The Last Single Maverick. Christine Rimmer
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morning. Not what you’d call early. Unless you’d lain wide awake until the wee hours, stewing over your bad choices, angry at your mother, wondering what you were going to do with your life….
And the phone was still ringing.
Surely, eventually, it would cycle back to the front desk, because she didn’t want to answer it. Who could it be except her mother calling to beg her to come back to Kenny—or Kenny calling to demand she stop being “petty” and quit making such a big deal over a tiny little incident that had meant exactly nothing?
Hah.
She reached over and grabbed the phone and barked into it, “I do not want to hear another word about it. Do you understand?”
The voice of her new best friend answered, “Aunt Melba is going to be disappointed. You know she was really looking forward to seeing you in church.”
Joss dragged herself to a sitting position and swiped her tangled hair back off her face. “Ugh. And wait a minute. Did I actually tell her I would be there?”
“No,” Jace admitted. “You hedged. Aunt Melba assumed. I said you’d be there.”
“So thoughtful of you to make my commitments for me.”
“Did I mention I brought coffee?”
“Brought? Where are you?”
“Waiting in the hallway outside your door.”
She grinned. She couldn’t stop herself. “That is so not fair.”
“Vanilla latte. Just sayin’.”
“All right, all right. You sold me.” She hung up, grabbed her robe and belted it as she hurried to let him in. When she opened the door, he held out the tall Starbucks cup. She took it, sipped and gestured him inside, shutting the door and then leaning back against it with a sigh. “Yum. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He gave her one of those knock-your-socks-off smiles of his. Really, he was looking great, freshly showered and shaved, in a different pair of expensive boots, tan slacks, a button-down shirt and a nicely cut sport coat.
She grumbled, “At least someone got a good night’s sleep.”
He took in her blenderized hair, the robe, her bare feet—and her grumpy expression. “Sorry to wake you up.”
“No, you’re not.”
“You’re right. I’m not.” He took her shoulders, turned her around and pointed her toward the bedroom. “Go on. Get ready. We don’t want to be late. Aunt Melba would never forgive us.”
“Who’s this ‘we,’ cowboy?” She muttered over her shoulder, but she went. And she took her latte with her.
Twenty minutes later, she emerged feeling church-ready in a pink silk blouse and an oyster-white skirt, with a favorite pair of low-heeled slingbacks in a slightly lighter pink than the blouse. She’d pinned her hair up loosely and worn the pearl earrings her mom had given her when she graduated from high school.
Jace said, “You look amazing.”
She realized she felt better. A lot better. Jace seemed to have that effect on her. He cheered her up, had her looking on the bright side, thinking that something exciting and fun could be happening any minute. She grabbed her pink purse and off they went.
Thunder Canyon Community Church, Jace explained, was in what the locals called Old Town, with its narrower, tree-lined streets and buildings that had stood since pioneer times.
Joss loved the church on sight. It was, to her, the perfect little white clapboard church, with tall windows all along the sides and a single spire in front that housed the bell tower. A mature box elder tree shaded the church steps and the small square of front lawn.
The doors into the reception area stood wide as the church bell finished chiming. Inside, the organist was playing something suitably reverent, yet inviting. People smiled and said hello. Melba was there, wearing a blue flowered dress and a little blue hat, standing guard over the open guestbook. She greeted them with an approving smile and showed them where to sign.
Joss signed her name and “Sacramento, California,” for her address. She felt a little tug of glumness, to be reminded that she didn’t have a place to call her own anymore, that all her household possessions were packed up in boxes and stacked in a rented storage unit, waiting for her to figure out what to do with her life.
But the glumness quickly passed when Jace took her arm. They entered the sanctuary and the organ music swelled louder. The sun shone in the tall windows and Jace’s brother Ethan signaled them up to a pew near the front. Lizzie, on Ethan’s other side, leaned across her husband to greet them as they sat down.
The service was as lovely and comforting as the little white church itself. Joss even knew the words to a couple of the hymns. The pleasant-faced pastor gave a sermon on God’s grace, and somehow all of Joss’s problems seemed insignificant, workable. Just part of life.
After the service, Lizzie reminded them that she would love to treat them to free muffins at her bakery. Meanwhile, Ethan said he wanted Jace to take a tour of his Thunder Canyon office building.
Jace said, “No, thanks. Gotta go,” and herded Joss toward the exit.
Melba was at her post by the guestbook. She told them how glad she was that they had come. “And I want to see you both at the Historical Society Museum very soon. I’ve been helping out there several times a week. Thunder Canyon is a fascinating place with a rich history. While you’re in town, you might as well learn something.”
Joss only smiled and nodded. Jace ended up promising he would drop by the museum soon.
From the church, they went over to Lizzie’s bakery, where they split a complimentary blueberry muffin and each had a ham and egg croissant and a tall glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice. Jace seemed to know everyone. He introduced her to a guy named Connor McFarlane and his wife, Tori, who was pregnant and just starting to show. Tori taught at the high school. Connor was not only the heir to the McFarlane House hotel chain, but he was also a major investor in the resort.
Joss also met Grant Clifton, his wife, Stephanie, and their little boy, AJ. The child was seventeen months old and adorable, with golden curls and a sunny smile. Stephanie let Joss hold him. He was so sweet and friendly, dimpling at her, laying his plump little hand against her cheek, even leaning his blond head on her shoulder. Joss gave him back to his mom with a little tug of regret. She wished she could have several little ones just like him.
Maybe someday…
Grant Clifton seemed vaguely familiar. When he explained that he managed the resort, Joss realized she’d seen him behind the front desk once and another time at the resort’s best restaurant, the Gallatin Room.
That was the great thing about a small town like this one, Joss thought. You could get to know almost everyone. And when you walked down the street, people just naturally smiled and said hi.
After they left the bakery, Jace took her hand. They started strolling west down Main Street, enjoying the sunshine, looking in the windows of the quaint little shops. It felt good to have her hand in his. Really good. Maybe too good.
She let him lead her along for another block before she realized they were going the wrong direction and hung back. “Hey, wait a minute. Your car’s that way.” She pointed over her shoulder. They’d left his fancy SUV back near the church.
“So? It’s not going anywhere.” He tugged on her hand. “Come on, I want to show you the Hitching Post—you know, that great old bar and restaurant I told you about yesterday?”
She eased her fingers from his grip. “Right, the one where you hooked up with Theresa Duvall.”
He stood there on the corner, his dark hair showing glints of bronze in the sun, and looked at her reproachfully. “What did I do?”
She