Christine Rimmer - Marriage, Maverick Style!

His lips settled over hers, light as a breath. They were every bit as soft and supple as they looked. She sighed in welcome as little prickles of pleasure danced through her, and she was glad, so glad, that she’d denied her silly fears and come to the park, after all. That she’d met this charming man and was sharing a great evening with him.

When he pulled back, his eyes were darker than ever. “What is it about you, Tessa? I can’t take my eyes off you. I feel like I’ve known you forever. And how come you taste so good?”

She laughed. “Oh, you silver-tongued devil, you.” She was trying to decide whether or not to kiss him again when a raspy throat-clearing sound came from a clump of bushes about ten feet away.

Tessa sat up. “What was that?”

Carson challenged, “Who’s there?”

Branches rustled—and an old man emerged from right out of the center of a big bush. He wore baggy black jeans, a frayed rope for a belt, battered lace-up work boots and the dingy top half of a union suit as a shirt. Bristly gray whiskers peppered his wattled cheeks. What was left of his hair stood up at all angles.

Tessa recognized him instantly. “Homer Gilmore, were you eavesdropping on us?”

Chapter Three Contents Cover Introduction “You want us to be exclusive? That is what you’re talking about here, right?” She groaned at that. “See? I’m a mess when it comes to this relationship stuff. I just asked you to be my friend and ten minutes later I’m grilling you about other women, making you think I’m demanding exclusivity.” “But you do want exclusivity, don’t you?” He had no doubt that she did. “See, that’s the thing, Tessa. You have to tell me what you want.” She blew out her cheeks with a hard breath. “Well, how about if you could be exclusive for the next two weeks, anyway?” Carson tried not to grin. “Even though we’re just friends?” She covered her face with her hands. “We shouldn’t even be talking about this right now. It’s too early to be talking about this.” He suggested, “How about this? I promise not to seduce any strange women for the next two weeks—present company excluded.” She let her hands drop to her lap, revealing bright spots of red high on her cheeks. “Maybe you shouldn’t warn me ahead that you’ll be trying to seduce me.” “Why not? We both know that I will, so the least I can do is be honest about it.” * * * Montana Mavericks: The Baby Bonanza— Meet Rust Creek Falls’ newest bundles of joy! Title Page Marriage, Maverick Style! Christine Rimmer www.millsandboon.co.uk About the Author CHRISTINE RIMMER came to her profession the long way around. She tried everything from acting to teaching to telephone sales. Now she’s finally found work that suits her perfectly. She insists she never had a problem keeping a job—she was merely gaining “life experience” for her future as a novelist. Christine lives with her family in Oregon. Visit her at www.christinerimmer.com . Dedication For MSR, always. Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Epilogue Extract Copyright

Homer Gilmore blinked as though waking himself from a sound sleep—and then he grinned wide, showing crooked, yellowed teeth. “Well, if it ain’t little Tessa Strickland. Stayin’ at your grandma’s place for the summer?”

“Yes, I am. And you didn’t answer my question.”

Homer scratched his stubbly cheek. “Me? Eavesdropping?” He put on a hurt expression. “Tessa, you know me better than that.”

Beside her, Carson rose smoothly to his feet and held down a hand for her. She took it, and he pulled her up to stand beside him.

Homer came toward them.

Carson seemed bemused. “Homer Gilmore. Face-to-face at last.”

Homer recognized him. “Carson Drake.” He accepted Carson’s offered hand and gave it a quick pump before letting go. “Told you I’d be in touch.”

“So then, that really was you on the phone?”

“’Course it was.” Homer had a mason jar of clear liquid in his left hand. “Here.” He shoved it toward Carson.

Carson eyed the jar doubtfully. “What’s this?”

“This is what you came here to get.” Homer grabbed Carson’s hand and slapped the jar into it.

“No kidding.” Carson held the jar up toward the party lights in the distance. “Homer Gilmore’s magic moonshine?”

“The one and only.” Homer spoke proudly, puffing out his scrawny chest. “Truth is, I like your style, kid. And here’s what I want you to do. Try a taste or two. See what you think. Then we can talk.”

“I’m sorry.” Carson actually did sound regretful. “It doesn’t work that way.” He tried to hand the jar back.

Homer refused to take it. “I say how it works. Taste it.”

“Look, we need a meeting. A real meeting. Yes, there should be sampling, but formal sampling, in a professional setting. And chemical analysis, of course—but all that comes later. First, how about we meet for dinner and we can discuss—”

“Hold on.” Homer put up a hand. “We’ll get to the talk and the dang analysis. But first, you try it. This deal goes nowhere until you do.”

“Homer, you’re not listening to me. I can’t just—”

“Nope. Stop. You heard what I said. Have yourself a taste. After that, we’ll talk.”

“When, exactly, will we talk?”

“Don’t get pushy, kid. I’ll be in touch.”

Carson opened his mouth to say something else—but then shut it without saying anything. Tessa got that. What was the point? Homer wasn’t listening. With a wink and a nod in her direction, the old man turned and walked away. Tessa and Carson stared after him as he vanished into the darkness of the trees.

Baffled, Carson stared down at the jar in his hand. “I don’t believe this.”

Tessa dropped to the blanket again. “It’s Homer. What can you expect?”

“You think he might be crazy?”

“Of course not. He’s a little peculiar, that’s all. Being an oddball doesn’t make you crazy. Kayla had it right. He really does have a good heart.”

“If you say so.” But he seemed far from convinced. She patted the space beside her. He folded his tall frame down next to her. “So...” He set the jar on the blanket next to her hat. For several seconds, they stared at it together. Over near the dance floor, the band launched into the next number.

Tessa laughed when she recognized the song. “That’s ‘Alcohol’ by Brad Paisley. Perfect, huh?”

Carson slanted her a look full of mischief and delicious badness. “Want to try it?”

She did want to try it. She was really, really curious—just to know how it might taste, to maybe get a sense of whether or not any of the outrageous rumors about it might be true.

“Tessa?” he prompted when she failed to answer him.

She tried to remind herself of all the reasons that taking a chance on Homer’s moonshine was not a good idea. “It could be dangerous...”

“You really think it’s all that bad?”

“I didn’t say bad. But you’ve heard the stories.”

He flapped his arms. “Bok-bok-bok.”

She laughed and gave his shoulder a playful shove. “Don’t make chicken sounds at me. I’m being responsible.”

He leaned a little closer. “And what fun is that?”

Oh, she did like him. She liked him a lot—liked him more and more the longer she was with him. He was not only hot. He was fun and smart and perceptive.

And a very good kisser.

Did he see in her eyes that she was thinking about kissing him? Seemed like he must have, because he leaned even closer and brushed a second kiss against her mouth.