The Maverick's Secret Baby. Teri Wilson

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      “I do. Honestly, I’ll try anything.” Except maybe bottle-feeding the goat. That was a hard no.

      Melba consulted the to-do list tacked to the refrigerator with a Fall Mountain magnet. “I need to make a run to the general store. Would you like to come along?”

      Avery’s heart gave a little leap. She was much better at shopping than cleaning toilets. She excelled at it, quite frankly. A closetful of Louboutins didn’t lie. “Shopping? Yes, count me in.”

      “You’re sure?” Melba gave her one of the gentle, sympathetic glances that had convinced Avery the older woman thought she was running from some kind of danger. “You haven’t wanted to get out much.”

      Avery nodded. She was going to have to leave the boarding house at some point. Besides, the odds of running into Finn Crawford or his notorious father at the general store were zero. Not a chance. They weren’t the sort of men who ran errands. They had employees for that kind of thing. How else would Finn have time to wine and dine every eligible woman in town?

      “We’re just going to the general store, right? Nowhere else? I have a…um…conference call later, so I shouldn’t stay out too long.” There was no conference call. At least not that Avery knew of. She hadn’t checked in to the office for days. Another first.

      If she called in, her father would surely pick up the phone. She’d been a daddy’s girl all her life, through and through. That would change once he found out she was carrying Finn’s baby. Oscar Ellington would rather she have a child with the devil himself.

      “Straight to the general store and back.” Melba made a cross-my-heart gesture with her fingertips over the pinafore of her apron.

      “Super! I’ll run upstairs and change.” Avery beamed and scurried up to her corner room on the third floor of the rambling mansion.

      Along the way, she heard Old Gene cursing at the clogged toilet, and she winced. The wincing continued as she tried—and failed—to find something presentable that she could still manage to zip or button at the waist.

      It was no use—she was going to have to stick with her yoga pants and slip into the oversize light blue button-down shirt she’d borrowed from Old Gene. Lovely. If by some strange twist of fate Finn did turn up at the general store, he probably wouldn’t even recognize her.

      Any lingering worries she had about running into him were instantly kicked into high gear when she and Melba reached the redbrick building on the corner of Main and Cedar Streets. Melba said something about the amber and gold autumnal window display, but Avery couldn’t form a response. She was too busy gaping at the sign above the front door.

       Crawford’s General Store.

      Did Finn’s family own this place?

      “Avery?” Melba rested gentle fingertips on her forearm. “Are you okay?”

      “Yes. Yes, of course.” She pasted on a smile. “I just noticed the name of the store—Crawford’s. Does it belong to the family you mentioned earlier?”

      “Heavens, no. The general store has been here for generations. The Montana Crawfords have lived in Rust Creek Falls for as long as I can remember. The new family is from Texas.”

       I’m aware.

      Seriously, though. Finn’s family was huge, and Rust Creek Falls was very small. Quaint and cozy, but rural in every way. Their addition to the population must mean that half the town had the same last name all of a sudden.

      “I see,” Avery said.

      She tore her gaze away from the store’s signage long enough to finally take in the window display, with its garland of oak and maple leaves and towering pile of pumpkins. They’d walked a grand total of two blocks, and already she’d seen enough hay bales, woven baskets and gourds to make her wonder if the entire town was drunk on pumpkin spice lattes.

      Autumn wasn’t such a big thing in Texas. The warm weather back home meant no apple picking, no fall foliage and definitely no need for snuggly oversize sweaters. It was kind of a shame, really.

      But here in Montana, fall was ushered in with a lovely and luminous harvest moon, smoky breezes that smelled of wood fire and the crunch of leaves underfoot. Avery had never experienced anything like it.

      “Maybe we should get some ingredients for caramel apples and make them for my great-granddaughter Bekkah’s kindergarten class. I always bring some to the big Halloween dance, but the children might like an early taste.” Melba glanced over her shoulder at Avery as she pushed through the general store’s entrance. “What do you think?”

      “I think that’s a marvelous idea.” Avery had never made caramel apples before, but there was a first time for everything.

      Apples…autumn…babies.

      She glanced past the dry goods section near the front of the store and spotted a rack of flannel shirts, quilted jackets and cable-knit cardigans. It wasn’t exactly Neiman Marcus, but she was going to have to bite the bullet and invest in a few things that actually fit her changing body.

      “Good morning, ladies. Is there anything I can help you with?” A slim woman with dark wavy hair, big brown eyes and a Crawford’s General Store bib apron greeted them with a wide smile.

      “Yes, please.” Melba pulled a lengthy shopping list out of her handbag and plopped it onto the counter. Then she gestured toward Avery. “Nina, I’d like you to meet Avery. She’s one of our boarders.”

      Nina offered Avery her hand. “Welcome to Rust Creek Falls. I’m Nina Crawford Traub.”

      Seriously. Did everyone in this town have the same last name?

      “Hello.” Avery shook Nina’s hand, then dashed off to grab a few warm, roomy items of clothing while the other women tackled Melba’s list of supplies.

      By the time she returned, the counter was piled high. It looked like Melba was buying out the entire store.

      “Wow.” Avery’s eye widened. She clutched her new flannels close to her chest, because there wasn’t enough space to set them down. “This is…”

      “Impressive,” someone behind her said. There was a smile in his voice, a delicious drawl that Avery felt deep in the pit of her stomach. “Here’s hoping you’ve left some stuff for the rest of us.”

      Don’t turn around, her thoughts screamed. She knew that voice. It was as velvety smooth as hot buttered rum and oh, so familiar.

      But just like the last time she’d been in the same room with the bearer of that soulful Texas accent, her body reacted before her brain could kick into gear. Sure enough, when she spun around, she found herself face-to-face with the very man she so desperately needed to speak to—Finn Crawford, the father-to-be, looking hotter than ever wearing a black Stetson and an utterly shocked expression on his handsome face.

      Avery realized a second too late what was about to happen. Trouble.

      So.

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