I don’t think I could live with that, Kelsey.” His gaze was intense, his jaw locked tight, a muscle twitching in his cheek.
“I won’t ask you to, Cole. I know . . . I know you’ll be a good father. I don’t know how we’re going to do the rest of this, but I do know you’ll do a good job. However big of a part you play.”
“We have time,” he said, turning and walking down the sidewalk again.
She nodded slowly, trying to remember to breathe. “Yes. We do.”
“I’m going to the post office. And to get the spider gear I ordered, over at John’s.”
“I’m not even going to ask you what that is.”
He laughed, breaking some of the tension. “Fine.”
“Because I don’t care.”
“I assumed as much.” He opened the door to the post office and waited.
She looked at him. “Chivalry.”
“Manners. My mom taught me those. My dad taught me to spit.”
“How is it you’re single?”
“One of the great mysteries of our time.”
She walked along behind him, touching the row of PO Boxes that lined the wall. Everything in Silver Creek had a sort of rustic charm. Even the gilded, old-fashioned post office boxes.
Cole took his keys out of his pocket and opened his box, pulling out a thick stack of mail before shutting it again. “Exciting times. Looks like Lark got her new Tech Gear magazine.”
“She’s big into computers, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“Were either of your parents into computers?”
He frowned and shook his head, turning and walking back to the front door of the post office. “No. We didn’t even get one until Lark was maybe . . . seven or so. And then dad had someone from town come and help out because he didn’t want anything to do with it. But Lark learned on her own. She was doing all kinds of cool things with spreadsheets when she was ten. She’s always kept us organized.”
“And your parents encouraged her?” He held the door open, and she paused, standing beneath his arm.
“They did,” he said slowly. “Because they recognized that she was good at it.”
“So maybe that’s the key then,” she said. “Encouraging your kids and pushing them, but . . . noticing what they want too.”
“A parenting mystery solved. And it’s not even noon.”
“Maybe we don’t suck at this.”
“Maybe.”
He released the door and they both continued down the street. “Just so you know, John will probably hit on you. He’s harmless, but he tries to pick up anything that moves.”
“I’m sort of insulted by that. If you’re going to tell me that a guy is going to hit on me, follow it up with something like, ‘He only tries to boink the classiest women he meets.’ You know, something to make a girl feel special.”
He turned and huffed out a laugh. “You’re funny.”
“Thanks. I get paid to write my witticisms down, actually. Quite well.”
“I know, but you weren’t very funny when I first met you.”
“Throwing up for fourteen straight days will do that to a girl.” She cleared her throat, trying to stop it from tightening with the emotion that was rising in her chest. “And I felt . . . really alone. I don’t so much now. It’s nice.”
Cole cleared his throat. “Good.”
The hardware store was just another cute fixture of the town. Every piece of trim was painted a crisp white, while the rest was dark red. It was clean. Cleaner than anything in the city, and certainly cleaner than anything in her hometown.
“This is a bit Stepfordian,” she said, wandering through a row of gleaming tools on their way to the counter in the back, which was made from old-fashioned cracker barrels with a slab of marble counter of the top of them.
“It adds to the charm,” he said. “Actually, in truth, this is becoming a top-dollar place to live. A ranch like Elk
Haven would be worth a few million dollars if we decided to sell.”
“Really?”
“But we won’t. It’s been in our family about ninety years. It’s more than money. It’s . . . it’s a legacy.”
“So you really aren’t just stuck here.”
“No. Not even close.”
“I guess I tend to picture people as being stuck in small towns. Not . . . choosing to live in them.”
“I would feel more stuck in the city. I like having the option to drive to one, but I can’t imagine living in one.”
“Hmm.”
A man walked out from the back room, looking every bit as clean and neat as the store. He was about Cole’s age and in good enough shape that she looked a couple times.
“Hey, Cole. Here for the spider gear?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you related to this man, miss? Because I can’t imagine any other reason you’d be hanging out with an ass like him.” The man—John, she assumed—directed that statement toward her.
“Thankfully no. Not related.” The idea made her cringe, all things considered.
“She’s staying at the ranch. Her and a friend. I thought I’d show her around town. Kelsey Noble, John Campbell.”
“Pleasure,” he said, sticking out his hand. He gave her thumb an extra sweep with his when she shook it, a clear invitation to flirtation. Even as out of practice as she was, she recognized it. And she was pretty proud that she had.
“Nice to meet you,” she said, putting her hand back at her side, unable to resist wiping off the impression of his touch on her jeans.
He was cute, but she wasn’t even tempted.
He bent beneath the counter and pulled out a small brown box. “Here you go,” he said, sliding it over to Cole. “That should fix it. Do you need anything else?”
“Lark mentioned putting some pansies in the boxes out front. Do you have pansies?”
“We just got a bunch of flats in. They’re out back if you want to take a look.”
“That’d be good. I should probably call her and find out what color she wants.” Cole pulled his phone out of his pocket and headed out the back door. Kelsey made a move to follow him, but John intercepted her.
“So, where are you from?”
Blah. He was actually chatting her up. And so obviously too. Did this ever work for men? It must, or they wouldn’t bother.
“I’m from Portland. Well, not from from there, but that’s where I live now.”
“Yeah?” He smiled, that slow, don’t-you-want-me-baby kind of smile. “What do you do?”
“I write.”
“Novels?” he asked, his eyebrows arching.
“No. A column.”
He deflated visibly. “Oh. That’s interesting.”
“It actually is.”
“No, no. It is,” he said, attempting a recovery. “What do you write about?”
“I’m due in November,” she said, the tart words slipping out without her permission.
His eyes widened and he took a physical step away. “Pardon?”
“The baby’s due in November.”
“Well . . .” He cleared his throat. “Congratulations.” He walked quickly back behind the counter and feigned interest in something she couldn’t see from where she was standing.
She fought the urge to laugh. That had been . . . way more fun than it should have been.
Cole walked back through a second later with a flat of deep purple pansies and a scowl on his handsome face. “I thought you were behind me.”
She smirked and shot John, who was still not looking in her direction, a quick glance. “I was.”
“Put it on my tab,” Cole said.
John nodded in agreement; at least, she thought he did. It was hard to tell when he was still keeping his head intently focused down so he wouldn’t have to look her in the eye again.
She bit her lip and followed Cole as he exited the store. The minute the door swung closed behind them, her laugh escaped, along with an inelegant snort.
“What?” Cole asked.
“You should . . . oh . . . you were right,” she said, wiping her eyes.
“About?”
“He hit on me.”
“And?”
“And I told him I was due in November.”
Cole looked like she’d slapped him across the face with a fish. His mouth went slack, his eyes wide. An expletive that made a woman walking down the street do a double take escaped his lips.
“I didn’t tell him it was yours,” she said, rolling her eyes.
“Well, he’ll assume.”
“Why? I’m a guest at your ranch. As far as he knows I have a husband. And I have a feeling that wouldn’t have bothered him.” She looked away from Cole, focusing on the bronze cowboy. “Anyway, everyone will have to know eventually, won’t they?”
“Yeah, eventually,” he said. “But not like that.”
“I know.” She sighed. “I’m not really looking forward to everyone finding out. Well, not your family so much as mine. But I already weathered Alexa’s judgment, and I lived.”
“She doesn’t seem to like me much.”
“She’s protective.”
He let out a breath. “Sorry. About freaking out.”
“You’re allowed a few freak-outs. This is big.”
“It is. But I’ve made my choice. Yeah. I have. I’ve made it. I want to be involved. Not just a little bit, but as much as I can be.”
Kelsey’s stomach tightened. “I . . . I don’t know how it’s all going to work out.”
“I don’t either. But I think we can figure something out.”
“We can go to the truck if you want. So you’re not holding the pansies.”
He looked down, like he was surprised to still see the flat of flowers there. “Right.”
She followed him back to the truck and climbed into the passenger side, waiting while he deposited the flowers in the bed. He got into the driver’s side and closed the door. He put the key in the ignition, but didn’t turn it on.
“We’ll make it work,” he said, not looking at her.
She looked down at her hands, a lump forming in her chest. “I . . .” And she realized that they had to. Because he was her child’s father. It didn’t work to pretend that he didn’t have a link. Not for her. Because she felt a connection, an attachment, already. And she knew he felt something too. “Yeah. We’ll make it work.”
They would figure out a way. They would be mature and rational. She wouldn’t think about the way his smile made her stomach tighten and made it hard to breathe. Because this whole thing was bigger than they were, and she had to remember that.
Yes, they would make it work. And hopefully they wouldn’t kill each other in the process.
Chapter Eight
“You look nice today.”
Alexa turned, scowl at the ready, and treated Tyler to a deadly glare. “Not happening.”
She was already unnerved in all the wide-open space, and having him sneak up on her like that when she’d dared to venture out into the corral area just seemed cruel.
“I can’t compliment you?” he asked, arching one eyebrow.
“Not with that tone, you can’t. I’ve been around, little boy. I know the games. I know exactly what a man means when he says, ‘You look nice today.’ And I’m not falling for it.”
He cocked his head to the side, a half smile curving his lips, blue eyes that were too damn enticing for her own good glinting. “Maybe that’s how it’s been in your experience. I’m sure you know more than I do, simple country boy that I am.” He said it dryly, none of that put-on cowboy charm from the day before. “But where I come from, a man tells a woman she looks nice when she does. Because not doing it would be a crime. Especially when the woman looks as beautiful as you do.”
That successfully sucked her retort right out of her brain. Alexa couldn’t remember the last time a man had left her speechless, if ever. She was the alpha female. If
she wanted a guy, she got him. If she didn’t, or shouldn’t, she pushed him away. And he listened.
But Tyler was . . . charming. And it was doing something to her. She didn’t get it. Not in the least.
“Then I accept,” she said, when she could finally grab hold of enough words to form a sentence. “At face value. So if you’re keeping score or trying to . . . you know, well, don’t think it worked. Because I am taking it as is, and not . . . um. You know.”
“Got it,” he said.
“So, what is there to do around here?” she asked, surveying the corral, which was surrounded by stables. And dust. Dust that she bet, with the first few raindrops, turned into deep, slick mud. The thought should totally squick her out. Not fill her head with images of Tyler with mud on his jeans up to his thighs . . . his shirt inexplicably discarded, muscular chest splattered with just a little bit of—
“Seriously,” she said, desperate to drag her mind out of the gutter. “Is there anything to do?”
“I manage to fill my days up. But then, I have to work.”
“I work.”
“What do you do?”
“Advertising. In New York.”
“You work on concepts for commercials?” he asked.
“Print ads, online ads, television, buses, billboards. Anywhere you can stick an ad, I can figure out how to make people want to look at it and buy the product.”
“Sounds interesting.”
“It is. I love it.”
“And you like living in the city.”
“Love it.” She looked around the corral. “I mean, this is its own thing. There’s nothing wrong with it, but it’s really not . . . me.”
“Want to see something cool?”
She narrowed her eyes. “If this has anything to do with you undoing that belt buckle . . . I’ve seen it all before.”
“Nope. Sorry to disappoint you. You seem to think about that sort of thing a lot when I’m around. Interesting.” He turned and started walking toward the stable.
She sputtered and followed behind him, trying to dodge the soft spots on the ground out of fear for her leather boots, which were more suited to sidewalks than dirt. “Now, wait a minute. You’re the one thinking about . . . about sex.”
