Marriage, Maverick Style! Page 6

  “You want me to lurk around Crawford’s General Store?”

  “I’m assuming you’ll be subtle about it.” Ryan made a thoughtful sound. “There’s the library. But I have no idea how often Melba goes there, if ever. Plus, a library is not the place to strike up a conversation. You’re supposed to be quiet there... Let me think. Where else? Maybe the donut shop or Wings to Go. But I think church or Crawford’s is a better bet for Melba. She’s a busy older woman without a lot of time to waste munching donuts in coffee shops.”

  “What do I do once I actually figure out a way to meet the woman?”

  “I already told you. You charm her. You make friends with her, and she invites you home and Tessa will be there.”

  “I have to say, Ryan. This is about the weakest idea you’ve ever come up with.”

  “Sorry. That’s all I’ve got for you. You need to spend some time coming up with your own ideas. And you need not to be in such a hurry.”

  “I live in Malibu. I have two corporations to run. I can’t stay here forever.”

  “See, now? That’s your problem. The women, as a rule, just fall in your lap. You’re not used to having to work for something you want.”

  “I work damn hard, thank you.”

  “You know very well I’m not talking about business here. I’m talking about romance. I’m talking about—”

  “Do. Not. Say. That. Word.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it. Now, get to work on Melba. And try to remember, Carson. This will be good for you. This will be character building.”

  Carson hung up from the call with Ryan and realized that he had no idea what Melba Strickland even looked like. He picked up his phone again to call Ryan back—and then set it back down. Hard.

  He’d had more than enough of Ryan’s advice for one day. He would find Melba Strickland on his own, thank you. How hard could that be?

  Too hard, he realized in no time at all.

  At first, he thought maybe he would just try asking a few people. Like Nate. Or maybe the mayor, Collin Traub. Or the sheriff, Gage Christensen. But the more he considered that approach, the more truly weird he realized he was going to sound. Because, seriously, what possible interest could a guy like him believably have in the elderly lady who ran the boardinghouse?

  When he tried to picture himself explaining to Gage or Nate or Collin that he wanted to get to know Melba so he could get closer to Tessa Strickland...well, how was that going to look? Men in Rust Creek Falls were protective of women. He would come off as just what Ryan had jokingly called him: a stalker.

  Ryan had suggested he try the library. He could go there and look through old copies of the Rust Creek Falls Gazette. Maybe he’d find a mention of Melba, hopefully with a photograph included.

  But okay, say he got lucky with a nice, clear headshot of Tessa’s grandmother to go by? Then what? It could take days of churchgoing and donut eating and lurking at the general store before he would even catch his first glimpse of the woman.

  He didn’t have days to waste. He had to be in LA on the twentieth, for God’s sake. He needed to get things going with Tessa right away in order to have the next two weeks to convince her to give LA a shot.

  Damn Ryan. He was no help at all.

  Carson flopped back onto the sofa in his sitting room and scowled at the ceiling, mentally calling his longtime friend a whole bunch of bad names—and right then, just like that, the solution popped into his head.

  Just like that, it all became crystal clear.

  He knew what to do, and it was priceless.

  * * *

  A half an hour later, he marched up the front steps of Strickland’s Boarding House and knocked on the door.

  An old man in baggy trousers and a plaid shirt answered. “Howdy.”

  “I’m Carson Drake, in town on business.”

  The old guy took his offered hand and gave it a pump. “I’m Gene Strickland. Folks call me Old Gene.” He ran a wrinkled hand over what was left of his hair and then moved back. “Come in, come in.” Carson stepped over the threshold into a dark, old-fashioned entry hall with stairs rising up in the center of it. Old Gene shut the door. “You’re that liquor fella, aren’t you? The one trying to bottle Homer Gilmore’s ’shine?”

  Was there anyone in this town who didn’t know more about his business than he did? He doubted it. “I’m the one.”

  “How’s that workin’ out for you?”

  “Not well.”

  The old guy let out a cackle. “Why am I not surprised? What brings you to Strickland’s?”

  “I’m hoping you have a room available.”

  The wrinkles in Old Gene’s forehead got even deeper. “I thought I heard you were stayin’ out there at Maverick Manor with all the other rich folks?”

  “I have been staying at the Manor, yes. But I’ve decided I would rather be here on Cedar Street, right in the thick of things.” And closer to Tessa, he thought but didn’t say.

  “And that’s gonna help you how?” Gene had very sharp eyes, and they were trained hard on Carson.

  Carson almost asked the old coot what business it was of his. But he had a feeling that wouldn’t go well for him. He punted for all he was worth. “I really like this town. And I’ve got about two more weeks here before I return to the rat race in LA. I want to...immerse myself in the real Rust Creek Falls experience, and that’s not going to happen out at Maverick Manor.”

  More cackling from Old Gene. “Immerse yourself, huh?”

  Carson gave a half shrug. “Hey. I’m from LA. We’re big into immersion.”

  “Oh, I’ll just bet.” Old Gene gave him a long, measuring look. Then, finally, “Well, you’d better come on back to the office and I’ll get my better half, Melba. She handles check-in.”

  Five minutes later, Carson stood at a check-in window in the boardinghouse office at the back of the building. He turned at the sound of footsteps. A sturdy-looking old woman in a button-front dress and sensible black shoes came through the door to the central hallway. She introduced herself. “Hello, I’m Melba, Gene’s wife.” His first thought—beyond how brilliantly he’d handled this—was that neither she nor her husband looked at all like Tessa. But then Melba smiled—a warm, wide smile.

  Maybe there was a similarity, after all.

  “Excuse me, young man.”

  He stepped aside, and Melba opened the door with the check-in window in it and entered the office cubicle on the other side. “Now,” she said with another echo-of-Tessa smile. “I have a nice room on the third floor that has just come vacant. It’s next to my granddaughter Tessa’s room, as a matter of fact.” Melba gave him a look from under her eyelashes, and he was absolutely certain she knew everything about Monday night—which, come to think of it, would be a hell of a lot more than he knew. She asked, “How’s that sound?”

  He opened his mouth, and the truth popped right out. “Just about perfect.” Could he really be getting this lucky?

  “You and Tessa will have to share a bath. All the rooms do. Gene says you’re from LA and you were staying at the Manor before. You really don’t mind sharing a bathroom?”

  He kept his face harmlessly blank. “I’m sure it will be fine.” And he whipped out his platinum card before she could tell him she’d changed her mind and she didn’t want him anywhere near her granddaughter.

  Melba ran the card through one of those ancient credit card sliders and then passed him his receipt, rattling off meal and snack options as she did it. Next, she reached to the side and grabbed something—a white plastic caddy—which she plunked on the office check-in window ledge in front of her. “You’ll need this to carry your shampoo and shaving gear to and from the bathroom. Here’s your key.”

  He couldn’t quell his wide grin as he took the key and grabbed the white caddy. “
Thank you.”

  She eyed him with what seemed to be vague suspicion. “Any questions?”

  Now that he thought about it, he did have a question. “Do you have Wi-Fi?”

  Melba made a disapproving sound, as though she thought internet access was just pure foolishness. “Gene likes his internet, my grandchildren say they have to have it when they come to visit and most folks these days can’t get along without it. We do have it now, though service can be a bit spotty.”

  Spotty. Not good. But he would keep his suite at the Manor and stay in electronic communication with LA from there.

  Melba gave him a small white card. “Here’s the password.”

  “Terrific.”

  “Enjoy your stay.”

  “I’m sure I will.”

  * * *

  Tessa sat in Emmet DePaulo’s cramped office at the Rust Creek Falls Medical Clinic.

  Emmet, a nurse practitioner who’d been running the clinic for as long as Tessa could remember, held out his hand across the desk to her. Tessa rose to shake it. Emmet said, “We really appreciate this, Tessa. It’s just me, Callie and Dawn.” Callie Crawford was also a nurse practitioner. “Thank the good Lord for Callie. And Dawn. She’s a lifesaver.” An RN, Dawn Laramie had recently joined the clinic staff. “With all the babies born in the last few months, we need a pediatrician and we need one yesterday.”

  Tessa shut her laptop and tucked it under her arm. “I’ll work up the material we talked about and email it to you tomorrow for approval.” She would create a few eye-catching ads as well as simple text-only listings using the information Emmet had just given her. Once Emmet approved her work, she would place the ads for him online in medical forums and on job sites where doctors and nurses looked for employment. “You’ll have that new doctor you need in no time.”

  Emmet came around the desk and walked her out to the waiting area, where every chair was taken. Babies were crying and Brandy, the clinic receptionist, looked about at the end of her rope. Tessa felt really good to be able to help in a good cause. Plus, due a lot to Callie Crawford’s husband, Nate, who had plenty of money and put a fair amount of it into worthy causes, the clinic was well funded. Tessa would actually get paid for creating and placing the ads. Win-win in a big way.

  Outside, it was cool and sunny. A gorgeous day. Tessa paused before ducking into her trusty Honda CR-V. She turned her face toward the mountains—and thought of Carson with a sharp little stab of what could only be called longing.

  She’d been thinking of Carson a lot, way too much, really, since yesterday morning when she’d made it painfully clear to him that this thing between them was over. Goodbye, she’d told him. And that should have been the end of it.

  Except for how her mind wouldn’t stop turning back around to wondering about him and what he might be doing now. Except for the ache in her solar plexus that kept reminding her she missed him.

  It was absurd. How could you miss a guy you hardly knew?

  Yanking open her door, she dropped her shoulder bag and laptop on the passenger seat and slid in behind the wheel. She hauled the door shut—and then, with a sad little groan, sagged forward until her forehead met the wheel.

  Okay, she kind of wished she’d given him more of a chance. Yeah, he was cocky and too rich and too good-looking, totally dangerous to her poor heart and her emotional equilibrium.

  Still, she liked him. A lot. She loved being with him. And what could it hurt to enjoy his company for the few more days he might be in town? Just because he reminded her too much of Miles—well, how was that his fault?

  And as for the craziness that had happened with the moonshine? Again, as she’d reminded herself more than once already, not Carson’s fault. She’d drunk that stuff of her own free will—and he’d been just as knocked out by it as she had.

  And then she’d freaked and blown it with him. Way to go, Strickland.

  There was something...not really right about her. She was socially stunted, and she probably ought to get help. She felt powerfully drawn to Carson. She wanted to get to know him better—and so what had she done about that?

  Told him to get lost. Ugh.

  She longed to call him back and tell him she’d been all wrong to end things before they even really got started. She wanted to ask him for another chance.

  Not that she would do that.

  No. Better to accept her own idiocy, leave bad enough alone and try to do better next time.

  A sad little laugh escaped her. Yeah, because killer-handsome, cocky guys who made her laugh, knew the two-step, thought her work was brilliant and turned her knees to jelly were so easy to come by.

  Tessa lifted her forehead off the steering wheel, squared her shoulders and muttered, “Get over it,” to the empty car.

  He was probably long gone back to LA by now, anyway. She needed to let it go.

  She started up the car and drove to the boardinghouse—where she found Carson’s rented Cadillac SUV parked in the lot behind the building.

  Chapter Six

  Carson had just finished hanging his shirts in the closet and putting his underwear in the ancient bowfront bureau when the tap came on the door. He shoved the drawer shut, tossed his empty suitcase in the closet and went to answer, hoping that just maybe it might be Tessa.

  Score.

  She looked amazing, eyes wide and somber, mouth twisted ruefully, standing right in front of him on the threadbare runner in the narrow hallway. She wore a soft pink shirt, black jeans with rolled cuffs and high-heeled sandals with ties that wrapped around her slim ankles. Her hair was loose, corkscrew curls wild and thick around that gypsy face. Just the sight of her raised his blood pressure and hollowed him out down low. He had to order his hungry arms not to reach for her.

  “Tessa,” he said prayerfully. “At last.”

  She cleared her throat, a thoroughly enchanting, nervous little sound. “I saw your car in the lot. When I went looking for you downstairs, my grandma shared the big news that you had taken the empty room next to mine...” Her voice trailed off. They stared at each other. Finally, she spoke again. “We should talk.”

  He stepped back, clearing the doorway.

  When she entered, he shut the door and enjoyed the view as she walked to the bed and sat down on the bright red, white and blue quilt. When she patted the space beside her, he couldn’t get over there fast enough.

  He dropped down next to her and sucked in a slow breath through his nose. She smelled like a rose. A rose and some wonderful, sweet spice.

  “What are you doing here?” Her words demanded answers, yet her eyes were soft.

  He wanted to touch her, to brush her arm, take her hand. But he didn’t dare. “I couldn’t give up. Sorry. It’s just not in me. Ryan suggested that I make friends with your grandmother.”

  She blinked in surprise. “My grandmother? What for?”

  “As a way to get close to you.”

  She pondered that for a moment. Then, “That’s a little...”

  “Out there?” he volunteered when she seemed to have trouble coming up with the right words.

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, Ryan’s always been a little out there. But I had nothing, so I went with his suggestion. I was knocking myself out trying to come up with ways to become BFFs with your grandmother. And then I thought of just taking a room here.” She looked at him so steadily, he could see gold flecks in those coffee-brown eyes of hers. And dear God, that mouth. He couldn’t wait to kiss her again.

  She sent a quick glance around the room. “Kind of a step down from Maverick Manor—wouldn’t you say?”

  “No way. I love it here. This is a terrific room. It has everything I need. A bed, a dresser. A bathroom down the hall...”

  “I am making an effort not to roll my eyes.”

&
nbsp; He had to ask. “So does your grandmother know you spent Monday night with me? I swear, while I was talking to her, I got the feeling she knew it all.”

  Tessa actually chuckled. The sound warmed him through and through. “Let’s play it smart and never ask her what she knows.”

  “Because she’s one of those old ladies who doesn’t believe in hot, sexy times outside of marriage?”

  Tessa laughed again, a snorting little burst of sound that had him feeling downright hopeful about his chances with her, after all. “Actually, I don’t think my grandma believes in hot, sexy times under any circumstances. But you never know. Did you meet my grandpa, too?”

  “I did. And as you can see, I lived to tell about it.”

  “And Claire?”

  “I haven’t seen her yet. But I remember you mentioned that she lives here, too.”

  “There are two full apartments downstairs. My grandparents have one. My sister and her family have the other.”

  “And Claire and Levi have a little girl, right?”

  “Yeah. Bekka. I love Bekka. She’s the only baby who ever liked me.” Her beautiful smile trembled a little. She lowered her gaze.

  He resisted the urge to tip up her chin and make her meet his eyes again. “So you’re not mad at me for moving in here?”

  And then she did look at him. God. He wished she would never look away. “No, Carson. I’m not mad. How long are you staying?”

  “Till the nineteenth. I have meetings in LA the week of the twentieth.”

  She touched him then, just a quick brush of her hand on the bare skin of his forearm. Heat curled inside him, and he could have sworn that actual sparks flashed from the point of contact. Then she confessed, her voice barely a whisper, “I regretted saying goodbye to you almost from the moment I hung up the phone yesterday.”

  “Good.” The word sounded rough to his own ears. “Because I’m going nowhere for the next two weeks.”

  She slanted him a sideways glance. “You mean that I’m getting a second chance with you whether I want one or not?”