One Hot Summer

by Melissa Cutler

  She took his hand in hers. “Not stupid.”

  “A little stupid. Because the maddening thing about fire and about loss is that there’s no way to control it one hundred percent. There’s no way to guarantee it won’t happen.”

  Her eyes turned pained again. “No.”

  “As Xavier helped me see tonight, the only thing I can control is my fear. And that’s a stubborn son of a bitch.”

  “I’ve found that to be true, too, with my life and my fears.”

  He brought her hand up to his lips to kiss. “You saved Granny June.”

  Her exhalation was almost a quiet chuckle. “You and I have been over that already. You saved her, not me. I’m the one who nearly got her killed. I’m the one responsible for the fires at the resort. The reason I don’t fit in anywhere is because I create destruction everywhere I go. The ballroom, your brother’s injury, now this. I am chaos incarnate.”

  The description evoked from him a sad smile. “I know you are.”

  Tears slid down her cheeks. “There is no place for me in this world. I keep waiting for all the pieces of my life to click into place, but nothing ever clicks.”

  “You and I clicked. Instantly.”

  “Why? Because I set the fires and you put them out? Is that our yin and yang?” Her voice was bitter and weary, so far away from the Remedy he knew and loved.

  “You once said to me, ‘What’s a town hero without a little trouble to keep him in business?’”

  “And you told me that I wrecked your life.”

  Goddamn, it destroyed him to watch her hurt sweep over her face. “I was wrong. And I was scared.”

  “You’re right to be scared of me, because I’m a mess.”

  “No. I meant I was scared of losing you, scared that you would leave me.” Such foreign words. They lurched out of his mouth and sounded distant to his ears. Him, the badass firefighter, the kid who beat up bullies and could kill and skin a buck by the time he was twelve, was frightened beyond measure of being left by someone he loved.

  A breathtaking, ancient sadness welled up from the depth of his soul, one he hadn’t known he’d been dragging around, as heavy as a weight. He’d forgiven his mother years ago, so how could it be? But it was. He rotated his jaw and decided that he might be weak and he might be afraid, but he’d never stopped being brave—and tonight he needed to be brave enough to let Remedy see his true heart, brave enough to risk her leaving and know that he would survive it. She was worth this leap of faith. They were worth it together.

  He let it all wash through him. He let it take hold of him and rock him where he sat. The better to get the worst of it out of his system before he begged Remedy to give him another chance.

  When he could finally speak, he chose his words with care. “You said before that there’s no place for you in this world, but you were wrong. You belong here with me. By my side.” He took her hand. “Where I need you to be for the rest of our lives.”

  Her lower lip trembled. “How can you mean that? How can you want to sign up for a lifetime of disaster and chaos?”

  How could he explain to her all she’d done for him, how she’d changed him and his life irrevocably? His chair legs scraped the linoleum as he scooted around to her side of the table. He took her hand, then kissed her temple, reverently, lingering there to breathe in her hair.

  “I have no interest in returning to the humdrum gray world that my life was before you were in it. No interest at all,” he whispered against her skin.

  She drew a tremulous breath and wiggled her hand out of his. “I burned down the chapel.”

  He took her hand again. “An accident.”

  She withdrew and wrenched her face away. “I burned down the main ballroom.”

  He set a finger on her chin and turned her to look at him. “Technically that was the fault of the dog and the Baked Alaska.”

  “You blamed me, and you’re not the only one who did.”

  “I blamed you because I was scared of losing all that control I’d convinced myself I had over the resort and nature and dogs and Baked Alaska. I know better now, and I only hope you can forgive me.”

  She studied him as though testing his conviction.

  “I learned a lot tonight about the man I thought I was and about the man I want to be. I figured out that I’m not some indestructible town hero who has all the answers. Because I don’t, clearly. What I am is this town’s caretaker—one of many. It takes all of us to keep the land and the people here safe and happy. Ty wants to separate the fire marshal and fire chief jobs, and I think he’s on to something. It’s time for me to trust that everything’s gonna be okay even when I’m not in control of every little detail.”

  “You figured all that out tonight?”

  He shrugged. “It’s been a long time coming. Sometimes it takes a fire to shine a light on a situation.”

  “It was the same for me tonight. My life came into focus when I was in there. I know what I want for myself.”

  “And that is?”

  She raised her chin a notch. She touched his cheek. The pain was gone from her eyes, replaced by the fiery spark of life and adventure he’d grown accustomed to seeing there. Then she angled her head and pressed her lips to his. Nothing in his life had ever felt so exactly right as the two of them kissing and touching and trembling together.

  She pulled back and fluttered her eyes open. “I want to rebuild the chapel with my trust fund,” she said. “I want to make it happen for Granny June and for this town. Our town. Our home.”

  Did that mean … could he possibly hope? “I’m pretty sure Ty Briscoe won’t have a problem with you donating the funds, if that’s what you’ve got your heart set on.”

  “I do. And then I want to be the first to get married in that chapel, the same way Granny and Tyson were the first to get married in the chapel they built.”

  His chest ached with the burgeoning hope. “What happened to you wanting to get married by a justice of the peace, with no wedding at all?”

  “I changed my mind. I want to be part of an epic love match, like Granny June and Tyson.”

  His body thrumming with joy and relief, he brushed another kiss across her lips. “I think you already are, California. And I think I am, too.”

  The faint sound of applause caught their attention and they broke apart to look out the diner windows. A crowd had gathered, including Litzy, Tabby, Dusty, Alex, and Xavier and many other townsfolk.

  Right there in front of hell and creation, to the cheers of the crowd, Micah pulled Remedy into his arms and kissed her, long and slow and loaded with the promise of forever. He was going to marry this woman and it was going to be the craziest, most exhilarating ride of his life. He couldn’t wait to get started.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Micah parked his truck in his usual spot near the blackened, soggy grass on Chapel Hill surrounding the charred shell of the building and eyed the circling helicopters. Remedy had warned him about those, as well as the hordes of obnoxious paparazzi who’d set up camp at the resort’s entrances.

  Despite the fire, the WestWynd wedding had gone ahead on schedule, though the wedding ceremony had been moved to a massive gazebo near the resort’s winter wonderland garden. Micah was running late enough that he’d missed the ceremony itself, but he’d had trouble pulling himself away from Granny June’s hospital bed. Though she’d suffered from minor damage to her lungs and throat due to smoke inhalation, she was awake and holding court from her bed for a rapt audience of family, nurses, and other hospital staff. And, of course, she was already on her smartphone, chronicling her hospital stay for her Facebook page, all the while with her wedding album tucked in the corner of her bed near her pillow.

  When Micah rounded the corner of the chapel, he stopped short at the sight of Ty Briscoe sitting on a new bench near the same spot as the one that had gone up in flames. Micah slogged through the wet grass to the bench, as he’d done so many times before to share a few quiet minutes w
ith Granny June.

  When Ty noticed him, he tipped his chin in Micah’s direction and greeted him with an expression that didn’t give anything away. Micah nodded back, sensing the shift inside him at the sight of his nemesis. His hate was gone, vanished. What a difference a day made. They might be two men on different sides of a battle, but it’d become clear to Micah since last night’s fire that Ty cared as deeply about his family and his land as Micah did about his. As Granny June had told Micah more than once, he and Ty were cut from the same cloth.

  Today, on the bench next to Ty sat a bottle of bourbon and a lowball glass filled with two fingers of the liquor, just as Granny June had always done. Ty had brought a candle with him, too, but unlike the ones Granny had used, this one was a fake, with a faint glow of a harmless LED light flickering against the dark stain of the bench’s wood. Maybe old dogs could learn new tricks after all.

  Micah took a seat on the bench and sprawled back, then followed Ty’s gaze to the now-empty gazebo where workers were busy taking down the décor.

  “Fifty-two years of weddings here on the ranch and this is the first one my mother has missed,” Ty said. His gaze holding steady on the ceremony, he lifted the glass of bourbon in a toast.

  That was one impressive statistic. “She’s a remarkable woman. One of my favorite people on the planet.”

  Ty took a sip of the bourbon. “She’s the best person I’ve ever known. Crazy as a bat in her old age, but the best this world has to offer. Always was. My father was one of the few men in this world who was worthy of her. It’s been a blessing and a curse having to follow in his footsteps with this place.”

  In all the years of hearing about Tyson Briscoe, Micah had never once stopped to ponder the idea that Tyson’s shadow loomed large over the ranch. He hadn’t considered the pressure Ty must have felt inheriting the mantle of responsibility for the ranch’s prosperity. And now, with his two daughters raised and busy with their own lives, the future of the resort hung in the balance once again. That had to be a heavy burden for Ty.

  “It’s a good thing you’re such a tough old bastard, then,” Micah said.

  Ty chuckled. “There is that.”

  “What are you going to do with this place? How are you going to keep it in the family now that Carina decided she’s not interested in running it?”

  He made slow work of setting the glass on the bench, his expression turning sly. “I’ve got a few more tricks up my sleeve, if that’s what you’re gettin’ at. How about you worry about your job and I’ll worry about mine?”

  “Fair enough,” Micah said. “As long as part of my job is still giving you hell every now and then.”

  Ty nodded to the wedding gazebo. “Remedy tells me she’s gonna rebuild the chapel, then get married in it. I have a mother, wife, and two daughters, so I’m used to getting bossed around by a bunch of women; they’re just usually not my employees.”

  Micah supposed that meant Remedy hadn’t been fired, contrary to her worry about that. “Did you green-light Remedy’s plan?”

  “Damn right I did. I’ve always fancied myself a smart man. If she’s gonna foot the bill, then she can do what she wants—as long as she gets it done by wedding season in December so we’re not compromising the legend of the Mistletoe Effect. Our resort has a reputation to uphold.”

  Ah, yes, the Mistletoe Effect. “A Christmas wedding sounds like a darn good idea to me.” And he had a feeling his soon-to-be fiancée would agree.

  Ty shifted and eyed Micah curiously. “A word of advice—”

  But whatever Ty’s advice was, Micah never got to hear it because a yelp of surprise caught their attention. They followed the direction of the sound in time to watch a female hotel guest flatten against a wall as an elephant appeared around the corner of the hotel. Micah blinked and shook his head in utter disbelief at what he was seeing.

  The elephant was outfitted with a saddle strapped to her back and wearing an elaborate purple headdress as she galloped along the side of the hotel, headed toward the golf course. Her trunk swung gleefully and her ears flapped in a way that reminded him of a dog set loose from its leash, running for freedom.

  Micah stood, agog. “Why is there an elephant on your property?”

  Ty rose to his feet, muttering, “What in the holy hell is going on?”

  Both men startled again at the sight of a golf cart rounding the hotel’s corner at top speed in the same direction as the elephant. Remedy was behind the wheel, dressed in full virgin librarian mode with a short-sleeved shirtdress the color of coffee and her hair swept up into a tidy ponytail. Then again, she’d said something about a safari theme for the wedding, so maybe the look she was going for instead was that of a fresh-faced safari guide.

  She did a double take on spotting Micah and Ty, then veered off-course, toward them. She screeched to a halt farther down the hill and called out, “Have you ever tried to stop a rampaging elephant before?”

  No, Micah most certainly had not.

  “Do you think she’s talking to you or me?” Ty said.

  Micah shrugged. “Even odds.” To Remedy, he added, “Something tells me I’m about to experience it for the first time.”

  “Is that thing gonna hurt my guests?” Ty asked. “We can’t afford any bad publicity with all the media that’s buzzing around today.”

  Remedy waved off Ty’s concern. “That’s just Gwyneth. She’s harmless, but she’s got a salty vocabulary and a thing for the seventh hole. Don’t worry; the bananas are on their way.”

  Ty leaned in to Micah. “Did you understand a single word of that?”

  “Not one bit.” Micah started down the hill toward her, a grin spreading on his lips. “But I’m guessing I’m about to figure it out.”

  “Better you than me,” Ty called. “Y’all are as crazy as my mother!”

  Now that was a compliment.

  Micah climbed into the passenger seat.

  Remedy beamed at him. “This is going to be fun. You’ll see.”

  Micah had no doubt about that, but, just to be on the safe side, he reached across her lap and buckled her in. Then he held on tight for yet another adventure in what had become a wild and remarkable ride of a lifetime, together with her.

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

  ONE MORE TASTE

  Coming soon from St. Martin’s Paperbacks

  Chapter One

  Not everyone was lucky enough to drive a haunted truck. Then again, lucky wasn’t a word Knox Briscoe would use to describe his current predicament. On a prayer, he turned the key in the ignition, but the Chevy offered him nothing but a dull click in response.

  “I don’t believe in ghosts,” he said, although if anyone had actually heard his declaration, it’d have to be ghosts, or perhaps some unseen wildlife, because there was nothing or nobody in this stretch of backcountry other than him and his truck, a roadside sign proclaiming Briscoe Ranch Resort straight ahead in three miles, and a wide, calm lake nestled in the Texas hills.

  He tried the key again. Nothing but that maddening click.

  He tapped a finger against the steering wheel, denying himself any more grandiose a reaction because Knox was nothing if not a man in command of his emotions. It had been the rule his dad had drilled into Knox’s and his siblings’ heads since they were little: Never lose control.

  Knox popped the truck door open to the crisp October day. His freshly buffed black dress shoes hit the gravel with a crunch. Given the statement he’d planned to make on this, his first day as a part-owner of Briscoe Ranch, it wouldn’t do to soil his suit with engine grease, and so he shrugged out of his sports coat, hung it on a hanger he kept in the backseat for just such a purpose, tucked the ends of his blue silk tie into his shirt, and then rolled his shirtsleeves to the elbows.

  He pulled the hood up and ran through his usual inspection. He’d never considered himself much of a car guy until he’d inherited this one through his dad’s will two years earlier. It’d
taken a lot of YouTube video viewing and conversations with his mechanic for him to get up to speed on maintaining the thirty-year-old truck, but it’d been worth every hour and dollar spent.

  None of that new knowledge was going to help him today, though. Nothing obvious was broken or out of place and the engine had plenty of oil and other fluids.

  Knox patted the truck’s side. “Okay, Dad. Message received. You don’t want your truck on Briscoe Ranch property. I get it. But would you at least let me get to the entrance of the resort before stalling the truck again?”

  God, he felt like a moron, talking to his dead father like that. No way was Knox a believer in hocus-pocus, but even if his dad weren’t haunting the ’85 Chevy Half Ton, then at the very least he was up in heaven pulling some strings. Even in death, it seemed, his dad had decided to stubbornly hold his ground against the father and brother who’d excommunicated him from the family before Knox’s birth—Knox’s grandfather Tyson and his uncle Ty. Even in death, his dad refused to let his prized truck lay one speck of rubber down on Ty’s property.

  Soon to be Knox’s property, if he could get his damn truck to start back up.

  Behind the wheel again, he gripped the key in the ignition and closed his eyes. Please work. Please.

  Click. Click. Click.

  “Okay. But this sucks. I didn’t want to show up in a town car with a driver like a mobster goon who’s there to shake them all down. I wanted you—”

  A wisp of grief swirled like smoke around his heart, threatening his composure far more than his frustration had. He shook his head. Foolish heart. He’d wanted his dad there with him to watch Knox take control of the very business his dad had been robbed of. Poetic justice. Vengeance. The cost of doing business. Whatever the history books would end up labeling this not-so-friendly takeover.

  He grabbed his messenger bag—his sister, Shayla, refused to allow him to carry anything as stodgy as a briefcase—and stepped out of the truck, rummaging around the copies of the Briscoe Ranch shareholder contract his lawyers had prepared until he found his cell phone.