The Maverick's Summer Sweetheart

by Stacy Connelly

  “Hank?” Gemma tilted her head as she looked at him, and he realized she’d pulled her hair up into a ponytail, adding to the country-girl image. It was all he could do to stay where he was and not rush inside to test if that tiny dressing room was big enough for something other than bumping elbows.

  “I, uh...”

  “I think you’ve shocked him speechless,” Natalie said gleefully, “though with these strong, silent types, it’s hard to tell.”

  A distant bell rang, and the blonde excused herself with a roll of her eyes. “I better go see who that is, but don’t try on any more outfits without letting me see!”

  Hank wasn’t sure his heart—or his suddenly raging libido—could take another wardrobe reveal. As Gemma turned back to the mirror, he could see her expression reflected back at him over her shoulder. If he’d been struck speechless when Gemma pulled back the curtain, she looked—hell, Gemma looked like her fairy godmother had just waved a magic wand and made all her wardrobe wishes come true. As she brushed her hands across the denim and carefully adjusted the pointed collar, she didn’t seem to notice she wasn’t draped in a glittering ball gown.

  “It’s perfect, isn’t it?” she asked, her eyes shimmering so brightly that Hank might have thought she was on the verge of tears if not for the huge smile on her face.

  He gave his head a quick shake. He knew a woman like Gemma would get into shopping, but this...

  “It looks just like...”

  “Like what?” he asked when her voice trailed off.

  “Like something a real cowgirl would wear,” she whispered. “Doesn’t it?”

  “It does,” he agreed, his voice sounding rough and raw, and Hank had to remind himself that it was all an illusion. Even in the wilds of Montana, he had come across enough “cowboys” who were all hat and no horses. Clothes did not necessarily make the man. Or woman, in this case.

  Just because Gemma suddenly looked like she could fit right in at Rust Creek Falls, that didn’t change who she was. A city girl with a career and a life waiting for her back in New York City. Not to mention a former fiancé. Hank still didn’t know why Gemma had called off the wedding. But he’d already fooled himself once into thinking he could hold on to a woman who’d never truly been his. It was a mistake his heart couldn’t handle him making again.

  * * *

  Gemma didn’t know when she first heard the expression you can’t miss what you’ve never had. All she knew was that it wasn’t true.

  Not when what she was missing was the father she’d never known.

  She knew it was completely ridiculous to get so emotional, and maybe her mother was right. Maybe this was all just a game of dress up. But wearing an outfit so similar to the one in the picture of herself as a toddler, Gemma didn’t feel like she was pretending to be someone else. Instead she felt as though she were seeing the person she might have been...had life turned out differently.

  Had her father not been killed in a car accident only a few months after that photo was taken.

  As a child, she’d asked about her father, but all her mother would say was that he had left them when he discovered Diane was pregnant. Gemma had no reason to believe otherwise until she’d gone looking for something old and found a forgotten box in her mother’s closet. A box that contained not just a single picture of her in toddler Western wear but dozens. And unlike the photograph of herself as a child, one where she’d been alone in the shot, many of these pictures showed her in the arms of a handsome, smiling cowboy.

  Her father.

  Her father might have left when her mother got pregnant, but Diane was the one who’d skipped out on the part of the story where he came back. And not just once or twice. Judging from the timeline of the photos, he’d returned on multiple occasions, from when Gemma was a few months old, right up until that fateful car crash weeks before her fourth birthday.

  Gemma only knew the date because in that same box was a copy of her father’s death certificate. On that form, she’d discovered his birthplace, a tiny town called Rust Creek Falls.

  Despite her high-paying job, despite her trendy apartment, despite her envy-inspiring wardrobe, despite her engagement to Chad, Gemma had always felt the hole in her heart. And maybe this trip was a wild-goose chase. Or maybe it was her one chance to discover some kind of connection to the man—and to the girl—in those photographs.

  She couldn’t expect Hank to understand, but if he thought she was crazy, he hid it well. Much better, she realized with a sudden swallow, than the desire burning hot in his gorgeous eyes.

  Stripping off her New York wardrobe, she’d been all too aware of Hank standing outside the small dressing room. Not that it was much of a room. More like a cubicle with a curtain. A thin wisp of material that had done little to block Gemma’s thoughts of the rugged rancher on the other side.

  “It does look like something a real cowgirl would wear,” he agreed, and was it her imagination or did his voice sound a little huskier than a few moments ago? He lifted a hand, and her heart skipped a beat. “Except for these.”

  He trailed his fingers along her silver chandelier-style earrings, and a shiver raced down her spine as his knuckles brushed against the side of her neck.

  “A cowgirl can still accessorize, can’t she?”

  “Sure she can.” He snatched his hand back, and his expression turned remote as if the sensual moment had never happened. “If she’s a New York City cowgirl.”

  The reminder that Gemma didn’t belong had her stepping back into the dressing room. “Can you let Natalie know I’m buying the outfit?”

  “Which one?”

  Offering a cheeky smile, she said, “All of them,” before swiping the dressing-room curtain right in front of his face.

  * * *

  Gemma had enough clothes back in New York to know retail therapy could easily fill a closet while doing little to fill the hole in her heart. But she still bought enough clothes to overload several shopping bags. The final touch was the one she loved most—a genuine pair of tooled boots in a butter-soft, honey-brown leather.

  Though she had plenty of boots in her shoe collection—and with as many pairs as she owned, it was impossible not to consider it a collection—something about the cowboy boots made her feel different.

  Not necessarily taller, since many of her boots back home had much higher stiletto points. But something about the solid chunky heels beneath her feet gave her an added level of confidence. Like she could take on horseback riding or steer wrangling or whatever cowgirls did. Including the challenge of facing down the stubborn cowboy in front of her.

  “Absolutely not,” Gemma stated as Hank reached for his wallet. “You are not paying for my clothes.”

  Having booked the honeymoon suite herself, she knew a stay at Maverick Manor was not cheap. Janie had remarked more than once about how hard her dad worked—often from sunup to sundown—and how this was his first vacation in years. She had the feeling the hotel stay was a stretch for the hardworking rancher’s budget. She wasn’t about to let his ego wear his wallet even thinner.

  “A gentleman always pays,” he insisted.

  Standing behind the register, Natalie snorted at that, and Hank closed his eyes, his expression pained.

  “It was my idea to come here,” he continued.

  “And my idea to go riding. So how much will I owe you for that?” Gemma asked, reaching into her purse and pulling out a credit card of her own with a lift to her eyebrows.

  “Yeah, Hank,” Natalie chimed in, watching their exchange with so much interest that Gemma half expected the woman to break out a box of popcorn for the afternoon’s entertainment. “How much do you charge for a ride? And is that by the hour or...?”

  Swearing beneath his breath, Hank seemed to get that he was outnumbered. “Fine.”

  “Fine,” Gemma countered.

  Natal
ie plucked the card from Gemma’s fingers and rang up her purchase. “Okay, so, first fight. Now y’all get to kiss and make up.”

  They didn’t kiss, but at the mention, Gemma swore Hank’s gaze dropped to her suddenly tingling lips. Her breath caught in her chest, and only a not-so-subtle throat clearing from Natalie reminded Gemma that she needed to sign the sales receipt. After scribbling her name at the bottom of the slip, she started to reach for the shopping bags, but Hank stilled her with a glance.

  And okay...she didn’t mind a guy carrying her purchases, so long as she was the one to pay for them.

  Hank was silent as they left the general store, and Gemma hoped she hadn’t offended his masculine pride. “Look, if you’re worried about what it’s costing me to stay in the honeymoon suite, don’t be. Everything at Maverick Manor—and I do mean everything—is getting charged to my former fiancé’s account.”

  If she thought that announcement would ease Hank’s mind, the scowl on the rancher’s handsome face quickly proved otherwise. Though the mountains in the distance standing like sentinels over the town were too far away to provide an actual echo, Gemma cringed as she heard her own words bounce back at her.

  Her friends, those who hadn’t tried talking her out of the honeymoon for one, had encouraged her to stick it to Chad’s wallet, the same way he’d been sticking it to Melanie Williamson. Hell hath no fury, and all of that.

  Gemma had insisted she wasn’t out for revenge—that she was simply making the best of a bad situation. So why did she have to open her mouth and say something that made her sound so petty and spiteful?

  She was still trying to figure out how to get her foot, boot and all, out of her mouth when they reached Hank’s truck. He unlocked the passenger-side door and placed her bags inside. “Wait here. There’s something I need to get.”

  “I can go with you,” she offered, but he was already shaking his head.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Bemused, Gemma watched as he headed back toward Crawford’s. She used the time to study the sights, turning her attention away from Hank’s broad shoulders and faded-to-perfection jeans only once he disappeared inside the store. Main Street ran through the center of the town. Standing on the corner, Gemma could see a lovely stone church, complete with a soaring steeple and stone steps leading toward the arched doorway. The perfect backdrop for a bride and groom as they rushed toward a waiting car while guests tossed birdseed and wishes for a bright and beautiful future.

  She and Chad had agreed to forgo a church wedding, planning the ceremony and reception at a five-star hotel, and she was suddenly glad. She could look at the church, imagining those happy newlyweds, untainted by memories of the wedding that wasn’t.

  She offered a polite smile as an older woman walked down the sidewalk toward the store. “Good morning.”

  Instead of responding to the greeting and heading inside, the woman stopped short. She stared at Gemma with her faded eyes narrowing behind her glasses before finally shaking her gray head. “I’m sorry, dear. I’m afraid I don’t remember your name.”

  “Oh.” Gemma gave a small laugh at what could only be a case of mistaken identity. “It’s Gemma Chapman, but we’ve never met.”

  “Gemma Chapman,” the woman mused as the bell above the door rang and Hank stepped outside, a good-sized paper bag in hand.

  “Morning, Melba,” he greeted the older woman. “I see you’ve met Gemma. Gemma, this is Melba Strickland. She and her husband, Gene, run the boardinghouse in town.”

  Still gazing at Gemma, the older woman barely seemed to hear Hank. “Gemma Chapman,” she repeated once more. “No, that’s not right.”

  Hank’s brow rose. “I’m pretty sure Gemma knows her own name.”

  Melba straightened to her full height. “Don’t be smart, young man,” she warned, causing both Hank and Gemma to try to hide their smiles as they exchanged a glance. “I have a remarkable memory, and I’ve seen you before, young lady. I’m sure of it.”

  Gemma lifted a questioning shoulder. “I’m afraid I only arrived in Rust Creek Falls on Saturday, and unless you’ve ever been to New York...” When Melba snorted at the idea, Gemma suggested, “Then I guess I must just have one of those faces.”

  This time it was Hank’s turn to snort.

  Her eyes still narrowed in concentration, Melba shook her head. “Give me time. It’ll come to me.”

  As they watched Melba shuffle off into the store, Hank said, “The Stricklands have been running their boardinghouse for decades. I can’t imagine the number of people who’ve passed through those doors.”

  “I must have reminded her of a past boarder.” But it was strange that the longtime Rust Creek Falls resident hadn’t seen her as someone new to the town but instead as someone who’d been there before. Perhaps even as someone who belonged.

  Gesturing to the bag in Hank’s hand, she asked, “Did you get what you need?”

  Hank held her gaze as he reached inside. “I got what you need.”

  “Hank...” She started to protest as he pulled out a cowboy hat. A straw cowboy hat, complete with a braided pink hatband. Her words disappeared with a quick gasp as he placed it on her head.

  “Even a wannabe cowgirl can’t go riding without a hat.”

  “Oh...” Desperately wishing for a mirror, she used the next best thing, turning toward Crawford’s front window, where she could make out a faint image reflected back at her. Like finding that long-ago picture, Gemma barely recognized herself. She certainly didn’t look like the stressed-out New York executive who’d been working around the clock just to get time off for her honeymoon. Nor did she look like the humiliated and betrayed former fiancée who’d arrived in Rust Creek Falls.

  No, this was someone new: the little girl in the picture who’d finally had a chance to grow up into the woman she was always meant to be.

  Unexpected tears flooded her eyes. “Hank, it’s...it’s perfect.”

  His expression half quizzical, half alarmed, he murmured, “Man, you really do like clothes, don’t you?”

  Unable to explain her emotional reaction, Gemma gave a watery laugh. “You have no idea.”

  The red bandanna-print shirt and denim jeans were so much more than clothes; they were a tangible connection to the past and the father she’d never known. For all she knew, he might have bought the outfit she’d worn in that thirty-year-old picture along this very street. Maybe even at that very same store.

  But the hat...

  The hat was part of her present. From the good-looking cowboy who’d given her a gift greater than he could imagine.

  * * *

  “Oh, my gosh!” Janie exclaimed. “I love this!”

  Gemma grinned at the young girl’s enthusiasm. She and Hank had met up with Janie after their trip to Crawford’s. Janie had filled them in on the scavenger hunt the kids had done on the hotel grounds—capturing images of items with their cell phones to win the game. Hank had shaken his head a bit at the added use of technology to the old-fashioned game, but he patiently listened to his daughter as she went through all of the pictures.

  After that, she’d asked to go to Gemma’s room to see the clothes she’d bought. Hank—likely already worn-out and bored from too much shopping—had immediately passed on the idea. Which was just as well, considering what should have been a quick reveal of the jeans and shirts Gemma had purchased had turned into a full-on fashion show.

  Only with Janie modeling Gemma’s New York wardrobe.

  Janie spun in a circle, Gemma’s tunic-style geometric-print blouse fitting the girl like an oversize dress. Not that Janie seemed to care. She wobbled in the too-big heels as she turned to Gemma with a huge smile. “You have the coolest clothes ever!”

  Despite Janie’s fervent vow and her fascination with clothes and jewelry, Gemma couldn’t help but notice the young girl’s own style was dec
idedly tomboy. Along with her denim and flannel shirts, her blond hair was simply tucked behind her ears, her face free of even a hint of lip gloss. The preteen would look adorable in something, well, a little less cowgirl.

  “Do you have any shirts like that one?” Gemma asked her.

  “Are you kidding? All I have are T-shirts with cartoon characters on them. And you should see the dress my mom bought me for Easter.” Janie’s exasperated expression told the story even before she added, “It’s the same dress I had, like, three years ago! When I was in third grade! I just finished sixth grade. I’m practically a teenager! Sometimes we go to the mall in Kalispell, but it’s like they have too much stuff, and it’d probably all look stupid on me anyway,” she finished with a self-conscious shrug.

  “Hey, you would not look stupid.” Gemma firmly turned Janie toward the mirror and met the girl’s eyes in the reflection. “You would look amazing in an outfit just like that one...but maybe we could find one a little closer to your size.”

  Janie giggled at that, and Gemma gave a relieved sigh. Preteen crisis averted.

  Too bad she’d made such a stink about paying for her own clothes. She and Janie would have a total blast hitting every junior section in the mall. Of course Hank had bought her the hat, but still... She didn’t want to overstep when it came to his daughter, or when it came to his pride.

  But maybe there was something girlie she and Janie could do.

  “So, you and my dad are going riding tomorrow, huh?” Janie’s eyes gleamed. “You must be so excited!”

  Gemma wasn’t sure excited was the word. Now that horseback riding was no longer something that might happen someday and was instead happening the very next day, anticipation was quickly turning into trepidation.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?” Maybe seeing that riding a horse was something a child could do would help calm her nerves. But Janie was already shaking her head.