The Maverick's Summer Sweetheart

A woman like that on a vacation for one? She had to have a husband or boyfriend she was planning to meet up with later. And even if she didn’t, Hank had a type, and the women who fit the mold were ones like his ex-wife, Anne. Pretty and sweet in a girl-next-door kind of way.

Janie was right about this woman. She was all big-city style and sophistication. And gorgeous or not, crazy spark or not, New York City was a helluva lot of doors away from Rust Creek Falls.

Even so, Hank reluctantly allowed Janie to drag him across the damp concrete decking, toward the woman reclining on the pale blue lounge chair. For a split second, he thought he saw the brunette’s eyes widen ever so slightly and drop to his naked chest as he approached.

Checking him out?

Naw, that had to be his imagination playing games with him.

“Gemma, this is my dad, Hank Harlow,” Janie said with enough pride in her voice to have his neck heating slightly. “Dad, this is Gemma...”

“Chapman.” Swinging those long, lovely legs over the side of the lounger, Gemma leaned forward to hold out her hand. A half a dozen or so slender gold bracelets jingled as they slid down her arm.

Hank had always considered himself something of a gentleman, but it was hard to know where to look when all that female flesh was on display. Bathing suits were a rarity in Montana, and though she was hardly the only one wearing a bikini, no other woman at the Maverick Manor pool wore one quite so well.

The black satin was a stark contrast to her creamy skin, the narrow straps cutting across her collarbones and molding to the curves of her breasts. Her stomach was smooth and flat, the indentation of her hip bones hollowing out ever so slightly right where the bikini bottom stretched across her belly. Her waist was slender enough that he could likely span it with both hands, and just the thought of feeling that smooth skin sliding against his palms had Hank breaking out into a sweat.

Long-ingrained manners had him taking her hand, instantly registering the delicate bones, as he gruffly murmured, “Miz Chapman.”

A small half smile curved her lips, and that heat started spreading out from his neck until his whole body felt on fire. “Please, call me Gemma.”

“Gemma...” Realizing he’d been holding on for far too long as he ran his thumb across her silky-smooth skin, he practically jerked his hand away from hers. He lifted his arm, wishing for his old and familiar hat to hide behind, and had to settle for running his fingers through his too long, damp hair instead. “Nice to meet you. Hope Janie here hasn’t been talking your ear off.”

As expected, his daughter gave a huffing sigh, one that had Gemma’s smile widening. “Not at all. She’s been keeping me company.”

Was Janie right? Could Gemma be vacationing alone? Interest and anticipation buzzed along his nerve endings even as Hank dismissed the possibility. Okay, so maybe he had thought a time or two about jumping back in the dating pool, but this... This would be like launching right off Owl Rock and into the rushing waterfall that gave the town its name. He’d be in over his head the moment he hit water.

“I was telling my dad how you’re from New York. And—Oh!” Janie’s eyes widened as she grabbed hold of his hand. “Gemma...have you seen the new Disney musical on Broadway?”

Hank tried not to groan. Ever since Janie’s favorite actress had left her hit television series to pursue a stage career, his daughter had been obsessed with New York.

“Have I seen it?”

Gemma rose to her feet, and Hank realized she was taller than he first thought, the top of her head coming right to his chin. The perfect height for holding her in his arms. Not that Hank had any intention of testing out that theory.

He was a small-town single dad who hadn’t been on a date in well over a decade. Besides, if he needed a visual reference for the phrase out of his league, Gemma Chapman would be it.

“I love going to the theater,” she was saying, “and that’s one of my favorite musicals.”

“I know all the songs,” Janie boasted.

“Which one do you like best?”

This time Hank didn’t bother holding back the groan. One Gemma clearly heard as she shot him a look. Her dewy lips pressed together, trying to hide a smile, as his beautiful, smart, talented and completely tone-deaf daughter started belting out the Oscar-winning song.

A few people in nearby lounge chairs glanced over, but Janie didn’t care. Obviously Gemma didn’t either, as she too started to sing. Thanks to Janie, Hank had heard the song and seen the DVD numerous times, and the words—like the melody—had been little more than background noise.

But Gemma didn’t sing the lyrics so much as she seemed to embrace them. No keeping it in, no holding back...just letting it go. And as she lifted her head, her long dark hair trailing down her slender back, something inside Hank sparked to life. Something that had been, well, frozen for far too long.

Get a grip, Harlow! You’re way too old to be taking life lessons from Disney.

By the big finale, the people around them gave a round of applause that had Gemma laughing breathlessly. Even though a bloom of color brightened her cheeks, she brazened out the sudden attention and gave a graceful curtsy, one that Janie immediately copied.

“This afternoon’s entertainment has been brought to you by Janie and Gemma,” Gemma added with all the flourish of an MC hosting an awards ceremony.

“That was awesome!” Janie practically bounced on her bare toes in her excitement.

“Janie’s right. That was...awesome,” Hank echoed. The blush in Gemma’s cheeks deepened as their gazes met and held, but just like she had with the unexpected applause, she didn’t back down. Awareness rippled between them, and Hank wasn’t sure when he had moved, but he suddenly noticed a puddle of water from his navy trunks had formed at his feet and was inching toward Gemma’s purple-painted toes and sequined flip-flops.

Who wore sequins at a pool?

He took a stumbling step back to keep from dripping on her fancy shoes, nearly tripping over the lounger behind him. He’d barely caught his balance when Janie added, “I totally wanted to go to New York to see the musical, but we’d already booked the hotel here. I’m hoping I can go later this summer with my other dad.”

“Other dad?” At that, Gemma’s dark brows winged upward as she gave him a somewhat-surprised look.

His face already burning, Hank quickly said, “My ex-wife remarried a year and a half ago.”

“Ah, I see.”

Did she? Somehow Hank doubted it. Not that he was about to explain that Dan Stockton was more than simply Janie’s stepdad. The man was in fact Janie’s biological father. And the daughter Hank had raised from birth—the baby girl he’d held in his arms when she was only minutes old, the one he’d rocked into the wee hours of the morning when she was sick or teething, the one who’d taken her first stumbling steps while holding on to his thumbs—was not actually his.

And neither was the woman he’d been married to.

In reality Hank had been little more than a placeholder in Anne’s life. A second-best substitute who had stepped in at a time when she had been alone and afraid. From the start Anne had been completely honest. She’d told him all about Daniel Stockton, the young man she had been in love with since high school. How she had thought they would be together forever, how he had disappeared after his parents were killed in a car accident and how she was pregnant with his child.

Hank had asked Anne to marry him anyway, believing in time she would forget about Dan. He’d been so sure that if he took care of her and treated her right, eventually she would grow to love him. And Anne had said yes, certain Dan Stockton was never coming back to Rust Creek Falls.

In the end, though, they’d both been wrong.

Chapter Two

“What else do you like to do, Janie?” Gemma asked. “Other than sing?”

Sitting across a table loaded with chips, popcorn and soft drinks, Hank gave a wry half smile. She had a feeling their impromptu duet had embarrassed him, but he hadn’t let it show, praising his daughter’s efforts...if not her actual talent.

A completely different reaction to how Gemma’s own mother and stepfather would have responded. In Diane and Gregory Chapman’s socially structured mind, everything had a time and a place. Performing on stage at a carefully orchestrated and choreographed pageant or school performance was one thing. Singing a cappella poolside was something else.

Her mother would have been mortified, and Gemma didn’t even have to try hard to picture how the disappointment and disapproval would have pulled at the features so similar to her own. When Gemma wasn’t struggling to rub the image of Chad and Melanie from the inside of her eyelids, she was trying to forget her mother’s reaction when she called off the wedding.

Think of the embarrassment, Gemma!

Because, yes, the real scandal was Gemma calling off the wedding weeks before her walk down the aisle. Not her fiancé’s sleeping with her best friend.

But to her mother and stepfather, her engagement to Chad had been about more than two people pledging to forsake all others. The wedding would also have united the Chapman and Matthews families. Gemma had no doubt her business-minded stepfather had viewed it in terms of a merger rather than as a marriage. A check mark in the asset column of some mental balance sheet Gregory Chapman kept. To him, the boarding schools and etiquette lessons were finally paying off since Gemma caught the eye of one of NYC’s most eligible bachelors.

Determined not to think of the embarrassment, of her broken engagement or her mother, Gemma focused her attention on Janie...and on Hank.

Janie had already asked dozens of rapid-fire questions about Gemma’s life—where she worked, where she lived, where she shopped, if she knew anyone famous. It didn’t seem to matter much what answer Gemma gave; Janie still thought everything about New York was the most exciting thing ever.

Her father certainly seemed harder to impress. Money, clothes, fame... None of that had the somewhat-silent man seated across from her raising so much as an eyebrow. Not that Gemma was trying to impress him... Was she?

Certainly it would be much easier to regain a bit of equilibrium if Hank wasn’t so impressive without even trying. He’d pulled a faded T-shirt on, but the soft blue cotton only molded to those broad shoulders, the sleeves hugging a pair of well-defined biceps. His thick brown hair had dried with a bit of a wave, the too-long locks falling across his wide forehead and curling at the strong column of his neck.

On another man, the tousled hair might have looked boyish or at least done something to soften his masculine features. On Hank, it only drew attention to his rugged features and the solid set of his jaw.

There was nothing boyish or soft about Hank Harlow.

Gemma didn’t think he was trying for any kind of fashion statement. More likely he was a month or two beyond needing a haircut. But instead of being turned off by the overgrown style, she longed to run her hands through a man’s hair without worrying about encountering more product than she put in her own.

So distracted by the tempting fantasy, Gemma almost forgot the question she asked by the time Janie stated, “I love to go horseback riding.”

Horseback riding... Gemma had never been on a horse.

At least not that she remembered.

Many years ago, when she had been around Janie’s age, Gemma had found an old picture of herself as a toddler. In the photo, she’d been stumbling toward the camera in a red bandanna-print shirt and denim overalls, with a pink cowboy hat on her head and a pair of fawn-colored boots on her feet.

The picture and the outfit had stood out in such sharp contrast to the typical professional shots of Gemma in frilly, girlie dresses that—as the overly imaginative child she’d been and thanks to a Disney remake she’d just seen—she had been convinced the girl in the photo was her separated-at-birth twin sister.

Her mother, who evidently had not seen either version of the motion picture, had shaken her head in exasperation. “Honestly, Gemma, I don’t know where you come up with these ideas. That is a picture of you at some Halloween party or playing dress up.”

Though disappointed, Gemma had believed her mother. But after finding a box of mementos while looking for “something old” for her wedding, she’d started to wonder. Not about some imaginary long-lost sibling, but about her long-lost father. She’d started feeling more and more like the designer suits and latest fashions she wore were the costumes, hiding a completely different person inside.

Two weeks wasn’t much time to discover her inner cowgirl, but Gemma was determined to try.

“Horseback riding is definitely on my list,” she stated.

“Your list?” Hank echoed.

Gemma nodded. “My vacation to-do list.”

“You have a to-do list for your vacation? I thought the whole point of a vacation was not having to do anything.”

“I want to experience everything I can. To find out what life in Rust Creek Falls is all about.”

At that, Hank gave a slight snort. “This is not what Rust Creek Falls is all about.”

He waved a hand, and in an instant she could feel his palm against hers once more. The work-roughened skin, the slight rise of hardened calluses, the strong fingers. Such a contrast to the sensual, almost seductive stroke of his thumb across the back of her hand when they’d shaken hands earlier, and the memory alone had gooseflesh racing up her arm. “This is a hotel.”

“A hotel in Rust Creek Falls,” she pointed out.

“Where all the city folks stay when they’re wanting a ‘real Western experience.’” With a nod toward the artfully crafted rock waterfall pouring into the crystal clear pool, he added, “But there isn’t much real or even Western about this place. Other than its location.”

Of course the hotel would be for tourists—city folks, as Hank had so plainly pointed out—like her. But even if he was right, the hotel was simply a place to stay. And besides... “Janie told me she’s lived here her whole life, and you don’t exactly strike me as ‘city folk.’”

She lowered her voice to mimic Hank’s deep drawl, drawing an instant giggle from Janie. He shot his daughter a mock scowl before reaching over and tousling her damp blond hair. The simple father-daughter exchange grabbed hold of a decades-old longing in Gemma’s heart.

“This is a vacation for us, too,” he said finally. “A chance to get away from real life in Rust Creek Falls for a week. But then we’ll head back home and everything will be back to the way it was before.”

As Hank glanced over at her and their gazes caught, a very different kind of longing took over. Was there some message Gemma should read into that statement? Something along the lines of what happens at Maverick Manor...

Not that Gemma was in any shape to even think of dating, something her heart and her brain were in complete agreement about. Her body, though, had other ideas. Despite his views on “city folk,” she was way too attracted to Hank Harlow. More than his rugged good looks, she was drawn to his deep drawl, subtle humor and slightly old-fashioned manners.

And while Hank was right that the setting might not have been authentically Western, the swift rush of attraction racing through her certainly fell under the heading of wild.

After taking a swallow of raspberry-flavored iced tea to soothe her suddenly dry throat, Gemma did her best to direct her thoughts back to where they belonged. “I picked up some brochures in the lobby about the horseback-riding tours around town. Is there a certain stable you go to when you want to ride?”

Janie giggled again, and Gemma noticed the quick look the girl exchanged with her father. “Um, yeah, the stables at our ranch.”

“Ranch?” No wonder Hank didn’t think much about imitation waterfalls and guided trail rides set up through a concierge. She turned to him. “So, you’re a real cowboy?”

“As opposed to the fake kind?” he asked.

“As opposed to... Oh, I don’t know.” The truth was, she knew pathetically little about any kind of cowboy—real or fake. But she certainly knew plenty about men who weren’t who they pretended to be.

“He’s not a cowboy. He’s a rancher,” Janie corrected, the voice of authority. “This is his first vacation in, like, forever. The Bar H is a cattle ranch, and my dad runs the whole place.”

Gemma noticed a slight smile on Hank’s lips as he listened to his daughter go on. The same smile had been on his face when he’d praised Janie’s singing. Clearly he was indulging the girl and didn’t want to correct her exaggerations. Dozens of horses? Hundreds of cattle? Ten thousand acres? Janie must have meant one thousand, though Gemma found even that number hard to imagine.

Still, it was sweet the way he was humoring the young girl, and one thing that wasn’t overstated was Janie’s pride and love for her father. The refrain that had haunted Gemma’s childhood whispered through her mind once more as she contemplated the love Hank clearly held in return for his daughter.

What if...?

Shifting in his chair, Hank said, “All right, Janie, enough. Gemma doesn’t want to hear about all that.” Beneath that rancher’s tan, a hint of embarrassed color was darkening his cheekbones.

“But Gemma said she wanted to go horseback riding and—Hey, Dad, you should take her!”

Now it was Gemma’s turn to feel uncomfortable. “Oh, Janie, that’s sweet of you to offer, but your dad’s here on vacation. With you.”

“I know, but I’m signed up for all kinds of stuff through the hotel this week. My dad’s not. He’ll be all alone.”

Gemma glanced over at Hank, expecting another half grin at his daughter’s somewhat-dramatic statement. Only he wasn’t smiling, and Gemma realized the truth in his daughter’s words. The slight reticence she sensed about him was more than the rancher’s simply being the strong, silent type. This was a man who’d been hurt in the past.

Was it the divorce? His ex-wife’s remarriage? Was he still in love with her?

Gemma’s heart cramped a little at the thought, even though the feeling—any feeling for this man—was preposterous. They didn’t even know each other and had barely exchanged more than a few words. And though he hadn’t come straight out and said so, he’d made his views on city folks crystal clear. But if Gemma wanted to truly experience Rust Creek Falls, having a local as a guide would help. And if he happened to be a gorgeous cowboy with eyes as blue as Montana’s Big Sky, well, that certainly wouldn’t hurt!

“I’m sure Gemma can find a trail guide who can take her riding,” Hank told his daughter.

“But, Dad!”

Gemma was glad for Janie’s instant objection as it kept her from making one of her own. She didn’t want some hired tour guide. She wanted...

Oh, no. Not going there, Gem!

“You have to take her. You’re the best!” Janie was saying.

Hank opened his mouth, but Gemma beat him to the punch. “I did come all the way to Montana for my very first horseback ride. Seems only right that I should have the chance to learn from the best.”

As Gemma held Hank’s gaze, that same small shiver of awareness raced down her spine. She didn’t know what was happening between the two of them, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that for a city girl from Manhattan and a Montana cowboy—sorry, make that Montana rancher—she and Hank Harlow had more in common than anyone might think.

* * *

“Is that what you’re wearing to dinner tonight?” Janie asked as Hank stepped out of his side of the suite. The room was decorated with the same upscale Western decor as the rest of the hotel—all warm shades of rust and brown, hardwood floors, rough-hewn furniture and even a river-rock fireplace in the shared living space between the two bedrooms.

His daughter was seated on the couch, parked in front of the oversize television, remote in hand. But she flicked the television show off as she pushed to her feet and eyed him with a frown.

Hank glanced down, trying to see what had his little girl making that face. His long-sleeved checkered shirt was buttoned properly, his brown leather belt was pulled through all the loops and his dark denim jeans were zipped.

“What else would I wear?” he asked his daughter. He could dress in the dark, pulling clothes from his closet while completely blind, and end up with an outfit exactly like the one he had on.

Short-sleeved button-down shirts for summer, long sleeves for spring and fall, and a few sweaters thrown in for winter, along with his leather duster. Add in his most comfortable boots and his favorite hat, and there wasn’t a place in Rust Creek Falls where he wouldn’t meet the dress code. That was assuming Rust Creek Falls actually had any restaurants where a dress code was required—which it didn’t.

“You should, I don’t know, wear a tie or something.”

“Now, Janie, you know that I do not own a tie.” It was something of a joke between them—how some kids bought ties for Father’s Day. Last year Janie had bought him a pair of spurs. The year before that, it had been a snakeskin hatband. Before that she had given him a new pair of work gloves. Always something he could wear, but never, ever a tie.

“I know, but I bet Gemma’s gonna dress up.”

Hank doubted the big-city beauty knew how to dress down. Even if she tried to fit in, he imagined her hat and boots would be some designer brand and color-coordinated as well. Like the way her purple toenail polish, complete with tiny, delicate painted-on flowers that were practically works of art, had perfectly matched her oversize floral-print tote bag.

It was a ridiculous thing for a grown man to have noticed. Even worse to have his interest caught by such a detail. But like the rest of Gemma Chapman, the delicate, feminine touch fascinated Hank more than he wanted to admit.

He was simply out of practice when it came to the opposite sex. It wasn’t like women walked around the Bar H in flip-flops all the time. Hell, it wasn’t like many women walked around the Bar H period.

“Sorry, kiddo, but this is the best I brought with me.”

Janie sighed. “You’re supposed to dress up when you go out on a date.”

“Whoa! Hey, no one said anything about this being a date. It’s dinner.” Between two total strangers who were complete opposites and a preteen chaperone. Although even with those built-in safeguards, Hank wasn’t sure why or even how he’d ended up agreeing to share a meal with Gemma Chapman.

The conversation had started out innocently enough when Janie, who always seemed to be starving even though they’d all snacked on chips and popcorn by the pool, asked about their plans for dinner. Or rather Gemma’s plans for dinner.

“I was thinking about checking out a place I read about online. I’m guessing the two of you have heard of it. It’s called the Ace in the Hole?”

“The Ace?” Gemma Chapman at the local cowboy bar? Alone? On a Saturday night? “Uh, no, ma’am. You don’t want to go there.”

Her dark eyebrows rose at that—though Hank wasn’t sure if the move was in reaction to his slipping and calling her “ma’am” or from telling her not to go. “Why not? It sounded like fun. A real Western experience.”

The bar had its moments and was certainly popular enough, but on a Saturday night the place could get more than a little rowdy with just-been-paid and partying cowboys—all of whom would be more than happy to show Gemma a “real Western experience.”

“It’s just not the place for a woman like you.”

“A woman like me?” This time Hank had no doubt his words had sparked her reaction. She tossed that long black hair back in a challenging gesture that reminded Hank of a spirited filly. He doubted a city girl like Gemma would appreciate that comparison, but he did.