The Wedding Crasher and the Cowboy Page 22

  “See you later.” She waved goodbye.

  “Glad to see all is well in Wedding Land,” Andrew said.

  “Me too.”

  “I’m going to hit the beach for a couple of hours. I’ll see you tonight, though? There’s a cocktail party in the parlor.”

  “I think I can be there.”

  “Good,” Andrew said before they went their separate ways. She stopped inside the inn and asked Bethany to let Maverick know she’d walked into town and to meet her at the bookstore.

  “If you want to give him my cell number, you could do that, too.” Kennedy shared her digits as Bethany wrote them down. “Thank you.”

  She strolled leisurely into town, retracing the steps she and Maverick had taken the other night. In the light of day, she took in every tree (especially the one they’d sought shelter under during the rainstorm), every lamppost, the white picket fencing, the sounds of birds chirping, the smiles on the faces of everyone around her. She turned the corner onto Main Street a few minutes later.

  Continuing to take her time, she absorbed everything about the traditional three-block row lined with shops and restaurants and massive oak trees. The charming architecture with a historic feel delighted her in a way she hadn’t expected.

  “Hello, Dr. Martin,” a woman she’d never seen before said as they passed each other.

  “Hi.” She smiled back.

  The sense of community also pleased her. No one in Los Angeles knew her name outside of the emergency room and her immediate neighbors. And she was lucky when those neighbors said hello.

  “Dr. Martin, that dress is darling on you,” Claudia said, passing by next.

  “Thanks.” She did feel good in her wildflower sundress. “How are you?”

  “I’m great. Just stretching my legs while there’s a lull at the bakery. Be sure to stop in later. I’ve got a special batch of glazed croissants coming out soon.”

  “Thank you, I will. You know I can’t resist glazed anything.”

  They smiled at each other in goodbye and then Kennedy walked inside The Last Word Bookstore. It was decorated with white furnishings and comfortable looking, blue cushioned chairs, and she took a moment to look around. Besides books, she noticed stationery and other writerly gifts, candles, and small potted plants. Every nook included something. In the back was a café with a few small round tables and chairs. She quickly went in search of the poetry section, hoping to find a book of Rumi’s writing to give to Maverick as a thank-you gift. She wanted to have it bagged before he arrived.

  “Dr. Martin, hello!”

  “Hi, Dr. Choi,” she greeted cheerfully before making it to the poetry section. “It’s nice to see you out of the office.”

  “My lovely wife pulled me away today. Maggie, this is the young doctor I told you about. Dr. Martin, this is my wife, Maggie.”

  “It’s so nice to meet you,” Maggie said.

  “You too. And please call me Kennedy.”

  “My husband can’t stop singing your praises. It’s been a long time since he’s had the pleasure of working with a young physician like yourself. He misses his days mentoring talent like yours in the hospital.”

  “You worked in a hospital?” she asked, assuming he’d always done family practice.

  “In the ER.” He winked at her. “I left to start a practice here when our sons were born. Maggie was having triplets and she needed me close by with a schedule I had more control over. Not that that worked out, exactly, being the only doctor in town, but we made it work.”

  “Triplets. Wow. How old are they now?”

  “Thirty-six,” Maggie said. “All married with children of their own. We’re here to buy some books for two of our grandchildren who have birthdays coming up before grabbing some lunch in the café. You’re welcome to join us if you’re hungry.”

  “Actually, she has a lunch date.” Maverick’s deep voice sent delicious shivers down her spine. His palm on the small of her back magnified it times a million.

  “Hi,” she said a little too breathlessly. By the look on Maggie’s face, she knew exactly what kind of effect Maverick Owens had on her.

  “Hi, Doc. Mrs. Choi. I hope you don’t mind if I keep Kennedy to myself.”

  “Not at all,” Maggie crooned. “It’s nice to see you enjoying some time off the ranch.”

  “I’ll second that,” Dr. Choi said. “Kennedy, you be sure to keep in touch, okay?” With the way word spread, everyone in town must know her departure date.

  “I will.” A sharp pang of regret pierced her chest. She’d miss Doc.

  She’d miss a lot of things about Windsong.

  She and Maverick stepped away. “Did you want to look around?” he asked. His beige shorts and blue T-shirt fit his tall, muscly frame very nicely.

  “I was headed toward the poetry section when I ran into Doc.” She couldn’t surprise Maverick with a book now, but they could still look.

  “Looking for anything special?” he asked knowingly.

  “You know I am.” She fingered the shelf of poetry books, deciding if she did find one she wanted, she’d buy it anyway. “Aha. The Love Poems of Rumi.” She slipped it off the shelf for a better look.

  Opening the book, she chose a random poem to read. “‘You were born with potential. You were born with goodness and trust. You were born with ideals and dreams. You were born with greatness,’” she read aloud.

  “‘You were born with wings,’” Maverick continued from beside her, their arms touching. “‘You are not meant for crawling, so don’t. You have wings. Learn to use them and fly,’” he finished.

  Holy inferno of hotness. Reading together from their favorite poet moved the earth beneath her feet. She didn’t dare look at him, afraid he’d see affection and admiration written all over her face.

  There had been a time in college when she’d wondered how she’d ever survive Maverick Owens. It didn’t come close to how she was going to survive him now. Or rather survive without him. Logically, she would, of course. Maybe they’d even keep in touch. But deep down, she suddenly yearned for their lives to be different. For their plans to somehow meet in the middle.

  She closed the book. “Sold.”

  He plucked it out of her hands. “Allow me.”

  “What? No, I can get it.” She wove her way around the store to keep up with his strides toward the front of the shop.

  “I know you can, but I’d like to buy it for you.”

  The young woman at the cash register had stunning green eyes, dark hair with streaks of purple, and wore a T-shirt that read, Romance isn’t dead…it’s on my bookshelf. “Hi, Maverick.”

  “Hi, Willow.” He put the book on the counter.

  Willow’s eyes slid to Kennedy. “I’m guessing you’re Dr. Martin.”

  “You guess right. It’s a little unnerving how everyone knows who I am.”

  “Right?” Willow said. “When I took over the bookstore two years ago, the same thing happened to me.”

  “But I’m only visiting.”

  “But you’ve done your doctor thing. And”—she cut a glance at Maverick—“your Maverick thing.”

  “Okay, that’s enough,” Maverick said. “Doesn’t this town have anything better to do than gossip about me hanging out with a friend?”

  The “friend” description didn’t exactly feel right, but Kennedy had no better word to describe their relationship at the moment, either.

  “Whatever you say, dude.” Willow returned Maverick’s credit card and placed the book in a cute brown bag with a twine handle. “Here you go, Dr. Martin. Enjoy.”

  Kennedy took the bag. “Thanks. I love your store, by the way.”

  “Thank you. I hope that means you’ll come back again sometime.”

  Since Kennedy had no good answer to that, she simply nodded.

 
Maverick ushered her out of the store and led her straight to his truck parked in front.

  She thought about torturing him with a request to stay in town, but bit her tongue. Her days of tormenting the cowboy were over. “Thanks for the book. Where are we off to?”

  “How does fishing sound?” He put the truck in drive.

  “I’ve never fished before, so good. But don’t you use worms for bait and aren’t you afraid of them?”

  “You remember that, huh?”

  “I remember everything.” She pointed to her temple.

  “That’s too bad,” he said with a straight face.

  “Will you need me to bait your hook for you? Save you from the terrifying creatures with soft bodies and no limbs?” She gave him a giant grin.

  “I appreciate the offer, tough girl, but we’re going jig fishing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “A jig is a type of artificial bait. It’s a hook with a metal head molded to it and skirted with rubber. They get bass to bite, more so than other fishing lures.”

  “Got it.” She picked up the smooth, oval rock still sitting in his cup holder and rubbed her thumb across it. “Do you use this often?” Worry stones worked for some, not for others.

  “Not so much anymore.”

  “So, it helped at one time? I’m always curious about different health remedies I can recommend to my patients.”

  “Do you want the answer I gave my mom or the real one?” he asked, not taking his eyes off the road.

  “The real one. Always the real one.”

  “Not really. Now I just keep it there as a reminder.”

  “A reminder?”

  “That I’ve got a family who cares. Sometimes they’re a burr under my saddle, but I know it comes from a good place, and a lot of people don’t have that.”

  She giggled.

  “That’s funny?” he asked good-naturedly.

  “‘Burr under my saddle’ is. Sometimes you say things that remind me of how differently we were raised.” She put the rock back in the cup holder. “The rest of what you said is really nice. You’re lucky. My family isn’t like yours.”

  He reached over to squeeze her hand as he drove down a dirt road, through the trees, toward his grandfather’s lake. Kennedy rolled down her window to feel the wind on her face.

  They parked near the bank of canoes, her eyes scanning the boats with fondness. She remembered every moment of their time spent on the lake with perfect clarity. She’d thought about other, more intimate, times spent together, too. The memories made this week—wedding related and Maverick related—would keep her company for years to come. Andrew being a bounty hunter and stunt man and dance therapist and water slide tester and her trying to remember who knew what and where she fit in…plus Maverick being unexpectedly everything.

  From a shed he grabbed two fishing poles, a tackle box, and a khaki short-brimmed hat with a chin-cinch toggle. He plopped the hat on her head. “Gotta protect those freckles.”

  The hat did nothing for her outfit, but she cinched it nonetheless—how could she not when he wanted to protect her face?—and followed him down a short dock. His calves were tan and well-defined. His butt well-built and sexy. He glanced over his shoulder like he’d felt her perusal, and she quickly looked away. Streaks of sunlight glistened in the water. A few people paddled canoes, talking and laughing.

  “Have a seat,” he said when they’d reached the end of the wood planks.

  She tucked her sundress under her bottom and sat with her legs dangling. Maverick slid off his shoes and socks before taking the spot right beside her. Their hips touched, then their arms. His feet disappeared under the water with a small ripple.

  “Mav, what are you doing?” She wiggled in alarm. “Won’t the fish bite your toes?”

  “It’s possible, but doubtful, near the shore like this. They usually swim deeper.” He opened the tackle box, handed her a bottle of sunscreen. While she applied lotion to her arms and legs, he removed a couple of jigs and attached them to their lines. He demonstrated with his pole how to throw the line into the lake. It took her a few tries, but she finally did it. She appreciated his patience and confidence in her.

  “Now what?” she asked, back straight, excited to be doing this.

  “Now we wait. Jig fishing is all about feel and sensitivity, so pay close attention to your pole. It also takes time.”

  “How much time?”

  He lifted the pair of sunglasses hanging on his shirt collar and put them on. “Sometimes hours.” All calm and cool, did he have any idea how hard it was for her to sit still doing nothing for hours? “If a fish bites, it feels like a light thump traveling up the line.”

  “So fishing is kind of boring.”

  “Says you. A lot of people find it just the opposite and enjoy the peacefulness.”

  “I can’t figure out if you brought me here to shut me up or get me to talk.” She rested her head on his shoulder.

  “How about whichever you want.”

  “Okay, tell me the one thing no one else knows about you and then we can meditate on our fishing poles.”

  “I’m hoping to brand and market my chemical-free pesticide.”

  She lifted away so she could look at him. “Really? That’s great.”

  “I’m meeting with a potential investor in a couple of weeks.”

  “Won’t you be traveling then?”

  “This investor is in Italy. He’s a winemaker. Nicole and I met him and his wife when we were there, and we became friends.”

  She couldn’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses, but she’d gotten pretty good at reading him, and he appeared both nervous and hopeful about the prospect.

  “You haven’t told your family?”

  “No. I don’t want anyone to get their hopes up.”

  “Yours are, I can tell.”

  His lips turned slightly upward. “I know I have a good product and a sound proposal. But the pesticide’s been tested only here, and there was a health issue with some of the trees the other day. I cleared it up, but soil variance, air temperature, humidity, precipitation, and different types of pests all play a factor.”

  “You’ve got this.” She put her hand on his knee. “You were the only person to get a better grade than me in chemistry, and you wouldn’t even have approached this investor if you weren’t confident in its value and success rate. Plus, I’ve seen your trees. They looked perfect to me.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence. I appreciate it.” He covered her hand with his, laced their fingers.

  “Do you see making the product here or in Italy?”

  “Here.”

  “Well, I hope it works out. You’ll have to let me know. Send me a postcard from Italy with the good news.” She dropped her gaze to their hands.

  “I’ll do that.” He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. Was that a promise? To keep his word on the postcard? She hoped so, because she suddenly realized that the last thing she wanted was this trip to be the last time she saw or talked to him.

  Eleven months ago…

  Dear Nicole,

  Today was a good day. Hunter and I mended a few fences, mucked out the stables, and then had a beer with lunch while I listened to him talk. The poor guy still has a thing for Callie, and she is oblivious to it. Then I crashed on the couch and played fetch with Barley. She’s been sneaking off onto the neighbor’s ranch more and more lately, and Bear, the neighbor’s dog, has been over here. Then there’s George, who I’m pretty sure thinks he’s a dog. A big dog with no bark. Ha.

  Jenna started first grade and loves it. She’s by far the smartest and funniest six-year-old there is. She insists on wearing her yellow rain boots everywhere and has already informed us she wants to be The Mandalorian for Halloween. Cole and Bethany are going out of town for a
long weekend and she’s asked to stay with me. She has a list of things for us to do together, including playing veterinarian. It’s her favorite game for the two of us. And while it used to make me uncomfortable, it doesn’t anymore. Sometimes I even think about going back to vet school. Time is definitely healing, at least that’s what I tell myself.

  Miss you,

  Maverick

  Chapter Twenty

  One day until the wedding

  “Have you been down to the beach yet?” Maverick asked, not quite ready to leave Kennedy’s side. Fishing had lasted approximately one hour before she’d declared the “fish are not jiggy with it today” and they—Kennedy and him, not the fish—should find a better use for their time. He didn’t care what they did, as long as they were together, so standing in front of the inn now, the pathway to the beach called his name.

  “I haven’t. Want to walk down there?”

  “You read my mind.”

  “Uncle Mav! Uncle Mav!”

  Maverick turned just in time to catch Jenna as she launched herself at him. She wrapped her little legs around his waist and squeezed his cheeks with her hands. “Can you get me out of here?” she asked.

  If Jenna weren’t smooshing his face, he’d smile. “What’s up?” he asked, but it sounded more like “Wasshhup” with her crushing his cheeks.

  She released her hold. “Uncle Hunt wants me to pick up poop and I don’t wanna.”

  Kennedy covered her mouth with her hand, finding his niece as entertaining and wonderful as he did, he suspected.

  “Well, we can’t have that, can we?”

  “Nooo.” She shook her head, her pigtails whipping around her face.

  “Let’s go put our feet in the ocean, then,” he said, taking quick strides in order to evade his brother.

  “Yay!” Jenna said, crawling from his front onto his back for a piggyback ride.

  “Do you have certain chores you need to do?” Kennedy asked her.

  “Yes. I have to make my bed and brush my teeth every morning and night. I have to make sure the animals have water. And I have to pick up my toys and put them away. One time Daddy stepped on a Lego, and he was really mad.”