Chapter One
February
Sometimes it was hard to live in a town like Painted Barrel. The community was small and intimate and supportive, but it was impossible to have secrets. Worse than that, everyone seemed to think they knew what was best for you, even if you didn't agree.
Which meant Becca heard a lot of well-meaning advice daily, no matter how many times she tried to escape it.
"You really should get out there and start dating again," Mrs. Williams told her for the seventh time in the last hour. "A pretty thing like you? You don't want all your good years going to waste. If you want to start a family, you need to move fast."
And wasn't that just depressing? Becca did her best to smile as she plucked foils off Mrs. Williams's head, as if the woman's kind words weren't stabbing her in the heart. "I'm not sure I'm ready to date. I'll know when I meet the right person."
Her customer tsked. "Like I said, don't wait too long. You don't want to be the oldest mother at the PTA meetings." She nodded into the mirror at her reflection as if this was the worst thing in the world to happen. "It's very difficult for the children."
"I'll keep that in mind," Becca murmured as she pulled the last of the foils off Mrs. Williams's head. "Let's wash now, shall we?"
The good thing about washing was that because the water was going, it meant Becca didn't have to talk-or listen to Mrs. Williams talk. Thank goodness for that, because she needed a few minutes to compose herself. Becca had always thought that two years would be enough time to mend her broken heart. Two years surely should have been enough time to get over the man that left her on the eve of their wedding. It should have been enough time to get over the bitterness that swallowed her up every time she paid the credit card bills that she still had from the wedding that had never happened.
Instead, it all seemed to just irritate her more and more.
It didn't help that everyone in Painted Barrel still asked about the Wedding That Wasn't. Of course they did. Becca being left at the altar (well, practically) was the biggest scandal that Painted Barrel had had in all of the town's uninspiring history. She'd always been popular around town. She was moderately cute, tried her best to be friendly to everyone, ran her own local business, and, for ten years, she'd dated the ex-captain of the local football team, handsome, blond Greg Wallace.
Oh, Greg.
Greg was not good at making decisions about what he wanted in life. It had taken her ten years to figure out that particular tidbit of information, but once she had, it had explained so much. It explained why Greg never finished college, and why he'd never held down a job for longer than a year or two. It explained why he'd gone back and forth on their relationship, first wanting to see other people, then wanting Becca back, then getting engaged, calling it off, getting engaged again, and then deciding a few days before the wedding that he'd changed his mind and he was in love with another woman.
She'd been a damned idiot for far too long.
Becca scrubbed at Mrs. Williams's hair, asking about the woman's grandchildren without listening to the answer. Her thoughts were still on Greg. Why had she wasted so much time with him? Was she truly that stupid?
But, no, she supposed it wasn't stupidity as much as it was a soft heart, a fear of being alone, and the fact that Greg was a terrible decision maker but a great apologizer. He'd been so sweet every time he'd come crawling back that she'd felt like the world's worst person if she said no. So she said yes . . . and yes, and yes . . .
And now look where she was. Becca Loftis still had her salon in Painted Barrel, but she was turning thirty, she was utterly single, and now she was being warned that her womb was aging with every day that passed.
For someone that had always said she didn't want to turn into her mother, she sure was doing a terrible job of breaking that pattern. Heck, according to Mrs. Williams, she was failing children she hadn't even had yet and-
"Too hot," the woman under the water cried out. "Too hot, Becca!"
"Sorry," Becca said quickly, turning the water cooler and trying not to feel too ashamed. Even now, Greg was ruining her life, wasn't he? "You were saying it was Jimmy's sixth birthday last week?" She was relieved when Mrs. Williams settled back down in the salon chair and began to talk once more.
Enough Greg. She had customers to take care of.
Becca was sweeping up underneath the chair after her last appointment of the day when the door to the salon chimed. She looked up and inwardly felt a little stab of emotion when Sage Cooper-Clements waddled in, looking like a plump penguin with her puffy jacket and pregnant belly. The new mayor was the nicest woman, and once upon a time, Becca had thought she was the loveliest, most giving person, sweet and shy and eternally single.
Then Greg had decided he wanted Sage instead of Becca.
Then Sage had turned around and married some tall cowboy and immediately gotten pregnant.
Now Sage was the mayor of Painted Barrel and the new darling of the small town. Everyone loved her. Everyone touched her belly when she walked in and asked about her new husband. They asked about her family's ranch. They gave her advice and doted on her.
And Becca didn't hate her. Not really. It wasn't Sage's fault that Greg had bailed on Becca because he'd thought he was in love with Sage.
It was just that . . . it was hard not to be envious of someone who suddenly had everything you'd always wanted. Not the mayor thing, of course, but a loving husband and a baby? God, Becca had wanted so badly to be in her shoes.
She gave Sage a wistful smile. "Hey, Sage. How can I help you?"
Sage beamed at her and lumbered forward, all pregnancy belly and layers of warm clothing. She thrust a flyer toward Becca. "I just wanted to let you know that we're having a Small Business Summit next year to promote local tradesmen. All of the shops in Painted Barrel and the neighboring towns can rent booths in the gym and we're going to make a big festival of it. There'll be food and drinks, and everyone can sell goods from their booths. I wanted to invite you personally since you're on Main Street and one of this town's mainstays. I know it's not for a while, but I want to drum up enthusiasm ahead of time."
The pregnant mayor beamed at her, and Becca did her best to take the flyer with a modicum of excitement. It was just as Sage said, a festival featuring small businesses. "I'm not sure if I can do a haircutting booth," she admitted. At Sage's crestfallen look, she hastily amended, "But I'm sure I'll think of something! Maybe quickie manicures?"
"Wonderful! Just fill out the form on the back and turn it in at city hall and I'll make sure we save you a booth, okay?" Sage glanced around the hair salon awkwardly, her hand on her belly. She looked uncomfortable, but Becca kept smiling, even though it felt frozen on her face. They'd been friends before the Wedding That Wasn't, and now it was a little tricky finding the right footing once more.
They smiled at each other for a moment longer, and silence fell.
Please don't say anything about Greg, Becca thought. Please don't-
"I'm really sorry about how things turned out, Becca," Sage said softly. She bit her lip, her hand running up and down the large bulge of baby belly under her sweater. "You know I had no idea that he was going to do that."
Becca somehow found it in her to keep smiling. "Don't apologize, Sage. It was all him, okay? No one should have to make excuses for Greg." That big walking human turd Greg. "He's a grown man."
"Yeah, but I feel responsible-"
"You're not." She cut the other woman off, just wanting the conversation to end. Couldn't Sage see that this was the last thing that Becca wanted to talk about? With anyone? Certainly not with the happy, glowing pregnant woman Greg thought he was in love with? "Please. Let's just not bring it up ever again, okay?"
"Okay, so, uh, I'm going to go," Sage said, thumbing a gesture at the door.
Becca held up the flyer. "I'll make sure and get this filled out, I promise."
"Great. Awesome." Sage turned toward the door, waving. "I'll talk to you later!"
"Bye." She stayed in place, clutching the broom handle in one hand, the flyer in the other, until Sage headed out of the salon and down the cold, snowy sidewalk of quaint Main Street. Once the other woman disappeared, Becca returned to calmly sweeping . . .
For all of a minute. Her hands were shaking and she gave up, setting the broom down and then walking to her small office at the back of the salon, where she kept her bookkeeping items and the tiny refrigerator with her lunch. She shut the door behind her, thumped down on a stool, and took a long, steeling breath.
She would not cry.
She would not cry.
Greg didn't deserve her tears. He'd had ten years of her life, keeping her on hold and promising her that they'd get married soon, soon, soon, and then soon finally had a date . . . a date he'd never gone along with. She'd given him enough of her time and energy. She wanted to move on.
Why wouldn't anyone let her freaking move on?
She swiped at the corners of her eyes carefully, proud that there were only a few stray tears instead of the normal deluge. Good. That meant she wouldn't have to go to extremes to fix her makeup, just a little touch-up here and there. She could end the day on a high note, in case she had any walk-ins. Of course, if she did have one, they'd probably just ask her about Greg again . . .
Her lip wobbled. Damn it.
As Becca sniffed and dabbed her face dry, the door opened in the main area of the salon, the bell chiming. Crap. Sage had probably come back to apologize again, and that would make Becca cry even harder and ruin her evening. She'd just have to somehow tell the well-meaning pregnant woman that really, truly, she was fine and really, honestly, she did not want to talk about it. Gritting her teeth, she forced a bright smile to her face, pinched her cheeks so the rosiness there would hopefully distract from her red eyes, and opened the door to face Sage.
Except . . . it wasn't Sage.
The hulking man that stood in the doorway wasn't anything like the mayor. In fact, Becca had never seen this man in her life. That was something interesting in itself, considering that Painted Barrel was a small town nestled in the less populated north of Wyoming, and most of the people that lived here tended to be lifers. Becca had grown up here, and she knew everyone in the small town. It was both comfort and annoyance-and lately it had been far more of the latter.
This man was a stranger, though. She stared at him, doing her best not to gape. He wore a light jacket, and under it a faded black-and-red-checked shirt. The jacket seemed almost too tight for the massive breadth of his shoulders. He was tall, maybe six and a half feet, but more intimidating than that were his arms, which seemed like tree trunks, and his black beard, which seemed like something out of a Paul Bunyan storybook. He wore jeans and big, muddy work boots, and a dark cowboy hat covered longish, unkempt hair. It was light wear for the snowy weather they were having, really.
He really did seem like Paul Bunyan come to life if Paul Bunyan was a cowboy, but wasn't Paul Bunyan friendly? This man had a massive scowl on his face, as if he hated the world around him.
Becca blinked and tried to size the man up, thinking fast. There weren't many outsiders in this part of town right now. Either he'd gotten lost and needed directions or he was one of the new ranch hands. Not at Sage's ranch, because Becca had met those nice gentlemen-former soldiers looking to start a new life. The only other "outsiders" in the area were the three new ranch hands at the Swinging C up in the mountains, and those were Dr. Ennis Parson's nephews. She hadn't met any of them, but rumor had it that they were from the wilds of Alaska, here to help out for a year.
This man definitely fit the Alaska stereotype. He didn't look like a typical customer. Heck, he didn't even look like he'd ever been to a salon. That beard was untamed and so was the hair under the hat. She'd bet his nail beds were rough and his hands were covered in calluses.
It was a mystery why he'd shown up in her salon. Becca was just about to open her mouth and ask if he was lost when something pink behind his massive jeans-clad thigh moved.
Then she saw the little girl.
The big cowboy was holding the hand of the tiniest, daintiest little creature. Becca's heart melted as the small face peeped around his leg and her thumb went into her mouth. The girl in the little pink parka watched Becca with big eyes, not moving out from behind her protector's leg.
Well. This must be the daddy. It was clear he was here not for himself but for his little girl. That did something to her heart. For all that he was slightly terrifying, Paul Bunyan was a dad and this little one wasn't scared of him.
"Hi there," Becca said brightly to the two of them.
The man just gazed at her with dark eyes. He said nothing, and after a long moment, he gently tugged on the hand of the little girl, leading her forward a step.
All right, he wasn't much of a talker. Ranching took all kinds, and she wasn't surprised that this one was a silent type. It was kind of ironic if he was related to Doc Parson, though, because that veterinarian was the nicest man but definitely a talker. She studied the little girl, who stood in front of her enormous father, sucking her thumb. Her cheeks were fat and rosy, and she wore the most adorable little pink coat. Underneath it, Becca could see striped pink-and-white leggings. Her hood was down and the soft golden curls atop her head looked haphazard, pulled into a high, tight knot.
