by Susan Fox
She smiled, showing him all the love in her heart. Yes, they were two strong-minded people and there’d been some tough times, hurt feelings, angry words. But they were learning patience, flexibility, compromise. Communication, vulnerability, sharing. When they hit a rough spot, they took a step back and focused on their love for each other.
Last weekend, Jamal had proposed. She hadn’t felt the slightest doubt before saying yes. Their future would hold children and basketball hoops, horses, a dog, and the ongoing struggle to make the world a better place. It would hold friends. A home. Love.
Whatever the future brought, she and Jamal would stand together, united not just by love but by courage, respect, and trust.
Author’s Note
Although Caribou Crossing is a made-up town, it feels real to me as I populate it with women and men who are seeking happy endings, whether or not they realize it in the beginning. I hope you enjoy visiting Caribou Crossing in my books.
In Gentle on my Mind, I introduced secondary characters Corporal Karen MacLean and Sergeant Jamal Estevez. They didn’t want to remain “secondary” and demanded their own story. I was delighted to oblige by giving them Stand by Your Man.
You’ll find information about the other Caribou Crossing Romances at the back of this novella. And, for those who have asked if poor Dave Cousins will ever find love again, the answer is a resounding “yes”—though of course the path to love won’t be a smooth one. Look for Dave’s book, Love Me Tender, in December 2014.
Thank you to all those who made Stand by Your Man possible: Martin Biro at Kensington; Emily Sylvan Kim at Prospect Agency; critiquers Lacy Danes, Michelle Hancock, Betty Allan, and Nazima Ali; and RCMP officers Teresa and Tim (all errors are mine, not theirs).
I love sharing my stories with my readers and I love hearing from you. I write under the pen names Susan Fox, Savanna Fox, and Susan Lyons. You can e-mail me at [email protected] or contact me through my website at www.susanfox.ca, where you’ll also find excerpts, behind-the-scenes notes, recipes, a monthly contest, the sign-up for my newsletter, and other goodies. You can also find me on Facebook at facebook.com/SusanLyonsFox.
If you enjoyed STAND BY YOUR MAN,
you can return to Caribou Crossing in Susan Fox’s
LOVE ME TENDER:
A Caribou Crossing Romance
A Zebra mass market and eBook
on sale in December 2014.
Turn the page for a special sneak peek!
Chapter 1
At five-thirty on Tuesday morning, Dave Cousins showered and dressed in jeans, a snap-front Western shirt, and cowboy boots and slipped out of the two-bedroom owner’s suite at the top of the Wild Rose Inn. He moved quietly so as not to disturb Robin, his eleven-year-old daughter, and Merlin, their black standard poodle, who were asleep in her bedroom.
An athletic guy, Dave took every opportunity to get some exercise, so he ran lightly down the four flights of stairs rather than take the elevator.
Sam, the retired RCMP officer who handled the Inn from ten-thirty to six-thirty, was frowning into space through his horn-rims when Dave strode up to the front desk.
“Morning,” Dave greeted him. “Words not flowing?” Sam was writing a mystery novel and it came in fits and starts.
“Got distracted,” Sam said, scratching his balding head. “By the woman in twenty-two.”
“Someone who checked in last night?” Twenty-two had been one of only three empty rooms when he and Sam had touched base at the beginning of the man’s shift. “I take it she’s pretty?” Sam had never married and had an eye for the ladies, which, thank heavens, translated into a rough kind of charm that suited the Wild Rose’s ambience, rather than into inappropriate behavior.
“Pretty, for sure. Once she got some color back in her cheeks.” He paused, a born storyteller confident that he’d hooked his audience.
Dave obliged. “Go on. Why was she so pale?” Though he asked the question, he knew Sam would choose how he wanted to tell the story.
The night manager leaned forward, his pale gray eyes bright even after a night awake. “It’s past eleven when she staggers into the lobby. Mid- to late twenties, slim build, got some Latina blood. Faded jeans and a long-sleeved green tee. Too light a top because the air’s chilled off. You know how it gets this time of year.”
Dave nodded. June in Caribou Crossing featured warm, sunny days but the temperature cooled when the sun went down.
“But those white cheeks of hers, they aren’t just from the cold. It’s more like she’s done in, on her last legs. And those legs aren’t working so well. She stumbles across to the desk, backpack weighing her down. I get up to go meet her and take her pack, but before I get there, what does she up and do?” His shaggy gray eyebrows lifted.
Dave asked the expected question. “What does she up and do?”
“Faints dead away.”
Dave frowned, worried. “That’s not good. Did you call nine-one-one?”
The storyteller was probably incapable of giving a simple yes or no answer. “I bend down, make sure she has a pulse, and by then she’s stirring. So I whip into the bar and fetch a shot of whisky. The Caribou Crossing Single Barrel rye. Figure if our hometown drink doesn’t fix her up, I’ll call for help.”
Dave didn’t know whether to groan or grin. Warily he asked, “Did she drink it?”
“I wave it under the gal’s nose, and she kind of snorts and jumps back like a horse when it sees a snake. She sits up, grabs the glass and downs it in one swallow, and says, ‘Damn, that’s good.’”
Surprised and relieved, Dave laughed and Sam joined in.
“I did offer to call a doc,” Sam assured him, “but she says no, she’s just exhausted and hungry. Been hitchhiking all day, up from Vancouver, hasn’t had much to eat. Says she came in to ask if there’s a hostel in town. That whisky put some color back in her cheeks and she’s trying to be all bright and cheery. But under all that, she looks like a nag that’s been rode hard and put up wet. I tell her she’ll stay here; she starts to argue; I tell her I won’t take no guff. Give her a key, take her bag and walk her to the door, then I heat up some leftover beef stew and biscuits from the kitchen and take it up.” He shrugged. “After that, I don’t hear another peep out of her all night.”
“Hmm.” Dave glanced at the ceiling, still concerned. “All the same, I wish you’d had a doctor come look at her.” The four family practice doctors in Caribou Crossing had an arrangement through an answering service: one was always on call, and they made house calls.
“She said she wasn’t going to go wasting a doctor’s time just because she’d been on the road all day and hadn’t had a chance to eat. The gal was pretty damned firm about it.” He gave his balding head a shake. “Put me in mind of old Ms. Haldenby. You know?”
The retired schoolteacher was a fine—and intimidating—woman who definitely knew her own mind. “There’s no arguing with someone like that,” he agreed. “Well, it sounds like you did all you could. Good work, Sam.”
“See if you still say that when I tell you I didn’t get a credit card or even a name from twenty-two. Figured it could wait till she was feeling better.”
“Good decision. Even if she skips, it’s no big loss.” Dave was more worried about the woman’s health. But Sam was a smart, observant guy. If he’d thought their visitor really was sick, he’d have overridden her objections, just as he had when he’d given her a room.
“Anyhow,” Sam said, “the damn woman took my mind right out of my book. Got me thinking about her story, and I bet it’s a good one.”
Dave rolled his eyes. “You and your overactive imagination. She’s just a hitchhiker who didn’t have the sense to have a rest when she needed one. She’ll be up and on the road, hopefully paying her bill before she goes. Anything else happen last night?”
“One late check-in, a couple who were driving from Seattle to Williams Lake and realized they were too tired to be safe on the road. Restaurant closed early
and it was a quiet night at the bar, but that’s normal for a Monday.”
“Thanks.” Dave tapped the desk lightly with his fist. “Okay, you hold down the fort a while longer, and I’ll be in the office.” He’d check receipts from the bar and from the Wild Rose’s restaurant, and catch up on e-mail until Harminder, the day receptionist, arrived.
After touching base with her, he’d run back upstairs and make sure Robin was up and tending to Merlin’s needs. Then they’d have breakfast and she’d head off to school. She was excited because there were only three days left before the summer holiday.
He liked the days Robin was here. Custody was split equally between him and his ex-wife, Jessie, and her husband, Evan. On the days Rob wasn’t around, Dave’s life, no matter how busy, felt empty. Lonely.
If Anita hadn’t died, things would be so different.
He swallowed against the familiar ache at the back of his throat, blinked back the burn of unshed tears. No point thinking of what could never be. Not when it hurt so much.
Around eleven, Dave was at the front desk, relieving Harminder while she used her midshift break to take her son to the dentist. The receptionist was a few years older than his own twenty-nine, married with two kids. Her social worker husband got the children up and to school in the morning, while she picked them up after school.
Sleeves unbuttoned and rolled up his forearms, he frowned at the computer screen. He was trying to book opera tickets in Vancouver for guests who were heading there tomorrow, but the online system kept glitching. Maybe it was time for an old-fashioned phone call. Frustrated, he exited the site just as a cheerful female voice said, “Hi, friend. Anywhere around here I can get a good capooch?”
He looked up. Aha. This had to be twenty-two. She was dressed like the typical tourist, in casual shorts and an olive tank layered over something that had pink straps. Yes, she was pretty, just as Sam had said. Medium height, slim, nice curves. He saw the touch of Latina in her olive-toned skin and the shiny black hair cut in a short, elfin cap. Her black-lashed eyes were blue-gray and sparkling, matching nicely with her white smile.
He smiled back. “Would that translate to cappuccino?”
Humor warmed her eyes. “What else?”
“Thought maybe you were talking about some weird mixed-breed dog.”
Her burble of laughter was musical and infectious. “No, it’s caffeine I need right now.” She yawned widely without covering her mouth. It should have been unattractive but he had trouble imagining that anything this woman did would look unattractive. Despite the yawn her face was animated, her striking eyes dancing here and there, studying the lobby and studying him too.
“Oh yeah, I need a double-shot capooch to get me going.” She stuck a hand out. “By the way, I’m Cassidy. Cassidy Esperanza.”
With guests, he always aimed for the personal touch, so he came out from behind the desk and extended his hand. “Dave Cousins.”
As she turned toward him, he spotted a tattoo on the cap of her right shoulder: a Canada goose flying across the moon. Beautifully done, and rather haunting.
Cassidy’s handshake was energetic; her hand was like the rest of her: brown, shapely, slender, and full of vitality. He shook a lot of hands in the course of a day, but this one felt particularly good in his. A strange thought. The last thing he was looking for, after losing Anita three years ago, was a relationship. If he wanted female companionship, he had his friend Sally Ryland, a widow who had no more intention than he of giving love another chance.
Trying to ignore the odd tingling sensation in his hand, he freed it from his guest’s. “Best coffee in town’s right here.” Yes, a couple of the coffee shops did a fine job too, but for some reason he wanted to keep Cassidy Esperanza at the Wild Rose. “Good food too, if you’re hungry.”
“Swell.” She gave another of those huge yawns, stretched her arms up, and raked her fingers through that cap of hair, ruffling it. Normally, he liked long hair on women—like Anita’s red-gold waves or Jessie’s straight, glossy chestnut hair—but the pixie cap suited Cassidy’s slightly exotic face.
“I’m awake,” she said with a quick laugh. “I swear I am. Got a good sleep too. Don’t know why I’m yawning.” Then her face sobered. “Before I do anything, I need to have a talk with the manager.”
“Let me guess, you’re twenty-two.”
“Twenty-two?” She shook her head slightly, looking confused. “No, I’m twenty-seven.”
“Sorry, I mean, room twenty-two. The woman who came in last night and . . .” He paused deliberately, curious to see what she’d say.
“Fainted.” She raised her brows ruefully. “That’s me. Really embarrassing. But the guy on the desk was great. Only problem is . . .” She leaned forward. “Look, can I confide in you? Maybe you can give me some advice.”
“Uh, sure.”
“The nice guy gave me a room last night, and food, but the thing is, I don’t have the money to pay. I came in to get warm and see if anyone could suggest a hostel, and next thing I knew I was on the floor and this guy was”—she broke off and grinned with the memory—“waking me up with a whiff of potent whisky. Which tasted delicious, and I guess I owe for that too, now that I think of it.”
“Look—”
“No, I realize I owe for the room and everything, and this is a classy place so it won’t be cheap. But the thing is, I’m pretty much broke.”
Oh, great.
He opened his mouth, but she rushed on again. “I swear I won’t cut out on you. I was going to look for a job in Caribou Crossing anyway, and as soon as I get one and have some money, I’ll pay up. But it might take a few days and I’d sure understand if the manager was mad. So, if you could give me any tips on how to deal with him, I’d really appreciate it.”
As best he could tell, she was sincere. Dave grinned. “Just tell him the truth. And you did. I’m the owner of the Wild Rose.”
“Oh! My gosh, I didn’t realize.” She studied him again. “Gotta love a hotel where the owner wears jeans and cowboy boots.”
“It goes with the ambience we’re trying to create here.”
She glanced around the lobby again, and nodded. “Yeah, it’s kind of a cool blend of Old West and Santa Fe. That room—twenty-two—is just awesome, by the way. That four-poster canopy bed with all the ruffles and flounces, the stool to climb up into it. I admit I had a moment’s worry when I saw the chamber pot, but then I realized it was just for decoration and there was a real bathroom. Claw-foot tub and all.”
Her gaze returned to him and she grinned. “So, Dave Cousins, Mr. Owner, want to have breakfast with me? I’ll run my tab even higher and then maybe you can tell me where I might find work in this town?”
Though he liked being friendly and a little casual with guests, he always kept it professional. Occasionally, he joined them for a drink or a coffee, but not often. This time, to his surprise, he was tempted.
Chapter 2
Cassidy studied the man in front of her. He was handsome in a way that snuck up on you. At first, he just seemed like a tall, rangy guy with regular features. But the longer she looked, the more she took in. The leanness of hip and length of leg in nicely faded jeans belted with braided leather and breaking across the front of brown tooled cowboy boots. The flex of muscles in his tanned forearms and beneath the gentle drape of his olive green Western-style shirt. The way his thick sandy brown hair framed the strong lines of his face and flopped engagingly over his forehead; the direct gaze of hazel eyes flecked with green and gold; the tiniest suggestion, when he smiled, that a dimple might want to break through.
Easy on the eyes. The expression had been made for Dave Cousins.
Too bad his own eyes were saying no to breakfast. His mouth confirmed the message. “I need to stay on the desk until the receptionist gets back.”
Cassidy was about to say that was too bad when her attention was caught by a young Native Canadian woman who was striding down a hallway into the lobby. She looked to be tw
enty or so, and was striking with long, shining black hair falling past the shoulders of a crisp white Western shirt. Dark jeans hugged curvy hips and slim legs, their red belt matching her own cowboy boots. Silver earrings in the shape of feathers dangled from her ears.
“Hey,” Dave greeted her. “Madisun, this is Cassidy Esperanza, one of our guests. Cassidy, Madisun Joe is my assistant manager.”
And very young for such responsibility, Cassidy thought. Clearly, Madisun had ambition, drive. Things that weren’t part of her own life, which was all about new places, new people, new experiences.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Cassidy said. And nice of Dave not to mention her empty pockets problem.
“Welcome to the Wild Rose, Cassidy,” Madisun said. Then she turned to Dave. “I have the final plans for Karen and Jamal’s wedding reception, whenever you want to take a look.”
“Thanks.” He glanced at her, then at Cassidy, then back again. “Say, would you mind taking the desk until Harminder comes back?”
“No problem.”
“Great. And could you book two tickets for the Vancouver Opera’s Carmen at the Queen Elizabeth Theatre, Wednesday night, for Mr. and Mrs. Grunewald? The online system glitched on me so you may have to make a call.”
“Of course.”
“If you need me, I’ll be in the restaurant with Cassidy.”
Madisun’s brown eyes widened slightly, like maybe this was unusual behavior for her boss, but all she said was, “Okay.”
Cassidy crossed the lobby at Dave’s side. As they were about to enter the dining room, a female instinct made her dart a glance over her shoulder. Madisun stood rooted to the same spot, staring after them.