by Jennie Marts
Also by Jennie Marts
COWBOYS OF CREEDENCE
Caught Up in a Cowboy
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Books. Change. Lives.
Copyright © 2018 by Jennie Marts
Cover and internal design © 2018 by Sourcebooks, Inc.
Cover design by Dawn Adams/Sourcebooks, Inc.
Cover image © Rob Lang
Internal images by ibrandify/Freepik
Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. Sourcebooks, Inc., is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.
Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.
P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410
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Contents
Front Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
A Sneak Peek of It Started with a Cowboy
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Back Cover
This book is dedicated to my grandmothers, Jeanne Bryant and Helen Haring—two women who taught me the meaning of hard work and dedication, of love and loyalty to faith and family, who loved to laugh and were quick to hug and always believed in good grammar and that I could do and be anything I set my mind to.
Chapter 1
Tessa Kane paced the steps of the lodge and checked her watch. Again.
She could hear the laughter of the party going on inside and catch the scent of grilled meat every time someone opened the front door.
She was ignoring the growling of her stomach—she knew she should have eaten something on the drive up the pass, but she’d been too nervous. This was the first date she’d been on in over a year. It should have been no big deal, a simple setup with her friend’s brother whose girlfriend had dumped him and left him dateless for an important weekend of wedding events.
Except that her friend’s brother just happened to be a professional hockey player, and the wedding was for his Colorado Summit teammate, the notorious bad-boy bachelor Rockford James.
Why had she agreed to this stupid idea anyway? She had enough on her plate right now without adding the stress of going out with a man she didn’t know to an event full of celebrities, supermodels, and professional athletes.
Shielding her eyes against the bright Colorado sun, she stepped into the shade of an aspen and peered down the road, searching for Mick’s car. A bead of sweat rolled down her back, and she tugged at the too-tight waistband of her skirt, another reminder that she had no business being here. Apparently, trading dating for ice cream and Netflix had added a few pounds to her already tall and curvy frame.
It had taken her over an hour just to find a suitable—which was another word for still fits—outfit for this party, and she had brought three spares and a comfortable pair of jeans, in case she’d gotten the first look of a black pencil skirt and burgundy silk top completely wrong.
She’d traversed the depths of her closet like an explorer searching for gold in the Mayan ruins to find the box with the matching burgundy party shoes. The expensive pumps were in pristine condition, which just went to show how long it had been since she’d gone to an actual party.
Her phone vibrated in her pocket.
That better be Mick, and he’d better be on his way.
She pulled the phone free and checked the display. Not Mick. “Hi, Mimi.”
“Hi, honey,” her grandmother said. “I was hoping you could grab some of those marshmallow cookies while you’re at the store.”
Tess rolled her eyes. “I’m not at the store. I’m on a date. I told you that.”
“Oh. I thought you were kidding.”
“Thanks,” she muttered as her shoulders slumped forward. “And even if I were at the store, you know we can’t afford luxuries like cookies.” They couldn’t afford anything—not since The Scam.
“I know.” Her grandmother’s voice held the tone of an insolent child. “And I know it’s all my fault.”
“It’s not all your fault, Gram,” Tess reassured her. “It’s the fault of those bastard scam artists who swindled you out of all your money.” And out of all hers too, since Tess had given her grandmother every single dime she had after Mimi had sent thousands of dollars in money orders and gift cards to someone who’d said that they were in dire need of her help.
Well, now Mimi was in dire need, because she was about to lose her house. Which would be equally bad for Tess, since she lived there too.
That was why she should be home right now, working on a great story that would garner them some much-needed moolah instead of standing outside the Masonic Lodge in the tiny mountain town of Creedence, sweating through the band of her bra and waiting for some guy to take her to a fancy party that she had no real interest in attending.
“I really thought he was a prince,” her grandmother was saying for the hundredth time.
“Listen, Mimi, we’ll come up with something.” Tess softened her tone. It really wasn’t Mimi’s fault that she had a compassionate heart and wanted to help someone in need. “I think I’m just going to come home. This guy hasn’t shown up, and I have an idea for a story to work on.” On the hour’s drive up from Denver, she’d been mulling over an idea to pitch to her boss at Colorado In-Depth.
“No. No. NO. This is the first time you’ve been on a date in years.”
Well, one year actually, but who’s counting?
“You stay and have fun, and I’ll figure something out. We have another week or so to come up with the money, and I’m working on a few ideas.”
Tess would bet she was. But who knew what kind of harebrained scheme her grandmother would come up with next? Her last idea of a “spiked” lemonade stand had almost gotten them kicked out of the neighborhood.
Her p
hone buzzed.
“I gotta go, Mimi. I’ll call you later. Don’t wait up.”
She clicked off, but her heart sank as she read the text message displayed on the screen. Sorry, baby. Can’t make it. Have fun without me.
Seriously?
Was this really happening? The first time she’d finally put herself out there and agreed to a date, and Mick—the dick—had stood her up.
Well, Mick, she would have fun. At home. In her pajamas. Even without cookies.
She took a step forward just as a wet splat hit the front of her silk shirt. A gag filled her throat as she looked down at the greenish-yellow gob of bird turd that was running down her boob.
Could this fracking day get any worse?
Her party shoes were already digging painfully into the sides of her ankles as she trudged across the parking lot to her crappy, ancient car. The ’89 Ford Taurus was older than she was. It had been her grandmother’s car, but Tess couldn’t complain too much. She kept reminding herself that having a free car to drive when she needed it beat out the cost of her pride any day.
Her phone buzzed again, but this time the screen showed an unknown number. Maybe it was Mick calling to apologize and say he was showing up after all.
“Hello?”
“Tessa, this is Gordon. We need to talk.” Again—not Mick. Gordon was her boss, and in her experience, no conversation that started with the words We need to talk ever ended well.
She climbed into the car and started the engine, praying that the air-conditioning fairies had miraculously shown up and fixed hers. No such luck. Her car was like an oven, and a blast of hot air blew her bangs across her sweat-dampened forehead. “What’s up?”
“Listen, Tess. I like you. You’re a nice person, but you’re just not the kind of writer that we need here at In-Depth. I’m going to have to let you go.”
Apparently, the worst thing to do in the middle of a crappy day was to throw down a threat to the “bad day” gods. But was he really firing her? Not that she liked this job that much anyway, but it was the only job she had, and she couldn’t afford to lose it. Not now.
“But why?”
“I told you two weeks ago that you needed to take the hard line on your next piece, to really get in there and dig for the good stuff. I even gave you something easy, an assignment covering the problems with the homeless population downtown.”
“And that’s what I wrote about.”
“You wrote about a homeless woman who rescued a kitten from the sewer and made her out to be some kind of damned hero.”
Tess huffed. “Well, that sounds like a hero in my book. You should have seen that kitten.”
She heard him groan. “I don’t give two shits about the kitten. It’s not the kind of story we cover. It’s just not working out, Tess.”
“Can’t you just give me one more chance? I need this job. And I’ve seriously had the worst day. I just got stood up on the first date I’ve gone out on in a year, a bird pooped on me, and now I have to drive all the way back down the pass.”
“Down the pass? What kind of date were you on?”
“A terrible one. I was supposed to go to a fancy-pants prewedding party for Rockford James, but instead, I’m just going home to sulk at a pity party for one.”
“Wait a minute. The Rockford James? The hockey-playing cowboy who was on everyone’s most eligible bachelor list?”
“I guess.”
“Everybody’s talking about the NHL’s infamous bad boy who was a player on the ice and off and what happened to make him suddenly settle down with a quickie wedding.” Her editor’s voice fairly crackled with excitement. “You want to keep your job, Tess? Go in there and get me that story.”
“You want me to go spy on the bride and groom at their own party?”
“That’s exactly what I want you to do. Go in there and mingle… Talk to the family, the guests, find the dirt.”
“But that’s not the kind of story I write.”
“It is now. It is if you want to keep your job.”
She chewed at her bottom lip, knowing she had no choice. She couldn’t let her grandmother down—not after everything Mimi had done for her. Tess didn’t want to keep the job, but she needed to keep the job. Needed it enough to go into that party and motherfinking mingle for the muck on Rockford James.
It seemed she had no other choice.
“Okay, I’ll do it. On one condition,” she said, knowing she was pressing her luck but not caring. Heck, she’d already been fired and pooped on. What could it hurt to try?
“Do you really think you’re in a place to ask for conditions?” Gordon asked.
“Do you want the story or not?”
“Fine. What’s your condition?”
“If I get the story this weekend, you pay me a bonus, like the one you gave Steve Larson for that piece he did on the political scandal, and you pay me in cash when I turn it in.” She’d heard the rumors about Steve’s bonus and knew it was enough to pay two of the delinquent house payments.
“You get me that story in time for next week’s edition, and I’ll pay you half what I gave Steve. But you can have it in cash.”
Her heart leapt in her poop-plastered chest. That was good enough for her. “Deal.”
They spent another few minutes on the phone, with Gordon telling her what he knew about Rockford and what he could quickly google—the names of the bride and the members of Rock’s family, and a few details about the family ranch where he’d grown up. “Oh, and from everything I’ve ever heard, the guy hates reporters, like freaking loathes them. So you need to be crafty about finding a way to talk to him.”
Great. No problem. She could be crafty. If by crafty, Gordon meant good with a glue gun. “Thanks for the warning. Although you could have told me that before.”
“I never said it would be easy.”
She let out a sigh. She’d come up with something. Mick had told her that the party would go all afternoon and into the evening, so she still had plenty of time. “Talk to you Monday.”
She turned off the engine and unzipped the bag sitting in her passenger seat. Rummaging through it, she searched for the white blouse she’d pulled from the dryer that morning. It wasn’t as fancy as the silk one, but it was clean, fairly unwrinkled, and better than what she had on. She grabbed the shirt, then slung her purse over her shoulder as she climbed out of the car, automatically pushing the lock down as she rehearsed ways to approach the bride and groom.
Already nervous about going into the party alone, she absently let the door swing shut behind her, realizing she’d just locked it at the same moment she spied the keys still hanging from the ignition.
* * *
“A toast,” Mason James proclaimed, holding up his glass. “To my brother Rock and his beautiful bride, Quinn.”
He looked around the room at the mix of family, friends, and Rock’s teammates who filled the lodge. It had been his mom’s idea to host a party for the team several days before the wedding. She’d thought it might help ease the pain when Rock didn’t invite the whole Colorado Summit hockey team to his actual wedding.
It had to be rough to be that popular. But that was his brother.
He turned to Rock and had to smile. He just looked so dang happy.
Mason raised his voice above the noise of the crowded room.
“I might be the best man at this wedding, but Rock is the real best man, and he’s getting the best girl.” He smiled at his brother’s fiancée. “I feel like I’ve known Quinn and her brother, Logan, all my life. Our ranches are across the field from each other, and even though our families have been feuding for as long as we can remember, us kids never cared a whit about that. We grew up together, swimming in the pond in the summer and playing hockey on the ice in the winter.”
He stopped, clearing his throat against the em
otion suddenly filling it, but keeping his gaze trained on Quinn. “Rock has loved you since he was old enough to understand what love is. And Colt and I have always loved you just like you were our sister, so on behalf of my mom, Colt, and myself, we couldn’t be happier to welcome you into the family.”
He raised his glass higher. “To Rock and Quinn, may your life be full of love and laughter, and may all your dreams come true. Including the one about winning the Stanley Cup next year.”
The crowd cheered, and the sound of laughter and clinking glasses filled the hall. The town of Creedence, Colorado, might be small—in fact, the population of twelve hundred people would barely fill a hockey arena—but they were die-hard fans of their hometown boy and the team he played for.
Rockford stood and threw his arm around Mason’s shoulders. “Thanks, Brother.”
Colt stood on his other side. The three of them clinked their glasses, then all took a swig of beer.
Quinn pushed back her chair and squeezed between them. “Thanks, Mace. That was a great toast.” She gave him a warm hug and spoke softly into his ear. “And your dream girl is out there. You just haven’t met her yet. But I know you’re going to be someone’s best man too.”
He squeezed his almost sister-in-law and winced as he looked over her shoulder at Leanne Perkins, her maid of honor and the girl he’d once had plenty of dreams about. Leanne’s eyes were red and tearstained, and he wondered if her tears were for the touching words of his toast or for the fact that Rockford James was now good and truly off the market.
They got along fine now, but he and Leanne had a history he’d rather forget. He’d had the worst crush on her in high school and thought himself the luckiest guy around when she’d agreed to go to prom with him junior year. Then he’d found out her real interest was in Rockford, and she’d only been dating him to get to his older brother.
She hadn’t been the last woman who had burned him with that particular stunt.
He hated being used and couldn’t stand liars. And he’d learned quickly that when it came to Rock, some people of the female persuasion couldn’t be trusted. He’d also learned that his bullshit detector wasn’t always accurate, and it was easier to keep a healthy distance than to open himself up to getting hurt again. So despite Quinn’s encouraging words, he wasn’t planning on finding the woman of his dreams any day soon.