Ever After at Sweetheart Ranch

 

 

Dedication

To my agent, Eileen Fallon: thanks for sticking with me through all the ups and downs of this crazy publishing business. I know I can always count on you.

 

Acknowledgments

I
owe a debt of gratitude to so many ­people for their patience in answering questions as I researched this book: Jim and Angie Callen, M.J. Compton, Alee Drake, Sam Herwood, Elisa Konieczko, Martin Masarech, M. Reed McCall, J. Lynn Rowan, Susan St. Thomas, and Holly Weeden. Another big thank-­you to the Packeteers, the Purples, and my husband, Jim, whose help and advice keep me sane. Any mistakes in this book are certainly mine.

 

Contents

 

Chapter 1

L
yndsay De Luca stood near the picture window in her living room, staring down at the paperback book in her hands, her eyes stinging with tears of joy. The sun glimmered across the cover, a picture of a distant ranch and mountains with a lone cowboy riding his horse in the distance. She let her trembling fingers trace the title,
A Cowboy in Montana,
and then her own name up above, embossed, with letters as large as the title. This was
her
book, a book that would be on store shelves across the country in just a month. Soon, readers would be swept away into a story she'd created. She could make them laugh and maybe cry, and escape into a world of happily-­ever-­afters . . .

She'd also finally have to tell her friends and family about the secret she'd been keeping. Her day job as a middle school math teacher was very public, and she'd always liked having her writing as something private she did for herself. If her family had known, they'd have constantly asked when she was going to start submitting her work, or if she'd heard back from an editor. She had enough pressure at school and hadn't wanted any more, interested and supportive though her family might be.

There was another reason she was leery about her revelation, and that reason was now playing catch on Mabel Street, outside her window, with her fourteen-­year-­old nephew, Ethan.

Will Sweet.

She heard a sharp rapping, and, startled, she glanced up to see him in the center of her picture window as if he'd been framed there, sunlight burnishing his hair. She felt her breath catch and her mouth go dry.

Grinning at her, his eyes narrowed from the sun, Will spoke through the window with a muffled voice. “You still coming with us to the game?”

She nodded and called, “I'll grab my purse and meet you out front.”

After pulling on a sweater and sticking a Windbreaker in her purse, she stepped through the door and paused to watch Will throw the ball back to Ethan. If Will caught her staring, he wouldn't think much of it. He was used to being the center of attention every time he entered a room, with his easygoing charm and killer good looks. He had sandy blond hair that lightened in the sun, and since he made his living as a cowboy on the Sweetheart Ranch, owned by his family, he was outdoors all the time, that tall, lean body honed and chiseled from years of outdoor work. His eyes were a changeable hazel, fringed with thick lashes and full of merriment. The cleft in his chin might as well have winked at each woman he passed, and he had a model's hollow cheeks. Occasionally those cheeks bore the scruff of a day-­old beard, as if he couldn't be bothered shaving that morning.

“Think fast!”

She flinched as Ethan jumped in front of her, pretending to throw the ball.

“Aunt Lynds, you fall for that every time,” he said, shaking his head.

After pulling her door shut, she punched her nephew playfully in the upper arm, because she was no longer tall enough to wrap an arm around his neck. Ethan was almost as tall as his dad, and his hair had slowly been darkening over the years until now it was a light brown. He had the De Luca brown eyes and his dad's laid-­back manner.

Laughing, Ethan led them down the street toward the rec league softball game, tossing his ball and catching it. Lyndsay fell in beside Will. He smiled at her, then inhaled deeply of the spring air, exhaling with a sigh of satisfaction. You didn't live in Valentine Valley, Colorado, without loving the outdoors.

She studied him surreptitiously, admiring the fit of his baseball t-­shirt, which sported the logo T
ony's
T
avern
—­her brother's place. There'd been a time in high school when she'd harbored a secret crush on Will. But he'd dated her girlfriend Brittany, and Lyndsay would never have intruded on that. Then Will had gone and done something so nice that it had struck her heart. It had been Valentine's Day—­a big deal in Valentine Valley—­and Lyndsay's boyfriend had just dumped her. She'd been wrapped up in her problems and accidentally spilled her books from her locker into a heap on the floor. Will had stopped to help her pick them up, and couldn't have missed her bad mood. At lunch, there had been carnations on sale, red for romance, pink for flirting, white for friendship, and he'd gone and bought her a white one, just to cheer her up. And it had worked, but it had also made her notice how kind he was, how good-­hearted—­and hunky. Soon she'd battled a brief and guilty crush on him. That crush had been forgotten when Brittany had died in a terrible accident.

Lyndsay had long ago put him out of her mind—­

And onto paper. She winced, then smoothed over her expression when Will glanced at her. Ethan lobbed the ball to Will, who caught it and tossed it back, along with some good-­natured jibes.

Somehow, without noticing it
at all,
she'd made the hero of
A Cowboy in Montana
a lot like Will. She'd created Cody by taking the characteristics of some of her favorite celebrities and “randomly” picking sandy blond hair and hazel eyes. She hadn't thought anything of it until last week, when a blogger had asked who she'd based her hero on. At first, Lyndsay had answered that Cody was her own creation, but then the blogger had mentioned a scene that Lyndsay had previously written in revisions after her editor had asked for a “grand romantic gesture” by the hero. And the realization of what she'd done had slammed hard into Lyndsay—­that scene was a version of something Will had done for Brittany. Cody . . . was a lot like Will.

She didn't want to believe it at first—­couldn't let herself accept that she'd made such a foolish mistake. She'd long since moved past what she'd thought of as a schoolgirl crush. Over the years her heart might have given an occasional kick when Will had been around, but she'd put that down to admiration for the man he'd become.

Now, watching him amuse her nephew, aware of that soft spot she'd always felt for him rising right up through her chest into her throat, she had to face facts. It was really true—­she'd made Will Sweet the star of her romance novel.

Maybe he'd never realize it. What were the odds he'd read a romance? No one else would guess either. Different name, different state—­although her hero was a cowboy.  . . .

T
hough the shadows were starting to lengthen and a chill began to seep from the ground, Will still thought of it as a beautiful late-­spring day in the paradise that was Valentine Valley. And he would be spending the evening playing softball with his friends, like he was a kid again.

Walking with Lyndsay really was like he was back in school, hanging out with the De Lucas. Lyndsay'd been a friend as far back as he could remember, but it wasn't as if he was blind. She'd always been gorgeous, and so smart that he used to enjoy watching her question their teachers or lead a discussion group, so confident in her abilities, eager for every new challenge. But Tony had made it very clear that his sister had been off limits. Will had been focused on Brittany then, and sorrow now pierced him gently before he pushed it away to focus on Lyndsay and Ethan bantering.

“Just think how sad your life will be in high school this fall,” Lyndsay told her nephew, “when you won't get to see me every day.”

“You mean I won't have to hear from my friends how you're taking it easy on me.”

Lyndsay rolled her eyes. “Oh please.”

“Sounds like a good deal to me,” Will said. He enjoyed watching the two of them together, had heard more than once how grateful Tony was that Lyndsay was there for Ethan, especially after the divorce—­the divorce that had separated Lyndsay from her best friend as well as her sister-­in-­law.

“I didn't take it easy on him,” she explained. “Occasionally he'd ‘flunk' a test just to prove that to all his friends.”

“You flunked tests?” Will eyed the teenager.

Ethan spun slowly to walk backward, still tossing the ball in the air effortlessly. “Just once or twice. I did it for Aunt Lynds's reputation.”

She gave an exaggerated cough around the words “Didn't study,” which made Will chuckle.

Ethan's grin grew cocky, and he slowly spun and faced forward again, watching the ball and just assuming cars would see him coming. On their small-­town streets, that usually happened.

“You know, you didn't need to escort me,” Lyndsay called to her nephew.

To Will's surprise, she glanced at him as if she was embarrassed.

“I can find my way to Silver Creek Park, you know,” she added.

“I know, but you always forget about the games,” Ethan said with a shrug. “And then you're mad at yourself. I don't know what keeps you so busy that you forget important stuff. And Will decided to come with me so we could keep playing catch.”

Will elbowed her playfully and was surprised when she gave a nervous start. “So what are you doing on Monday evenings that you can't even check a calendar?” he asked.

She actually turned red, and for a moment, he wondered if she had a guy she had to keep hidden. Which was ridiculous in this day and age. And she'd never made a secret of the guys she dated. They'd all been men comfortable in a suit—­doctors, engineers, accountants.

“Grading papers,” she finally answered. “I don't finish my workday at three, you know.”

“Me neither,” Will answered. “Guess we have that in common.”

She didn't meet his eyes, leaving him utterly clueless by her cute—­but baffling—­behavior.

Ethan turned to walk backward, and he and Will started tossing the ball to each other. At Silver Creek Park, they left Lyndsay and headed toward the dugout. Will could have sworn she sighed with relief. Stranger and stranger . . .

L
yndsay put Will out of her mind and scanned the ­people scattered through the stands for friends to sit with. Nearby, she saw a big banner that hadn't been there last week, stretched across two poles and stuck into the ground, in perfect view of the stands.

T
h
e
V
a
l
e
n
t
i
n
e
V
a
l
l
e
y
H
i
s
t
o
r
i
c
a
l
S
ociety Needs You!

Vote for Mrs. Rosemary Thalberg for President!

On the left side of the banner was a picture of Mrs. Thalberg wearing a confident smile. Her hair was dyed a flattering red, and her tasteful makeup gave her the appearance of being in her sixties instead of seventies. The woman herself was overseeing the placement of the last pole, making suggestions to her grandsons Nate and Josh Thalberg, who both kept glancing toward their softball team with longing.

“What do you think?”

Lyndsay's recently renewed best friend, Kate Fenelli, was walking toward her. Still wearing her law firm work clothes of tailored slacks, multicolored top, and blazer, Kate radiated happiness. Her short blond hair was windswept around her head, and her laughing eyes were a violet hue that always made ­people take a second look.

Ten years ago, when Kate's marriage with Lyndsay's brother, Tony, had fallen apart, neither of them had even told Lyndsay they were having problems. The breakup had ruined Lyndsay's friendship with Kate and strained her sibling love, but you didn't break up with a brother over something like that. Of course Tony hadn't been talkative about his problems—­he was a guy.

Kate, on the other hand . . . nine years had gone by, but last fall their friendship was repaired. Kate had quit her job with a powerful Denver law firm and moved back to Valentine Valley to buy into a small, local firm. And somehow, she and Tony had rediscovered their love and were getting remarried in two months.

“I didn't know about an upcoming vote for the historical society,” Lyndsay remarked to Kate.

“I'm surprised a banner was necessary,” Kate said, crossing her arms over her chest and examining it almost critically. “After all, wouldn't a mailing to the historical society members accomplish the same thing?”

“That's right, you were gone nine years and don't know. Every resident in town is a member of the historical society, automatically.”

Kate blinked at her. “Now that's interesting.”

“Keeps everyone invested in the town's history and tourism. The society puts out a great newsletter.”

Kate eyed Mrs. Thalberg. “Are the widows the driving force behind that, too?”

“Oh, they're part of it all right, but it isn't their ‘baby,' like the Valentine Valley Preservation Fund is. But the two groups certainly go hand in hand.”

“And you just know all about this stuff from living here?” Kate asked.

“Nope. Remember, my dad has been dating Mrs. Thalberg for a few months now. I get to hear all the gossip.”

“Uh-­oh,” said a deep male voice behind them.

Lyndsay jumped, recognizing Will. She could have kicked herself for the reaction. She didn't like having secrets that made her nervous. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Will frowning at the banner.

Kate smiled at him. “So you're against political promotion?”

“ 'Course not, but don't you remember who's running for reelection?”

He glanced from Kate to Lyndsay, who tried to think up an answer but floundered.

“My grandmother,” Will answered patiently. “She's run unopposed for a ­couple years now.”

“The democratic process at work,” Lyndsay said lamely. “Will she be upset?”

“Probably—­not that that matters. Anything the widows do usually upsets her.”

Lyndsay eyed him with sympathy. For as long as she could remember, the widows of the Widows' Boardinghouse hadn't seen eye to eye with Mrs. Sweet, the elegant, patrician owner of the Sweetheart Inn. Lyndsay often thought Mrs. Sweet could be brought down a peg or two, but a grandson probably wouldn't think the same thing.