One Night with the Maverick
Autore
Melissa Senate
Letto da
15,5K
Capitoli
16
Chapter One
If thirty-four-year-old widower Felix Sanchez were in the market for a relationship, he wouldn’t have to bother with dating apps or pricey matchmakers. Not when his eighty-five-year-old great-uncle Stanley spent his days walking up to women without wedding rings in the grocery store to tell them all about his single nephew. And did I mention he’s a doctor? An animal doctor! Bulls, turtles, puppies, he takes care of them all. Tall, handsome fella, too.
Santiago “Stanley” Sanchez, who’d moved in with the Sanchez family just a few months ago because of his loneliness after losing his wife, never walked away without a phone number for Felix. Not that Felix ever used any of them. His dresser drawer at home was full of slips of paper and business cards. But tonight, Stanley had Felix roped in. His uncle had promised “a very attractive redhead” that they’d be at Doug’s bar tonight at seven if she wanted advice on her Pomeranian who chewed up her running shoes, So you have to come tonight, Felix.
Grrr. All Felix wanted to do after having partaken in his mother’s great cooking—she’d made tamales tonight and he’d eaten five of them—was watch a game, do a little research on some new medications that would be coming into his veterinary office, and call it a night after a long day of tending those bulls and turtles and puppies. A big animal vet who also had clinic hours at the Bronco Heights Animal Hospital, Felix was zonked. He’d started at five thirty this morning—a sick calf—and finally left the clinic at 6:00 p.m.
“You’re wearing that?” Stanley said from the doorway of Felix’s bedroom. “Can’t you put on a nice button-down?”
“We’re going to everyone’s favorite Bronco Valley dive bar, Uncle Stanley. My University of Montana sweatshirt, growling grizzly mascot and all, will do just fine.”
Stanley gave a slight frown. “Did I mention that lovely redhead who’ll be there to talk to you about her little dog is very stylish? A fashion plate.”
“Tio. You know I love you. But you’ve gotta stop with the fix-ups and promises and ruses to put me and single women in the same place at the same time. It’s not fair to the women you rope in. I’m not looking for a relationship. It’s way too soon.”
Stanley waved his hand in the air with a grunt. “It’s been three years, Felix. It’s time to find love again. And,” he added, looking at his watch, which Felix gave him for his birthday last month, “it’s almost seven.” A big grin split his handsome, lined face. “Vamos!”
You go, he wanted to say. But truth be told, he was a little worried about Stanley. Outgoing and warm and funny with his saucy but still G-rated jokes and big laugh, his uncle made friends everywhere he went, yeah. But despite that, Stanley was lonely. He’d lost his dear wife of sixty years just last year, and his grief, the raw pain in his tio’s voice when they’d speak by phone, had gotten Felix on a plane a few times to Mexico, where Stanley had still lived, to stay for a few days. Just a few months ago, he’d finally convinced Stanley, with his parents’ and siblings’ help, to move to the US and start fresh in Montana.
No good deed, he thought, shaking his head with a smile. An hour or two at Doug’s, playing a few rounds of darts, nursing a cold beer, didn’t sound so bad if it would make his tio happy.
“Oh, wait, I forgot something!” Stanley said, hurrying to his room downstairs on the first level. “Meet me by the front door in five.”
Felix nodded, grabbed his wallet and keys and was about to head out when his gaze caught on a photo of Victoria. He had just the one now in his bedroom. He’d moved back home soon after he’d lost her to cancer, barely able to slog through a day, let alone take care of the house they’d shared. Had it been three years? Sometimes it felt like twenty-three years since he’d been widowed. Sometimes it felt like yesterday.
Downstairs at the door, the smell of his uncle’s favorite aftershave overpowered the delicious lingering aroma of the tamales and rice they’d had for dinner.
“Last chance to change your shirt,” Stanley said with hope all over his face.
“Nah, I’m good.”
“Good-looking!” Stanley said with a laugh and three little punches on Felix’s arm.
Felix laughed, too. His uncle’s goofy jokes and good-humored kindness were infectious, even when Felix just wanted to brood.
“And no doubt your soon-to-be new girlfriend,” Stanley added, “the pretty redhead with the Pomeranian will think so, too.”
Felix shook his head and headed for his SUV, till Stanley headed for his own pickup.
Stanley hopped in the driver’s seat. “I’ll drive tonight. It’s one of those gorgeous early fall nights. Sixty-four degrees. Nice breeze. I want to roll the windows down and crank up the mariachi.”
Which he did, singing along to an old CD as they drove over to Doug’s in Bronco Valley, not far from the Sanchez home in the same part of town.
As they headed in, an ’80s-era Bon Jovi song was blaring from the old-timey jukebox. The bar was pretty crowded tonight. An easel by the door had a sign noting that Bronco’s resident psychic, Winona Cobbs, would be giving free readings from 6:00 until 7:15 p.m. A few times a year, Winona, who had her own psychic shop in town, held events at Doug’s.
Felix had no interest in a psychic reading, even if he’d heard Winona, whose readings were short and sweet, sometimes just one line, always got it right. Felix had no interest in what was coming. He’d had his share of bad news coming to fruition.
He and Stanley took two seats at the long bar, and within moments, a redhead, indeed pretty and stylish, had materialized in the open seat beside him. Stanley disappeared with his quarters to the jukebox, naturally. Felix listened to the woman’s troubles with her Pomeranian, Peaches, gave her some advice about keeping her sneakers behind closed doors in a closet and giving Peaches toys with a similar texture.
“I hope you make house calls,” the woman said in a throaty purr and rested her hand on his arm.
Felix went for honesty. “For emergencies, but I should add that I’m a recent widower and I’m not ready to date.”
The part about being widowed always seemed to let women know his lack of interest wasn’t personal, and sometimes he even made a friend out of his uncle’s matchmaking ways. The redhead left, and the next time he looked over at her table, she was deep in conversation with a rancher.
The bartender, Doug Moore himself, took his and Stanley’s order, plunking down their bottles of beers. Stanley turned around on his barstool until he was facing out, sipping his beer, and keeping his eyes on the dartboard for when it would be free.
“Now there’s a woman who knows how to live,” Stanley said, sitting up straighter, and—if Felix wasn’t mistaken—sucking in his belly. Stanley pointed his beer bottle at white-haired Winona Cobbs, who sat at a round table near the back of the room likely so she could conduct her readings privately and away from the blare of the jukebox. “I like her style. I surely do.” Stanley seemed riveted by Winona, his dark brown eyes getting all twinkly.
Felix smiled. Winona Cobbs, wearing a purple cowboy hat, silver fringed pantsuit and purple cowboy boots, was ninety-five years old. An older woman even by eighty-five-year-old Stanley’s standards.
“Ooh, that man just left her table,” Stanley said, hopping off the barstool. “I’m going over for a reading. You should too, Felix.”
“You go ahead,” he told his uncle. Felix had always been superstitious—enough to avoid walking under open ladders or crossing the paths of black cats, which also happened to be his secret favorites, and he knocked on wood if he ever proclaimed anything. Plus, he really had heard enough stories about Winona’s readings coming true for people to know she did have psychic gifts. But he’d rather his future remain a mystery. It was better not to know.
“I’ll need a proper introduction,” Stanley said, giving his throat a gentle clear and again sucking in his belly, not that he had much of a beer gut. Stanley Sanchez was six feet tall and robust and liked to wear black leather vests over Western-style shirts, a black cowboy hat and cowboy boots. His look was one of the reasons everyone in town had taken to him so easily and fast. He fit in.
Felix took a slug of his beer, then another, and walked over to Winona’s table with his uncle. He knew her only casually from around town.
“Miss Cobbs,” Felix began.
Winona’s sharp gaze beelined to him. “Oh, my,” she said. “Your life is an open book, but I’m afraid there’s nothing there for me to read.”
Felix frowned. What the heck did that mean?
“But this face,” she added, staring at Stanley warmly—and with interest—“this face tells a whole story.”
Stanley grinned. “I can’t wait to hear what’s in store for me, Miss Winona.” He sat down, never taking his eyes off the nonagenarian. “Felix, bring me my beers, will you?”
“Sure,” Felix said, but he doubted his uncle even heard him. He was already chatting up a storm with the white-haired psychic, complimenting her outfit and mentioning that purple was his new favorite color.
Oh, Lord. His uncle was flirting.
And Winona Cobbs, who had a stoic, serious way about her, was flirting back. Felix even heard an “Oh, you!” on a giggle with a dainty wave of her hand.
Never, not once, had Felix seen his uncle flirt with any of the elderly widows in Bronco. He must be truly smitten with Winona.
Since no introductions were necessary at this point, Felix went back over to the bar, grabbed his uncle’s beer and set it down on the table, neither party looking up from their conversation. You go, he said silently to Tio Stanley as he went back to the bar and sat down. A guy grabbed the open spot on his right. So much for saving his uncle’s seat, but it was pretty crowded and Stanley didn’t look like he’d be getting up from Winona’s table anytime soon. It was past seven fifteen now and her reading event had ended with Stanley.
“Ugh, I don’t even like to sit next to the haunted barstool,” a woman’s voice said. She moved the last available stool, the one to his left, a bit closer to his and sat down.
Him, too. The Death Seat, as the locals called it, was legendary in Bronco. It was about a foot away from hers, the last one, and cordoned off with rope entwined with crime scene tape. No one dared to sit in it, no matter how crowded the place was.
He turned to see a pretty woman he recognized from around town—and from school. She had long, curly strawberry blond hair, green eyes behind round tortoiseshell glasses and a warm smile. He tried to come up with her name, but drew a blank. If Stanley were over here he’d likely compliment her style just as he had Winona’s. She wore a long dress with squares and circles all over it and a satin sash around her hips, a necklace with tiny painted ceramic books dangling off it and tall red leather boots.
“I hear you,” he said, not even wanting to look at the haunted barstool. “I’ll switch with you so I’m closer to it, though.”
“Would you?” she asked, her green eyes lighting up. “I’m a little superstitious.”
It wouldn’t be gallant or manly to say me, too or I didn’t think you’d take me up on it, so he switched seats. Apparently, anyone who’d ever sat on the Death Seat immediately had trouble befall them. A breakup. An air conditioner falling out a second-story window and landing on their foot, narrowly missing their head. The worst flu ever. And a few years ago: Death. A man named Bobby Stone had sat on the Death Seat—and fell off a cliff a few days later during a hike in the mountains.
Still, once every few months some drunken loudmouth leaped over the tape and made a show of sitting on the stool, proclaiming the legend of the haunted barstool total baloney. And then, a half hour later, the person would be by the jukebox, trip over something and chip a tooth. No, Felix wouldn’t sit on that barstool for a hundred grand.
He finished a second beer, not even sure when he’d started on it. But now he wanted something different. A whiskey, straight up. Doug plunked it down, then took the woman’s order. She ordered a craft beer.
The woman’s presence, so close to him, reminded him of Victoria. He was sure they’d been friends. Or friendly. He remembered the long strawberry blond hair, Victoria often commenting that she’d give anything for that color and texture, even though her dark hair was gorgeous. And the eyeglasses, though maybe not those same ones.
Sarah. Sandra. Stephanie. Selina. Something with an S... He could smell her faint perfume, a sandalwood tinge to it that he liked. He sucked down his drink and figured he’d go grab his uncle and they’d head home, but when he turned around, he saw Stanley sitting beside Winona now, not across from her like before, and they were both staring into each other’s eyes and talking.
Had his uncle picked up a woman in Doug’s super-dive bar? An older woman? Felix shook his head with a grin. Hey. More power to you, Tio.
Felix turned back around, eyeing the plate of buffalo wings and blue cheese dressing Doug had placed down in front of the strawberry blonde. He’d had so many tamales that he wasn’t hungry, but man, those wings smelled good.
“Want one, Felix?” the woman offered, pushing the plate a little to the right.
She knew his name. Now he felt even worse that he didn’t remember hers. He wondered what else she knew about him. That he was a widower? That he was a veterinarian? That he didn’t go out much? Or usually drink much?
Yet here was, sucking down his fourth of the night like it was water.
What was wrong with him?
You’re alone. In a crowded bar. Realizing that your formerly wonderful life is behind you, not ahead of you.
He sighed and took a wing, swiping it in the blue cheese.
“Thanks,” he said. He took a bite. Delicious.
She smiled. The kind of smile that lit up a face that was already too pretty.
He felt someone come up behind him, stopping between him and the blonde. It was Everlee Roberts, whom everyone called Evy, a waitress at Doug’s. “Hey, Felix. Did you know your uncle just left with Winona Cobbs?”
He stared at Evy. “What? They left?” He glanced at the table. Empty, just like both his uncle’s beers.
“No worries,” Evy told him as if reading his mind. “They left on foot.” He strained his neck to look out the window and saw his uncle’s truck still parked in the lot. But no sign of Stanley. Or Winona.
Which meant his uncle had stranded him here since Tio had the keys. Great. Doug’s was a quick drive from his house, but still a good four miles away, and two beers and two whiskey shots had made him a little tipsy, he realized. No one wanted to see their veterinarian, big animal or turtle, stumbling home from a dive bar.
He could call his dad, but then remembered his parents had left for the movies not long before he and Stanley had gone out. Darn. He could bother one of his siblings but he’d never hear the end of how he let Uncle Stanley disappear into the night with a woman—a psychic, no less, who clearly had to know the night would end well.
He wasn’t sure his uncle wanted any of that to be family knowledge, so he ignored his phone. There was always a rideshare, he thought, signaling to Doug for another whiskey. No, make that a draft beer.
Two were set before him.
He drank one, thinking about old times. Thinking about his old life. And thinking about what the hell the nice-smelling, green-eyed blonde woman’s name could possibly be.
Sera. Serena. Sally. Suki. None of those were right.
Sensual. That she was.
As she and Evy started chatting, something about a story hour at the library, he started on the second beer. His second second beer but his sixth drink. Felix realized he didn’t need to know the blonde’s name. It wasn’t like they’d be flirting up a storm the way his uncle and Winona had. Let alone leaving together, for heaven’s sake. He wouldn’t be leaving with a woman from a bar for a long, long time. Even if it had been a long, long time since he’d lost Victoria. He was fine on his own.
Just fine. But that didn’t stop him from thinking about how they’d so excitedly decided to start a family just days before her diagnosis with cancer. How walking past a playground, how seeing a baby or toddler at the clinic during an appointment for the family pet made his heart clench.
Those times would remind him his heart wasn’t numb like he thought. And that he’d never be ready to know the strawberry blonde’s name.
Shari Lormand mentally shook her head at the gorgeous man sitting next to her, drinking away his sorrows at Doug’s bar. She rarely saw Felix Sanchez out, but had been aware of him for years, since high school, when she’d had a secret crush on him. She’d been too shy to start a conversation with him back then. And the morning she’d marched into school determined to at least say hi, he’d been holding hands with a beautiful dark-haired girl named Victoria. So much for Shari and Felix becoming the couple in her dreams.
And now, being single, very single at thirty-four, Shari was aware of every eligible bachelor in town, and Felix Sanchez, widower of three years, was not eligible. He was clearly not over losing his wife, not that he should be, of course. He just happened to stand out in town since he was so damned good-looking with those intense hazel eyes and dark thick hair that was just slightly long for a veterinarian and made him look a bit like a rebel. Shari always noticed him when she saw him around Bronco.
“Oh, Felix, I have to thank you again,” Evy said, collecting empty glasses from the bar, including a few of Felix’s. “Archie is doing really well now. Wes and I can’t thank you enough for saving our puppy.”
Shari glanced at Felix. She remembered how worried Evy had been about her now-fiancé’s puppy, Archie, who’d been swatted by a mama bear protecting her cubs back in July. Not only had Felix saved the adorable pup’s life, but he’d apparently called a few times to check in on how Wes Abernathy, Evy and Evy’s young daughter were doing during the recovery and rehab since they were all so worried about Archie. That Felix was one of the good guys wasn’t in doubt. He just wasn’t available.
“Really glad to hear it,” Felix said.
As Evy got called away to take a table’s order, Shari thought about making a quick getaway. She’d come for wings and a beer and to drown her own sorrows, but being so close to a guy like Felix—who ticked every box on her list of what she wanted in a man, in a husband, in the father of her future children—made her feel even more alone. She should go home, draw a bath, pour in some of the scented bubbles she’d gotten as a gift, and forget about how lonely she was. She hated that word lonely. But between wanting to get married and all the terrible dates and false starts at relationships, Shari Lormand, children’s librarian with an otherwise rich and full life, was lonely.
Her mother’s call a half hour ago had left her weirdly unsettled, which was really why she’d stopped in at Doug’s, needing...something. A little company, a little noise from voices and the jukebox. Her mom lived in Denver, where the Lormand family had moved after Shari graduated from high school because her father had been transferred for work. Shari had gone to college in Denver, loving city life after growing up in a small town like Bronco. She’d dated a little, had a couple of yearlong relationships, and figured she’d meet her Mr. Right soon. She thought she had when she was twenty-six—Paul, a medical intern who was smart and focused and liked to cook for her in his little free time. When he’d used his long hours and stress as the reason why he was putting off proposing—for five years—Shari had believed it all because she’d been unable to bear believing otherwise. That he just didn’t want to marry her. That became apparent when she gave him something of an ultimatum, a really weak one: If you’re not able to tell me you want to marry me by the end of the year, I’ll have to think about moving on. Paul broke up with her that night.
And he married someone else a few months later. He’d actually sent her a thank-you card for giving him that ultimatum, which had made him realize he just didn’t love her in that way and when he’d met his wife, he’d known she was the one right away. So thank you, Shari, from both of us.
Shari had been so hurt, so mad at her own inability to see the truth for years, that she’d left Denver and headed back home to warm, sweet, cozy Bronco, Montana. She’d wanted the familiarity of her hometown and all the comforts that went with it. And now, three years later, Bronco was comforting. She loved her job at the library. She had really wonderful friends, like Evy. But being strung along like that and then dumped had made her wary and she was probably a little too guarded on dates. The few relationships she’d had hadn’t gone anywhere. Now here she was, still single—and thirty-four. And now her biological clock was ticktocking and she wanted children, adding to the pressure.
Tonight, her mother had been filling her in on life and gossip in Denver and the family, then casually mentioned seeing Shari’s ex with his pregnant wife and toddler daughter. That had put Shari in a mood, to say the least.
And spicy wings, a cheap beer—or two—and a hot but unavailable man right beside her hadn’t helped much.
She and Evy had talked endlessly about the state of Shari’s love life, her friend assuring her the man of her dreams was right around the corner. Evy was the single mother of a darling four-year-old named Lola and over the summer had unexpectedly found true love with a great guy, Wes Abernathy—a wealthy rancher who was great with kids and loved dogs, as Evy did. Shari was taken by little Lola, who loved coming to the children’s library events. The sweet girl made her so wistful about how much she wanted a child of her own.
To the point that she’d stared exploring her options. If she wasn’t going to get married and have a baby the traditional way, there were other ways to become a mother. Sperm donor and IVF. Adoption. She’d just started looking into it all, and it was so overwhelming that she hadn’t gotten very far.
Because you want what you’ve dreamed of since you were a teenager. To fall in love. Marry the man you want to grow old and gray with on your porch, sipping sweet tea, an old dog or two beside you. Have three or four kids. Shari loved the idea of a big family, but now she’d be very happy with one child.
Two pretty young women came in and settled on the barstools on the other side of Shari.
“Aren’t you a veterinarian?” one of the women asked over her to Felix, a hand twirling her silky blond hair. “I’m thinking of adopting a puppy and would love some tips for a first-timer.”
Oh, brother, Shari thought, sure the woman’s interest was not in a puppy. She inwardly sighed and pulled a novel out of her tote bag. She’d finish her wings, another chapter of the absorbing romantic suspense, then get the heck out of here. She couldn’t help but smile when she noticed Felix was not flirting back. He was polite but so clearly not interested that the women got up and moved to the group of guys playing darts. She heard a “Well, hello ladies” from one of them and rolled her eyes. Everyone was having fun but her. And Felix, apparently.
“Last wing is yours, if you want it,” she said to Felix. “I’ve gotta get home. Busy, busy night ahead of me.”
“Oh, yeah?” he asked, taking the wing and swiping it in the dressing. “Working on something?”
“Hot bath, Netflix, more of this book,” she said, then felt her cheeks turn red. Had she just lied in his face about being busy and then told him the stark truth of her real next few hours? She quickly shoved her book in her bag.
“Sounds like a perfect night to me,” he said. “But I’m stranded here.” He explained about arriving with his uncle, who had immediately gotten very chatty with Winona Cobbs and left with her.
“Wow!” Shari said, utterly charmed. “That’s really sweet.” And inspiring. She was pretty sure that Winona was well into her nineties. And now even Winona had a love life.
“Except my uncle has the keys,” Felix said. “And his truck is right there,” he added, pointing out the window. “Mocking me.”
Shari smiled. “Come on. I’ll give you a ride home.”
“Thanks—” he started, then seemed deep in concentration, as if trying very hard to remember her name.
She scowled as she stood up, careful to not even touch the caution tape around the haunted barstool with her tote bag or elbow lest she add more bad luck to her life. “You don’t know my name, do you?” she accused lightheartedly, eyes narrowed. Her voice might be light but humph—how dare he not remember her?
“To be very honest,” he said, standing up, too, “I’ve had a few drinks. I can’t remember my own middle name. But I’m pretty sure your first name starts with an S.”
Okay, that was something. “Shari Lormand.” She stuck out her hand and he shook it, smiling at her with that killer smile, his dark eyes focused on her. Whoo boy. She felt the effect of his penetrating gaze. She wondered what he was thinking.
Nah, she knew. Woman in a weird dress, lace-up boots and a book necklace—reading a book at a bar, no less—is not my type. The problem was that Shari was never anyone’s type. Evy always told Shari she was her own woman and one day she’d find her other half, but it was taking annoyingly longer than Shari wanted. Back in high school she’d been the typical plain Jane, but she’d slowly developed her own style, with a bit of bohemian flair, and though it might be different, she liked who she was.
“Shari!” he said, snapping his finger as those hazel eyes lit up. “Yes, Shari, of course. I do remember you.”
She nodded. “I was so sorry to hear about your loss.”
His lips clamped tight and he gave her something of a nod.
She grabbed her car keys and they headed out of the bar. “What do you think your uncle and Winona are doing right now?” Her cheeks burned again. “Wait, forget I asked.”
He laughed. “I have no doubt what they’re doing. My great-uncle is a total romantic. He probably asked if Winona would like to go to Lookout Point for the view of the mountains, the valley and the stars. He might have sung her so many old mariachi songs that she got up and ran far, far away a half hour ago.”
She grinned and opened her car door, unlocking the passenger side. “I wouldn’t be so sure, Felix. I sure wouldn’t mind someone crooning mariachi songs in my ear.”
“I might just be tipsy enough,” he said.
Oh, wouldn’t that be nice, she thought, suddenly imagining him kissing her. Crooning. Kissing her. Crooning.
He directed her to his house and explained that he’d moved into the family home after he was widowed and that Stanley had joined them a few months ago. “It’s usually crowded with Sanchezes—my siblings are often around, too—but tonight, everyone’s out for the evening.”
She was about to turn into the driveway of the modest Bronco Valley house, admiring the flower boxes and well-kept lawn, when she realized it was roped off since it had clearly just been repaved. She pulled up along the curb just past the house. “Well, this is you.” Too soon, she thought wistfully.
“I could use a cup of coffee or two,” he said, taking off his seat belt. “Happy to make you a cup as a thank-you for the ride.”
Every nerve ending sizzled. Had Felix Sanchez, all six feet two of muscled hotness and smarts and niceness, just invited her in—supposedly for a cup of coffee? She usually wasn’t one to flatter herself, but c’mon. You did not invite someone into your home unless you didn’t want your time together to end.
And then what? she asked herself. A one-night stand, which was all it would be, because Felix was hardly interested in dating, let alone a relationship. She knew that just from tonight, from the very attractive women he’d shown no interest in. And he hadn’t flirted with her once.
Between that and the fact that she wasn’t someone who could handle a one-night stand, she smiled tightly and said that it was getting late.
“Oh, okay,” he said, looking a bit glum. “You’re just so easy to talk to. You’ve made me laugh tonight and I haven’t done much of that in a while.”
“Yeah, me, either,” she said. “Not that I’ve lost someone very close to me. But I know heartache.”
“One cup, then,” he said, tilting his head. “My mother makes the most incredible churros and chocolate caramel sauce to dip them into. There are two left from dessert tonight. One for me and one for you. You don’t want to miss that.”
“I really don’t,” she said with a smile, almost unable to pull her eyes off his face, his lips, his strong jawline. The man radiated hotness. “Okay, sure, one cup—and a churro.” She undid her seat belt.
And just like that, Shari Lormand was walking beside Felix Sanchez into his house. His empty house. Hope chased away any trace of loneliness. Maybe something would happen tonight.
She’d take it one kiss at a time.
