Hometown Holiday Reunion (20 page)

Dear Reader,

Welcome back to Oaks Crossing!

The moment sweet, shy Parker Smith showed up at a grade school play in
Her Small-Town Cowboy
, he grabbed my attention. From his awful past to his more hopeful future, he showed so much potential I just knew I had to write a story that would give him the happy ending every foster child deserves.

Erin felt much the same way when she first met him. Lost and alone, he needed plenty of understanding, patience and love, all of which she was more than willing to give him. But as much as she cared about him, she recognized that he needed things she didn't have. Finding those things in Cam was a big surprise for her, not to mention for him. That these two old rivals could put aside their differences to focus on the present is a testament to what people can accomplish when they're determined to succeed.

While their working together began as a practical matter, gradually they began to appreciate each other in a more personal way. Both of them were inspired by Parker's bright optimism and compassion for the people and animals he met during his time in Oaks Crossing. His attitude encouraged them to take a step back and view each other with fresh eyes. This new perspective allowed them to recognize traits they'd never noticed before and take their first steps toward becoming the forever family that Parker wanted more than anything.

If you'd like to stop by for a visit, you'll find me online at
www.miaross.com
, Facebook, Twitter and Goodreads. While you're there, send me a message in your favorite format. I'd love to hear from you!

Mia Ross

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A Temporary Courtship

by Jenna Mindel

Chapter One

C
onservation officer Darren Zelinsky blew out his breath and stared at the Bay Willows Association community building. He'd been here more times than he cared to remember with Raleigh, the woman he'd once planned to marry. He wasn't here today by choice either.

Bay Willows was a private summer resort located within his hometown of Maple Springs, Michigan. The large white two-story Victorian structure before him, complete with a broad porch on one side, reminded him of what he'd lost. And what he hoped to gain by coming here.

Ice cream socials were held on that porch. The last time he'd been to an ice cream social two years ago with his girl, it had taken every ounce of willpower to play nice with people he'd resented since he was kid. People who'd looked down their noses at a local, making him feel like an awkward teen trying to protect his turf.

Darren had Local Yokel stamped on his forehead, and that wasn't ever going to change. He didn't want it to. He loved not only Maple Springs but also the entire Tip of the Mitt. It was why he was so good at his job with the state's Department of Natural Resources.

The late April afternoon had turned warm and sunny. A perfect day for mushrooming. Teri, his supervisor, had asked him to fill in for her wild edibles class. This wasn't for fun, it was work. This was the opportunity he needed, too, because he wanted her job.

Rumor had it that Teri might not return from maternity leave with her late-in-life surprise baby. He'd also heard that her husband relocated to the town they'd come from downstate. Good news for Darren. He didn't want to come in second place this time. The supervisor job should have been his over two years ago, but his regional boss had gone with Teri instead, a more seasoned CO several years older than Darren. Teri was used to dealing with a more diverse population.

He glanced around the area he'd avoided for nearly two years. He had to prove himself here. Prove he had what it took to get along with these people. But so many bad memories resided here, alongside these beautiful people.

Most cottages remained shut up for winter. The majority of summer residents arrived in time for Memorial Day, a month away yet. Summertime in Maple Springs was gorgeous, but with the beauty came the crowds. His town swelled with part-timers and tourists overtaking the shops and sidewalks and slowing down traffic.

Bay Willows threw open her gates on April 1. Half a dozen or so of those early residents had signed up for this class. Every week for the next few, Darren would instruct uppity summer residents how not only to prepare but also to find wild edibles. He was more than qualified. He'd been scouring the woods since he was a kid. He knew where to find everything Teri had planned before her doctor called her out.

Farm to table was big right now, and foraging for local fare had become an
in
thing. If there was one thing he'd learned about Bay Willows, being
in
was important. Darren had never been one for fads or passing fancies. Safety was his thing. Protecting the area he loved.

But God had a funny way of making a man face his past. And his failures. So here Darren stood in front of the Bay Willows community building, a place he'd vowed never to step foot in again, hoping to somehow rewind history. He wanted a different outcome this time. He'd not only get the job he wanted but also get over Raleigh, banishing her from his soul so he could move on.

She wouldn't be here. She'd hated these kinds of things, calling the classes and workshops given by Bay Willows “hokey gatherings for bored housewives and grandmothers.” She'd had a rebellious streak when it came to this place, disdaining it almost as much as he. Maybe that was what had made him attractive to her in the first place. He didn't belong here and Raleigh knew that, but he hadn't been good enough to keep. In the end, she'd left him.

Music tugged his attention away from his dark thoughts. String music. A violin?

“Good. Now pick up the pace. Like this,” a woman's voice, muffled and barely discernible, encouraged.

He heard a deeper string sound emanate from above, streaming out an open second-floor window like a soft spring rain. Mellow and warm, the song wrapped around him. For a moment, he forgot why he didn't want to be here. Even his plan to go over the class notes one more time faded away as he simply listened.

The violin joined in, trying to keep up. Whoever played the deeper sounding instrument was good. Really good. The music suddenly stopped, followed by the scrape of a chair. “Sorry, but I've got to run.” A pause and then, “Let me know if you need help.”

He couldn't hear the response. Whoever played the violin kept going, but the richer-sounding instrument was done.
Bummer
. It wasn't a bass. What were those things called...

Darren shifted his satchel and focused on the double doors ahead. Time to go to work. He took one more sweeping look around the clump of a few buildings that made up the Bay Willows administrative campus in the midst of summer cottages arranged by the lake. Confident his ex-fiancée wasn't lurking in the shadows, Darren stepped inside.

The community room had a kitchen where he'd demonstrate how to prepare what they found in the field. He took over a table at the front of the main room and pulled out the required paperwork. Liability waivers, emergency contact information and wild edible booklets for each attendee along with a calendar of class topics and a list of suggested items to bring on each outing. He was as ready as he'd ever be.

“Mr. Zelinsky?”

He jerked his head up at the sound of a feminine voice. “Yes?”

A slight woman with dark brown hair framing a pretty face stood before him, scattering his thoughts. She was average height but delicate-looking; her full lips stained red made her creamy skin look that much lighter. Her bangs had been cut short and jagged as if she'd let a kid loose with scissors. His sisters had had dolls with choppy bangs like that by the time they'd gotten done with them. The rest of the woman's thick hair was long and straight.

Her eyes were a wild golden color framed by dark lashes, putting him in mind of the bobcat he'd come upon last winter. No eye makeup, as far as he could tell; she didn't need it. She stepped closer and held out her hand. “Bree Anderson. My mother, Joan, organized this class, but she's off her feet with a broken ankle, so I'm here to help.”

Momentarily mesmerized by those eyes, he didn't take her offered hand. “Help?”

She looked at him like he might be dim-witted—the typical local boy without a brain. “You know, help with anything you may need since you're sort of filling in at the last minute.”

He'd had a good week's notice. Plenty of time. “What did you say your name was?”

“Bree. Bree Anderson.” She let her hand drop.

On the edge of uppity, the name suited her. Bree Anderson looked exactly like what he'd expect.
Pampered
,
sheltered
and
expensive
were written all over her.

“Like the cheese?” He threw out that verbal jab without thinking.

Amusement shone from Bree's eyes instead of offense. Her mouth lifted, making deep dimples in her cheeks. One more thing to tease him. “Yes. Exactly like the cheese but with two
e
's and no
i
.”

She had a slight lilt in her voice. Not a prominent accent or anything, simply a different way of enunciating certain words that made it obvious she wasn't from around here.

“Got it. My name's Darren.” He handed over the forms. She'd be his liaison, then, the link between a backward local and the
in
summer folk. “You might as well read and sign these. Everyone needs to complete them before we go anywhere. Let me know if you have any questions.”

“Sure thing.” She bit the top of the pen as she read over the forms. Straight white teeth were framed by those full, bow-shaped red lips. Who wore red lipstick?

Who cared? He liked it.

Tightening his jaw, he turned away. He needed to stop noticing things about her, now. Noticing led to attraction, and that could only lead to trouble. Darren had had enough trouble with one woman from Bay Willows to last a lifetime.

Bree signed her name in a tight scrawl and handed over the waiver. “Seems self-explanatory. Seek and eat at our own risk.”

“Exactly.” He took the signed forms without looking at her.

“Darren, is that you?”

His heart pitched when he heard that voice. Of course Raleigh's grandmother would sign up. She lived here during the open months of April through November when she wasn't in Florida. “It's me. How are you, Stel?”

“I didn't know you'd be teaching this class. The confirmation letter had a woman's name on it.” Stella hustled toward him for a big hug.

He returned it, of course. He'd always liked Raleigh's grandmother. She'd treated him well and had referred to him as her new favorite grandson. She'd accepted him as-is—the only one of them who'd done so.

“Teri went out early on maternity leave,” Darren explained.

“Oh.” Stella's gaze narrowed. “Bree! I didn't expect to see you here. Do you two know each other?”

“We just met.” Bree smiled.

“Oh, well, good. That's good.” Stella's penciled-in eyebrows arched toward her hairline. “How's your mom?”

“She needs to stay off her feet for a while, but she'll be fine.”

“Fortunate for all of us. Yes, very fortunate.” Stella glanced from him to Bree and then back to him. “Joan broke her ankle playing tennis. Can you imagine?”

There were worse things broken in life, but Darren didn't say that. He nodded as he watched more people enter the room. Mostly women, but a couple of men joined them, too. All of them looked well beyond retirement age. Could these people safely tromp around in the woods? He'd find out soon enough.

* * *

Bree listened to the DNR guy, Darren, introduce himself and explain the scope of the class. There were ten students, including her. She recognized several but didn't really know anyone except for Stella. They'd often shared a practice room back in the day when Stella played the violin. Bree had given her a few lessons and had loved their time together. What the woman lacked in skill, she more than made up for in flamboyant kindness.

Bree spotted the wire mesh basket in Stella's hands. Everyone else had a container or bag of sorts. The two men each had green net bags like the ones her avocados came in. All her mother had told her was that they'd meet here, go foraging and then come back to the community room for a quick demonstration on cleaning and preparing what they'd found. She hadn't considered bringing a container.

But then, that was a logical deduction and Bree wasn't exactly into logic. She believed people could change, when in reality they couldn't or wouldn't. Not to mention, she'd been told a thousand times that her head was too filled with notes and chords to return the milk to the fridge.

Bree scanned the paper calendar. She looked forward to today's hunt for black morels. Next week was ramps—whatever those were—and fiddlehead ferns. Her stomach turned at the last one. Memories of an argument over trying something as harmless as fiddlehead ferns rang through her thoughts. She should have ended it with Philip back then.

She zeroed in on wild asparagus in a class three weeks from now. She'd never realized her favorite vegetable could be found out in the wild. She'd assumed it was grown in gardens, having only purchased it in a grocery store.

Bree had never had a garden of her own. She wouldn't have begun to know what to do with one. Hours of daily practice on the cello had been a priority all her life. She'd missed out on a few things. Maybe a lot of things, but she wouldn't trade her music for anything. Or anyone. She'd realized that almost too late.

She wouldn't miss out today. This class promised something different than her usual routine. Right now, Bree craved different. For the first time in a long while, she felt free. Free to do whatever she wanted before following her dreams. A few weeks of relative leisure before the hard work began. Toiling under the tutelage of an orchestral composer for the next two years was a dream come true and one that would require all her focus.

“If no one has any questions about the paperwork, I'll collect it now, and then we can head out.”

Bree snapped out of her thoughtful haze, helped gather up the signed waivers and handed them to Darren. “Here.”

“Thank you.” He gave her a tight nod, barely looking at her.

Bree couldn't help but look at him, though. His fingers were bare of any rings, and he had light brown hair that curled even though he kept it short. Despite the gray-green uniform he wore, she pictured him as a flannel shirt kind of guy. Like the lumberjack on those paper towel commercials. The breadth of Darren's shoulders hinted that he might not be a stranger to chopping wood.

Her pulse skittered when he caught her staring. His eyes were blue—bright blue and wary.

Bree smiled, hoping he understood that she meant no harm. She'd recently broken up with a man who'd nearly robbed her of her dreams. She wasn't about to risk another relationship that might trap her where she and her music had no place to grow.

“Let's load up.” Darren made his way to the door as if he couldn't get out fast enough. Away from her.

Bree laughed under her breath. Was she scary? All she'd done was smile. Okay, maybe she'd checked him out thoroughly. But who'd blame her? He was a good-looking guy. Not that she'd do anything about it. She wasn't even window-shopping.

But if she were...

Another laughable thought. Still, Darren Zelinsky made for one very handsome display.

“Come on, honey. This is going to be fun.” Stella patted her arm.