Stacy Connelly - The Maverick's Summer Sweetheart

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“Is that what you’re wearing to dinner tonight?” Janie asked as Hank stepped out of his side of the suite. The room was decorated with the same upscale Western decor as the rest of the hotel—all warm shades of rust and brown, hardwood floors, rough-hewn furniture and even a river-rock fireplace in the shared living space between the two bedrooms.

His daughter was seated on the couch, parked in front of the oversize television, remote in hand. But she flicked the television show off as she pushed to her feet and eyed him with a frown.

Hank glanced down, trying to see what had his little girl making that face. His long-sleeved checkered shirt was buttoned properly, his brown leather belt was pulled through all the loops and his dark denim jeans were zipped.

“What else would I wear?” he asked his daughter. He could dress in the dark, pulling clothes from his closet while completely blind, and end up with an outfit exactly like the one he had on.

Short-sleeved button-down shirts for summer, long sleeves for spring and fall, and a few sweaters thrown in for winter, along with his leather duster. Add in his most comfortable boots and his favorite hat, and there wasn’t a place in Rust Creek Falls where he wouldn’t meet the dress code. That was assuming Rust Creek Falls actually had any restaurants where a dress code was required—which it didn’t.

“You should, I don’t know, wear a tie or something.”

“Now, Janie, you know that I do not own a tie.” It was something of a joke between them—how some kids bought ties for Father’s Day. Last year Janie had bought him a pair of spurs. The year before that, it had been a snakeskin hatband. Before that she had given him a new pair of work gloves. Always something he could wear, but never, ever a tie.

“I know, but I bet Gemma’s gonna dress up.”

Hank doubted the big-city beauty knew how to dress down. Even if she tried to fit in, he imagined her hat and boots would be some designer brand and color-coordinated as well. Like the way her purple toenail polish, complete with tiny, delicate painted-on flowers that were practically works of art, had perfectly matched her oversize floral-print tote bag.

It was a ridiculous thing for a grown man to have noticed. Even worse to have his interest caught by such a detail. But like the rest of Gemma Chapman, the delicate, feminine touch fascinated Hank more than he wanted to admit.

He was simply out of practice when it came to the opposite sex. It wasn’t like women walked around the Bar H in flip-flops all the time. Hell, it wasn’t like many women walked around the Bar H period.

“Sorry, kiddo, but this is the best I brought with me.”

Janie sighed. “You’re supposed to dress up when you go out on a date.”

“Whoa! Hey, no one said anything about this being a date. It’s dinner.” Between two total strangers who were complete opposites and a preteen chaperone. Although even with those built-in safeguards, Hank wasn’t sure why or even how he’d ended up agreeing to share a meal with Gemma Chapman.

The conversation had started out innocently enough when Janie, who always seemed to be starving even though they’d all snacked on chips and popcorn by the pool, asked about their plans for dinner. Or rather Gemma’s plans for dinner.

“I was thinking about checking out a place I read about online. I’m guessing the two of you have heard of it. It’s called the Ace in the Hole?”

“The Ace?” Gemma Chapman at the local cowboy bar? Alone? On a Saturday night? “Uh, no, ma’am. You don’t want to go there.”

Her dark eyebrows rose at that—though Hank wasn’t sure if the move was in reaction to his slipping and calling her “ma’am” or from telling her not to go. “Why not? It sounded like fun. A real Western experience.”

The bar had its moments and was certainly popular enough, but on a Saturday night the place could get more than a little rowdy with just-been-paid and partying cowboys—all of whom would be more than happy to show Gemma a “real Western experience.”

“It’s just not the place for a woman like you.”

“A woman like me?” This time Hank had no doubt his words had sparked her reaction. She tossed that long black hair back in a challenging gesture that reminded Hank of a spirited filly. He doubted a city girl like Gemma would appreciate that comparison, but he did.

Before he knew it, he’d offered to take Gemma—and Janie—to the Ace in the Hole for an early dinner. His plan was for the three of them to get in and get out before the late-night crowd showed up and the music and dancing started.

He didn’t want to look too closely at the reasons why the idea of Gemma in another man’s arms bothered him. And thinking about her in his own arms... Well, that was equally dangerous territory.

“Okay, okay,” Janie was saying, “so it’s just dinner .” His daughter put so much emphasis on the two words, he half expected them to appear over her head in some kind of dialogue bubble. “You should still try to look nice.”

Lifting a hand, Hank rubbed at the back of his neck, where his too-long hair brushed well below the collar. Sad thing was, he actually had tried to look nice, shaving a second time and trying to get the slight wave in his hair combed back off his forehead. “’Fraid this is as good as it gets, kiddo. But what about you?”

Janie had changed into sweatpants and a long-sleeved T-shirt, her typical movie-night apparel, after her quick shower to wash the chlorine from her hair. “That doesn’t look like what you’d want to wear going out to dinner.”

“I, um... I’m not feeling that great.”

“What’s wrong? Was it too many snacks down by the pool? I knew we shouldn’t have had chips and popcorn.”

Not to mention the refills on the sugary soda. Anne was always warning him about indulging Janie’s sweet tooth, but Hank had a hard time resisting—both his daughter as well as his own love of snacks.

Striding toward the hotel phone, he asked, “Should I see if the gift shop has something for an upset stomach?” The tiny space tucked away in the corner of the lobby had the typical tiny travel-sized necessities that guests frequently forgot to pack. Likely the store would have something for a stomachache as well.

“No, Dad, it’s not my stomach. It’s...my head. Probably just too much sun down by the pool.”

“Okay,” Hank drawled, not sure how that could be, considering the pool was mostly enclosed, with only muted sunlight streaming through the wall of windows. Janie tugged on the hem of her shirt as her gaze flitted about the room, a sure sign she was fibbing, but why? She’d been the one so gung ho about this dinner. “If you don’t feel well, I’ll call Gemma’s room and cancel—”

“No!” Janie practically shouted before catching herself. “I mean, it would be rude to cancel so late.” Sinking down onto the sofa, she pulled a pillow into her lap. “I can just rest here and order room service. But you—you should still go.”

This time, as she looked up at him—her sweet face so earnest, so sincere, so eager—Hank knew for a fact she was faking. And the reason why was pretty clear. Janie wasn’t interested in dinner for the three of them. She was trying to finagle a dinner between him and Gemma.

So much for his preteen chaperone.

“Janie...”

Enough warning entered his voice that she at least dropped the wide-eyed expression. “Please, Dad, go! I’ll be fine here. One of my favorite movies is on tonight, and I’ll order something super healthy like what Mom would make for dinner. And you can go and have fun with Gemma.”

Have fun with Gemma...

The image of his future—sitting alone in front of the television—had his denial dying in his throat. Ever since Anne had remarried, Janie—hell, Janie and Anne and half of Rust Creek Falls, it seemed sometimes—had been pushing him to start dating. But his daughter was especially worried about him being by himself. As frequently as he insisted that he was fine, she wasn’t buying it.