Maverick Vs. Maverick

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Walker still didn’t know what she meant by that. He’d given her everything he could, or thought he had. The lines had been blurred, though, because Theresa had worked for him, and more often than not, their date night conversations had been about work. She’d wanted more romance, she told him, more of his heart.

He’d told her he wasn’t sure he had a heart to give. Work had been his passion for so long, he didn’t know any other way to live. Eventually Theresa had given up on him and moved on. Last he heard, she had married an accountant and was expecting their first child. There were days when Walker wondered if maybe he’d missed out on something great. But those moments only lasted a second, because he was smart enough to know he was happiest when he was at work.

Once again Lindsay Dalton sprang into his mind. She was the kind of woman, Walker was sure, who would want the romance and the kids and the house with a yard. She might be all business in the courtroom, but he sensed a softness about her, a sentimentality, when she smiled. When she’d been talking to her sister. And when she’d started to dance.

That had made him wonder just how much fun Lindsay was trying to hide beneath those courtroom suits.

“Back to the day care,” Walker said, done with thinking about and discussing his personal life. A few days here, and he’d be back to the daily grind. He’d be happier in Tulsa. Less distracted by things like Lindsay Dalton’s smile lingering in his mind. “There’s a lot of ill will toward Just Us Kids because of this lawsuit. In order to expand the business, I need to turn the tide here in Rust Creek Falls. Even if we win the lawsuit, there are still going to be people who will believe the day care caused that illness. I want to head off the negative publicity from the get-go.”

“Something you’re apparently already doing,” Hudson said. “I heard you bought everyone a round last night.”

“How’d you hear about that?”

Hudson grinned. “It’s a small town. Everyone knows everything here.” He took a sip of coffee, then forked up a forgotten last bite of pancake. “If you want to build goodwill here, the best thing you can do is something that gets you involved with the town. One thing about Rust Creek Falls—it’s like a big family. They’ll accept you as one of their own—”

“You make it sound like an ant colony. Or the Borg.”

Hudson laughed. “Pretty close. I never expected to like this place, but you know, living out on Clive Barker’s ranch property and coming into town from time to time...it’s started to grow on me. It might do the same for you.”

Walker scoffed. “I’m leaving the minute this lawsuit is concluded. Until then, all I’m focused on is winning.”

“The lawsuit and the hearts and minds?” Hudson asked.

“All part of the strategy,” Walker said.

Hudson sighed. “Why did I ever think five minutes of dancing meant you were becoming human?’

Walker didn’t dignify that with an answer. If his brother focused more on business and less on having fun, then maybe Hudson would understand.

“You know, Walker, I’m not this irresponsible screwup you keep making me out to be,” Hudson said.

“Then what are you doing with your days instead of overseeing the day care?”

“Going back and forth between here and Wyoming, helping a friend set up a horse ranch. I’m helping him hire people, implement a solid record keeping system, buying the horses...in other words, running a business.”

Walker was impressed, but kept that thought to himself. He didn’t want to encourage his brother to spend time in Wyoming, not with this lawsuit on their backs. “I’d rather you were running the day care here.”

Hudson rolled his eyes. “There is no pleasing you, is there? Can’t you start thinking about something outside the family business for five minutes?”

“That family business puts the money in your bank account to do this horse ranch thing. If you were smart, you’d be helping me protect it, not beating me up for not having more fun.”

Hudson drummed his fingers on the table for a moment, then sighed. “Okay, if you want to make people like you, do something nice for the town. Something hands-on. This isn’t the kind of place that’s going to appreciate a bunch of money thrown at it.”

Walker scowled. “I wasn’t going to do any such thing.” Truth be told, he’d thought maybe he could just make a sizable donation to the local community center or a food bank or something and be done with it. He could see Hudson’s point. A round of beers only bought temporary goodwill. He needed something bigger. Something involved. Something...

An orange flyer stuffed in the small plastic tabletop sign holder caught his eye.

Rust Creek Falls Harvest Festival!

Get involved now and help make this year’s festival the best ever!

The announcement was followed by an invitation for volunteers to meet at the local high school Saturday afternoon. Today.

“Here’s something I can do,” he said to his brother, spinning the sign toward Hudson.

Hudson laughed. “You? Help with the harvest festival? Have you ever even attended a festival?”

“Doesn’t matter. All I have to do is pitch in with...whatever they do to put together one of these things. People will see I care about the town. Problem solved.”

Hudson sat back and gave his brother a dubious look. “You honestly think it’s going to be as easy as that? This is real life, big brother. It’s not some report you analyze or an interview you do with some overly enthusiastic CPA.”

“And it’s not rocket science, either.” Walker dropped some bills on the table, leaving a generous tip for the waitress. “You stay in town for a while this time. Get to work at the day care and make sure the place is so clean and neat, no kid would get sick if he licked the floor. When they call you into court—and I’m sure they will, since you are the landlord—you can honestly say you saw that the place was in order. I’ll stop in later, after I check out this festival thing.” He picked up the flyer and tucked it in his pocket. “This might just be step one in my campaign to not only beat Lindsay Dalton but build the Just Us Kids chain.”

And that would get him out of this town, back to work and away from women who lingered in his thoughts for all the wrong reasons.

* * *

Travis had been right. Getting hands-on was a nice change, Lindsay thought as she stacked wood in a pile to start building the vendor booths for the harvest festival. There weren’t that many volunteers here today, probably because a lot of people were at the craft fair at the church. The handful of people in the gymnasium had divvied up the various jobs as best they could, but even Lindsay could see they were going to be shorthanded. She didn’t mind, really. She’d been spending so much time in the office, working on the court case, that it felt good to do something constructive. Something that didn’t also raise her blood pressure because it went with thinking about Walker Jones. Yes, a little construction project today would be a good distraction, on all levels.

Lani came by, with Russ at her side. The two of them looked so blissfully happy that Lindsay felt a flicker of envy. What would it be like to have someone look at her like that? To take her hand, just because, then smile at her like she was the most precious thing on earth?

“Hey, sis, we’re heading out with the landscaping volunteers to do some work in the park. There’s a tree that needs to come down and some shrubbery that needs to be pruned.” Lani gestured toward the wood. “Are you going to work on that by yourself?”

“I think I can handle a few simple booths.” Lindsay flexed a biceps. “I have skills.”

Russ laughed. “You sure you don’t want one of us to stay and help you?”

“No, no, I’ve got it. The outdoor work is important. If that doesn’t get done, there won’t be any place to put the booths.” Lindsay picked up the cordless drill and pressed the button. It whirred and spun. There, that should make her look confident. The booths, after all, were pretty much just oversize squares. “I can do this with my eyes closed.”

“Okay. We should be back in a couple hours. If you need anything, holler.” Lani gave Lindsay a quick hug, then the two of them headed out the door.

Lindsay propped her hands on her hips and looked at the pile of wood. She had a rudimentary sketch, given to her by Sam Traven, co-owner of the Ace in the Hole, of what the booths should look like. A box base, with a long flat piece of plywood to serve as a table, then a frame above it to hang signage from. Like a child’s lemonade stand, only bigger.

She had a cordless drill, wood screws and precut wood. What she didn’t have was a clue of how to put this together. Okay, so maybe she’d been a little too optimistic when she told Lani and Russ she could handle this.

Lindsay picked up a two-by-four, then one of the shorter pieces. It seemed like this shorter piece should create the sides, then connect to another shorter piece, then another longer one... Okay, one piece at a time. It was just a big box, right?

She put the longest piece on the floor, then got out a wood screw and let the magnetic end of the drill bit connect to it. She knelt beside the two pieces, then tried to hold the shorter one in place while she drilled the screw into it and connected them.

Or tried to. Turned out that holding a piece of wood with her left hand while trying to operate the cordless drill with her right hand was a whole lot harder than they made it look on Fix or Flip. The screw whined, twirled into the wood, but refused to go straight, leaving the whole connection askew. Lindsay brushed her bangs off her forehead, then flipped the switch on the drill and tried to back the screw out. It whined and spun but didn’t pull back.

“It works a lot better if you use a little pressure,” said a deep voice behind her.

Lindsay sighed and rocked back on her heels. “Thanks. Do you mind help—” She cut off her words when she realized who belonged to the voice.

Walker Jones III.

Great. The last person she wanted to see. He was like a mangy dog, turning up in the least likely places, at the worst possible times. “What are you doing here?”

He nodded toward the wood pile. “Same as you. Helping with the harvest festival.”

She scoffed. “Right. And why the heck would you do that?”

“To build goodwill.” He shrugged. “I want people in this town to like me. So sue me. Oh, wait, you already are.”

At least he was honest about why he was here. But that didn’t make her like the idea any more. She wanted Walker Jones gone from Rust Creek Falls, gone from her peripheral vision...just gone. Even if he did looked damned good in jeans and a white button-down shirt with the cuffs rolled up. “You just want to win the lawsuit. Buying a round of beers and helping set up for a harvest festival won’t do that.”

“Walker Jones?” Rosey Traven, Sam’s wife and the other co-owner of the Ace in the Hole, came striding over. She reached out and took his hand, giving him a hearty shake. “I heard you were in my bar last night, buying beers for everyone. That was a really nice thing to do.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said, shaking Rosey’s hand as he spoke. “I figured since I was new in town, I should say thank you for the warm welcome I received.”

Warm welcome? Lindsay rolled her eyes.

“Well, there’s no better way to say thank you than with a couple of drinks.” Rosey smiled, then turned to Lindsay. “Hi, Lindsay. Nice to see you here today. We sure appreciate your help with the booths.”

“You’re welcome. I’m glad to help.” She pointed at the convoluted boards. “Once I figure out how, that is.”

“You’ve got some handsome help here. I’m sure he can figure out how to get that together right quick.” Rosey smiled at Walker. “I best be going. Sam and I are bringing sandwiches to all the volunteers in the park. You two have fun!”

Which left Lindsay alone with Walker. Again. “Listen, we are on two different sides of a lawsuit,” she said, trying to work the drill again and back out the screw. It whined and groaned in place. “Damn it!”

“You’re going to strip the screw. Let me help you.” Walker’s hand covered hers.

She didn’t want to like his touch. Didn’t want to react. But her body didn’t listen to her head. The second his hand connected with hers, his larger fingers encompassing her smaller ones, a little flutter ran through her veins. In that instant, she was acutely aware of how close he was. How good he smelled. How the veins in his hands extended up his muscular forearms.

And how much she wanted to kiss him.

“I’ve got it.” She yanked the drill up, so fast and so hard that it sent her sprawling back. That flutter had been an anomaly. That was all.

Walker’s hand was there again, stopping her from hitting the floor. A quick touch, but it sent another explosion through her veins. “Whoa. I said a little pressure. Not a tidal wave.”

“I can handle this. I don’t need your help.” It was a lie—she needed help—but she didn’t want it from the man she had sworn to hate. The same man who was—damn it—handsome. And intriguing.

“How many things have you built?” Walker said.

“None.” She waved that answer off. “But I can read directions.”

“That’s great, except some things come with experience, not directions.” Walker gestured toward the misassembled corner. “You are a smart, capable, beautiful woman, but you are tearing up that screw head and making it almost impossible to take those two pieces apart. Now, you may not want my help, but I think you need it, at least for a minute.”

Had he just called her beautiful? Why did a part of her do a little giddy dance at that?

Lindsay bent her head and worked on the screw again, but the two pieces of wood were not coming apart. The screw refused to go anywhere but in a pointless circle. Lindsay really didn’t know what to do with a stripped screw head, or what one even was, only that it sounded bad. She was going to mess this up, and that would mean someone would have to buy more wood. For a festival that was operating on a shoestring budget to begin with, that would be a disaster, and Lindsay didn’t want that on her shoulders. She knew when she was beaten, even if the victor was some scraps of wood and a single screw.

She handed him the drill. “Fine. You do it.”

To his credit, Walker didn’t say I told you so. He held the pieces firmly with one hand, pressed the drill into the screw and let the bit whir slowly as he backed the screw out a little at a time. Clearly, the key was patience and pressure.

Pretty much the same thing in a court case, Lindsay thought. A lot of patience and a little pressure usually equaled success.

“Thanks,” she said. The two pieces of wood were still intact, though the screw was worse for wear. Far better to replace one screw than the more expensive wood, which was still fine to use. “I’ll admit, I’m impressed.”

Walker chuckled. “I can’t build a house or anything, but I do have some handyman skills. My grandpa liked to make things, and I was at his house most weekends when I was a kid, so he taught me what he could.” His gaze went to someplace far away. Dwelling on memories, perhaps? “I miss him terribly, and every time I see a birdhouse, it makes me think of him. He was a hell of a guy.”