The Maverick's Holiday Masquerade. Caro Carson

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      He wore no cowboy hat, but that wasn’t unusual. Half the cowboys didn’t wear one when they weren’t working. A lot of the local guys wore ball caps with dumb fishing mottos on them, but not her cowboy. He looked too classy for that. He looked...

      She couldn’t put her tingling finger on it, but he didn’t quite look like any of the cowboys from around Rust Creek Falls.

       He’s not from around here, that’s why.

      Kristen would have noticed him long ago if he were a local.

       Who are you?

      He looked right at her, as if he’d heard her ask the question. Over the nose of the white horse, across the dozen people who milled between them, their gazes met and held.

      The people and the picnic and the party disappeared. Kristen felt only the heat in his dark brown eyes. He checked her out as thoroughly as she’d been checking him out, his gaze moving across her bare shoulders, down the V of her halter dress, taking in her boots with a brief quirk of his lips. She didn’t miss it, because she hadn’t looked away for a second. She was no shrinking violet. When he realized she was still watching him, he lifted a brow. She tossed her hair back and shrugged one bare shoulder.

      Across the crowd, they shared a slow smile. If it was true that like attracted like, then she and this man sure were alike. When people said “two peas in a pod” to Kristen, they were invariably referring to her twin, but on this special summer day, Kristen knew that she and this man were a match, too. That smile said it all.

      Without warning, the horse he was holding threw its head up. The Cowboy lost his grip on the bridle and took a head-butt to the jaw. Of course, he had the bridle back in hand and the horse steady in a second, but as his dark brown eyes met Kristen’s once more, his mouth quirked again in a bit of a sheepish smile.

      Kristen wanted to toss her head like the snowy white horse. What do you know? I just made a cowboy lose control of a horse.

      With a self-satisfied smile, Kristen turned toward the pavilion and the punch table. It was time to get two fresh cups and introduce herself to the man of her dreams.

      * * *

      Ryan rubbed his jaw as he moved with the rest of the wedding party toward the stage.

      That horse had hit him as hard as the best boxer he’d ever faced down in the ring. Ryan was grateful that he knew how to take a punch. He’d managed to stay on his feet, so he hadn’t looked like a complete fool in front of the exquisite woman he’d been so thoroughly distracted by. He hoped he hadn’t looked like a fool. She’d disappeared into the crowd.

      He’d find her again. The crowd here wasn’t big enough for someone to get lost permanently, a point definitely in favor of small towns at the moment. He scanned the people edging the dance floor, looking for her unusual blend of delicate features and a bold gaze.

      The lead singer of the band spoke into the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention please? I’d like to turn the stage over to the mayor of Rust Creek Falls, Collin Traub.”

      Another Traub. Was everyone in the town related to the bride and groom? And, by birth and by blood, to Ryan’s own brother?

      As a man about Ryan’s age took the mike amid a round of applause, everyone turned to face the stage. Ryan kept looking through the crowd, scanning the backs of the heads of the people in front of him, looking for one particular woman’s long hair.

      The attorney side of himself, which was practically the only side he had, yanked his attention back to the stage. If he was seriously considering a move to this town, he ought to be evaluating the mayor. Local government would have a huge impact on the growth of the town and the requirements for operating a business. He couldn’t prosper in a town that elected inflexible or unqualified people to office. Ryan focused on the mayor, who still wore his tuxedo as part of the wedding party, a tuxedo with a bolo tie instead of a bow tie, of course. The men around here were never far from their cowboy roots, even in their formal attire. The mayor’s welcome speech was sensible, friendly and, that most appreciated trait of all speeches, short.

      Like Ryan’s attention span. He couldn’t focus on anything but seeing that woman again. The sun had highlighted her hair when he’d seen her, framing her in a halo of light. He was looking for a shade of brown that shone with gold, like caramel or honey or something appealing he’d find in one of his brother’s kitchens.

      Unbelievable. He was turning into a poet. Beautiful, long hair was hardly a rarity where he came from, but Ryan would bet a million dollars that he could bury his hands in his mystery woman’s hair and not have to politely avoid the anchors of fake hair extensions. So many women in Hollywood paid a fortune to look like they had the kind of hair that his boot-wearing beauty probably had gained through healthy living on a ranch.

      In a flash, he saw himself burying his hands in her hair, holding her reverently as she gazed up at him from the pillow, her happiness a part of his pleasure as—

       Get a grip, Ryan.

      He needed to snap out of this. This day was turning strange, whether it was from the strain of work and travel, the strangeness of ruminating over his siblings’ marriages or the sight of a bride and groom, he couldn’t say. Maybe it was the higher elevation or the cleaner air or that damned syrupy wedding punch, but he felt off.

      The mayor called the bride and groom to the stage for the best man’s toast. Ryan saw the three fairy-tale grannies circulating in the crowd, coming toward him with trays of paper cups, making sure everyone who didn’t already have a drink in hand accepted one of theirs.

      Absolutely not. Ryan Roarke, attorney at law, was not going to drink punch and spin ridiculous fantasies about a cowgirl he hadn’t even met. He turned on his heel and headed away from the stage.

      “Were you looking for this? I think you’re going to need it.”

      Ryan stopped abruptly, face to face with the cowgirl herself. Had he been heading straight for her, or had she stepped into his path? Either way, she was right here, stunningly beautiful in denim and sunshine.

      She held out a cup and nodded toward the stage behind him. “It’s time for the toast.”

      From her, he’d take the punch. He’d probably stand here and drink water from the river Styx, as long as he could keep looking at her. She looked right back, her blue eyes and heart-shaped face framed by that hair he so keenly wanted to touch.

      “I’m Kristen,” she said with a smile.

      He nodded gravely, aware that this was an introduction he’d remember.

      “Ryan,” he said, and he suddenly didn’t care about Montana or Hollywood, about mayors and law firms. The only thing he cared about was getting to know the woman who smiled at him in a green park on the Fourth of July. She was worth traveling a thousand miles.

      “You’re not from around here, are you?” she asked.

      “No, I’m not.” Now that he’d decided what he wanted, he could relax. He found himself smiling at her—with her—without any effort at all. “But I could be.”

      The best man finished his toast. “To the СКАЧАТЬ