Chapter 1
Glass pumpkins reflected and refracted the bright October morning light as they marched in rows down a long table. A few stragglers nestled into rough barnwood crates lent a rustic, avant-garde flair to the display.
Brooke Roberts ran one long, tapered finger across an amber-hued pumpkin, tracing the curve of the glass she’d painstakingly shaped and blown.
“I sure hope someone purchases a few of these pumpkins,” she whispered to herself, hoping she wouldn’t have to pack dozens of them back to her studio. Although she was new to the town of Romance, she already loved the tight-knit community. When she heard about the Fall Festival, an event to raise funds for Finding Forever Animal Rescue, she eagerly volunteered to have a booth.
Two months ago, she’d been on her way to Portland from Santa Cruz when a freak summer storm forced her to stop. Relentless torrents of rain pelted her windshield and the wind whipped so hard, it blew her right into the town of Romance. Della’s Diner provided a place of refuge from the storm. Brooke stayed for lunch, indulged in a piece of marionberry pie, and decided she’d found her new home. The pie was incredible, among the best she’d ever tasted. But the decision to move to the friendly town came from watching the people in the diner, how they all seemed to care about one another, encourage each other, and laugh together.
After spending most of her life alone, Brooke felt an indescribable need to be part of something, to belong somewhere. The Fall Festival provided a perfect opportunity for her to delve into the new experience of participating in a joint community effort.
A quick glance at her watch confirmed she had time before the official start of the event to peek at some of the other booths. She wandered past a cakewalk booth where two women placed numbered pumpkin shapes on the ground. They appeared ready for the youngsters and young at heart who’d try to win one of the cakes loading down a nearby table.
“It’s a beautiful morning, isn’t it?” Brooke said to a lovely young woman with auburn hair.
“It certainly is.” The woman responded with a smile and held out a hand to Brooke. “I’m Audrey Foster, and this is my sister-in-law, Allie.”
“Brooke Roberts,” she said, shaking Audrey’s hand then Allie’s. “Those cakes look delicious.”
Allie nudged Audrey. “Hopefully we’ll have enough to get through the day.”
“Is this usually a well-attended event?” Brooke asked, taking in the assortment of booths around the town square.
“It typically is a great event, especially when the weather cooperates like it is today,” Allie said, then looked beyond Brooke to her booth across the way. “Is that your booth?”
Brooke nodded. “I’m fairly new in town, but I recently opened Blown Away, a blown glass studio.”
“I think I saw something about that in the newspaper’s business section,” Audrey said. “If that’s a sample of your work, it’s amazing.” She motioned to the display of pumpkins.
“Thank you.” Brooke visited a few minutes with the two women. Audrey was a therapist while Allie and her husband were veterinarians at Happy Paws Animal Hospital.
“Come back later and see if you can win a cake,” Audrey said when Brooke wished them well and left their booth.
Luck had never been on her side, so Brooke had no plans to indulge in games of chance. She continued on her way, observing booths set up to sell cider, caramel apples, and German sausages that smelled delicious in the crisp morning air.
Staff from a local radio station set up near the gazebo where people would gather around to dance and celebrate such a glorious fall day.
Volunteers hurried in and out of a large tent where they settled the animals available for adoption. Brooke had always wanted a pet, but with her nomadic lifestyle, she’d never owned one. She rarely stayed in one town more than a year, packing up and moving to the next place that sounded interesting. However, Romance called to her to set down roots. This was the first time she’d opened her own studio, rather than renting space in a larger collective of artists.
The thought of a dog or cat to keep her company held a great deal of appeal. Perhaps later, after the festival, she could look into adopting an animal. Surely, someone in the adoption tent would give her basic directions. She’d never cared for anyone or anything except herself — at least not for a long time.
Brooke watched the vendors making final preparations, drawn into their palpable energy as she headed for the street directly behind her booth. The city had blocked off the street around the square for the festival, giving pedestrians more room to walk and additional spaces for booths. As she stepped off the curb and into the street, a group of ponies being led to the pony ride area caught her eye, leaving her oblivious to anything else around her.
“Hey, watch out! Get out of the way!” a man yelled to her immediate right. His deep, gravelly voice held a mixture of frustration and fear. “Whoa, Girl. Pull up there, Boy!”
Brooke’s head snapped up as two huge beasts came to an abrupt stop a few feet away from her, tossing massive heads and blowing puffs of air as they jangled shiny harnesses. Startled, she jumped back and tripped. A quick grab for a metal pole holding a traffic sign was all that kept her from falling onto her backside.
Heart thundering in her ears, she glared at the horses, noticing they pulled a large red wagon with hay bales on it, presumably for the hayrides she’d seen advertised. The angle of the sun shone right in her eyes, making it impossible to see the man driving the team of horses. If his voice was any indication, he was probably a grizzled old man, short on patience and full of cantankerous wisdom.
Brooke couldn’t help but cringe at how she’d blindly stepped right in front of the hulking team. Rather than feeling irritated at the driver for yelling at her, she should be grateful he’d caught her attention and brought the horses to a halt before she got hurt.
Never, not once in any of the towns where she’d resided, had being trampled by horses been a relevant concern. In fact, this was the closest Brooke had ever been to a horse. The unique smell of them drifted to her, along with the hint of cinnamon wafting on the breeze from the cider booth.
“Are you crazy, lady?” the man asked, although his censorious tone made it sound more like a definitive statement than a question.
“No, I just… I wasn’t…” Brooke stammered. Blunt and never at a loss for words, the ability for her to speak coherently fled the moment the driver swung off the wagon in one fluid motion.
Instead of the old man she’d pictured with salt-and-pepper stubble on his face and a rotund belly draping over his waistband, a rugged cowboy covered the distance to her in a few long-legged strides. She gauged him to be around thirty as he turned startling blue eyes on her, pinning her with a cool glare.
Brooke might have bristled at his look, except his handsome face distracted her, right along with his broad shoulders and solid chest. Dark blue jeans covered the heavy muscles of his thighs and stacked over his dusty boots. Didn’t guys only look like that in the movies or in big glossy advertisements?
Even covered by his black western shirt, the outline of his biceps were easy to detect. The muscles bulged as he stood with his gloved hands fisted at his waist, as though he saw her as a misbehaving child in need of discipline.
“You better pay more attention to where you’re going, miss, or you might get hurt.” As though he just realized he wasn’t speaking to a ten-year-old, his scowl lifted into a rascally grin. “Anyone as pretty as you most certainly shouldn’t end up as road kill.”
Aggravated with his flirting, Brooke narrowed her gaze, all too aware of his brilliant smile, the entirely too alluring cleft in his chin, and the dark brown hair barely visible beneath the brim of his hat. “So, if I was homely, it would be okay for your horses to run right over the top of me? Is that what you mean?”
Visibly, he released a long breath then used his index finger to push up the brim of his black Stetson, revealing more of that sable-colored hair. How could a man have such gleaming, pretty hair? A finger-tempting wave made her fingers itch to brush it away from his forehead.
The smile on his face dripped into another scowl. “That isn’t what I meant, ma’am. I’m sorry Girl and Boy almost stepped on you, but with all the people that will soon flood the festival, you really should pay attention to what is going on around you. You’re lucky I was watching or they really might have harmed you.”
Brooke chose to ignore his admonishment and instead pointed to his horses. “You named those beautiful creatures Girl and Boy?”
A boyish grin weakened her knees as he removed his gloves, and stepped back to rest a hand on the shoulder of one of the horses. “Sure did. Raised these two from the time they were born. They’re twin Belgian draft horses.” He looked at her then motioned for her to come closer. “You can pet them, if you like.”
“I don’t think…”
He grabbed her hand and lifted it to the neck of the horse. “Girl won’t mind,” he said in his gravel-tinged voice.
A shiver rolled over her and she would have stepped away, but he’d blocked her in with his big body. The man behind her exuded warmth and strength, and smelled better than anything that had previously tantalized her nose. On top of all that, he was tall, too. At five-ten, Brooke intimidated most men with her height. This cowboy, though, stood several inches above her.
Flustered by the jolts of electricity firing up her arm as he continued to brush her hand along the animal’s hide, she tamped down the urge to jerk from his grasp and stalk off.
Emotional attachments always ended badly and that was exactly what she wanted from this good-looking cowboy with the easy smile. What would it be like to be able to lean into that incredible chest after a tiring day or just hold his warm, callused hand when she needed a bit of comfort?
Since she’d never find out, she took a step to the side, maneuvering away from him.
“What did you say these horses are? Belgiums? Like a waffle?”
“Belgians.” He grinned as he rubbed a hand along the face of the horse he’d called Girl. “Actually, their father was a Belgian and their mother is an Appaloosa, that’s why they have unique coloring and are so big.”
“Appaloosa horses are the ones with the spots?” Brooke wracked her brain for any tidbit of information that would help her sound anything other than stupid in front of Mr. Handsome.
“That’s right. The spots and this dark red coloring along their necks and chests are from their mother. Their size and temperament come from their father.” He gave her a long, observant glance. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around Romance before. I’m Blayne Grundy. My ranch, the Rockin’ G, is about ten miles south of town.”
“Brooke Roberts,” she said, holding his gaze although she reluctantly shook his proffered hand. Braced for the impact, a zing raced from their connected palms up her arm and rattled her already discordant thoughts. She needed to get away from the cowboy before she said or did something she’d regret. “I need to go. Thank you for not running over me.”
“I’m sorry for shouting at you, but you seemed far too absorbed in your thoughts to notice the horses.” Blayne gave her a smile that most likely left women falling at his feet anytime he flashed it around.
Regardless of what he intended, she refused to let that smile or his charm faze her. “Enjoy your day,” she said and turned away from him, from the temptation he unwittingly offered.
“Do you have a booth here?” he asked, taking a step toward her.
Rather than answer, she pretended she didn’t hear him and hurried off through the crowds that gathered for the event.
Determined to put Blayne Grundy and his hunky presence out of her mind, she hurried back to her booth, prepared to hide there all day if necessary.