Christine Rimmer - Marriage, Maverick Style!

When he pulled in at the curb in front of the boardinghouse, she grabbed her hat off the seat with one hand and the door handle with the other. He should just let her go. It was obvious she wanted to get as far away from him as possible.

But he couldn’t let her walk away. Not yet. First, they needed to deal with the consequences of their actions—whatever the hell those actions had actually been.

“Wait, Tessa. Please.” She froze and stared at him, her dark hair a wild tangle of curls around her unforgettable gypsy-girl face. He made himself ask, “Are you on any kind of contraception?”

She winced and then confessed bleakly, “No. I had an implant, but when it expired last time, I didn’t replace it. And... I know, I know. Way more information than you needed.”

His gut twisted at her news, but he kept his voice gentle and low. “I’m sorry, but I can’t stop thinking that those condom wrappers don’t really prove we were as careful as we needed to be.” For that, he got a soft, unhappy groan.

She put her face in her hands. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right.” With a ragged intake of breath, she lifted her head and squared her shoulders. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it. I’ll get the morning-after pill today.”

Rust Creek Falls had one general store. That store had no pharmacy area that he could remember. “Can you get it at Crawford’s?”

She chuckled, a sound with very little humor in it. “No. I’ll drive over to Kalispell. It’s a quick trip, not a big deal.”

He didn’t want her doing that all alone. “I’ll take you. We can go right now.”

She looked at him for a long count of five. And then she answered firmly, “No, thank you. I appreciate the offer. You’re a stand-up guy. But I really need to get through the rest of this walk of shame on my own.” She grabbed the door handle again and was out on the sidewalk before he could think of some way to change her mind. “Goodbye, Carson,” she said. The word had all the finality of a death sentence. She shut the door.

He watched her climb the boardinghouse steps and knew that it was over between them—over without really even getting started.

* * *

Tessa’s grandmother Melba Strickland was waiting for her in the foyer just inside the front door.

“There you are.” Melba reached out her long arms for a hug. Tessa went into them. Her grandmother always smelled of homey, comforting things. Right now it was coffee and cinnamon toast and a faintly floral perfume. “When you didn’t come down for breakfast at seven as usual, I got a little worried. I knocked on your door. No answer. I tried calling you, but your phone went straight to voice mail.”

“Sorry.” She’d left her phone in her room the night before. Because she’d only been running down the street to the park and she’d expected to return within a few hours. It must have died.

Her grandmother took her by the shoulders. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” Tessa resisted the urge to make up a lie that explained her whereabouts last night. Yes, her grandmother had old-fashioned values and wouldn’t approve if Tessa said where she’d really been. But Tessa was a grown woman and her mistakes were her own to work out. Her grandma didn’t need to hear it. “I want to grab a shower. Then I need to drive into Kalispell and pick up a few things.” You know, like the morning-after pill. Because I’m an idiot, but I’m trying to be a responsible one.

Melba searched her face. “I just want you to know that I’m ready to listen anytime you need to talk.”

Tessa’s empty stomach hollowed further with a mixture of equal parts love and guilt. “I do know, Grandma. And I’m grateful.”

Melba gave her shoulders a squeeze. “You need to eat.”

“I really want to get going.”

“Humor me. An egg, some toast, a nice cup of hot coffee...”

So Tessa followed Melba to the kitchen, where eighteen-month-old Bekka sat in a booster seat at the table, drinking from her favorite sippy cup and munching on Cheerios and grapes. It was after nine, so Levi was off at work in Kalispell.

“Auntie Tess, Auntie Tess! Kiss!” Bekka made loud smacking sounds until Tessa bent close and let the little girl press her plump, sticky lips to her cheek. Tessa might not be good with most babies, but at least her niece seemed to like her well enough. Bekka offered a fistful of Cheerios.

They were limp and soggy. Tessa ate one anyway as Bekka beamed her approval.

Then Tessa got herself some coffee, pausing to pat her sister’s shoulder as she went by. Claire sent her a questioning look, and Tessa gave a rueful shrug in response. She set herself a place at the table, and Claire whipped her up some scrambled eggs. The food helped. Tessa felt a little better about it all once she’d eaten.

Upstairs, she hung her hat on the peg by the door, had a shower and paid no attention to the mild tenderness between her legs. She ignored the love bite on her left breast. It would fade to nothing in a day or two. She let the water run down over her, soothing her shaky nerves. And she tried not to regret what she couldn’t even remember.

Not too much later, dressed in a short denim skirt and a soft plaid shirt, she was on her way to Kalispell. At the first drugstore she came to, she bought a root beer and the hormone pill she needed. She took the pill the moment she got back behind the wheel, sipping the root beer slowly as she drove back to town.

That taken care of, she helped Claire in the kitchen for a while and then went upstairs to check email and dig into some projects she’d acquired through her website. Last Friday, when she’d agreed to ride the Gazette float, she’d told Dawson Landry, the paper’s editor and publisher, that she was looking for design work. Dawson had said that if she came by, he would put her to work. She’d said she would, on Tuesday.

Well, it was Tuesday. And follow-through mattered.

So once she’d made sure she was on top of her other projects, she called Dawson. He said to come on over.

At the Gazette, she spent a couple of hours punching up the layout for the next edition. Once she got absorbed in the work, she was glad she’d come. It helped to keep busy.

As for Carson, well, whatever they’d done last night, it wouldn’t be happening again. Last night was clear proof that she should have followed her first instinct when it came to him, should have stayed at the boardinghouse and out of his way.

She wouldn’t be seeing him anymore. She would get past her own stupid choices yet again. Everybody made mistakes and life went on.

And if Homer Gilmore knew what was good for him, he’d keep the hell away from her for the next hundred years.

* * *

Carson didn’t notice the sketchbook until late that afternoon.

He’d driven into Kalispell, too. He’d had a late breakfast at a diner he found. And then he’d wandered around the downtown area, checking things out, seeing what the larger town had to offer.

Was he hoping he might run into Tessa?

A little. Maybe.

But it didn’t happen.

It was so strange, the way he felt about her. He missed her. A lot. He’d met her less than twenty-four hour ago, yet somehow he felt as though he knew her. She had a kind of glow about her, an energy and warmth. Already he missed that glow.

His world was dimmer, less vibrant, without her.

As he drove back toward Rust Creek Falls, he realized that he hadn’t felt this way about a woman in years. Not since he was fifteen and fell head over heels for Marianne.

He wished he could remember making love with Tessa. Somehow, even though he couldn’t remember what they’d done late in the night, the clean, sweet scent of her skin and the lush texture of her hair were imprinted on his brain.