Million-Dollar Maverick. Christine Rimmer
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sweet, a little tart. Even mixed with the faint smell of gasoline from the red can between her feet, he liked her perfume.
And it wasn’t appropriate for him to like it. It wasn’t appropriate for him to be drawn to some strange woman. Not today.
She was watching him, waiting for him to answer her question, to tell him if his mean-spirited prediction had been a challenge or not.
He decided to keep his mouth shut.
Apparently, she thought that was a good idea because she didn’t say anything more, either. They rode in tense silence the rest of the way to the gas station. She filled up her can, paid cash for it and got in the pickup again.
He drove her straight back to her waiting SUV.
When he pulled in behind the U-Haul, he suggested grudgingly, “Maybe I’d better just follow you back to town, see that you get there safely.”
“No, thanks. I’ll be okay.”
He felt like a complete jerk—probably because he’d been acting like one. “Come on.” He reached for the gas can. “Let me—”
She grabbed the handle before he could take it and put on a stiff smile. “I can do it. Thank you for your help.” And then she leaned on the door, jumped down and hoisted the gas can down, too. “You take care now.” In the glow of light from the cab, he watched her breath turn to fog in the icy air.
It was still pitch-dark out. At the edge of the cleared spot behind her, a big, dirty For Sale sign had been nailed on a fence post. Beyond the fence, new-growth ponderosa pines stood black and thick. Farther out in the darkness, perched on a high ridge and silhouetted against the sky, loomed the black outline of a house so enormous it looked like a castle. Built by a very rich man named Nathaniel Bledsoe two decades ago, the house had always been considered a monstrosity by folks in the Rust Creek Falls Valley. From the first, they called the place Bledsoe’s Folly. When Bledsoe died, it went up for sale.
But nobody ever bought it. It stood vacant to this day.
Who was to say vagrants hadn’t taken up residence? And anyone could be lurking in the close-growing pines.
He didn’t like the idea of leaving her there alone. “I mean it, Callie. I’ll wait until you’re on your way.”
Unsmiling now, she gazed at him steadily, her soft chin hitched high. “I will last the winter.” The words had steel underpinnings. “I’m making myself a new life here. You watch me.”
He should say something easy and agreeable. He knew it. But somehow, she’d gotten under his skin. So he just made it worse. “Two hundred dollars says you’ll be gone before June first.”
She tipped her head to the side then, studying him. “Money doesn’t thrill me, Nate.”
“If not money, then what?”
One sleek eyebrow lifted and vanished into that bright wool hat. “Let me think it over.”
“Think fast,” he muttered, perversely driven to continue being a complete ass. “I haven’t got all day.”
She laughed then, a low, amused sound that seemed to race along his nerve endings. “Nate Crawford, you’ve got an attitude—and Rust Creek Falls is a small town. I have a feeling I won’t have any trouble tracking you down. I’ll be in touch.” She grabbed the outer handle of the door. “Drive safe now.” And then she pushed it shut and turned for her SUV.
He waited as he’d said he would, watching over her until she was back in her vehicle and on her way. In the glare of his headlights, she poured the gas in her tank. It only took a minute and, every second of that time, the good boy his mama had raised ached to get out and do it for her. But he knew she’d refuse him if he tried.
In no time, she had the cap back on the tank, the gas can stowed in the rear of the SUV, and she was getting in behind the wheel. Her headlights flared to life, and the engine started right up.
When she rolled out onto the road again, she tapped the horn once in salute. He waited for the red taillights of the U-Haul to vanish around the next curve before turning his truck around and heading for Bismarck again. As he drove back through Kalispell, he was shaking his head, dead certain that pretty Callie Kennedy would be long gone from Rust Creek come June.
Ten and a half hours later he rolled into a truck stop just west of Dickinson, North Dakota, to gas up. In the diner there, he had a burger with fries and a large Dr Pepper. And then he wandered through the attached convenience store, stretching his legs a little before getting back on the road for the final hour and a half of driving that would take him into Bismarck and his first stop there, a certain florist on Eighth Street.
Turned out he’d made good time after all, even with the delay caused by giving mouthy Nurse Callie a helping hand. This year, he would make it to the florist before they closed. And that meant he wouldn’t have to settle for supermarket flowers. The thought pleased him in a grim sort of way.
Before heading out the door, he stopped at the register to buy a PayDay candy bar.
The clerk offered, “Powerball ticket? Jackpot’s four hundred and eighty million now.”
Nate never played the lottery. He was not a reckless man, not even when it came to something as inexpensive as a lottery ticket. Long shots weren’t his style. But then he thought of pretty Callie Kennedy with her pom-pom hat, her gas can and her twinkly eyes.
Money doesn’t thrill me, Nate.
Would four hundred and eighty million thrill her?
He chuckled under his breath and nodded. “Sure. Give me ten dollars’ worth.”
The clerk punched out a ticket with five rows of numbers on it. Nate gave it no more than a cursory glance as she put it in his hand.
He had no idea what he’d just done, felt not so much as a shiver of intuition that one of those rows of numbers was about to change his life forever.
At seven in the morning on the first day of June, Callie Kennedy knocked on the front door of Nate Crawford’s big house on South Pine Street.
Nate hadn’t shared two words with her since that cold day last January. But he’d seen her around town. He’d also kept tabs on her, though he would never have admitted that. Word around town was that she was not only a pure pleasure to look at, she was also a fine nurse with a whole lot of heart. Folks had only good things to say about Nurse Callie.
He pulled the door wide. “Well, well. Nurse Callie Kennedy,” he drawled. Then he hooked his fingers in the belt loops of his Wranglers. “You’re up good and early.”
She gave him one of those thousand-watt smiles of hers. “Hello, Nate. Beautiful day, isn’t it?”
He knew very well why she’d come. It wasn’t to talk about the weather. Still, he leaned on the door frame and played along. “Mighty nice. Not a cloud in the sky.”
“Happy June first.” She beamed even wider, reminding him of a sunbeam in a yellow cotton dress with a soft yellow sweater thrown across her shoulders and yellow canvas shoes on her slim little feet.
“Let me guess....” He wrinkled his brow as though deep in thought. “Wait. I know. You’re here to collect on that bet I made you.”
“Nate.” Her long lashes swept down. “You remembered.” And then she looked up again. “I love your new house.”
“Thank you.”
“That’s some front door.”
“Thanks. I had it specially made. Indonesian mahogany.” It had leaded glass in the top and sidelights you could open to let in a summer breeze.
“Very nice.” She looked at him from under impossibly thick, dark