RaeAnne Thayne - Currant Creek Valley

He cleared his throat and she couldn’t hold in a smile at the sudden glazed look in his eyes. Was he, like her, thinking about something else completely? “Do you want to go for best of five?”

A loud burst of laughter from Genevieve’s group drew both their attention. While she and Sam had been playing, a couple others had joined Gen’s crowd. On the other occupied table, two rough-edged guys were arguing heatedly about a move. A couple danced nearby to an up-tempo country song playing on the jukebox.

Sometimes the loud, hard-partying scene at The Speckled Lizard grated on her nerves, especially after a long night at the restaurant. The only problem was, during the off-season, the after-hours nightlife in Hope’s Crossing was basically nonexistent, other than a few fast-food joints that stayed open 24/7.

She could always call it a night but she selfishly didn’t want to. She liked Sam. The way he moved, the way he smelled, the way he played pool. It had been a long time since she had met someone so intriguing.

“How do you feel about taking a little walk?” she asked on impulse.

He blinked at her, cue in hand. “Now? It’s past eleven. The whole town is closed down, in case you didn’t notice.”

“Why not? It’s a beautiful evening. These kind of mild spring nights are something of a miracle here in the high mountains.”

Don’t say no, she thought. The idea of going back to her house by herself tonight depressed her more than it should. Not that she had any intention of taking Sam there, but she definitely wanted to spend a little more time with him. This was a nice compromise.

“We don’t have to,” she added. “I only thought maybe you might like a quick guided tour of Hope’s Crossing, being new in town and all.”

He leaned a hip against the edge of the pool table, all those rangy ex-army muscles in delectable view.

Maybe inviting him out for a walk wasn’t the smartest idea she’d ever had, when she had to keep reminding herself he was the contractor at the restaurant and she couldn’t afford to mess things up now that her dream was within reach.

“A walk could be...interesting.”

“Great. Let’s go.” She ignored the flurry of nerves in her stomach as they hung up the cues and settled their tab with Pat at the bar.

He helped her into her jacket and then pulled on his own—a soft, thin leather jacket that made her think of motorcycles and bad boys—and then they walked out into the sweetly scented spring night.

CHAPTER FOUR

THE NIGHT WAS RELATIVELY WARM for mid-April with a southerly breeze that smelled moist and earthy. She wouldn’t be surprised if Hope’s Crossing saw rain before daybreak, the kind of sweet and cleansing storm that blew through quickly and left everything fresh and clean, saturated with color.

She loved walking on these kinds of nights, when the rest of the world seemed huddled in for the dark hours but she was alone with the rustling music of the breeze in new leaves.

Except this time she wasn’t alone. She was accompanied by a big, tough-looking man who had secrets she hadn’t begun to guess.

“Let’s walk up to the fire station and I’ll give you the high points of Main Street along the way.”

“You’re the tour guide.” He flashed a lopsided smile, looking sexy and almost rakish, and she had to remind her hormones to settle down.

She adopted a deliberately casual tone, her best officious voice. Maybe if the restaurant thing didn’t work out, she could get a job at the tourist welcome center. “You probably already know this but Hope’s Crossing was once a wild and woolly mining town, with more brothels and saloons than houses.”

“I’d heard that, yes. Tell me this. Don’t you think it’s odd that even with that sort of start, the town was still named a sweet, flowery name like Hope’s Crossing instead of, oh, I don’t know. Something like Hell’s Armpit.”

She laughed. “While both names are equally appealing, of course, I’m guessing Hope’s Crossing might be a bit more of a tourist draw than anything with the word armpit in it. But what do I know?”

His smile gleamed in the night and she fought down another shiver of awareness.

“My friend Claire is a lot better at recounting history, but from what I understand, the miners originally called the town Silver Strike after the first mine to produce anything worthwhile up in the canyon. One of the mine owners, Silas Van Duran, happened to fall in love with the only schoolteacher in town, a woman named Hope Goodwin. When it came time to officially name the town, he insisted on Hope’s Crossing. Since he had the money, I guess, he also had the power to push through what he wanted.”

“A little on the cheesy side, don’t you think? Most women I know would prefer a share in the silver mine instead of the rather dubious privilege of having a town named for them.”

“Aren’t you cynical? You’re not a romantic, then. Good to know.”

“Hey, I can be romantic when the mood strikes.”

“You do know there’s a difference between romantic and horny, right?”

He laughed and warmth sizzled through her. He had a really sexy laugh, low and full-throated, with just a hint of surprise to it, as if he didn’t do it that often. She wanted him to do it again.

“I’ve heard that, yes,” he said. “Thanks for the reminder. Though in my experience, they’re not mutually exclusive emotions.”

She was really going to have to settle down here. She drew in a breath and forced herself to return to tour-guide mood as they walked past her favorite boutique.

When they passed String Fever, she paused in front of the lighted display, a combination of ready-made items and a brilliant scatter of loose beads.

“Ooh, looks like Claire is carrying a new line of hand-painted beads. She didn’t tell me. The woman is evil. I spend half my paycheck inside String Fever.”

He gazed at the necklace that had caught her attention and then back at her. “Somehow I wouldn’t have pegged you for a crafter.”

“Beading is an art form and I’ve got serious skills. I made this.” She pulled out the hammered-silver necklace. He had obviously once been someone’s husband because he was smart enough to dutifully admire it.

“Nice.”

“I know,” she said smugly. “And it’s not even my best work. Claire, the owner, has been my BFF since we were in first grade. She’s actually married to my brother now. They’re having a baby in a few months.”

Why was she compelled to add that last part? She wasn’t quite sure. Her own emotions about Riley and Claire combining DNA to bring a new life into the world were as tangled as her jewelry drawer.

She had mostly come to terms with the fact that her best friend and the person she still considered her pesky little brother were head-over-heels crazy about each other. She would never tell either of them this, but she even thought it was kind of sweet the way they couldn’t seem to keep their gazes off each other in a crowd, the way they touched whenever they were close, the happiness that just seemed to surround the two of them like a big, puffy cloud.

Even so, it still sometimes freaked her out.

Then there was the issue of the upcoming birth, something that left her both thrilled for them and aching for...something.

Throw in her mother’s relationship with Harry Lange and she was probably due for some serious therapy anytime now.

She didn’t want to talk about any of it. What she really wanted to do was kiss this big, sexy construction foreman. Too bad things were so complicated.

“This is the Center of Hope Café, a fabulous place for breakfast and lunch. Basically anything on the menu is good. You can’t go wrong. I don’t know what magic Dermot Caine possesses but he also makes these turkey wraps that always hit the spot.”