Finding Hope (Nugget Romance 2) Read online

After lunch, Emily strolled the square, catching the tail end of the farmers’ market. During summer months, the area’s growers and food purveyors set up tables in the green once a week, selling produce, fresh flowers, and artisan products. One whole booth was dedicated to skeins of yarn, spun by local sheep- and alpaca-farmers. The vibrant colors of the wool came from dyes made with plants and flowers. They made Emily wish she knitted or crocheted.

  The man she’d seen at Maddy’s house the day of the funeral reception, the one who wouldn’t come in, had a stand with the most beautiful rocking chairs she’d ever seen.

  “Is it okay if I try one?” she asked, and he nodded.

  The chair proved to be as comfortable as it was stunning. She slyly checked the price tag and nearly gasped. He could get three times that amount in the Bay Area.

  “Are you the one who makes them?” she asked.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said so quietly that Emily had trouble hearing him.

  “They’re exquisite.” She continued to rock, reluctant to get up. He smiled, clearly enjoying her appreciation of his work. It struck her that he was much younger than the age she had originally pegged him for. Perhaps the beard and the long hair had deceived her. But when she studied him closer, she recognized a trait in him that she saw in her own face every day. Misery. It struck her so hard that she had to turn away.

  “I’d like to buy the chair,” she said, reaching for her checkbook. Despite the fair price, she really couldn’t afford the rocker, but she had to have it. “May I pay for it now, and pick it up after I do my marketing? My van is just down the street.”

  “Sure,” he said, lifting the rocker and setting it aside.

  “Who should I make the check out to?”

  “Colin Burke,” he said, and she remembered Maddy calling him by his first name.

  After she left Colin, Emily moved on to the produce tables. She liked to buy local, no farther than a hundred miles away. When she got to the cantaloupes, she unfolded the market bag from inside her purse and began searching for the perfect melon by sniffing their skins.

  “So that’s how you do it.” An older man with thinning gray hair hovered over her left shoulder. “I never know when they’re ripe.”

  Holding the cantaloupe out to him, she said, “See how it’s yellowish and a little soft?” She lifted it to his nose. “Can you smell it? Now that’s a perfect melon.” Emily dropped it in his basket.

  “Hey, that one was yours,” he protested.

  “There are plenty. I’ll find another.” She had already started pressing the flesh of a second melon.

  “You’re that cookbook gal, living up on McCreedy Ranch?”

  “Emily Mathews,” she said, waiting for him to introduce himself.

  “Owen,” he eventually said, but offered no last name. Maybe it was a Madonna thing. “I own the barbershop.”

  “I’ve walked by it on my few occasions eating at the Ponderosa. Nice place.”

  “Thanks. I don’t do women, but my daughter, Darla, may be opening a chair soon. How you liking the ranch?”

  “So far, so good,” she said.

  “Good. I’ve known Clay since he was a little whippersnapper. The boy grew up real good. You probably heard he’s a war hero. They awarded him the Silver Star.”

  Emily didn’t know too much about military honors, but she was pretty sure that was a big deal. Owen clearly thought so.

  He took a moment to scrutinize her, his bushy brows lifting in question. “You do one of those cooking shows? You look awfully familiar.”

  “No,” she said, backing away. “No cooking shows. But I just bought one of Colin’s rocking chairs and I should probably get it loaded in case he wants to leave. The market looks like it’s breaking up.”

  When she’d gotten halfway across the square, she turned to find Owen still staring at her.

  Griffin read the contract for the third time. There didn’t seem to be any red flags or suspicious loopholes that he could see. Just plain old English.

  But Morris and his lawyer would go over the purchase agreement with a fine-tooth comb and if everything looked up to snuff, the Nugget Gas and Go would be his. Antiquated pumps, stale convenience store, shut-down garage and all.

  The first business he’d ever owned. And the first time he’d ever felt like putting down roots.

  Like his mother, he’d been a rolling stone, traveling up and down the coast, taking temporary jobs wherever he could find them. Because he had good hands and a rare working knowledge of nearly every make of engine ever built, Griff never stayed unemployed for long.

  But from the day he’d planted his feet on the dirt of this gold-mining town, it had beckoned to him, the wind in the pines humming a sweet refrain. Home. He always knew he would return, but never thought he’d be as rich as the gold miners who’d originally settled the town.

  Good thing too. For what he had in mind for the filling station would take cash. Lots of it.

  First on the list, modern gas pumps. He’d still stock the obligatory candy, soda, and lottery tickets in the tiny store, but wanted to add maps, guide books, and auto paraphernalia, like car fresheners, ice scrapers, travel mugs.

  But the garage would be Griff’s biggest project. He envisioned all new equipment, including a few bays where he could take on a couple of grease monkeys to do repairs. As soon as he got that up and running, Griffin would start his custom motorcycle business.

  He was still pondering the Sierra Heights deal—a sound investment, according to Morris. But he’d gotten so wrapped up in the Gas and Go that he’d put any potential purchase of the development on ice. It wasn’t like it was going anywhere.

  At least if he bought the subdivision, he’d have a place to live. One of those mountain mansions would be a lot of house for him, but awesome. Although Lina had said she might have a place for him to stay. That pretty girl was trouble, so he’d been cutting her a wide swath. Next time he saw her he might throw all his good intentions to the wind.

  At the moment, the bigger problem hanging over him was what to do about dear old dad.

  After twenty-six years of nothing but crickets from Tribal Chairman Manning Moore, he suddenly wanted an audience with his only son. Griff figured he at least owed the dude a big thanks for the trust fund. He just didn’t have the stomach for it.

  Manning had disavowed him when Griffin’s mother was pregnant. Didn’t want any white blood flowing through the Wigluk tribe. Griff wondered if Manning even knew that his mother was dead—that the measly public assistance she lived on couldn’t stop the cancer from wasting her. That’s when Moore’s tribal money would’ve done its best. Not five months ago, when Griff’s mother had long been dead.

  Apparently, Wigluk casino money wasn’t too pure for Manning’s half-breed son. Just the father, who was too pure for his son.

  Morris thought Griff should go, meet his sperm donor. “Men make mistakes, Griffin. Maybe he wants an opportunity to make amends.”

  Admittedly, Griff burned with curiosity about where he’d come from, what his relatives were like, and about the man who shared his DNA. On his mother’s side, he had no living kin that he knew of. But out of loyalty to her, he’d rejected Manning’s recent requests to meet with him.

  Let him take back the money, Griffin had ranted. He’d lived without it this long.

  But the invitations had progressively become more desperate and more demanding. As if Manning Moore lived on borrowed time. This latest missive was so desperate that Griffin was actually tempted to go. If for nothing else, to determine why in the last months Manning had taken such an abrupt interest in the son he had always shunned.

  But whatever Griff decided, he wouldn’t make a move until the deal on the Gas and Go closed. Manning had waited Griffin’s whole life; the bastard could wait a few more weeks.

  Chapter 10

  Emily got one look at herself in the mirror and wished she hadn’t agreed to attend the Hot Spot outing. Her bathing suit hung on her like a gunn
ysack; droopy cups and a sagging bottom made it look like she was carrying a load in the back. Over the years the one-piece had faded closer to puce than pink, which didn’t exactly flatter her pale complexion.

  The next time she went to Reno for a meeting, Emily promised herself that she’d shop for new clothes. She’d put it off long enough. But in the meantime, maybe she could get away with shorts and a tank top. No. Being the only person on the river without a bathing suit would only draw more attention to herself.

  She pawed through her drawers and ultimately came up with a gauzy little cover-up—another one of her mother’s gifts—and tossed it over her head. It would hide the hideous suit and Emily could keep it on with the excuse that she didn’t want to burn.

  Problem solved.

  In the kitchen, she packed a few pitchers into an ice chest. Even though Maddy had said she’d cover the food and drinks, Emily had made watermelon agua fresca. As she gathered up enough cups, noise and laughter wafted up from the beach. She looked out the window and saw Clay and the boys blowing up river tubes and various other flotation devices.

  Clay was shirtless, his broad chest and arms sinewy with muscle. The man had a set of six-pack abs that made her mouth water, and a farmer’s tan. Glued to the glass, she wished she could stay in the barn all afternoon, staring at that body. As if reading her mind, he looked up and flashed a kilowatt smile.

  Busted.

  She pointed to the boys and crooked her index finger. The ice chest was too heavy for her to carry down the stairs alone. Through the window, she saw Clay say something to the boys. Seconds later, Cody jogged up to the barn, Justin trailing behind him with a sour expression on his face and his hands jammed in the pockets of his shorts.

  “Can you guys carry this down?”

  “What is it?” Cody wanted to know as he grabbed a handle.

  “A watermelon drink I made.” She waited for Justin to take the other end and followed them down to the sandy banks below. When they reached Clay, she said, “Great day for a picnic.”

  And it was. It had to be about eighty-five degrees with only a slight breeze to temper the heat. The sun hung over the river like a big yellow beach ball. Clay had put out four folding chairs, two with umbrellas, and had also brought a cooler filled with beer. She was tickled to notice a bottle of Pinot Grigio peeking out over the top of the Igloo, and a corkscrew.

  “Hey.” Maddy waved from the top of the hill. She had on an embroidered Mexican sundress and a big floppy hat. Her husband, the girl Lina, who Emily had briefly met at the house, and a young boy she presumed was Sam, carried baskets, chairs, and more water toys.

  “Hey, y’all,” Rhys greeted, and gave Emily an unexpected peck on the cheek.

  “It’s hot.” Maddy fanned herself and Clay grabbed her in fireman’s hold, threatening to dunk her in the water. Her hat blew off and Cody and Sam went chasing after it.

  “You want to get your hands off my woman,” Rhys deadpanned.

  “Nope,” Clay said, popping the P. He let her down and pretended to kiss her.

  “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m getting in the water before I melt,” Maddy said, gingerly trying to maneuver herself into an inflatable water tube without falling.

  “Jesus, Mad. Let me help you.” Rhys waded into the water with his shoes still on.

  “I’m pregnant, Rhys, not crippled.” But she let him help her into the floating doughnut, giggling as he nearly toppled over trying to find his footing in the muddy river bottom.

  “Ah—living the dream.” She spread her arms wide and leaned against the headrest, her face turned up to the sky.

  Rhys shook his head, smiled, then started for the bank.

  “Wait a sec,” Maddy called, and pulled the embroidered dress over her head, tossing it to him. “Come in, Emily. Grab yourself one of those River Runs. You too, Lina.”

  Rhys stuck his hand out for Emily, while Lina got them both tubes. It wasn’t so easy getting in; the sand pulled her down like a suction cup, making her wobble while she tried to find purchase. Next time she would wear water shoes.

  Lina, loose-limbed and nimble, made it look easy, though, and Emily tried to follow her lead. When she finally got situated, her butt firmly inside the netting of the raft, Emily paddled closer to Maddy, the cool water lapping against her calves and thighs.

  It really was living the dream. Floating on the edge of the river, with the rays of the sun beaming down on them, Emily couldn’t remember anything more relaxing.

  “It’s great, right?” Maddy said. “Just don’t get caught in the reeds, or the rapids.” She pointed to the boys, who were letting the current from the waterfall pull them down the river. Lina had joined them, apparently not content, like the rest of the girl contingent, to just drift.

  Clay and Rhys sat in the beach chairs drinking beers, laughing over something Emily couldn’t hear.

  “You coming in?” Maddy yelled.

  “In a little while,” Rhys returned.

  “Thank you for inviting me. This is wonderful,” Emily said.

  “I think Clay—and now you—have the best spot in Nugget. When I first got here it snowed so long and so hard, I couldn’t even imagine a day like this. We definitely have seasons here, so be prepared.”

  “I’m actually looking forward to it,” Emily said. “I’ve lived in California my whole life and haven’t seen much snow.”

  Maddy laughed. “Get ready.” Then, out of the blue, she asked, “Are you interested in dating?”

  All of a sudden it came together in Emily’s head. This little outing was Maddy’s attempt at matchmaking. Emily and Clay. But before she could respond, high-pitched laughter came from the shore.

  “Holy shit,” Maddy said, and Emily followed her gaze to the bikini-clad brunette who had held Clay captive during the funeral reception. “That woman is like serious centerfold material. You think those boobs are real?”

  “Actually, I do.” They jiggled and bounced every time she moved. Emily was pretty sure fake ones didn’t do that.

  The brunette took a seat in one of the chairs with the umbrellas, untying the top of her bikini so Clay could rub suntan lotion onto her back. After he sufficiently slathered her, Clay uncorked the bottle of wine and poured her a glass.

  “Does she look anything like his ex?” Emily wanted to know.

  “I think Jennifer was a blonde.” When Emily looked at her questioningly, Maddy said, “She died before I moved here.”

  “He certainly seems to be attracted to her.” Just saying it made Emily’s stomach burn, an absurd reaction since she had no claim on him. But fantasizing about him had sure helped her sleep at night.

  “Are you kidding? If he could do her right here, he would. Poor Rhys. Should I rescue him?”

  “I don’t know,” Emily said. “It might look obvious.”

  The kids paddled up. “Who’s that?” Justin asked, glowering at the brunette. For the first time, Emily wasn’t on the other side of that spiteful glare. It felt good. Real good.

  “That’s Lauren,” Maddy said. “She lives up on Freedom Ranch Road.”

  Lina seemed to read the underlying tension, mostly Justin looking as if he wanted to set Lauren on fire with a blowtorch. As a distraction, bless her heart, Lina suggested that they get out of the water and eat lunch.

  Emily did her best to shimmy out of her River Run as gracefully as possible—not that the lovebirds would’ve noticed if she’d toppled over and drowned. And it did not go beyond her notice that once they’d reached the shore Justin stuck to her like gum.

  “Hi, everyone,” Lauren called.

  Emily self-consciously plucked at her clinging cover-up and waved. Clay rose from his chair and made the introductions, while Maddy laid out sandwich fixings, chips, and salads on a weathered picnic table that she’d covered with a festive oilcloth.

  “Nice to see you again,” Maddy said to Lauren. “You up just for the weekend?”

  She nodded. “I have to be back at wor
k on Monday. We’re getting ready to ship our fall line. Orders have gone berserk. Ordinarily I would’ve camped at the office all weekend, but Clay was adamant that I take a break and spend some time with him.”

  “Oh,” Maddy said. “I didn’t realize you two were seeing each other.”

  She leaned toward Maddy and in a soft voice said, “Because of the kids we’ve both agreed to take it slow and see where it goes.”

  Suddenly the roast beef sandwich Emily had started to sample tasted like sandpaper. She put it down and tried to nibble on a salad instead. But that didn’t go down any easier. Cody and Sam loaded their plates and started to head to a log at the other end of the beach.

  Emily called to them, “Hey, guys, come try some of my watermelon agua fresca.” She poured each one a cup.

  Clay appeared at the table with Rhys and told the boys, “Make sure you thank Miss Mathews.”

  Lauren had just been Lauren. But she was Miss Mathews. Suddenly she felt like the old lady who lived down the street and toiled in her rose garden in a house coat. To be polite she also poured a cup for Lauren and the rest of the group.

  Lauren took a sip. “This is interesting,” she said, daintily licking a pearl of the liquid off her bottom lip. “I don’t believe I’ve ever had anything like it.”

  Emily shrugged. “It’s fairly common.” At least Justin asked for a second glass.

  “Emily’s our resident cookbook author and gourmet,” Clay chimed in. She didn’t bother to correct him.

  Lauren bestowed her with a fake, beauty-queen smile—bleached fangs and all—and flitted over to Rhys. Nothing to see here.

  “I’ve been meaning to ask,” Maddy said. “Have you heard back from Della James yet?”

  “Not yet,” Emily said, trying to keep from watching Clay put his arm around Lauren’s shapely shoulders. Why it should bother her so much that Clay was seeing Lauren, Emily didn’t know.

  She had nothing left in her to give to a man like him, or to his children. But that didn’t mean that she didn’t think about him sometimes on the nights when she was tucked into her bed, alone. That she didn’t think about what it would be like to have those strong arms wrapped around her, or the feel of his mouth against her lips. Lately, her racy imaginations of Clay had managed to banish the dark dreams.