One Hot Summer (3 page)

Tall trees stretched over the trail, their branches shaggy with leaves and casting mottled shadows on the narrow trail. Remedy stuffed her phone in the back pocket of her jean shorts and marveled at the peace. If this had been the park nearest to Remedy's old apartment in Los Angeles, it'd be littered with trash and she'd be bracing for a homeless person to pop out from the dense tangles of underbrush.

After the weeks of stress and damage control that had accompanied her fall from grace in Hollywood, followed by weeks of even more stress and damage control at her new job at the resort, the heady scent of drying grass and live oaks was a balm for her battered spirit. As she strolled, she held her hand out so her fingers brushed the thickets of green that she passed—wildflowers perhaps, their blooms all but memories. This trail would be vivid with color in the spring, but the crisp heat of late June had baked the wilderness into a dull palette of greens and browns.

When she reached the creek, an egret startled and lit off on fast wings. Remedy slipped her feet from her shoes and climbed onto the rock that seemed to have been placed at the water's edge for just such a purpose. At the first touch of cool water on her skin, she released an exhalation she hadn't known she'd been holding on to. This was exactly what she needed today. Bracing her hands on the rock behind her, she closed her eyes and tipped her head back, smiling.

Another diesel engine rumbled by in the distance, reminding her how close the road was. As far as illusions went, the one she was fighting to hold on to—that she was out in the boonies, alone with nothing but her thoughts and nature—was a flimsy one. Squeezing her eyes closed, she flexed her toes out wide and concentrated on the cool water tickling the skin between them. A gusty breeze carried off the last of her misgivings. The street might only be a few hundred yards away, but this place was still a zillion times more beautiful and peaceful than L.A.

A man hollered from not too far away. Remedy's eyes flew open. The holler was followed by splashing, as if a fellow hiker was wrestling a fish. Then a white disposable foam cooler floated into view. Next into view was a pair of young, shirtless good ol' boys, sloshing through the creek in hot pursuit of the escapee.

The cuter of the two paused long enough to tip the brim of his black ball cap. “Afternoon, ma'am.”

“Um, hi.”

“Wind took our cooler clean off my tailgate.” His light blue eyes sparkled with mischief. She kept her gaze on them rather than give in to temptation to check out his ripped, smooth chest or thoroughly soaked red board shorts. He had to be at least five years younger than she and exactly the type of guy she'd pledged to her friends that she'd steer clear of while in Texas. He probably had a Skoal ring outline on his back pocket, like she'd seen so many times in Dulcet already.

Her girlfriends might have made her pledge a
suits, not boots
motto before she'd left L.A., but a little harmless flirting never hurt anyone. With an arch of her back, she pressed her lips into the beginning of a smile. “You can't let that happen. Without a cooler, what're you going to store your beer in?”

His broad smile in response revealed two deep dimples and a mouth of gleaming white teeth. “Exactly. Looks like you and I understand each other.”

His friend crowded near him, holding the cooler and bumping the blue-eyed charmer's shoulder as he angled into Remedy's line of sight. “You're new to Ravel County.”

This one was cute enough, too, with shaggy blond hair showing beneath a straw cowboy hat that made him seem more surfer than cowboy. He was as young as his friend and radiated a manic, yet harmless, puppy dog energy. She beamed at him. “That obvious?”

Blue Eyes rubbed his chin and squinted at her. “I bet you work at Briscoe Ranch.”

“Lucky guess.”

He waved it off. “Naw. Not really. More'n half the people here call Ty Briscoe their employer.”

“You boys do, too?” A flutter of anxiety had her holding her breath. She'd kept her distance from Briscoe Ranch employee get-togethers because she was in management. It was one thing to have an occasional drink with her employees and quite another to let her hair down around them. And blatant flirting? That would be all kinds of wrong.

“No, ma'am,” they said in chorus.

“Good answer.” She ran her fingers through her hair and let her gaze dip below Blue Eyes' face.
Mm-mmm-mm.

“Now it's settled,” the shaggy blond said, his attention straying to her legs. “You've got to come have a beer with us. The rest of the guys probably have the party all set up by now.”

Tempting. But she'd set off on her creek adventure to find peace and quiet, not play the part of the Daisy Duke–wearing prize for a bunch of country boys, even if they were lookers. She patted the rock. “I'm good right here, but thanks anyway.”

Blue Eyes sloshed toward her, the shimmer in his gaze now a slow burn. “No way. You're new in town and we couldn't call ourselves gentlemen if we didn't introduce you around, help you get acquainted with Ravel County's finest.”

She tipped her ear toward her shoulder and gave them a sidelong glance full of flirty interest. “You mean, you two aren't Ravel County's finest?”

They chuckled and puffed their chests out. Considering that she didn't plan to take the flirtation a hair past this harmless exchange, that comment had been a bit overboard, but she couldn't help herself. These boys were good-looking and sweet and, well, it'd been a while since she'd been objectified quite so deliciously.

Before she knew what was happening, Blue Eyes grabbed her by the hand and pulled her into the creek. She squealed at the cold water licking at the tattered hems of her shorts and gaped up at him, not so much mad as surprised. “Really?”

“Gall dang it, I'm sorry to accidentally get you all wet like that,” he said without the slightest bit of remorse. “Now you've got no choice but to let me make it up to you with a beer or two.” He set his hand on his chest over his heart. “I insist.”

Well, Remedy. You wanted to learn how to fit in with the natives, and this is your chance
. She didn't have anything waiting for her back at the cottage other than leftover macaroni and cheese she'd ferreted from the resort's kitchen the night before and a defunct air-conditioning unit. Peace and quiet be damned. The day was young and so was she.

She left them hanging for a long breath, then, “Okay, you win. A beer.” She poked him in the chest. “But only because you owe me.”

He held his hand out again. “Name's Chet Bowman.”

She eyeballed his hand suspiciously. “You're not going to pull me underwater, right?”

“Wouldn't dream of it.”

“I'll kick his ass if he does,” Shaggy Blond said with earnest gusto.

Remedy shook Chet's hand. “Remedy Lane.” She braced on the off-chance he recognized it. There weren't that many Remedys in the world and even fewer whose birth announcements had made it into the pages of
People
magazine. But all Chet did was beam, deepening those to-die-for dimples. “That's a right pretty name.”

Shaggy Blond took her hand next. “Dusty Wilmington.”

“Nice to meet you both. Let me grab my shoes and we'll get on with that beer you owe me.”

Around the bend and down a ways from Remedy's rock, the creek curved near the road. Along the shoulder sat a row of trucks and cars, including the hulking black truck she'd seen from her back deck. The black truck's tailgate was down; sitting on top were a case of beer, a melting bag of ice, and two watermelons. Chet poured the ice in the cooler, then stacked beers on top. Dusty hoisted a watermelon onto his shoulder, then made a gallant attempt to lift the second. Remedy waved him off, then slid the watermelon off the tailgate and into her arms.

Loaded down with the party goods, they slogged along a trail that followed the creek farther than Remedy had explored on her own. She was about to ask them how much farther they had to go when the scent of charcoal briquettes wafted through the air. They emerged from the trail onto a wide, sandy bank at the elbow junction of the creek and an expansive, slow-moving river.

Remedy froze, taking it all in. On the river, at least a dozen people floated in inner tubes of every size and color. Shade covers, beach chairs, and barbecues dotted the sand on both sides of the riverbank, and a rolling beat of a country song drifted through the air from speakers sitting on a folding table.

Dusty nudged her with his watermelon. “Welcome to summer in hill country, Bubba-style.”

For the past two weeks, Remedy had been so busy moving in, ingratiating herself to Emily the chef, and chasing down runaway elephants that she'd barely taken a breath. This might not be a Southern California beach or the peace and quiet she craved, but it looked like all kinds of fun. She smiled at her two hosts. Bubba-style fun indeed. She could already see herself dragging one of those chairs to the water's edge and decompressing from her tough workweek with a beer in her hand.

“Chet, you're a genius. Thank you for insisting I join you.”

He touched the brim of his ball cap. “The pleasure's all mine.” He reached his arms out. “Let me take that watermelon from you.”

Dusty and other strapping young men scrambled their way, their arms waving. “The police are here! Quick, everybody run for cover!” They jumped behind a wall of bushes. The music turned off and a madcap exit ensued.

Remedy's mouth dropped open. She gaped at Chet, hoping for answers, because why would running help if the police were on their way? Where would they go to escape and why would they need to? Were they doing something illegal? Instead of answering her questions, all Chet did was shove the watermelon back in her hands. “Here. You stall them. They wouldn't arrest a pretty thing like you.”

“What are you talking about? Arrest?”

But Chet was already gone, along with the rest of the party attendees, leaving Remedy standing alone in the middle of the bank holding a damn watermelon, her face probably as red as one.

She knew she'd been the butt of a practical joke when out of the trees emerged yet another Texas good ol' boy, this one broader, taller, and a bit older than the rest. Beneath a dark cowboy hat he sported dark sunglasses and a smirk on his lips from which a toothpick balanced.

As he swaggered out from the shadow of the trees, she took note of a black gun strapped to his belt and a barbed-wire tattoo encircling his upper arm just below where the sleeve of his red cotton T-shirt stretched around his muscles. Yeah, this was no police officer. If this was a Bubba-style summer party, as Dusty called it, then this, right here, was the Alpha Bubba.

His gaze zeroed in on Remedy in an instant. The toothpick shifted to the corner of his mouth. His smirk twitched as though he was deliberating about smiling but decided against it.

“Nice melon.”

Snickers and laughs coming from the bushes prompted her to look down at the watermelon in her arms, but her focus landed on the cleavage revealed by her tank top, which had apparently been tugged down by the watermelon.

Wait—did Alpha Bubba say
melon
or
melons
?

Remedy opened and closed her mouth a couple times before finding her voice. “Chet and Dusty…” She hooked a thumb over her shoulder.

“They put you up to this?”

“I helped them carry a watermelon.” Damn, that came out sounding stupid, but Alpha Bubba had her all kinds of flustered.

It was impossible to see what his eyes were up to behind those dark glasses, but otherwise his expression remained that of bored amusement. “Got a name?” he drawled.

Though her heart was racing and she'd made herself out to be an idiot, she decided to own her dorkiness outright, because who the hell was this jerk to stand there and make her feel unwelcome and off-balance?

“Are you talking about the melon or me? Because I was thinking of calling this beauty Thelma.” She shifted the melon higher on her hip and, though Alpha Bubba was as intimidating as any A-list movie director, she strode forward, plucked the hat from his head, and dropped it onto the watermelon. “That's better.” She mimicked his drawl. “Thelma was getting a little tuckered out in this sun.”

His light brown hair was sweaty and unruly … and way too dangerously sexy for a man who was taking advantage of Texas's open-carry gun law. His tongue poked against his cheek as his smirk turned into a grin. “You must think we're pretty quaint around here, don't you, California?”

“How did you know that's where I'm from?”

He lifted his hat from the watermelon and dropped it back on his head, then pulled it low over his forehead. “'Cause that's where the crazies are, and a city girl like you would have to be crazy to let these fools talk you into partying with them.”

“Hey now, Micah,” Chet said, crashing through the bushes. “Nothing says we've got to share our beer with you if you're gonna be a dick.”

Micah. It fit, even though he made a better Alpha Bubba—and she'd be better off referring to him as such, lest those smirking blue eyes and killer body made her liberal, feminist heart forget her
suits, not boots
pledge.

Chet dropped his hand onto Remedy's shoulder as the rest of the guys stomped back onto the riverbank. “I was just having a little fun with my new friend. You might call it an initiation into life in Dulcet.”

“I can see that,” Micah said dryly.

Behind Chet, Dusty cackled, his attention on Remedy. “You should've seen the look on your face when we yelled, ‘Police!' and dove for cover.” He dissolved into laughter and stumbled back to offer the gathering group of men high fives.

All right, fine. She was the butt of their joke. All that meant was that she'd called it right that she'd be an oddity on display at their little party. Whatever. Time to ditch the watermelon, grab a beer, and make the most of her decision to go along with Chet and Dusty's invitation. She shuffled to the nearest table and hoisted the heavy melon on top.