shook his head as he took the woman’s arm and led her to toward the door.
Cecelia watched them leave then turned around and sent a dart directly into the bull’s-eye. She didn’t want to be judgmental, but she had a pretty good idea the pretty brunette was part of the Rust Creek Falls Gal Rush. Ever since Lissa’s blog about her time in Rust Creek Falls—and her proposal from the local sheriff—had gotten national recognition there just didn’t seem to be enough men to go around.
As if Cecelia didn’t have enough competition getting the attention of the local guys already. Feeling restless, she tossed the rest of her darts at the board. No need to hang around the bar any longer since Nick wasn’t here to amuse her. He would be busy with that pretty brunette who’d been dressed for prowling from head to toe. Long, perfectly arranged wavy hair, a face well enhanced with makeup and eyelashes so long they almost looked like spiders.
Cecelia rolled her eyes. She didn’t own a lick of makeup, and she was very firm about wearing her hair in a ponytail. The last time she’d neglected to pull her dark hair back, a circular saw had whacked off part of one side. She supposed her body wasn’t bad, but since she worked construction, she kept it well hidden beneath comfortable shirts and jeans.
Glancing down at her steel-toed boots, she felt another scrape of dissatisfaction.
Maybe she could borrow the kitchen at Strickland’s Boarding House, where she’d been staying since she arrived in Rust Creek Falls. Otherwise, she would be subjected to whatever she could get on her television. Thank goodness, Nick had bought and installed a satellite dish. He was also staying at Strickland’s, and he wanted sports. She wanted the cooking channel.
Cecelia stalked out of the bar and made the short walk to the rooming house. She took a deep breath and savored the pure Montana air. She wondered if Melba, the rooming house owner, would let Cecelia take over the kitchen tonight to experiment with a fresh apple cake recipe. Cecelia liked to bake, especially when she felt restless.
She climbed the steps into the rooming house and walked toward the den in the back. Melba was glued to the television.
“Hi,” Cecelia said. “What are you watching?”
“Reality show,” Melba said. “It’s the semifinals.”
“Do you mind if I use the kitchen for baking tonight?” Cecelia asked.
Melba shook her head. “Nope. What are you making?”
“Apple cake with caramel frosting,” Cecelia said.
“Sounds good. Can you make an extra one for breakfast?” Melba asked.
“I’m experimenting,” Cecelia warned.
“Your experiments have always turned out well,” Melba said.
Cecelia smiled. “Thanks, marvelous Melba.”
“You make my job easier. This way, I won’t have to make cinnamon rolls for breakfast in the morning.”
“What about Beth?” Cecelia asked, speaking of the part-time cook Melba had recently hired. Beth Crowder was a middle-aged single mother working multiple jobs while her son finished his last year of high school. Cecelia didn’t know any specifics, but she thought Beth may have been the victim of spousal abuse. Beth often appeared tired with shadows under her eyes, but she also came across as one of the most determined people Cecelia had ever met.
Melba shook her head. “Beth’s not coming in tomorrow, so your timing is perfect.”
Cecelia smiled. “If you say so,” she said and turned to walk away.
“I do and you contribute a lot to the community. Everyone loves you,” Melba said, tearing her gaze from the television. “Don’t you forget that.”
Cecelia wasn’t sure her contributions made that much of a difference, but Melba made her feel a little better.
“Thanks, Melba,” she said.
“My pleasure,” Melba said. “Can’t wait to smell that apple cake.”
Cecelia headed to the kitchen and pulled out the Granny Smith apples she’d bought earlier. She spent the next thirty minutes dicing apples, trying to chop out her frustration. Eight cups later, she was ready to start on the rest of the recipe. After she put the cakes in the oven, she sank onto a chair in the kitchen and sipped some tea. Baking usually calmed her nerves, but it hadn’t been working as well lately. She had grown to love Rust Creek Falls, but she wanted more. She wanted a family of her own, and she wasn’t finding it here. She wondered if she should get serious about going back to Thunder Canyon.
Part of the problem with that thinking was that she’d run away from a disappointing love affair in Thunder Canyon. When was she going to stop running?
Cecelia thought about the accountant she’d dated before he’d broken off with her for someone prettier and more sophisticated. She’d thought he’d taken her on private romantic dates because he had strong feelings for her, but in truth, he hadn’t wanted anyone to know he was dating Cecelia.
The truth had been devastating. It still stung when she thought about it, and she tried her best not to remember.
Between that terrible relationship and her lack of finding any real prospects here in Thunder Canyon, Cecelia was beginning to wonder if she would ever find love.
* * *
Halfway to the trailers set up on the edge of town, Nick saw Daphne with her head lolled back against the headrest. She was snoring like a freight train. It seemed like he was providing designated driver services to a woman who was clearly one of the Rust Creek Falls Gal Rush every other week or so. He appreciated what Lissa’s blog had done in providing volunteers and funds for Rust Creek Falls, but even Nick felt as though the resulting “Gal Rush” was overkill.
Some of these girls were city through and through and they had no clue how rustic Rust Creek Falls really was, along with how harsh Montana winters could be. Pulling in front of the trailers, Nick had no idea which one was Daphne’s current residence.
“Daphne,” he said, getting no response. “Daphne,” he said a bit louder, and nudged her arm. “I need to know which trailer is yours so I can help you inside.”
Five minutes later, he was headed back to the rooming house. As soon as he arrived, he picked up a text message for Maverick for Hire and returned the call. Nick much preferred sticking to business when he was doing handyman services. No need to muddy the water.
* * *
Cecelia must have fallen asleep, because the timer awakened her. Lifting her head from the table, Cecelia shook off her drowsiness and checked the cakes. They looked perfect, so she pulled them from the oven and put them on a cooling rack. The scent of cinnamon, apples and vanilla flowed through the air, calming her senses.
The back door opened and Nick strode into the kitchen. “Smells great. Can I have some?”
She shot a withering look at him. “Haven’t you had enough sweets tonight?”
He returned her look with a deadly expression. “You know I wouldn’t take advantage of a drunken woman,” he said. “I got her into her trailer and left. That was the
