Hometown Holiday

by Caro Carson

  He laid his hand on the table, palm up, and she gave him her phone. He dialed a number, and within seconds, she heard a traditional, classic ring coming from the coat rack across the room. He disconnected the call and set her phone on the table. She felt relieved, knowing they had each other’s numbers now.

  “Much better,” he said, gently echoing her words. “There was no one around me who knew you existed. I think it did make me a little crazy.”

  She put her hand in his and squeezed hard.

  “I should have come sooner.” The regret in his voice was painful to hear.

  “You were working.” She racked her brain for the California rodeos, information she hadn’t thought of since freshman year of high school. “Where were you? Redding? Sacramento?”

  “Not Northern California. I’m living in Southern California, believe it or not.”

  She’d been imagining that he was much closer all this time. It made it all the more understandable that he hadn’t been able to steal away for a few days.

  Southern California had major rodeos, but as a kid she’d known that she’d never be able to travel that far to see one. Kristen hadn’t committed that information to memory, not like the events in Montana and Wyoming. Still, there was something about the serious tone the conversation was taking that made her uneasy. She wanted to keep riding the high of simply being in his presence again.

  “Of course I believe you.” This time, she winked at him. “It explains the tan.”

  That seemed to be the right thing to say. He relaxed against the back of his seat. She felt so happy she couldn’t stay in hers. She got up and scooted into his side of the booth. His arm came around her immediately, and she snuggled against him like they were teenagers.

  She couldn’t see every nuance of his facial expressions now, but the trade-off was that her hand could rest on his thigh and her head on his shoulder. He was definitely not a teenager, but a man built for work. Thigh and shoulder, both, were hard-muscled. She was going to want to make love with the lights on.

  He tapped her nose with one finger. “Is it the gingerbread or the pumpkin pie that’s making you blush?” His voice was low, an intimate rumble for her ears only.

  “It’s you.” She hated the blush, but she couldn’t stop the direction her thoughts were going. “I should have guessed you were from Southern California. You don’t have a farmer’s tan like most of the guys around here.”

  He was silent for a long moment. “Exactly how do you know that?”

  “Let’s just say I had an opportunity on the Fourth of July to make use of a certain vantage point.”

  “Damn. I didn’t look down your shirt.”

  “You’re a gentleman. I’m not.” She ran one finger down the soft sweater that covered his hard chest. “You’re a gentleman who is tan all over. I don’t suppose you Southern California cowboys go surfing after the chores are done?”

  He shifted slightly. “I do surf, actually.”

  “You do?” The idea of a surfing cowboy was funny. “Do you wear a cowboy hat out on the waves?”

  “Never, and that is the truth.” With one finger under her chin, he lifted her face for a sweet kiss.

  The diner made a good chaperone. The kiss stayed sweet.

  It didn’t have to stay sweet, not like the last time Ryan had been in town. She had her own place now. She’d never had a one-night stand. She’d never slept with a man on the first date. But last Fourth of July, she would have made an exception. She might even have blamed it on the punch, thanks to all the buzz in town about its having had a chemical effect in some way, but there was no punch in the picture now, and she wanted Ryan in a fiercely physical way.

  Sitting beside him in public and eating a slice of pie set her senses on fire. She’d meant what she’d said on the sidewalk. If she got him alone, she’d seduce him.

  He was hers. He’d come back to see her, and he’d come a very long way, too. She wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice. If he had to leave the next day, she knew for certain she’d miss him whether they slept together or not, so they might as well—

  Leave the next day. Those were chilling words.

  “You don’t have to fly out in the morning again, do you?”

  He brushed her hair out of the way. “I arranged a week off work.”

  “A whole week. That sounds wonderful.” It stretched before her like a huge chunk of time. Seven days. Seven nights.

  The nights were on her mind. “Where are you staying while you’re here?”

  “Maverick Manor.”

  The name of the place triggered her family pride. “My brother designed that place. Jonah. He’s an architect.”

  “It’s one of the most striking hotels I’ve stayed in.”

  “Isn’t it? It was a private house before he worked on it. I’ve started working for Jonah myself.”

  She paused, unsure how to proceed. She had no doubt that she’d know exactly what to do with Ryan if she had him alone in her new bedroom. She’d fantasized about the possibilities in detail, but she’d never considered the first step. How did one let a man know he should take her to her home, come inside and stay the night? She’d always had her parents and brothers under her roof before, so this was a new experience.

  “You’re working for an architect? That’s got to be a huge change. I always imagine you working on your family’s ranch.”

  “I still work there, too, four days a week. I couldn’t leave my parents shorthanded.” She tapped the edge of her pie plate with her fork. “It also gives me a chance to raid the kitchen and eat some of my mother’s home cooking after I’m done in the stables.”

  “Do you mean you moved off your ranch?” He sounded absolutely stunned.

  “I’m living in town. Jonah is renovating a block of gorgeous old Victorian houses. I’m living in one of them and working at the same time, a sort of sweat equity. Instead of paying my rent in cash, I’m paying it by doing some of the renovations. Are you going to eat your whipped cream?”

  When he slid his plate toward her, she helped herself.

  “To be honest, ‘renovating’ means I varnish stuff. There’s lots and lots of varnishing to be done in a vintage Victorian. Lotsa wood in those babies, and Jonah is crazy about keeping every last piece of original trim. It’s all curlicue gingerbread and a real pain in the neck. Pretty to look at, but trust me, you don’t want to maintain it.”

  Ryan was listening to every word she said, and judging by that almost-curve of his mouth and the way his eyes were crinkling a bit at the corners, he liked listening to her. Kristen found that to be a total turn-on that had nothing to do with tanned chests and washboard abs.

  “Do you miss living on the ranch?”

  “I probably would if I wasn’t still showing up for breakfast four days a week. That’s just enough to keep me from being so homesick that I want to move back in. I do miss Kayla, but it’s fun to have her popping in for some sister time.”

  “Congratulations, then, on your first home.”

  Kristen sat sideways in the booth, tucking one leg under her so she could face him more squarely. “Thank you. Not just for saying that, but for being a big part of the reason I made a lot of changes this fall. Do you remember when we talked about the pursuit of happiness? You said you could be happier, that your work wasn’t as rewarding as it had been, and I was so impressed that you were taking action to change things that weren’t making you happy.”

  She hesitated at his slight frown. It probably wasn’t realistic to expect him to remember every word they’d said, or even every topic they’d covered throughout the course of that day. She knew every word by heart, but that probably made her look like a lovesick little cowgirl. She wanted him to think of her as so much more.

  Still frowning, he reached for one of her wayward cu
rls and wrapped it around his finger. “I remember. Go ahead.”

  “You inspired me. I realized I was drifting along in a safe routine, but I hadn’t stopped to examine what I really wanted. I don’t know if you remember that I’d interviewed with the principal—”

  “Every word, Kristen. I remember.”

  Her heart thudded hard, one solid thud, and she knew it was the sound of a heart falling harder in love. “I decided that just because he’d said no, that didn’t mean I had to wait on the ranch for an opportunity to open up. Now I’ve got my own house, and that was just the beginning.”

  “That’s huge. There’s more?”

  There was the play, of course. He’d be so proud to know she was using her theater degree. But he was going to be here a full week, and that meant he’d be here on opening night. She was dying to brag about her return to the theater, but this could be a chance to really surprise him on Friday. If she could get him in the audience and then surprise him by appearing on stage, it would be dramatic.

  She drew her knee up and hugged it with one arm, still facing him on the bench of the booth. “There might be one or two more things, but you can’t expect a woman to divulge every secret at once. I might need to keep a little air of mystery about me.”

  He raised one eyebrow. “Considering I failed to tell you where I lived, I’m in no position to demand to know all your secrets.”

  “Here’s the important part.” She took a deep breath, focused and prepared to deliver her most important line. “You don’t need to stay at Maverick Manor this week. I’d like to extend a formal invitation. Mr. Ryan Michaels, would you like to be my first guest in my first home?”

  Of all the reactions she might have expected, the way he closed his eyes and turned his face away was not one. Her heart thudded into the silence.

  “What’s wrong?” she whispered.

  The hand he’d rested on the table clenched into a fist. “For one thing, Ryan Michaels is not my name.”

  * * *

  “More coffee, you two?”

  The owner of the diner had apparently run out of things to do and had come over to chat, interrupting at the worst moment. Ryan needed to explain his name to Kristen. He couldn’t sleep with a woman who didn’t know his last name, no matter how important she was to him, and he couldn’t explain the name confusion if this shop owner didn’t leave them alone.

  The woman gestured to the phone on the table. “Do you want me to take a picture?” She wiped her free hand on her apron in preparation.

  “No, thank you.” His curt tone made it clear that she should leave. It would have worked on any server in any city from Los Angeles to London.

  Not this woman. She studied him more closely, looking him over. “I haven’t seen you in here before. Did you come from the airport? Got a layover tonight?”

  This was completely, utterly, not her concern. He glared at her, unwilling to give her a single syllable of no, but Kristen let go of the knee she’d been hugging and turned to face her. “He’s an old friend of mine, Matilda. We were just catching up. Could you give us just a minute? The pumpkin pie was delicious, by the way.”

  Matilda kept her eye on Ryan, but she picked up the empty pie plate, took her coffeepot and left. For now.

  Ryan had no problem dismissing unnecessary persons, but Kristen accomplished the same thing with a smile. His big-city impatience clashed with her small-town friendliness. He felt like a foreigner once more.

  She turned all that sweetness on him. “Was she standing behind me for long? Did she hear what I said to you? My face is turning ten shades of red now, I can feel it.”

  “She didn’t hear anything.”

  Kristen had just asked him to spend a week in her home and in her bed. He’d told her she didn’t even know his real name, yet she didn’t seem hurt or suspicious. He didn’t deserve her smile.

  “Matilda brought up a good point, though. Did you just fly in today?”

  “I landed last night.” He hoped his expression was as neutral as he kept it during a trial. He was going to be forced to admit this meeting was a complete accident.

  “And you came to Kalispell to find me today, which is…well, not so odd, I guess. Did you stop by the ranch? Maybe Kayla told you I’d be here today.”

  “No. I just came here because…” There was no hiding the truth in this case. “I had no idea what to say to you when I found you. I came here to walk, basically, and think. Then I planned to head to Rust Creek Falls to find you.”

  “So it was a total coincidence that you were on the same sidewalk at the same time?”

  “It didn’t seem so coincidental. I flew in to see you and I was thinking about you when I saw you, but it—”

  “—is totally romantic, like you had a sixth sense where I’d be. I’ve got goose bumps.”

  Ryan couldn’t help it; he had to grin at her relentless optimism. “I was going to say it was totally random.”

  “Seems more like destiny to me.”

  That word again. He wasn’t ready to claim a belief in destiny, but it seemed better than dwelling on how nervous he’d been to see her again.

  Kristen, completely at ease with the situation, helped herself to a bite of his gingerbread. “So, is Ryan Michaels like a stage name? You use it professionally?”

  Back to the rodeo, then. She was too trusting. He wished he deserved that trust.

  “When we met, I only told you my name was Ryan. It was intentional. I didn’t want everyone in town to know who I was.”

  “You said Michaels much later that night, on the church steps.”

  “I was talking about the three-year-old version of me. Ryan Michaels was my birth name. It changed when I was adopted.”

  “Oh, of course. I’m sorry, I didn’t think of that.”

  “Don’t apologize. Please.”

  He had to tell her his real name now. It was the obvious thing to say next, but he hesitated. How well did she know everyone in Rust Creek Falls? His sister and cousin lived there. Maggie Roarke, Lissa Roarke. If for some reason Kristen knew their maiden names, then the bandage would be ripped off whether he liked it or not.

  If the fates were kind, Kristen would only know his relatives by their married names. Maggie Crawford. Lissa Christensen.

  “So what’s your real name?” she asked.

  He wouldn’t have been surprised if his voice cracked like an adolescent. Thankfully, it did not. “My name is Ryan Roarke.”

  He waited, dreading the next spark of recognition, the inevitable are you related to…?

  “Roarke,” she repeated. “I like it.” Then she took a sip of her coffee.

  Incredible. Wonderful. He’d dodged the bullet. She didn’t know Maggie and Lissa’s maiden names.

  Thankfully, neither his sister nor cousin had any business on the Dalton’s family ranch, and he doubted Kristen had ever needed legal help from Maggie Crawford or hung out in the sheriff’s office where Lissa Christensen’s photo might have been on the sheriff’s desk. His cowgirl wasn’t the type to track down everyone’s backgrounds—not like the owner of this diner—and for that, he was grateful.

  “Ryan Roarke. It’s a little catchier than Ryan Michaels, with the two R’s. Do a lot of rodeo performers use stage names?”

  “I have no idea. Roarke is my real name.” He felt the flash of guilt, although he was telling the truth. He didn’t know if rodeo stars used stage names, although it seemed likely some would.

  “It certainly explains why I didn’t find you when I typed ‘Ryan Michaels rodeo’ in my internet search.” She put her head back on his shoulder, and Ryan closed his eyes in both guilt and relief.

  If she assumed he was still a rodeo star, well…they were getting closer to the truth. Bit by bit. Slow and steady, so that nothing would abruptly shatter
beyond repair.

  In his mind’s eye, he saw the snow globe hit the church steps.

  He opened his eyes, took in the sight of Kristen curved against him, the soft leather of the booth’s high-backed bench sheltering them both. Nothing harsh. Nothing hard.

  Beyond their booth, outside the wide glass panes of the storefront window, snow started falling in slow, fluffy flakes. He had the fleeting thought that he was inside the snow globe.

  He hugged Kristen to him tightly. He didn’t want anything to break. Not this time.

  “That coffee has got to be cold by now.” The woman in the apron reappeared, holding her coffeepot above their cooled cups, poised for action if he’d just say the word. “You might as well have it warm.”

  Ryan curtly nodded his permission.

  Too harsh. Too hard.

  He mustered up a smile as she poured the hot coffee. “Thank you. Everything here is warm. It’s a nice place.”

  “Well.” She produced a fresh spoon from her apron pocket and set it in front of Kristen. “Well, you just stay here and enjoy. It’s only going to get colder out there.”

  “Oh, man,” Kristen said in a stage whisper. “Somebody’s going to get extra whipped cream from now on.”

  “I heard you,” Matilda said over her shoulder. “You and your old friend just remember that we make wedding cakes here, too.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Ryan took her to dinner.

  Kristen took him home.

  Impatient with the slow burn of sexual tension that had been building all day, Kristen led the way back to Rust Creek Falls in her compact SUV and parallel parked on the street of vintage houses. She waited on the sidewalk while Ryan pulled his rented truck into the next closest spot. Her mind was still processing the incredible fact that today was the day that Ryan Michaels had come back.

  No, it was Roarke. Ryan Roarke had come back.

  But while her heart and mind kept feeling surprised—today!—her body was already well beyond that acceptance phase. Every inch of her craved the intimacy which every smoldering look over a candlelit dinner in Kalispell had promised. They were adults who wanted each other, who’d wanted each other since a waltz in July, and the time had come.