united the Chapman and Matthews families. Gemma had no doubt her business-minded stepfather had viewed it in terms of a merger rather than as a marriage. A check mark in the asset column of some mental balance sheet Gregory Chapman kept. To him, the boarding schools and etiquette lessons were finally paying off since Gemma caught the eye of one of NYC’s most eligible bachelors.
Determined not to think of the embarrassment, of her broken engagement or her mother, Gemma focused her attention on Janie...and on Hank.
Janie had already asked dozens of rapid-fire questions about Gemma’s life—where she worked, where she lived, where she shopped, if she knew anyone famous. It didn’t seem to matter much what answer Gemma gave; Janie still thought everything about New York was the most exciting thing ever.
Her father certainly seemed harder to impress. Money, clothes, fame... None of that had the somewhat-silent man seated across from her raising so much as an eyebrow. Not that Gemma was trying to impress him... Was she?
Certainly it would be much easier to regain a bit of equilibrium if Hank wasn’t so impressive without even trying. He’d pulled a faded T-shirt on, but the soft blue cotton only molded to those broad shoulders, the sleeves hugging a pair of well-defined biceps. His thick brown hair had dried with a bit of a wave, the too-long locks falling across his wide forehead and curling at the strong column of his neck.
On another man, the tousled hair might have looked boyish or at least done something to soften his masculine features. On Hank, it only drew attention to his rugged features and the solid set of his jaw.
There was nothing boyish or soft about Hank Harlow.
Gemma didn’t think he was trying for any kind of fashion statement. More likely he was a month or two beyond needing a haircut. But instead of being turned off by the overgrown style, she longed to run her hands through a man’s hair without worrying about encountering more product than she put in her own.
So distracted by the tempting fantasy, Gemma almost forgot the question she asked by the time Janie stated, “I love to go horseback riding.”
Horseback riding... Gemma had never been on a horse.
At least not that she remembered.
Many years ago, when she had been around Janie’s age, Gemma had found an old picture of herself as a toddler. In the photo, she’d been stumbling toward the camera in a red bandanna-print shirt and denim overalls, with a pink cowboy hat on her head and a pair of fawn-colored boots on her feet.
The picture and the outfit had stood out in such sharp contrast to the typical professional shots of Gemma in frilly, girlie dresses that—as the overly imaginative child she’d been and thanks to a Disney remake she’d just seen—she had been convinced the girl in the photo was her separated-at-birth twin sister.
Her mother, who evidently had not seen either version of the motion picture, had shaken her head in exasperation. “Honestly, Gemma, I don’t know where you come up with these ideas. That is a picture of you at some Halloween party or playing dress up.”
Though disappointed, Gemma had believed her mother. But after finding a box of mementos while looking for “something old” for her wedding, she’d started to wonder. Not about some imaginary long-lost sibling, but about her long-lost father. She’d started feeling more and more like the designer suits and latest fashions she wore were the costumes, hiding a completely different person inside.
Two weeks wasn’t much time to discover her inner cowgirl, but Gemma was determined to try.
“Horseback riding is definitely on my list,” she stated.
“Your list?” Hank echoed.
Gemma nodded. “My vacation to-do list.”
“You have a to-do list for your vacation? I thought the whole point of a vacation was not having to do anything.”
“I want to experience everything I can. To find out what life in Rust Creek Falls is all about.”
At that, Hank gave a slight snort. “This is not what Rust Creek Falls is all about.”
He waved a hand, and in an instant she could feel his palm against hers once more. The work-roughened skin, the slight rise of hardened calluses, the strong fingers. Such a contrast to the sensual, almost seductive stroke of his thumb across the back of her hand when they’d shaken hands earlier, and the memory alone had gooseflesh racing up her arm. “This is a hotel.”
“A hotel in Rust Creek Falls,” she pointed out.
“Where all the city folks stay when they’re wanting a ‘real Western experience.’” With a nod toward the artfully crafted rock waterfall pouring into the crystal clear pool, he added, “But there isn’t much real or even Western about this place. Other than its location.”
Of course the hotel would be for tourists—city folks, as Hank had so plainly pointed out—like her. But even if he was right, the hotel was simply a place to stay. And besides... “Janie told me she’s lived here her whole life, and you don’t exactly strike me as ‘city folk.’”
She lowered her voice to mimic Hank’s deep drawl, drawing an instant giggle from Janie. He shot his daughter a mock scowl before reaching over and tousling her damp blond hair. The simple father-daughter exchange grabbed hold of a decades-old longing in Gemma’s heart.
“This is a vacation for us, too,” he said finally. “A chance to get away from real life in Rust Creek Falls for a week. But then we’ll head back home and everything will be back to the way it was before.”
As Hank glanced over at her and their gazes caught, a very different kind of longing took over. Was there some message Gemma should read into that statement? Something along the lines of what happens at Maverick Manor...
Not that Gemma was in any shape to even think of dating, something her heart and her brain were in complete agreement about. Her body, though, had other ideas. Despite his views on “city folk,” she was way too attracted to Hank Harlow. More than his rugged good looks, she was drawn to his deep drawl, subtle humor and slightly old-fashioned manners.
And while Hank was right that the setting might not have been authentically Western, the swift rush of attraction racing through her certainly fell under the heading of wild.
After taking a swallow of raspberry-flavored iced tea to soothe her suddenly dry throat, Gemma did her best to direct her thoughts back to where they belonged. “I picked up some brochures in the lobby about the horseback-riding tours around town. Is there a certain stable you go to when you want to ride?”
Janie giggled again, and Gemma noticed the quick look the girl exchanged with her father. “Um, yeah, the stables at our ranch.”
“Ranch?” No wonder Hank didn’t think much about imitation waterfalls and guided trail rides set up through a concierge. She turned to him. “So, you’re a real cowboy?”
“As opposed to the fake kind?” he asked.
“As opposed to... Oh, I don’t know.” The truth was, she knew pathetically little about any kind of cowboy—real or fake. But she certainly knew plenty about men who weren’t who they pretended to be.
“He’s not a cowboy. He’s a rancher,” Janie corrected,
