Ever After at Sweetheart Ranch (24 page)

She heard the jingle of a shop door opening behind her.

“I never thought you'd get here so soon,” Kate called. “You must have set a land speed record.”

“A shower speed record, anyway,” Lyndsay murmured, still not taking her eyes off the giant banner that swayed with the brisk morning breeze.

“Well?” Kate asked, coming to lean against the car beside her, eyeing her with anticipation.

Lyndsay felt dazed and excited and scared all at the same time. She turned wide eyes on Kate, and gradually, a grin spread across her face.

Giggling, Kate hugged her. “This is so incredible! Now the world—­well, our corner of it anyway—­will know how awesome you are. Aren't the widows wonderful?”

Lyndsay let Kate lead her by the hand to the sidewalk. “They said they had something big in mind, but I had no idea . . . They are publicity
machines.
”

Inside Sugar and Spice, almost a dozen ­people were clapping when she came in, and Lyndsay stared around at her brother, dad, and Ethan, at Emily and Nate. Steph and the three widows were all wearing aprons that now sported her book cover.

Lyndsay opened her mouth to speak, but she was so choked up that she couldn't say anything. She ended up in her dad's arms, and she buried her face in his shoulder and tried not to cry.

“Okay, okay, pass her around,” Nate said, giving her a hug that lifted her clear off the floor. “We're so proud of you!”

“We can't wait to read the book!” Emily cried, when it was her turn.

The only thing missing was sharing the day with Will. Regret and sadness were a deep ache that might never go away, and she tried to push them into the recesses of her mind.

“I saw your book in the window of the Open Book this morning,” Steph gushed. “They have dozens of books on display, a big picture of you and everything. You're doing a book signing there next week?”

Lyndsay nodded, still feeling the silly expression decorating her face.

“Even my grandma must be excited,” Steph said. “She called to ask if I'd seen the big banner, so of course I raved about it. She's coming over here to talk about it with you.”

Lyndsay blinked at her for a moment. “Coming . . . here? Why?”

Steph's smile faded into confusion. “Well . . . to congratulate you, I bet.”

“We're not exactly close, and since I broke up with Will, why would she care?” A sick feeling roiled her stomach uneasily.

Steph glanced at Emily. “Well . . . she's always proud of the citizens of Valentine Valley. Why would it matter about you and Will?”

“I don't know, but it just seems . . . weird.” Lyndsay glanced at the widows, and to her consternation, they gave each other uneasy looks.
Uh-­oh.
But before she could question them, the door jingled and the matriarch herself marched inside. The happiness was sucked out of the room like a giant fan in reverse.

“Lyndsay De Luca,” Mrs. Sweet said, “I have something to say to you.”

Lyndsay took a deep breath. “Good morning, Mrs. Sweet.” She tried to brace herself to be scolded. The others continued to murmur to each other, but their gazes remained on the elderly lady.

“I have heard that you've written a book and that my grandson William is featured prominently.” Mrs. Sweet came to a stop right in front of Lyndsay.

Lyndsay swallowed even as her eyes went wide. She looked around in disbelief, wondering how the hell her secret had gotten out already. It must not have spread far, because almost everyone else looked surprised or intrigued.

But not the widows.

“Mrs. Sweet,” Lyndsay began, “I hope you're not offended, but—­”

“Offended? Why should I be offended? Why shouldn't my grandson be the hero of a book?”

Lyndsay felt the heat of a blush steal over her, and she couldn't help wondering if Mrs. Sweet was entirely clear about the sexual content of a romance. She saw the wide, shocked eyes of her friends focus on her—­and then her father gave a snort of laughter from behind her, and Ethan playfully elbowed him. Soon, smiles seemed contagious, and relief began to spread through her body like a warm beam of sunshine breaking through clouds. Though she'd dreaded everyone finding out, she was surprised how relieved she felt that she no longer had a secret to keep. She was still worried about how Will would take everyone's knowing, but at least his grandma wasn't humiliated.

Lyndsay wished Will had been at her side, that they could share a smile over this—­that he could be a part of this important day. Without him—­it wasn't the same. He hadn't called her about the book, so she had no idea if he'd read it so he was at least prepared. Some ­people might recognize that altered scene as something based on his life with Brittany—­hell, Brittany's
parents
might recognize it, and her smile faltered. She wasn't in the clear yet.

“Grandma,” Emily said, “we don't understand what you're talking about.”

“Some of us understand,” Kate said meaningfully, looking directly at the widows. “Don't we?”

“It's our fault,” Mrs. Thalberg said, stepping out from behind the counter, hands clasped in front of her apron, where the cover of
A Cowboy in Montana
was prominently displayed.

Lyndsay bit her lip to keep from giggling. Her emotions were veering all over the place. She struggled to sound calm as she asked, “How did you find out about Will?”

Mrs. Thalberg lifted a placating hand. “I'm so sorry, my dear. Once we heard about your book, naturally the three of us downloaded it to our e-­readers and tablets. It appeared at midnight, and we stayed up just to get started reading. We think you're a gifted writer, by the way,” she said, her smile sweet as she touched Lyndsay's hand.

Lyndsay briefly clasped the woman's hand in return. “Thank you so much. But could you finish what you were saying?”

“I can tell her, Rosemary,” Mrs. Palmer said gently.

“No, it should be me, Renee. Lyndsay, we felt free to discuss your book this morning, once your ban on publicity was lifted, and perhaps we should not have been so foolish as to discuss your hero's similarity to Will while we were having breakfast at the True Grits Diner.”

Lyndsay briefly closed her eyes. “Someone must have overheard you.”

“Our waitress, Harriet,” Mrs. Thalberg said, ending the name on a heavy sigh. “I heard her gasp. Knowing her, she didn't keep the gossip to herself.”

“It's all my fault,” Mrs. Palmer said sadly. “I don't hear as good as I used to, so the girls sometimes have to speak louder for me.”

Mrs. Ludlow patted her shoulder, then turned to Lyndsay. “Does Will know about the similarities?”

“Yes, he does,” Lyndsay admitted.

“Wait.” Emily lifted both hands. “You based the hero on my playboy brother? The ego-­stroking must have left him preening.”

“Not exactly,” Lyndsay admitted. “But he was nice about it.”

“Of course he was,” Mrs. Sweet insisted. “What man wouldn't be flattered when the lovely girl he's dating thinks so highly of him?”

Lyndsay had to blink back tears at Mrs. Sweet's kindness.

Kate said, “I don't think that most ­people are going to recognize that there are a few similarities. The widows only speculated, having known Lyndsay a long time. Her admiration of Will shines through every paragraph—­”

“Kate,” Lyndsay said in a warning tone.

“I mean,” Kate hastily added, “that she admires her hero, Cody, who only
begins
with some of Will's characteristics. He's his own man, with different goals and personality. I think, Mrs. Sweet, that you will enjoy the book for its own sake.”

Mrs. Sweet eyed Lyndsay over her glasses. “I will read it immediately, and then we can discuss it. Perhaps you'd come speak to my book club.”

Lyndsay could only nod and mumble, “Thank you, I would enjoy that.”

Mrs. Sweet swept out, leaving a brief, stunned silence in her wake.

“Lyndsay, if you admired my brother so much,” Steph said with exasperation, “why did you break up with him?”

Before Lyndsay could answer, Monica and Brooke rushed in, obviously to talk to their best friend, Emily. They took one look at Lyndsay and came to a halt.

“Hi, Lyndsay,” Brooke said. She gave Emily a wide-­eyed glance.

“We've all been discussing her book,” Emily said.

“Good!” Monica said briskly. “Then let me say, Lyndsay, how very proud we are of you.”

Lyndsay smiled. “Thanks.”

“And is it true about Will?” Brooke asked.

All eyes turned back to her with avid interest, and Lyndsay sighed. “Yeah, it's true—­although I swear I didn't realize it when I was writing the book. My cowboy has some of his characteristics. He didn't stay exactly like Will, of course. And Steph, to answer your question, I broke up with him because I knew I wanted more out of a relationship than he did.”

“I'm so sorry, Lynds.” Emily gently laid a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“Look,” Tony said, “don't worry about Will. He'll be fine with everybody knowing the truth—­especially since he already knew.”

“Thanks, Tony,” Lyndsay said, “but you're my brother. Reassurance is part of your job description.”

“Well, we'll find out. I just texted him that we're all here. He's on his way.”

“Great,” Lyndsay said faintly.

 

Chapter 22

W
ill got the first clue something was up when he was thigh-­deep in an irrigation ditch, trying to pull out a damaged dam and replace it with another. His cell phone kept ringing or beeping with texts, one after the other. When he finally had the dam in position, he waded out of the water, reached for his phone, which was inside his hip boots and deep inside his jeans pocket, and saw the lineup of missed calls and text messages. He swore out loud.

The first was from his brother, Chris, congratulating him on being every woman's fantasy brought to life. Will frowned in confusion.
What the hell—­?
Then Daniel chimed in on the same group text, saying he'd just downloaded the story of Will's life and would soon be able to quote the good lines.

Will leaned against the ATV as realization struck. Lyndsay's book was out in public—­and so was his part in it. He'd read it the last few nights—­devoured it, really—­and the character hadn't turned out much like him besides looks, a little bit of personality, and that one scene. He'd gotten into the story and forgotten all about his connection to it. She really was a great writer.

But apparently the whole world had now found out his “part.” He knew Lyndsay, Kate, and Tony wouldn't have released the depths of her secret, so how had it gotten out?

And then Tony texted him, letting him know where they all were. Will hoped Lyndsay wasn't taking the revelation of her secret badly. Just when the most exciting accomplishment of her life should be celebrated, could his part in it be making her into a joke? Well, he wasn't going to let that happen.

He texted his brothers:
Lynds's hero not exactly like me. She took me and toned me down some.

And there was more he could do for Lyndsay.

L
yndsay paced the bakery, waiting for Will. A few customers came in, including some who knew her and gave her hearty congratulations. She was sure everyone else had lots of questions, but they held back, sensing her uncertainty.

She heaved a sigh. She thought she'd only have to worry about her students' parents finding out she wrote a romance—­now they might think she wrote kinky stuff about real-­life guys in town. Did she really care so much about what other ­people thought? Or maybe it was all about Will.

Where was he? She just wanted to get this confrontation over with.

“This is strange,” Brooke said from a little table, where she was having coffee with Emily and Monica. “Whitney and Josh are having breakfast at True Grits, and they said Will just brought the house down.”

“What?” Lyndsay felt a little dazed. Brought the house down?

Brooke snickered as she read her phone. “Apparently, he threw open the doors, strode inside, and said it was only a matter of time before someone ‘wrote about me'—­his words. And another quote: ‘You can't be this awesome and not expect it.' ” She burst into laughter, joined by Monica and Emily.

“What the heck is he doing?” Lyndsay murmured to no one in particular.

Kate stopped Lyndsay's pacing by stepping in front of her. “You told him a while ago, right?”

Lyndsay nodded. “But now it's public knowledge, which makes it different.”

“Now Will's at Hal's Hardware,” Mario said, glancing at his own phone.

It was still strange how much her dad loved his iPhone. She'd even known him to pin it into his pocket so he wouldn't lose it.

“Will didn't bother eating?” Steph asked curiously.

“He's making the rounds,” Mrs. Thalberg said with satisfaction.

Lyndsay didn't get it.

Mario chuckled. “Francis Osborne quotes Will, too. He says when questioned, Will told everyone that he'd always thought his story would be dramatized in a rock song or an epic poem.” He gave Lyndsay a comforting look. “Seems to me you don't have to worry about Will's reaction.”

“I'm just worried that he's putting on an act,” Lyndsay said, twisting her hands together. “He's really good at making ­people believe only what he wants them to believe.”

“Maybe you're worrying for no reason,” Mario said gently.

“I'm trying to tell myself that. But Dad,” she said, lowering her voice, “part of me is focusing on Will because . . . without him, this day, the proudest day of my life, just . . . isn't complete.”

He put his arm around her shoulders. “I'm sorry, babes.”

“Thanks. Apparently Will has other plans, so I think I'll just take off for a while.”

“Are you sure?” Kate asked. “Do you want company?”

“I'm fine. I'll see you all later.”

Lyndsay headed out the front door and onto Main Street, where she saw the banner boldly proclaiming her cover and the promise of a “steamy” summer. It made her smile, but . . . she couldn't forget about Will.

Several ­people stopped her, and she gladly answered questions about the book. When Will's name came up, she let it go with, “You'll just have to read it and see what you think.” She imagined she'd be saying that a lot over the next ­couple weeks . . .

As she reached her car, Sean Lighton called her name.

“Hi, Sean,” she said, smiling.

“Great news about the book.” He gestured to the banner. “I never knew you were a writer.”

“I sort of kept it hidden until the book sold.”

“Never knew you were so shy either,” he teased. “Bet you have a lot of parties and stuff planned today.”

“Not really. Why?”

“Oh. Well, I had hiking plans and wondered if you wanted to go. Not as a date or anything,” he hastened to add, “just friends. But I bet with the book news—­”

“That sounds great. I'd love to go.” She was surprised when the words tumbled out, but suddenly, getting away from town and her feelings of missing Will just seemed like the perfect idea.

His mouth dropped open for a moment before a big grin split his face. “Well, okay, then!” He glanced at his watch, then at her. “I have everything ready. I was just going alone, but I have enough supplies for two. I bet you need to change.”

“Follow me home. I only need a minute.”

At her house, Sean waited patiently by his car while Lyndsay changed into hiking pants, boots, and a short-­sleeve shirt, then packed a fleece and rain shell. She knew how cold it could get this time of year at higher elevations. After applying sunscreen, she pulled her hair into a ponytail and added a visor, then grabbed her CamelBak and filled the bladder. Sean had said he had everything else they'd need.

When she appeared outside, he looked up from his phone in surprise. “That was quick.”

“I do my best.”

As she tossed her old duct-­tape-­covered backpack into the rear seat of his SUV, she saw his shiny new pack and boots.

Sliding into the front, she said, “New gear?”

“Yeah,” he admitted.

She knew he was a computer geek trying to fit in with the outdoorsy world of the Rockies, and that made her sympathize. “So what did you have planned for today?” she asked.

“We're going up the main spine of the Elks,” he said importantly.

“Ah ha.” She tried not to smile. “Which part?”

“The Hell Roaring trail,” he said with enthusiasm. “Sounds intense.”

“Well, no, it's a good hike, but not that intense. It's named for the sound of the spring runoff on the other side of the ridge. But there's probably snow still up there.”

“Only the last bit. We'll be fine.”

They drove fifteen minutes on paved roads, then another half hour going up dirt roads, occasionally stopping for meandering cows or slowing down as they passed through cattle guards, a break in the fence where the road was covered by a grate.

At last they reached the trail head for Hell Roaring. Across a valley of pine trees, they could see Capitol Peak in the distance. For a ­couple of hours, they climbed a trail winding through pine groves and open meadows, stopping to admire the mountains below, and the Continental Divide far in the distance to their east. The way was occasionally muddy, and more than once Sean fell to a knee. It was good to think of nothing but balance and foot placement, feel the air filling her lungs, and savor a deep drag of water from the tube of her CamelBak.

But at last they reached the beginning of snow up above the tree line. Grass spiked from it in clumps, and half-­buried rocks showed that there'd be deeper drifts ahead. She hated post-­holing, because you never knew how deep your leg would sink or what it would hit.

Lyndsay turned to Sean, who'd fallen a bit behind. “Maybe we should turn back now. It's a bad time of year to be up here without crampons for the bottom of our boots.”

“But we're almost to the ridge,” Sean protested. “Another hour at most. Your boots can take the mud and snow, right?”

She hesitated, her eyes shielded from the sun beneath her visor. At last, she pulled her gloves out of her pack to combat the cold. “Okay, a little bit longer. But I'm turning back when I want to, even if it means leaving you behind.”

“Of course! Let's have some gorp to refuel, and then we can keep going.”

“Hmm, good old raisins and peanuts.”

“You bet.”

“Hand 'em over.”

He laughed, and they sat side by side on boulders, admiring the view of the valley below and the peaks of mountains dusted with snow in the distance. It was a ­couple hours past noon, beginning to verge on being too late to hike this high without overnight gear. She'd just go another hour at most, no more.