A Canyon Springs Courtship. Glynna Kaye
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as he hurtled back in time six years to when he’d last seen the aspiring journalist. Back to the pain that had all but cracked open his heart—just like the ring box he’d flung across the room that day.
Her eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t miss the fleeting alarm that shot through them. She wasn’t any happier to see him than he was to see her.
“What are you doing in Canyon Springs, Jake?” Her soft, well-remembered voice held an edge, almost as if she suspected he’d stalked her to this small Arizona mountain community.
“I live here.” He raised a brow at her blank look. “Surprised? Slacking on research isn’t your customary style.”
Her long-lashed eyes not leaving his, she licked her lower lip in an almost nervous gesture. His grip tightened on the Windbreaker jacket fisted in his hand. Macy? Nervous? Since when?
“I thought you were from Phoenix.”
“Born there. Didn’t stay there.” But he didn’t intend to rehash his history now. He motioned to the empty seat across from her. “Your friend is gone. Does that mean you’re finished here?”
“I—”
“Good.” Even though the Saturday lunchtime crowd was relatively sparse this time of year, he didn’t care to have an audience for the conversation they needed to have. He dropped a twenty next to her coffee mug. “Then let’s take this elsewhere, shall we?”
For a moment she hesitated, as if she feared leaving the rustic restaurant’s dining room might not be a wise move. Then with a toss of her long, honey-blond hair she cast him a self-assured smile and gracefully rose. With a swirl of her floral sundress, she preceded him to the lobby. He moved to hold open the door and together they stepped onto the wooden-planked front porch. A bitter wind and a flurry of snowflakes greeted them.
April in the high country.
He took a step toward the parking lot. “My SUV’s this way.”
She didn’t budge. “Where are we going?”
“Where the whole town won’t hear what I have to say.”
An amused half smile surfaced, reminding him of the many times he’d deliberately said and done things to provoke it, an excuse to kiss it from her lips. What a fool he’d been.
“In case you haven’t noticed, Jake, I’m not wearing boots.”
He glanced down at sandaled feet peeping from beneath the flowing cotton sundress, then shook his head.
“When I left Phoenix this morning,” she enlightened him, “it was to be an eighty degree day. While your chamber of commerce sang the praises of a four season, higher-than-Denver elevation, nobody breathed a word about packing a parka and mukluks in April.”
He thrust his Windbreaker into her hands. “Put this on. Then wait here. I’ll get the truck.”
Aware of her sharp gaze focused on his back, he strode across the graveled parking lot, two inches of snow crunching under his Western boots. He thrust his hand into his trouser pocket, searching for the miniature cross that had once been his grandfather’s. He’d taken to carrying it as Granddad had, finding that the sensation of the smooth, seashell surface sliding between his fingers somehow grounded him. It reminded him not only that God was in control, but that he needed to measure up to the example his grandfather had set for him. And that meant not letting his temper get the better of him.
It was bound to happen, though, this running into Macy. He’d known she was expected, and in a town with a population of just under three thousand, he wouldn’t have been able to avoid her forever. But on her first day of a monthlong assignment while he was dining with a client? He hadn’t been ready for that.
He should have had the foresight to contact Macy in private before her arrival. Truth be told, he hadn’t been thinking proactively, only hoped she’d get in and out of town before she even knew he called Canyon Springs home.
So much for that strategy.
Jake climbed into his vehicle and glanced back at the two-story log cabin lodge. Macy, chin lifted obstinately, still stood on the porch, his jacket folded primly in her crossed arms. He had to hand it to her for not turning on a dainty heel and marching back into the building after he’d almost strong-armed her from it. But then, she always had gumption.
Memory flashed to the day they’d first met. She’d stood almost exactly like that at a Missouri estate sale, the spark in her beautiful eyes daring him to outbid her. Even though he hadn’t cared about the chair, he’d dragged the bidding out as long as he could, wanting to keep her attention on him A practicing attorney’s funds trumped the ponytailed undergrad’s budget. But when immediately afterward he’d offered to sell the antique office chair to her for a dollar, she’d given him a sassy grin and said she wasn’t interested in the chair...just the bidder.
Pushing the memory away, he grabbed the leather briefcase and loose papers from the passenger side bucket seat and tossed them in the back, then started the SUV. With the windshield wipers in motion, he glanced again in Macy’s direction.
“Lord,” he muttered under his breath. “What are You thinking bringing her here?”
Sitting in the high-backed booth directly behind her a short while ago, their backs to each other, he’d recognized her voice before he’d seen her. When his client departed he remained frozen in place, lingering to listen to her interactions with those around her. As a professional blogger with the popular site Hometowns With Heart, Macy had an uncanny knack for ferreting out tasty personal tidbits to liven up her posts. She had put those skills to good use today. But this was his town. His people. He wouldn’t allow her to take advantage of them for the sake of boosting her blog’s popularity.
“Give me the right words. I don’t want to start a war.”
When he pulled the SUV to a stop in front of the lodge, Macy stepped forward as if impervious to the snow and whipping wind. Once inside, she shut the door, laid her purse on her lap and fastened her seat belt. Then she carefully placed his unused jacket on the console between them.
Still stubborn.
He bumped up the heat a notch, knowing she’d never ask him to, then drove toward the parking lot’s exit and down the wet, hard-topped street. Casey Lake seemed a suitable destination. Or he’d drive clear to Albuquerque if that’s what it took to make the situation clear to her.
But why’d she have to smell so good? Fresh. Citrusy. Just as he remembered.
“So what’s on your mind, Jake?”
He remembered that, as well. Even at twenty-two she’d been direct. Confident. Not easily cowed. Not that he wanted to intimidate her now, just get her to understand—and agree—that breaking confidences shared by community residents was outside the boundaries of her invitation to feature Canyon Springs in her blog.
A quick glance in her direction confirmed that the initial signs of nervousness when he’d caught her off guard had vanished. Her countenance, even lovelier than it had been years ago, remained unruffled. Reminding himself not to get distracted, he tightened his hands on the steering wheel.
“I managed to keep out of it when your waitress related the story of her courtship. It might not be something her husband would want broadcast, but it’s nothing the town doesn’t already know.”
Macy shifted in her seat, but didn’t interrupt.
“And Reuben Falkner,” he continued as they passed by towering ponderosa pines dusted with snow, “he can be a cantankerous old guy, so as far as I’m concerned, he’s on his own. But when sweet, notoriously naive Chloe Bancroft started to shoot off her mouth about her equally sweet and notoriously naive stepmother, well—”
Macy gave a soft gasp.
“Are you suggesting I set her up to disclose private family matters to share in my blog?”
“You