Romancing the Would-Be Cowgirl

It’s summertime in Rust Creek Falls and Gemma Chapman is here on her honeymoon...alone. And the town gossips are atwitter about the jilted city girl who has been spotted with local single dad and rancher Hank Harlow! His daughter, Janie, is doing her darnedest to play matchmaker for them, but is she leading her papa down the trail to disappointment? Or will this can-do cowboy lasso Gemma’s wary heart for good?

STACY CONNELLY has dreamed of publishing books since writing stories about a girl and her horse. Eventually, boys made it onto the page as she discovered a love of romance novels. She is thrilled that her novel Once Upon a Wedding was recently turned into a movie titled Christmas Wedding Planner.

Stacy lives in Arizona with her two spoiled dogs. She loves to hear from readers at stacyconnelly@cox.net, at stacyconnelly.com or on Facebook.

Also by Stacy Connelly

The Best Man Takes a Bride

How to Be a Blissful Bride

Not Just the Girl Next Door Darcy

and the Single Dad

Daddy Says, “I Do!”

Small-Town Cinderella

Romancing the Rancher

His Secret Son

Her Fill-In Fxiancé

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

The Maverick’s Summer Sweetheart

Stacy Connelly

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09116-9

THE MAVERICK’S SUMMER SWEETHEART

© 2019 Harlequin Books S.A.

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter One

“This is awesome! Don’t you think so, Dad?”

As rancher Hank Harlow reluctantly handed over the keys for his classic Ford pickup to the valet and watched a uniformed kid roughly half his age and half his size carry his own luggage toward the impressive entrance of Maverick Manor, he had to admit it sure was different.

Not that Hank had never stayed in a fancy hotel before. He had—even if that one time had been on his honeymoon. He didn’t spend much time thinking of that long-ago weekend. It was over...as was his marriage.

“Dad!” His preteen daughter, Janie, turned back with an exasperated sigh that only preteen daughters seemed capable of. Standing in front of the iron-trimmed double doors, she threw her arms out wide. “Did you even hear me? Isn’t this awesome?”

Dad... That was what Hank thought was awesome. His little girl still calling him “Dad” even though she, like the rest of the tiny town of Rust Creek Falls, Montana, now knew the truth.

With a last glance back at the disappearing bumper of his F-150, Hank jogged over to his daughter. “You are right, kiddo. This place is awesome.”

Hugging Janie to his side, he stepped into the lobby. Hank was familiar with the local hotel and its unique story. The timber-and-stone mansion was once a private home locals referred to as Bledsoe’s Folly. For years the place had stood empty and abandoned, until Nate Crawford had turned it into the fanciest hotel for miles around. Perched on a mountainside with gorgeous views of the town below, the hotel was a prime location for parties and special events.

But this would be Hank’s first time as a guest. And not just for an overnight stay. Nope. When Hank asked Janie how she wanted to spend her first week of summer vacation, this was his daughter’s request—a stay at Maverick Manor.

He didn’t get it. He really didn’t. Staying in a hotel in their own hometown? Sleeping in a strange bed, living out of a suitcase, using ridiculously tiny travel toiletries? All less than thirty miles from the Bar H, his ranch and Janie’s home away from home when she wasn’t living with her mother and Anne’s new husband, Daniel Stockton.

She’s growing up, Hank, Anne had told him. She wants to experience new things.

Over the past several years, Hank had suffered through quite a few new things—including his divorce, the return of Anne’s first love, her remarriage, Janie calling another man Dad...

Yeah, he’d had enough of new at a time when he wanted nothing more than to hang on to the way things used to be.

Janie has been missing Abby, Anne had added. She’s feeling a bit disconnected from her best friend, who’s off having all these exciting adventures. Janie wants to be seen as mature and sophisticated, too.

Hank had bitten his tongue at that. Janie had just completed the sixth grade. No one in the sixth grade needed to feel mature or sophisticated. Certainly not his tomboy daughter! But Anne might have a point when it came to Janie’s best friend. Abby’s mother, Marissa, had married Autry Jones, and since then the family had been living in Paris, where Autry worked for his family’s company. Hank supposed Paris did seem new and exciting compared to little ol’ Rust Creek Falls, where everyone knew everyone else.

And if staying at Maverick Manor was what Janie wanted, then Hank would make sure this summer vacation was everything his daughter hoped it would be.

“So, what do you want to do first, Janie?” he asked as they waited in line to check in.

Janie grinned up at him. “I want to check out the room and the view. Oh, and then order room service and see what movies are showing and—”

Hank nodded at his daughter’s unbridled enthusiasm and tried not to think how the views from the Bar H were the best around or how he and Janie could have shared snacks and watched her favorite flicks right from the comfort of their very own couch.

She’ll be a teenager in a few months, Hank, he could hear Anne telling him. She won’t be a little girl forever.

Not forever. At the rate things were changing, not even for long. As he forced a smile at the woman behind the desk, Hank tried hard not to look into a future where he’d be sitting on that couch, watching movies and eating popcorn...alone.

* * *

Gemma Chapman eyed her reflection in the full-length mirror. The black satiny bikini she’d found in a 5th Avenue boutique had been exactly what she was looking for three months ago. A little sexy, a little revealing, perfect for grabbing her groom’s attention on their honeymoon.

Now she didn’t know what she’d been thinking.

Discovering only weeks before the wedding that the man she had planned to marry had been sleeping with her best friend had Gemma questioning everything.

Including swimwear.

On paper—like in their engagement announcement and the photo taken by one of New York’s most in-demand wedding photographers—she and Chad Matthews had been perfect for each other. Both of them came from affluent families. Both of them had attended prestigious prep schools before going to Ivy League colleges. Gemma worked in the financial district at an investment company, while Chad was already a junior member at a top law firm. They knew the same people and were members at the same club. They both enjoyed an evening at the theater and dining at the trendiest restaurants, followed by a night on the town. And if Gemma had ever longed for something more, her mother was always there to remind her not only how to act, but how to feel.

You should feel honored your stepfather wants to adopt you.

You should feel fortunate Chesterton Prep has accepted you.

You should feel thrilled your stepfather arranged an interview with Carlston, Landry and Greer.

You should feel so excited that Chad proposed.

Walking in on her fiancé and her best friend, Gemma hadn’t needed anyone to tell her how she should feel. Angry...betrayed...humiliated... Certainly she had felt all of that, but shouldn’t she have also felt heartbroken? And how was it that a relationship that looked so perfect on the outside could end up being so empty inside?

Chad’s infidelity had made Gemma start to question what else in her life wasn’t as perfect as it seemed. And while her mother was certain Gemma would feel completely miserable on a honeymoon by herself, she had kept her first-class reservation and had arrived in Rust Creek Falls earlier that day.

Unlike her cheating scumbag of an ex, Maverick Manor was exactly as advertised. The bathroom had had all the amenities of a modern hotel but with an added old-fashioned flair in the enormous claw-foot tub and a raised sink reminiscent of a water basin. And though the spacious bedroom—with its hand-scraped wood floors and exposed-beam ceiling—had the same rugged and handcrafted design as the rest of the hotel, the honeymoon suite also boasted a faux-bearskin rug that was spread out in front of a river-rock fireplace and a four-poster bed draped with a sheer white canopy. Romantic touches a newlywed couple would expect.

Which was all the more reason to leave the suite behind and head for the pool.

From what Gemma had seen on her way to her room, the hotel’s newly constructed pool looked exactly as it had in the website photos—with rock walls and a waterfall and a spa built to resemble a natural hot spring. The wide wall of windows looked out onto a breathtaking mountain view, and the huge glass panels that could be closed during colder months were open for the summer.

Ignoring the swimsuit for a moment, Gemma adjusted the beaded headband holding back her shoulder-length black hair and eyed the makeup she’d touched up after the long flight. Just a few swipes of mascara on her darkly lashed green eyes and a hint of peachy lip gloss. She was, after all, only going down to the pool. Not that she actually planned to get in the pool—at least not more than dipping her manicured feet into the shallow end.

Realizing she was simply wasting time, she finally muttered, “Oh, get over yourself!” The swimsuit wasn’t that revealing, and she had the white terry-cloth hotel robe to take with her.

She hadn’t come all this way to sit in her room, feeling sorry for herself. She could have done that back in her New York apartment. But this was Montana. A land of wide-open spaces, majestic mountains and towering trees. And Rust Creek Falls had been calling to her since she’d first stumbled across the name of the town, a piece of a puzzle that Gemma hoped might fit into one of the empty places in her childhood.

If nothing else, she wanted to experience what might have been. And in the process, she wanted to wipe all the poor Gemma thoughts from everyone’s minds.

Starting with her own.

* * *

Before heading down to the pool, Gemma had packed her tote with half a dozen or so brochures she’d picked up in the lobby—touting everything from the local bar and donut shop, to nearby hiking and camping sites, to a place called Sunshine Farm, which had been dubbed “The Lonelyhearts Ranch” after people who stayed there started finding their true loves.

For the past several months, Gemma had scoured the internet, trying to learn all she could about Rust Creek Falls. She’d been fascinated to discover a blog written by a former New Yorker who had arrived after a devastating flood several years ago. Lissa Roarke’s description of the location and the way the community had pulled together in the face of such adversity had added another layer to Gemma’s curiosity about the tiny town.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been down by the pool, the shrieks of laughter echoing through a space filled with the scent of sunscreen and chlorine, before she became aware of the young girl dripping by the side of her chair.

“Is that the latest edition?” the girl asked, pointing to the glossy magazine on Gemma’s lounger. “The one with the article about Lyle? You know, the former singer of 2LOVEU?”

Sixty-hour workweeks, with her reading material limited to The Wall Street Journal and endless finance articles, threatened to make Gemma a dull girl. She did her best to balance all those facts and figures she needed to know in her job as a financial adviser by focusing on the lifestyles of the rich and famous in her free time. And now that she was on vacation, she was far more interested in which super couple was breaking up than in what stock might be splitting.

“I think it is.”

“Oh, my gosh!” the girl gushed as she plopped down onto the seat next to Gemma’s. “I’ve been dying to read that. Crawford’s General Store is sooo slow about getting the newest issues. I actually saw Lyle back when he was in 2LOVEU. My best friend, Abby, and I went to Seattle to see him in concert there. It was the most exciting night of my life!”

Five minutes ago, Gemma wouldn’t have thought she had anything to talk about with a girl who was maybe ten? Eleven? But she quickly found herself charmed by the tiny blonde’s enthusiasm. She was all skinny arms and legs in a navy polka-dot halter-style top and matching boy shorts, and her light blue eyes were already a little red-rimmed from her time in the pool. But the girl had an outgoing smile and confidence Gemma hadn’t mastered until she was in her late teens.

“I saw him once, too, when he was on his solo tour in New York City.”

“No! Really? Are you from New York? That must be so exciting! I’ve lived here, like, my whole life! My name’s Janie. If there’s anything you want to know about Rust Creek Falls, I can totally tell you all about it. Like the time Brenna and Travis starred on The Great Roundup—you know, the reality show on TV?”

“You actually know the couple who married in the show’s finale?” Gemma hadn’t seen the program when it originally aired, but she’d come across it in her search of Rust Creek Falls. When she’d learned two of the cast members were from the small town, she’d binge-watched the entire season, eager to learn who won the grand prize—and whether the couple had hooked up just for ratings or if they had fallen in love for real.

“I do. I know just about everyone in town!”

Janie’s eager boast was enough for Gemma to take the words with a grain of salt, but she still had to wonder. If the town truly was that close-knit, then maybe...

Gemma didn’t mean to tune out the girl’s happy chatter as her thoughts started to wander, but with a glance across the far side of the pool, her attention instantly snapped back to the present. All exhaustion from the months of planning the “wedding that wasn’t” fled as her heart slammed in her chest and every nerve ending came to vibrant life at the sight of a gorgeous guy lifting himself out of the deep end. Though she knew it had to be her imagination, he almost seemed to be moving in some kind of super-sexy slow motion. Water sluiced off his broad shoulders and chest, down six-pack abs and along equally muscular legs as he rose to stand on the concrete decking.

She had seen plenty of buff, good-looking guys at the gym where she worked out, but this guy—no, this man—was different. He was more rugged and real, and with the mountains as a backdrop behind him, Gemma had the split-second fantasy that this could be an honest-to-goodness cowboy. Certainly there was nothing manscaped or metrosexual about him. As he shook the water from his brown hair and then raised both hands to push it back from his wide forehead, she caught sight of a few faded scars—one thin line along the underside of his tanned forearm and another ragged lightning bolt running down the length of his lean rib cage.

No way did those muscles come from a gym.

As he reached for a towel hanging over the back of a nearby lounge chair, he glanced over and his dark blue eyes met Gemma’s gaze. She knew she should look away—she really did—but once he started running that towel down the length of his arms and across that wide chest...

She couldn’t even blink, let alone find a way to break her mesmerized stare.

A slow smile broke over his handsome features, crinkling the crow’s-feet at the corners of his eyes and warming Gemma from the inside out. She felt almost pinned in place on the pale blue lounger as a small shiver raced from the top of her head, all the way down to her purple-painted toenails.

As she watched, he lifted his fingers toward his lips. He wasn’t actually going to blow her a kiss, was he? That certainly didn’t seem like a cowboy thing to do. Tip an imaginary hat, maybe, but not—

The thought had barely formed in her mind when the man did indeed raise his fingers to his mouth—to give a shrill, sharp whistle that echoed through the enclosed space and had the young girl on the lounger next to Gemma’s giving a slight start.

Janie’s chatter cut off abruptly as she glanced across the pool toward the man who now had those impressive arms crossed over his equally impressive chest. Janie’s shoulders slumped slightly. “That’s my dad.”

“Your dad?” Gemma didn’t know why the statement surprised her. She would have guessed the man was in his late thirties, possibly early forties. Certainly old enough to be Janie’s father.

Somehow, though, her fantasy cowboy hadn’t come with a preteen daughter.

“Yeah. He’s always watching over me. It’s like he doesn’t know I’m practically a teenager already,” she added with an eye roll. “I better go see what he wants.”

With that, Janie bounced up from the lounge chair and rushed over to her father’s side. He grinned down at his petite daughter, love written in every rugged line of his face, as he listened to the young girl whose hands were moving almost as fast as her mouth.

Of course. That broad smile had been for Janie, not for Gemma.

The gorgeous maybe-cowboy was a dad with a cute blonde daughter and no doubt an equally cute blonde wife.

And Gemma felt like the world’s biggest fool. Again.

* * *

“Dad! You’ve got to meet Gemma!”

Hank grinned at Janie’s enthusiasm as he draped the damp towel over the back of a chair. Her blue eyes were bright with excitement, despite being a little red from all the chlorine, and he decided that maybe this vacation wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

Once they’d checked in the day before, they had explored the hotel a bit, making plans for the next several days. That morning, they had hiked the trails around the hotel before having a late lunch in the dining room. After waiting half an hour—because, yes, he was that kind of dad—they changed into swimsuits and hit the pool.

Hank couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a day to relax. The Bar H had a capable foreman who could run the ranch in his absence, but Hank was not a weekend cowboy. His typical days, especially when Janie was at her mother’s, consisted of waking before dawn and working until he was ready to drop.

Sleeping in and spending an afternoon by the pool with Janie were luxuries he appreciated far more than any of the hotel’s other high-class amenities. Of course, he wasn’t sure what they were going to do tomorrow or the next day or the day after that.

One day of lazing around was about all he could take, and he was already anticipating his daughter growing bored. But so far Janie was having a good time, and if she’d made a little friend, it would help her to have someone to play with.

“Where is she?”

“Da-ad.” His daughter rolled her eyes in sheer exasperation. “Didn’t you see me talking to her right over there?”

She pointed in the direction of the stunning brunette a man would have to be dead not to notice. “That’s Gemma?”

Janie nodded. “She’s from New York City! Isn’t that cool? Did you see the headband she’s wearing and how it totally matches her flip-flops? And her tote bag? I bet she bought it at some super-famous store in New York.”

Headband? Flip-flops? Bag? No, no and...no. Hank hadn’t paid attention to any of those things and was a little surprised that his tomboy daughter had. Which wasn’t to say he hadn’t locked in on other details about the woman. Like the long black hair shimmering in a sleek wave down her back. The stunning green eyes were so bright, they seemed to glow from within. And when she slid the hotel robe from her shoulders to reveal a barely there bikini that highlighted her slender curves, Hank had found himself wishing the pool wasn’t heated. He could have used an instant ice bath to cool the sudden desire burning through his veins.

All of which was so unlike him.

“You’ve gotta meet her, Dad!” Janie insisted as she tugged on his arm.

“Janie, she’s here on vacation. You shouldn’t be bothering her.”

“I wasn’t, Dad. She’s all by herself.”

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.

Before he knew it, he’d offered to take Gemma—and Janie—to the Ace in the Hole for an early dinner. His plan was for the three of them to get in and get out before the late-night crowd showed up and the music and dancing started.

He didn’t want to look too closely at the reasons why the idea of Gemma in another man’s arms bothered him. And thinking about her in his own arms... Well, that was equally dangerous territory.

“Okay, okay,” Janie was saying, “so it’s just dinner.” His daughter put so much emphasis on the two words, he half expected them to appear over her head in some kind of dialogue bubble. “You should still try to look nice.”

Lifting a hand, Hank rubbed at the back of his neck, where his too-long hair brushed well below the collar. Sad thing was, he actually had tried to look nice, shaving a second time and trying to get the slight wave in his hair combed back off his forehead. “’Fraid this is as good as it gets, kiddo. But what about you?”

Janie had changed into sweatpants and a long-sleeved T-shirt, her typical movie-night apparel, after her quick shower to wash the chlorine from her hair. “That doesn’t look like what you’d want to wear going out to dinner.”

“I, um... I’m not feeling that great.”

“What’s wrong? Was it too many snacks down by the pool? I knew we shouldn’t have had chips and popcorn.”

Not to mention the refills on the sugary soda. Anne was always warning him about indulging Janie’s sweet tooth, but Hank had a hard time resisting—both his daughter as well as his own love of snacks.

Striding toward the hotel phone, he asked, “Should I see if the gift shop has something for an upset stomach?” The tiny space tucked away in the corner of the lobby had the typical tiny travel-sized necessities that guests frequently forgot to pack. Likely the store would have something for a stomachache as well.

“No, Dad, it’s not my stomach. It’s...my head. Probably just too much sun down by the pool.”

“Okay,” Hank drawled, not sure how that could be, considering the pool was mostly enclosed, with only muted sunlight streaming through the wall of windows. Janie tugged on the hem of her shirt as her gaze flitted about the room, a sure sign she was fibbing, but why? She’d been the one so gung ho about this dinner. “If you don’t feel well, I’ll call Gemma’s room and cancel—”

“No!” Janie practically shouted before catching herself. “I mean, it would be rude to cancel so late.” Sinking down onto the sofa, she pulled a pillow into her lap. “I can just rest here and order room service. But you—you should still go.”

This time, as she looked up at him—her sweet face so earnest, so sincere, so eager—Hank knew for a fact she was faking. And the reason why was pretty clear. Janie wasn’t interested in dinner for the three of them. She was trying to finagle a dinner between him and Gemma.

So much for his preteen chaperone.

“Janie...”

Enough warning entered his voice that she at least dropped the wide-eyed expression. “Please, Dad, go! I’ll be fine here. One of my favorite movies is on tonight, and I’ll order something super healthy like what Mom would make for dinner. And you can go and have fun with Gemma.”

Have fun with Gemma...

The image of his future—sitting alone in front of the television—had his denial dying in his throat. Ever since Anne had remarried, Janie—hell, Janie and Anne and half of Rust Creek Falls, it seemed sometimes—had been pushing him to start dating. But his daughter was especially worried about him being by himself. As frequently as he insisted that he was fine, she wasn’t buying it.

Fine isn’t the same as happy, Hank.

The voice echoing through his mind wasn’t his daughter’s, but his mother’s. Penny Harlow had passed away a few years after Hank’s marriage to Anne. Though she had loved her granddaughter and adored her daughter-in-law, Penny had seen then what Hank refused to believe.

You deserve someone who will love you for who you are.

Who he was hadn’t been the problem in his marriage. The issue was who he wasn’t. After five years of marriage, Hank had been forced to face facts. He wasn’t Daniel Stockton, the only man Anne would ever—could ever—love.

And if Hank wanted something more out of life than being “just fine” by himself, then he needed to make some kind of effort. Perhaps he could look at Gemma Chapman as a very, very short-term solution. Going out would make Janie happy, and maybe a few evenings with Gemma would be a way of easing back into the dating scene.

At the end of her vacation, Gemma would go back to the big city, and Hank would go back to the Bar H. And then when he did meet a woman who was more of his type than a gorgeous out-of-towner from New York, he would have already gotten his legs back beneath him. He would hopefully be ready to start dating, and he wouldn’t have to feel so foolish and nervous and jump-out-of-his-skin uncomfortable. Which was everything he felt and more as he stepped out of the suite and headed for dinner with Gemma Chapman.

* * *

Five minutes later and Hank had to admit the evening was off to an inauspicious start. First Janie bailed with what he believed was a phony headache, and now he was starting to wonder if Gemma had given him a fake room number. He’d followed the sequential plaques, but the row of doors ended one shy of the room number Gemma had told him was hers.

A young couple emerged at the end of the hallway, and Hank quickly stepped back, feeling like some kind of stalker lurking outside of their room. But the twentysomethings didn’t even notice him. With their arms wrapped around each other, they were in their own love-filled world as the guy bent to murmur something into the laughing girl’s ear. As they made their way toward the lobby, stopping every few feet to kiss beneath the glowing lights of the old-fashioned sconces, Hank wondered why they’d even bothered to leave the room...and if he’d ever been that young.

It certainly didn’t feel that way now. By the time he’d been old enough to drink, he’d already been running the family ranch, having taken over following his father’s stroke. At a time when many of his friends were off at college or finding themselves by trying out different part-time jobs, Hank’s steps had carried him over the well-worn trails that had been carved out by generations of Harlows before him.

For nearly a decade, Hank had done little more than work, eat and sleep, his patterns following that of his cattle as spring calving gave way to fall roundup in the same way that the sun rose and the sun set, and the next thing he’d known, his early twenties were gone and he was pushing thirty.

He’d never minded the long hours, the extreme weather, the backbreaking and sometimes heartbreaking life on the ranch. At the time, he’d believed he was working toward something—50 percent ownership of the Rolling Hills spread, the equal share his father had once owned with Hank’s uncle.

But the years of long-term care for his father had taken their toll. A proud man, his father had sold some of his shares to his brother to pay for the in-home assistance he required. After his father’s passing, Hank had tried to buy back those shares only to be told by his uncle that they weren’t for sale.

Hank had mourned the loss of his father, but he had seen that coming as his father’s health had slowly deteriorated. The blow his uncle had landed had blindsided Hank, leaving him reeling as his world was pulled out from beneath him.

Doesn’t matter how hard you work or what you think you have to offer. Rolling Hills will never be yours.

So Hank had done what he never thought he would—he sold his uncle what was left of his holdings in the family ranch and walked away. His mother, who had tired of ranch life, had moved with him to Bozeman and settled into a small active adult community. That was about the time when he met Anne, and for a while he’d believed life could be different. After they married, he took his share of the money from selling the ranch and moved to Rust Creek Falls. He bought the Bar H, Janie was born and the three of them were a family.

But just like Rolling Hills, no matter how hard he worked, no matter how much he thought he had to offer, that family wasn’t his either. And since the divorce, he’d fallen back into the long hours, pushing himself the way he had when he was in his teens, and ignoring the aches and pains that were his body’s way of reminding him that he wasn’t a kid anymore.

Ah, hell, one thing he knew for sure was that he was too old for the way his heart was pounding in his chest and his palms were sweating at the thought of seeing Gemma Chapman again. This was a mistake, no doubt about it.

Turning around at the dead end in the hallway, Hank heard the squeak of wheels and spotted a hotel employee pushing a dinner cart his way.

“Excuse me,” he said to the young woman. “I’m looking for one of your guests.”

The tiny woman’s shoulders straightened as she tightened her grip on the handle. “I’m sorry, sir, but it’s against hotel policy to divulge any of our guests’ room numbers.”

Yep, no doubt about it. He was definitely giving off some kind of stalker vibe.

“Sorry—what I meant was that I’m looking for suite 103.”

Somehow, knowing Gemma’s room number didn’t seem to help his cause. The woman drew the cart closer to her as if she thought he was going to abscond with it. He glanced down at the white linen-covered cart decked out with a fancy champagne bottle, two paper-thin crystal flutes, glistening oysters on a bed of ice and a decadent heart-shaped arrangement of chocolate-covered strawberries.

Even if he hadn’t been a cattle rancher, Hank would always consider himself a meat and potatoes kind of guy. Just the idea of swallowing the slimy shellfish had his stomach turning. And if he ever actually tried... Well, he was pretty sure something equally disgusting would come back up.

“Suite 103?” she echoed. “The honeymoon suite?”

“The honey—what?”

The word caught in Hank’s throat as he once again locked in on the over-the-top romantic spread on the cart. This time, though, he caught sight of something he’d missed. A square envelope propped against the ice bucket. The word congratulations was written in bright red script across the front. Along with the names of the happy couple...

Gemma and Chad.

Who the hell is Chad?

Even as the question ricocheted around Hank’s head, the answer was obvious.

“Yes, sir,” the server acknowledged. “Suite 103 is the honeymoon suite. Perhaps you’ve made a mistake.”

There was no perhaps about it. Hank didn’t know what Gemma Chapman’s game was, but he wasn’t up for playing the fool.

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