Stacy Connelly - The Maverick's Summer Sweetheart

From what Gemma had seen on her way to her room, the hotel’s newly constructed pool looked exactly as it had in the website photos—with rock walls and a waterfall and a spa built to resemble a natural hot spring. The wide wall of windows looked out onto a breathtaking mountain view, and the huge glass panels that could be closed during colder months were open for the summer.

Ignoring the swimsuit for a moment, Gemma adjusted the beaded headband holding back her shoulder-length black hair and eyed the makeup she’d touched up after the long flight. Just a few swipes of mascara on her darkly lashed green eyes and a hint of peachy lip gloss. She was, after all, only going down to the pool. Not that she actually planned to get in the pool—at least not more than dipping her manicured feet into the shallow end.

Realizing she was simply wasting time, she finally muttered, “Oh, get over yourself!” The swimsuit wasn’t that revealing, and she had the white terry-cloth hotel robe to take with her.

She hadn’t come all this way to sit in her room, feeling sorry for herself. She could have done that back in her New York apartment. But this was Montana. A land of wide-open spaces, majestic mountains and towering trees. And Rust Creek Falls had been calling to her since she’d first stumbled across the name of the town, a piece of a puzzle that Gemma hoped might fit into one of the empty places in her childhood.

If nothing else, she wanted to experience what might have been. And in the process, she wanted to wipe all the poor Gemma thoughts from everyone’s minds.

Starting with her own.

* * *

Before heading down to the pool, Gemma had packed her tote with half a dozen or so brochures she’d picked up in the lobby—touting everything from the local bar and donut shop, to nearby hiking and camping sites, to a place called Sunshine Farm, which had been dubbed “The Lonelyhearts Ranch” after people who stayed there started finding their true loves.

For the past several months, Gemma had scoured the internet, trying to learn all she could about Rust Creek Falls. She’d been fascinated to discover a blog written by a former New Yorker who had arrived after a devastating flood several years ago. Lissa Roarke’s description of the location and the way the community had pulled together in the face of such adversity had added another layer to Gemma’s curiosity about the tiny town.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been down by the pool, the shrieks of laughter echoing through a space filled with the scent of sunscreen and chlorine, before she became aware of the young girl dripping by the side of her chair.

“Is that the latest edition?” the girl asked, pointing to the glossy magazine on Gemma’s lounger. “The one with the article about Lyle? You know, the former singer of 2LOVEU?”

Sixty-hour workweeks, with her reading material limited to The Wall Street Journal and endless finance articles, threatened to make Gemma a dull girl. She did her best to balance all those facts and figures she needed to know in her job as a financial adviser by focusing on the lifestyles of the rich and famous in her free time. And now that she was on vacation, she was far more interested in which super couple was breaking up than in what stock might be splitting.

“I think it is.”

“Oh, my gosh!” the girl gushed as she plopped down onto the seat next to Gemma’s. “I’ve been dying to read that. Crawford’s General Store is sooo slow about getting the newest issues. I actually saw Lyle back when he was in 2LOVEU. My best friend, Abby, and I went to Seattle to see him in concert there. It was the most exciting night of my life!”

Five minutes ago, Gemma wouldn’t have thought she had anything to talk about with a girl who was maybe ten? Eleven? But she quickly found herself charmed by the tiny blonde’s enthusiasm. She was all skinny arms and legs in a navy polka-dot halter-style top and matching boy shorts, and her light blue eyes were already a little red-rimmed from her time in the pool. But the girl had an outgoing smile and confidence Gemma hadn’t mastered until she was in her late teens.

“I saw him once, too, when he was on his solo tour in New York City.”

“No! Really? Are you from New York? That must be so exciting! I’ve lived here, like, my whole life! My name’s Janie. If there’s anything you want to know about Rust Creek Falls, I can totally tell you all about it. Like the time Brenna and Travis starred on The Great Roundup —you know, the reality show on TV?”

“You actually know the couple who married in the show’s finale?” Gemma hadn’t seen the program when it originally aired, but she’d come across it in her search of Rust Creek Falls. When she’d learned two of the cast members were from the small town, she’d binge-watched the entire season, eager to learn who won the grand prize—and whether the couple had hooked up just for ratings or if they had fallen in love for real.

“I do. I know just about everyone in town!”

Janie’s eager boast was enough for Gemma to take the words with a grain of salt, but she still had to wonder. If the town truly was that close-knit, then maybe...

Gemma didn’t mean to tune out the girl’s happy chatter as her thoughts started to wander, but with a glance across the far side of the pool, her attention instantly snapped back to the present. All exhaustion from the months of planning the “wedding that wasn’t” fled as her heart slammed in her chest and every nerve ending came to vibrant life at the sight of a gorgeous guy lifting himself out of the deep end. Though she knew it had to be her imagination, he almost seemed to be moving in some kind of super-sexy slow motion. Water sluiced off his broad shoulders and chest, down six-pack abs and along equally muscular legs as he rose to stand on the concrete decking.

She had seen plenty of buff, good-looking guys at the gym where she worked out, but this guy—no, this man— was different. He was more rugged and real, and with the mountains as a backdrop behind him, Gemma had the split-second fantasy that this could be an honest-to-goodness cowboy. Certainly there was nothing manscaped or metrosexual about him. As he shook the water from his brown hair and then raised both hands to push it back from his wide forehead, she caught sight of a few faded scars—one thin line along the underside of his tanned forearm and another ragged lightning bolt running down the length of his lean rib cage.

No way did those muscles come from a gym.

As he reached for a towel hanging over the back of a nearby lounge chair, he glanced over and his dark blue eyes met Gemma’s gaze. She knew she should look away—she really did—but once he started running that towel down the length of his arms and across that wide chest...

She couldn’t even blink, let alone find a way to break her mesmerized stare.

A slow smile broke over his handsome features, crinkling the crow’s-feet at the corners of his eyes and warming Gemma from the inside out. She felt almost pinned in place on the pale blue lounger as a small shiver raced from the top of her head, all the way down to her purple-painted toenails.

As she watched, he lifted his fingers toward his lips. He wasn’t actually going to blow her a kiss, was he? That certainly didn’t seem like a cowboy thing to do. Tip an imaginary hat, maybe, but not—

The thought had barely formed in her mind when the man did indeed raise his fingers to his mouth—to give a shrill, sharp whistle that echoed through the enclosed space and had the young girl on the lounger next to Gemma’s giving a slight start.

Janie’s chatter cut off abruptly as she glanced across the pool toward the man who now had those impressive arms crossed over his equally impressive chest. Janie’s shoulders slumped slightly. “That’s my dad.”