by Shirley Jump
Georgina started to fuss. Lindsay tried playing with the baby again, but she wasn’t interested. She squirmed in her seat and started to cry.
“Got to know him?” Lindsay straightened. “You mean that day in court?”
Heather handed Georgina a teething ring of floating fish. The baby immediately started gumming the soft plastic circle. “Oh, no, he did more than that. He invited us out to dinner. He said he wanted to hear from us firsthand what we thought about the day care, to see if there were any improvements he needed to make. He went above and beyond, if you ask me.”
Peter nodded agreement. “You meet some of these CEOs and they barely know what the right hand is doing with the left in their business, especially in one as big as his, where a single day care is a blip on the screen. Walker, though, is really invested in making his day care chain a success. Not just for his company but for the families who use it.”
“He wants it to feel like home,” Lindsay added softly. And Walker was doing that, one action at a time.
“That’s exactly what he told us,” Heather said. “And you know, when you have an owner who cares that much, I think that’s half the battle in making a workplace feel like home.”
If someone had asked her two weeks ago what she thought of Walker Jones III, “caring owner” wouldn’t even have made the list. But the man she’d gotten to know did care and was committed to making things right. If she’d had any doubts about that before, they were gone now.
That only made her heart ache more. He was a good guy—an intriguing, interesting, handsome guy—but also one who lived far away and had no intentions of coming back.
Lindsay started to say goodbye to the Marshalls, then stopped. “Wait. You said Walker took you guys out to dinner. When was that?”
“Two days ago,” Heather said, then laughed. “At least I think so. Georgina is getting her first tooth, so no one in our house is getting a lot of sleep lately.”
Two days ago. After she’d said goodbye to him at the stable. Was it possible that Walker had stayed in town? That he hadn’t gone running back to Tulsa after all?
And if that was so, why hadn’t he called her? Texted? Tried to see her?
She gave the Marshalls a hug, bent down and kissed baby Georgina on the temple, then said goodbye before the emotions crowding her head could bring on tears. Maybe she had misread Walker after all. Maybe he was one of those love ’em and leave ’em guys. She was better off without him, after all.
If that was so, then why did it hurt so bad?
She stopped by Nate Crawford’s booth, where he was raffling off a weekend for two at the Maverick Manor. He’d done an amazing job rebuilding the manor after he won the lottery and turned the rundown Bledsoe’s Folly, as it had been nicknamed, into the gracious and beautiful hotel. With his wife, Callie, by his side, Nate looked like a happy man with a full, rich life.
“Glad to see the hotel is doing so well,” Lindsay said.
“I had a flurry of bookings this week. Seems our resident millionaire recommended it to a whole bunch of his friends,” Nate said. “And he’s already booked a corporate retreat at the Manor for the spring.”
He was still in town. Why hadn’t he contacted her? “By resident millionaire you mean...”
“Walker Jones.” Nate grinned. “He’s been one of the best things to happen to Maverick Manor since I opened it.”
What the heck was Walker doing? Taking the Marshalls out to dinner, taking care of the other families whose kids had gotten ill, increasing bookings at the Maverick Manor? She half expected someone to come up and tell her he was building a hundred-acre park next. He’d gone from town villain to town hero in the span of a week.
Refusing to spend any more time thinking about Walker, she got a cup of hot cider, bought another pretzel from her sister-in-law and tried to enjoy the festival. A local band was playing at one end of the park, filling the space with the cheery sounds of country hits. Lindsay tried to smile, tried to move to the music, but everything inside her hurt. She tossed her empty cup in the trash, then headed toward home.
* * *
The Rust Creek Falls Harvest Festival was in full swing by the time Walker arrived. He’d spent half the day in his hotel room in videoconference planning meetings with his staff. Every time he thought he’d conquered one thing on his to-do list, another twenty sprang up. Any other day, the workload might have exhausted him, driving him to hit the sheets as soon as he got home. This week, though, he’d been energized, staying up long past midnight every single night to send emails, fax signed contracts, make plans.
He had contemplated avoiding the festival entirely, because he wasn’t sure his plan would be ready. It wasn’t quite there yet, but maybe he could nudge things along in person. So Walker headed out of his room at the Maverick Manor and down to the park.
His phone started ringing. He pulled it out, glanced at the caller ID and decided this was a long overdue conversation. “Hello, Dad,” he said when he answered.
“Are you done playing cowboy? Your responsibilities are here, Walker, not in that hick town.” His father’s voice was harsh.
Walker bristled. “I’ve worked the entire time I’ve been here. There are these amazing technological advances called computers that let me videoconference, sign contracts—”
“You are needed here, Walker. In person. I expect you to be back in Tulsa tomorrow.”
A thousand times before, Walker had leapt to do his father’s bidding, because he’d thought this action or that one would finally make his father see his son as a man to be proud of. But it seemed no matter what Walker did, his father wasn’t pleased. “No.”
The single word hung in the air between them. The silence went on so long, Walker was sure his father had hung up.
“I am going to pretend you didn’t say that,” Walker the II said. “Now, when you return—”
“I’m staying where I am. And as CEO, I’m making some changes to how Jones Holdings is run.”
“You can’t do that.”
“I can. You put me in charge, and that means I can do what I want. I’ve been working with the other members of the board to implement these changes.”
“You mean going behind my back to push your own agenda.”
“Not at all. I’m doing what I think is best for the company,” Walker paused. “And for me.”
“You are going to ruin everything I worked for all my life.” Disgust filled every syllable.
“No, Dad. I’m going to have the life you never had. I don’t want to grow old and realize the only thing I have is a cold, empty business. I want a life. A family.” Walker paused. “There’s still time for you to do that, too, Dad.”
“You’re a fool,” his father said.
“No. I was a fool,” Walker said. “I’m not going to be one any longer.” Then he hung up the phone and hurried his pace as he entered the park.
The scents of roasting hot dogs and mulled cider filled the air. A tractor with a hay-filled trailer carried loads of kids on a circuitous route outside the park. There were ring toss games and giant hopscotch patterns drawn on the grass, and vendors selling everything from handmade aprons to brightly painted Montana landscapes.
One painting caught Walker’s eye as he passed the booth. A landscape of a beautiful stretch of river and the mountains that lay behind it. In the center was the unmistakable Dalton ranch. He could almost see himself and Lindsay relaxing by the river with the horses, almost hear her family sitting down to dinner.
“How much for that one?” he asked the vendor.
The woman manning the booth—the artist, he presumed, given her flowing clothes and chunky jewelry—came around to see which painting Walker was pointing at. She was tall, with wavy brown hair and kind brown eyes. “Oh, sorry, that one’s not for sale.”
�
��Everything is for sale.” Walker pulled out his billfold, withdrawing a thick stack of twenties. “Name your price.”
“There isn’t one.” The woman smiled and pushed the stack of bills away. “Not everything can be bought.”
“That’s the Dalton ranch in there, right?” He gestured toward the property at the base of the mountains. He could see tiny horses painted into the corral, some spring flowers on the porch. The sun was just setting in the painting, and everything had been washed with gold.
“It is. My husband’s cousin’s family lives there.” She put out a hand. “I’m Vanessa Dalton, married to Jonah Dalton, and also the artist who painted this.”
“Walker Jones,” he said. “I’ve met your husband. Nice guy. Wait. Are you also the artist who did the mural at the Maverick Manor?”
She nodded. “Guilty as charged.”
“I thought your work looked familiar.” He shook hands with her, then let out a little laugh. “This really is a small town, isn’t it?”
“That’s what they say.” Vanessa smiled again and moved away from the Dalton ranch painting. “Anyway, what about this one?” She gestured toward a painting of the town park, then at one of the mountains. “I have plenty of other landscapes of this area.”
“No, this is the one I want.” He looked at the painting again and felt that sense of home that he had been missing all his life. “Are you sure we can’t come to an agreement?”
“I’m sorry,” Vanessa said, “but it’s the kind of painting that I’d like to keep in the family.”
Walker could see that no amount of money was going to convince Vanessa to sell. He wasn’t part of that family and had no right to ask for something that rightly belonged to the Daltons. He was always going to remain where he was—on the outside looking in. Walker said goodbye to Vanessa and made his way farther into the festival.
Maybe he should leave. What was he doing here, anyway? Working some crazy plan that very likely would explode in his face? He wandered down the pathway and thought it might be best to head back to the hotel.
Then he saw her. It was like a bolt of lightning hitting his chest. Over the last three days, Walker had told himself he was doing fine without her, but the instant he saw Lindsay, he knew that was a lie.
He wove his way through the crowds, but she was moving fast, heading for the exit. He increased his pace, then took a shortcut behind one of the booths, rounded it and ended up right in front of Lindsay. “Hey.”
As opening lines went, it wasn’t his best. Hell, it probably ranked right down there with the worst possible opening line he could ever say. But at the moment it was all he had.
“You’re still in town.”
Her words were a statement, not a question, and he could hear the hurt in her voice. Hurt that he hadn’t called or texted, that he had let her go. He wanted to tell her that he had his reasons, that he’d wanted to be ready to see her, but the words refused to come. “Did you see our booths? They look great all finished.”
Worst opening line followed by worst second line ever. Geesh, you’d think he was fifteen again and had no idea how to talk to women. This woman, though, was different, and he didn’t want to mess up. Not any more than he already had, at least.
“Oh, yeah, I did see them. You’re right. They look great.” She started to brush past him. “I need to go.”
He put a hand on her arm. Electricity raced through his veins. “Lindsay, wait. Please.”
Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. Once again, he ached to undo the hurt from the past few days, rewind the clock, find another way. Hurting Lindsay was the last thing he wanted to do, and the only thing that had been unavoidable. They’d needed time apart—time for him to figure out what he wanted, time for her to regroup and time to pull off what he hoped was a miracle. He could only pray she would understand.
“Can we grab some hot cocoa and go talk?” he asked her.
She shook her head and pulled her arm away from his hand. “I have to go.”
“Stay, Lindsay,” he said, reaching out and taking her hand this time. “Stay. Just for hot cocoa.”
“Walker, what is it going to accomplish? Clearly, we are done. There’s no sense in prolonging the inevitable.”
“Listen, I’m staying in town for a little while longer while I get a...project off the ground. We can at least be friends, right?”
She winced at the word. “Friends. Yes, of course.”
Okay, it was a start. He’d gone about this all wrong from the beginning—trying to be with her when they were in the midst of a lawsuit, then getting scared immediately after they made love. It was a wonder she didn’t hate him. “Friends can have hot cocoa. Right?”
“One cup of cocoa won’t change anything.”
He grinned. “Never underestimate the power of melted chocolate.”
She gave him a wary glance. People streamed around them, heading in and out of the festival. The country band played a Randy Travis song. “One cup,” Lindsay said. “That’s it.”
When she finally agreed, Walker felt like he’d won the lottery. “That’s all I ask.”
And hopefully all I need.
* * *
Lindsay should have said no. In fact, she had said no, more than once. But then Walker had beaten her at her own argument and she’d agreed. Not that her resistance was all that strong, anyway. A part of her really wanted to know why Walker was still in town. Why he hadn’t called.
It was closure, she told herself. Yeah, closure. With hot cocoa.
They turned back into the festival, heading down the crowded path toward the hot chocolate booth at the back. Every few feet, Lindsay ran into someone she knew. That didn’t surprise her. But what did surprise her was how many people said hello to Walker. As they walked, it began to seem more and more like he had met pretty much everyone in Rust Creek Falls. He exchanged a few words with Nick Pritchett and his wife, Cecelia, then said hello to Jonah and Vanessa Dalton. “How do you know so many residents of this town?”
“I’ve spent a lot of time...wandering around town, talking to people this past week,” he said.
Something about Walker’s answer seemed suspicious, like maybe he wasn’t telling her everything. Or maybe he really had enjoyed his time in town and had made a lot of acquaintances. Word had definitely gotten around about what he had done for the families of the sick babies, because several people thanked him and welcomed him to the festival. Was that it?
Whatever had made Walker so popular, by the time they reached the hot chocolate stand, Lindsay felt like she’d gone through an entire class reunion. She was a little bit jealous that Walker had spent so much time with other people and not called or texted her all week. Why would he do that? And why was he back in her life today? Was it just a chance meeting between friends at the festival?
God, even thinking the word friends when it came to Walker hurt her chest. She’d wanted more, but the realistic, practical side of her knew better. No matter how many people he met here, no matter what he did, Walker was ultimately going back to Tulsa and she’d be smart to guard her heart before it got any more broken.
Natalie Crawford, who worked at her family’s general store, was standing behind two huge urns filled with hot cocoa. “Hi, Lindsay. Nice to see you and...” Natalie arched a brow as she raked Walker with her eyes. “Whoever this is with you.”
A weird little flare of something Lindsay refused to name as jealousy rose in her when she saw Natalie looking at Walker like he was the last bachelor on earth. Walker introduced himself, and Lindsay noticed Natalie held on just a little too long for a proper handshake.
“Two hot cocoas, please,” Walker said, then glanced at Lindsay. “With whipped cream?”
“Yes.” She was going to need it. That and the cupcakes Lily was selling. Maybe all the cupcakes.
/> “Extra whipped cream on both.” He paid Natalie, then took the drinks from her, seeming to barely notice Natalie’s attempts to flirt and smile at him. When he turned, his attention was focused squarely on Lindsay. That sent a little thrill through her and cracked the wall around her heart letting in hope. Maybe he did want more.
“M’lady,” he said, executing a little bow as he gave her the cup. “Be careful. It’s hot.”
“Which is probably where it derived the name hot cocoa.” She grinned at him, then took a sip. The drink was perfect, with just the right amount of whipped cream on top.
Walker and Lindsay ambled over to the playground. The festival ended just a few feet before the swings and slides, and this part of the park was deserted but still filled with the scents and sounds of the festival. She glanced over at him from time to time, wondering why a man who had shown her zero interest in the last few days was suddenly so attached. And did she dare to read something into this?
She took a seat on one of the swings and toed back and forth. Walker leaned against the frame, watching her, an amused smile playing on his lips.
“So, do you want to tell me the truth now about why so many people know you?”
He chuckled. “Why, counselor, that sounds like you’re taking a deposition.”
“It just seems awfully curious to me that a man who’s only been in this town for little more than a week knows pretty much every single resident.”
“That’s a bit of an exaggeration, but yes, I’ve met quite a few people here over the last few days.” Walker took a sip and looked out over the busy, cheery festival they’d just left. “And you’re right. Rust Creek Falls is a really nice town.”
She sipped at her hot cocoa and let the swing drift. The chains let out soft squeaks. “And why are you meeting so many people?”
“Well, that,” he said as he bent down before her, catching the chain in one hand and bringing her to a halt right up against him, “is something I can’t tell you until tomorrow.”