A Canyon Springs Courtship

The mayor grimaced as he pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his brow. “You know what I mean. The town’s counting on the publicity she generates to lure in fresh faces and cold hard cash. We need to play extra nice and not do anything to get ourselves on her wrong side.”

It was a little too late to be concerned with that....

Jake cleared his throat. “As you know, I’ve got my hands full with more pressing matters. I’m sure Don and Larry can be trusted to handle it. Maybe Hector or Bernie.”

Gus stuffed the handkerchief back in his pocket and lowered his towering frame into one of the upholstered leather chairs. Loosening the bolo tie that accented his Western-cut shirt, he shot a cautious look at Jake. “Don’t misunderstand me. It’s not that I don’t trust Don and Larry or either of the others.”

“Well, then?”

“It’s just that you have a winning way about you, Jake.” Gus squinted one eye. “A polish. A gift with words that the others can’t hold a candle to. And none of the guys are anything near fancy enough to catch the eye of a pretty city lady.”

Jake reached for a ballpoint pen, his thumb rhythmically clicking the retraction mechanism as the striking features of the “pretty city lady” flashed vividly through his memory. But pretty is as pretty does, as his grandmother was known to say.

“It’s the town that’s in the spotlight here, isn’t it? Not one of us.”

“That’s a fact.” Gus nodded vigorously. “But I don’t doubt you could talk the moon down out of the sky if you had a mind to. You can win her over on our behalf, make sure she does the town justice.”

Jake shook his head. “I’m afraid you’ll have to find someone else.”

Gus scowled. “You’ve been a promoter of this town since you moved here half a dozen years ago, but you were the lone dissenting vote against participating in the competition. I still don’t understand what you have against the idea when you know how it will help our town.”

“It’s not that I—” How could he explain it without divulging matters he’d rather not divulge? Rolling back from the desk, he took pleasure in the comforting creak of the old-fashioned wooden chair. It was a perfect match to the desk that dignified his book-lined office, but he’d paid a steep price for it, figuratively if not literally.

Gus smacked his beefy hand on the desktop enthusiastically, mistakenly interpreting Jake’s sudden silence as evidence that he was making persuasive inroads. “Her blog is nearly as popular as that rancher woman’s. You know, the gal who also has the food show? My wife says she almost feels as if she knows her, and that’s how Macy comes across, too. Like you could sit down next to her for a long, cozy chat.”

Jake managed not to choke. Sit down for a chat? Right. That’s exactly how she wanted people to feel—it’s how she got them to lower their guard and open up to her.

He straightened, his gaze lingering on the framed photo of his grandparents, the only decorative item on his desk. “Look, I think Larry and Don or one of the others will do fine. She seems to take a fancy to local color. You can’t beat them for that.”

“No, but...” Gus darted a guarded look in his direction. “Larry, Don and Hector are married. Macy’s not.”

Jake chuckled. “Do you think Andrea, Melissa and Dionne won’t let their men out of their sight as long as Ms. Colston’s in town?”

“Not exactly.” The big man fiddled with his wristwatch. Gus might look and speak like a country boy at times, but he was a shrewd businessman. Something was on his mind even though he was taking his sweet time getting around to it. “You’re not married, Jake.”

Jake placed the pen on his desk and pinned the mayor with a frank look. “Where are you going with this?”

Gus reached again for the handkerchief and mopped his forehead. “Married men have obligations. Commitments. Loyalties. They have to be careful not to give anyone the wrong impression.”

“And?”

Gus wadded the handkerchief in his fist. “As a single man, you’re a free agent, so to speak. You’re at liberty to sweet-talk Macy Colston into portraying us in the most favorable light without anyone questioning your behavior.”

“What exactly do you mean by sweet-talk?”

Gus glanced at the snow dancing outside the window rather than meeting Jake’s gaze. “You know...turn on the charm. Sweep her off her feet. Put stars in her eyes.”

Jake stared at the now-blushing mayor. “Are you saying you want me to fake a romantic interest in this journalist to manipulate her impressions of Canyon Springs?”

“Who’s to say you’d have to fake it?” Gus’s expression brightened. “She’s more than pretty. Smart, too. You’re a good-lookin’ man, or so my wife and oldest daughter tell me. On the sober side, maybe. But you’re easy enough to get along with most of the time, just like your grandfather was. With some effort on your part, I bet you and Macy would hit it off.”

No way would he woo Macy Colston, no matter how noble the cause. He’d steer clear of her in the coming weeks, keeping an eye on her through her blog posts and stepping in only if a questionable situation warranted it. Even if he had any interest in seeing more of the woman—which he didn’t—he had more pressing obligations than babysitting a tenacious journalist. Seeing to Grandma’s welfare for one. The Canyon Springs history book for another. And he had to make sure the city council didn’t do something stupid with the property his grandfather had willed to the town. What had Granddad been thinking when he’d done that anyway?

“Now look, Gus, you know I don’t—”

The big man waved him away. “If you want to get the rest of the council on your side about what to do with that prime bit of real estate the city inherited, it might serve you well to put effort into this. You know, prove you’re a team player.”

Gus had a point. Even though he didn’t vocalize Jake’s added hopes for the vice mayorship, Jake knew the other man was thinking about it, too. There were those who still said his election last year was a fluke considering his sole opposition had abruptly withdrawn from the race. But then again, this was Macy they were talking about....

“Can’t spare the time, Gus.”

“You work too hard. Need to loosen up.” The older man folded his arms. “If you won’t step up for the good of the town, do it for yourself. Have a little fun for a change. This might be your last chance to catch the eye of a looker like Macy Colston. You’re—what? Thirty-two? Thirty-three?”

Thirty-five.

“Give it a shot, Councilman. What do you have to lose?”

Jake stood and punched the intercom button on his desk phone. “Phyllis Diane, would you please call Rob McGuire? I’m supposed to meet him at Singing Rock. Tell him I’m on my way and I apologize in advance for being a few minutes late.”

“Happy to oblige, Jake,” his office assistant responded with a soft Texas drawl. Always amiable, even when putting in Saturday overtime hours, he nevertheless figured it was only a matter of time before she headed for greener pastures and left him and his law partner high and dry.

He pressed the off button and, mustering a smile, snagged his Windbreaker from the antique coat tree behind him. “I appreciate your confidence in my persuasive abilities, Mr. Mayor, but this case is officially closed.”

* * *

Macy’s cell phone played a merry tune and she crossed the room to pull it from the purse she’d left on what looked to be a homemade quilted bedspread. In fact, everything she’d seen of this two-story log cabin lodge and restaurant oozed rustic charm, from its wooden-planked porch to a natural stone fireplace in the lobby to her antiques-filled room. The whole town held such promise...if it wasn’t for Jake calling Canyon Springs home.

“It’s about time you answered.” The familiar voice of her agent-publicist carried across the miles with her usual crisp, no-nonsense tone. You’d have thought she was a native New Yorker and not a Midwestern transplant.

“Hey, sis.” Brushing back her hair, Macy sat on the bed and kicked off her sandals. She’d have to buy more substantial footwear for the coming days if this weather kept up. A heavier coat, too. Maybe gloves.

“So are you at your next assignment yet?”

“I checked in right before lunch. But I should have brought boots.”

“It’s raining?”

“Snowing.”

Silence. Then came a cautious query. “The schedule shows you’re in Arizona...right?”

Macy envisioned her older sister, brow puckered as she shook back her pricey, chin-length bob.

“Nicole, do you remember how we were told Canyon Springs would give my readers a different perspective on the Grand Canyon state? Well, they weren’t kidding. It’s smack in the middle of a huge forest of ponderosa pines. Flocked in white at the moment. Absolutely breathtaking.”

“But it’s April.”

“And it looks like Christmas.” She returned to the window, where fluffy flakes still descended lightly. “I plan to get out and snap a few more photos. With temperatures spiking over much of the country, my readers will love this.”

“Which reminds me of why I called you. I heard from Vanessa this morning.”

Vanessa Riker was the contact person for Macy’s primary blog sponsor, a rapidly expanding chain of organic food store-restaurant combos.

“She mentioned,” Nicole continued, “that their new board is coming close to a decision on increasing their sponsorship. You know what that means, don’t you?”

Macy’s spirits rose in anticipation. “It means I’m closer to doing this full time. No more scrimping to get by. No more cramming in freelance work on the side.”

“It’s bigger than that. Vanessa says they’re not only discussing covering publication costs of a book, but a series of books gleaned from your blog posts. You’d retain the rights, but they’d be exclusively available at all their locations and on their website—with a sweeter than sweet royalty deal for you. And—”

Macy drew in a breath. There was an and?

“—Vanessa said they see real marketing potential tied to your blog. In fact, they asked me to see if you’d be interested in doing a television program.”

At her sister’s words, Macy lowered herself onto an oak rocking chair. She’d hoped for something like this, but hadn’t expected to see it happen so soon. “A television show?”

“They’ve contacted an independent agency to see about the possibility of creating and pitching a pilot to a specialty network. She mentioned there’s genuine interest on their part in committing to commercial time for such a program.”

“Wow.”

“It’s still in the brainstorming stage, but something along the lines of a reality-type program. You know, traveling across America to visit little towns just like you do now. But Vanessa mentioned that in order to justify an investment of that magnitude, you need higher numbers on your blog to draw more traffic to their business. And to get that, you need to give your readers more of what’s being asked for.”

Something juicy. Uncovering a local scandal piece by piece, with cliffhangers from blog to blog. Something Jake would certainly be dead set against, but she wasn’t about to mention to her sister his presence or his opposition. Like Mom, she’d remember Jake from Macy’s university days. They already believed he’d derailed her from a promising career in investigative journalism, undermining her confidence in the direction she’d been heading.

Stop chasing butterflies, her mother had frequently warned her when as a child she’d failed to apply herself to a task at hand. She’d done well to follow that admonition—until Jake came along and she’d nearly allowed herself to get sidetracked. But she was back in the saddle and galloping toward a goal once more. Her professional blogging and human interest story freelancing hadn’t won any accolades from her family—until now—and she wasn’t about to be unseated again.

“It never ceases to amaze me,” Nicole continued, “how transparent people are willing to be with you in exchange for their fifteen minutes of fame.”

Macy laughed. “I’d be surprised, too, if there isn’t a juicy story hidden in the closet of every little town.”

At least that was her hope.

“Vanessa says while they’ve seen gradual improvement with the direction you’ve taken lately, you can’t rely on lame revelations like that recent one about the youth group leader. You know, the one who slipped a bucket of Dairy Queen into his hand-crank ice cream maker and passed it off as his own at a church social.”

“You have to admit it was funny.” Macy smiled, remembering. “He good-naturedly admitted his deception once people started asking him for the recipe.”

Nicole scoffed. “That might be fine for a blog, Macy. All warm and fuzzy. But for TV? Major yawner. Once a sponsor of this caliber promises to invest in you at a level they’re intending, you have to deliver what they want.”

“The board needs to remember it’s the everydayness of the blog that draws people.” Rising from the rocker, Macy again returned to the window. “It’s a peek into small-town life. The hopes, dreams, challenges and rewards of living outside the fast lane. It’s a lifestyle that seems, from the popularity of the blog, to be one that a big chunk of America wishes they could slow down enough to join in on.”

Nicole laughed. “Listen to yourself, Macy. It sounds as if you’re buying into your own spin and have forgotten this blog is merely the means to an end.”

“I haven’t forgotten.” She traced a finger along the window’s polished wooden frame. “I don’t want a sponsor sucking the heart out of it, that’s all. People have certain expectations and those will carry over to a TV program, too.”

“I’m just saying—” Nicole’s voice took on an impatient edge “—if you’re content to do a low-key, chatty little blog for the rest of your life, that’s your choice. But I thought you enlisted my help because you wanted to make something of this. Something big.”

And take her sister along for the increasingly lucrative ride?

She often felt guilty that her highly successful sister spent valuable time on Hometowns With Heart negotiations with relatively little recompense thus far.

“I still want that.” She drew a strengthening breath, hope rising at the possibilities almost within reach. Surely she could ramp up the blog to make it more exciting and still stay in control of the voice and tone she wanted to protect. Nicole just wanted what was best for all of them. “I couldn’t have gotten this far without your help. And Mom’s, of course. It’s just that...well, everything is happening so fast.”

“We’ve got to strike while the iron is hot. Chances like this can evaporate in the blink of an eye. Are you still on board?”

For a fleeting moment she recalled the set of Jake’s jaw and the flatness of his expression when she’d told him she could make no promises. Her mother was right about so many things. Surely she was right that Macy was better off without the influence of a man like that in her life.

“Yes, of course. I’m completely on board.”

Chapter Three

“At least she didn’t say anything about me in her first post from Canyon Springs, Abe.” Jake stared at the laptop he’d placed on the kitchen table next to his Sunday morning breakfast. “As an elected official, I sure don’t want to get a reputation as being an opponent of the press. That could haunt me to the steps of the state capitol. I’ll have to be more careful around her. Stay on my toes. Or better yet, avoid her altogether.”

He scrolled through the Hometowns With Heart blog again, studying several photos taken of the snowy landscape outside Kit’s Lodge. It was quite a contrast from the saguaro cactus and bright flowers she’d posted the previous morning from Phoenix—the Valley of the Sun. His gaze lingered on one photo in particular.

“There she is, buddy, in her sandals and sundress next to a scrawny, two-foot high snowman. Can you believe it?”

He shook his head and glanced over at Abe, who sat patiently by the back door, his brown beagle eyes trained hopefully on his master. Jake smiled. He loved that dog even though it had been Macy who’d badgered him into adopting the little guy from the Central Missouri Humane Society. A puppy, of all things, which had to be potty trained, then fed and walked every day. He’d never done anything that crazy in his whole life. But then, his brain had come unglued during those seven or eight months he’d spent around Macy.

It wasn’t a period in his life he was proud of.

And yet...

Abe—named after Jake’s favorite president—whimpered.

“Hang on, I’m almost done here.” He took another bite of oatmeal, his attention once again trained on the graceful form and laughing eyes of the pretty journalist. She seemed to be enjoying herself, oblivious to the whipping wind that had blown her long hair into a golden aura.

Mouth suddenly dry, Jake drank the remainder of his orange juice. He knew now he’d fallen for her, a woman like none he’d ever met, that first day at the estate sale. Most women considered him too stodgy. Staid. Too focused on the needs of his clients. It’s what made him a good attorney. But he hadn’t had the experience—or the sense—to recognize his own vulnerability to a flirtatious female who acted as if he was the most tempting thing she’d ever seen on her love life’s menu.

Last fall he hadn’t felt compelled to enlighten his fellow council members on the history he shared with the vivacious blogger...and risk losing their hard-earned respect. Keeping silent hadn’t seemed too chancy. After all, what were the statistical odds of his hometown being selected from among hundreds vying for her attention?

Pretty high as it turned out.

“I feel as if I should warn everyone, Abe, but wouldn’t sharing now what I know of her be akin to closing the barn door after the horse got out?”

And how would his clients and constituency react? Would they be able to trust a man who’d broken a professional confidence all because he’d let his guard down with a woman who wasn’t even his wife? He could almost hear the snickers, the comparison of his indiscretion to that of the biblical Sampson and Delilah. That wasn’t something he needed with the vice mayor opening up for grabs.

The tricolored dog whined, almost as if recognizing what Jake knew too well. That, regrettably, his earlier decision to withhold the whole story could end up a sin of omission he and the entire town might come to regret.

“Okay, maybe I came on too strong with her yesterday. Gus is right, none of us need to be getting ourselves on her wrong side.” He scrolled down through the blog post again, then back to the photo. “Do you think I should apologize?”

Abe moved restlessly by the door just as Jake caught a glimpse of the clock above the sink. “Whoa!”

He looked down in alarm at his grungy sweats, then jumped to his feet and rapidly crossed the floor. Opening the door to the fenced-in backyard, he motioned to Abe. “You’d better get out there and do your business, mister, or I’ll be late for church.”

Would Macy be there? Would he have an opportunity to talk to her and smooth things over? Could he prevent a well-meaning churchgoer from signing her up for the prayer chain calls? That privilege would provide her with direct access to every illness, financial problem, kid woe or faltering marriage in town.

He’d better get moving.

As it turned out, he needn’t have rushed. Even with a slight detour to pass by the property Granddad had willed to the city, something that had become a habit in recent days to assure himself all was still as it should be, he was among the early arrivals for the worship service at Canyon Springs Christian Church.

“How’s the book going?” The youthful-looking pastor, Jason Kenton, handed him a stack of bulletins for distribution. As a deacon, one of Jake’s many church-related responsibilities was to meet and greet on Sunday mornings.

“It’s coming along.” Although not nearly as fast as he’d hoped. He wished Grandma had mentioned months ago that Granddad was working on a history of the town, hoping to have it printed for the community’s eighty-fifth birthday celebration at the end of next month. Jake was determined to finish it.

Surprisingly, or maybe not so surprisingly considering how Granddad was never one to brag about himself, he hadn’t included a chapter on his own life as one of the town’s influential citizens. Jake intended to rectify that omission. But the clock was ticking.

“Lots of people are looking forward to reading that book.” The pastor scrubbed his hand along his close-cropped beard. “Hey, I guess you already know the Hometowns With Heart lady arrived yesterday. Reyna and the kids met her at a welcome reception at Kit’s last night. I’d stayed here late to polish up my sermon notes, so I missed out.”

“She’ll be here for a month. I’m sure you’ll get your opportunity.” But don’t say anything to her you don’t want to see in her blog. Jake held up the bulletins, not eager to continue a conversation about Macy. “I’d better get to my post.”

He tucked his Bible under his arm and stationed himself on the sidewalk between the parking lot and main entrance to the native-stone building set back in the pines. The air was pleasantly cool and pine scented but, typical of springtime snows, yesterday’s frosty deposit had all but melted away. Only traces remained in the most deeply shaded areas.

Jake raised his hand in greeting at the approaching Diaz family, a pang of envy reverberating as he watched second-grader Davy proudly grasp the hand of his father and that of his very pregnant stepmother. Joe had announced at the church’s Thanksgiving feast last fall that he and his wife, high school teacher Meg, had a baby conveniently timed to arrive when the spring semester concluded.

“Good to see you, Joe.” Jake shook his friend’s hand. “You, too, Meg.”

The perky brunette rolled her eyes. “There’s a lot more of me to see than there used to be.”

Jake grinned and ruffled Davy’s hair, then watched thoughtfully as the family entered the building. Father and son bonds—that’s something he didn’t know much about firsthand from either the father or son standpoint.

“Jake!”

He turned to see Paris Perslow approaching from the education wing. A dark-haired young woman with smoke-gray eyes, Paris was the epitome of class. Elegance.

This morning she was dressed in a cranberry wool jacket, matching skirt and black heels, reminding him why in recent days he’d given serious consideration to asking her out. She’d make a perfect partner for a man in public office. Active in social and charitable organizations, she had an impeccable reputation. They had much in common, too, as descendants of the town’s most respected residents. Most important, he couldn’t imagine her ever betraying a trust. Only the fact that a sadness still lingered in her eyes from the death of her fiancé several years ago had held him back.

But maybe it was time to help her—and himself—move on?

“Good morning, Paris.”

She smiled that gracious smile of hers, but before he could tell her how lovely she looked, something behind him caught her attention. With a soft gasp of delight, her delicate eyebrows lifted. “That’s her, isn’t it?”

Her?

He followed Paris’s riveted gaze toward the parking lot. Don James, fellow councilman and brother of Larry, had arrived with his family and he was holding open the vehicle’s door for none other than Macy Colston. Wearing a trim, belted, turquoise dress, a white sweater draped over her shoulders, she glowed with eagerness as her gaze swept her surroundings.

He should have known Macy wouldn’t miss church. While she hadn’t grown up in a believing family and had had her share of faith struggles, by the time he’d met her as a senior in college she’d made that life-changing decision.

“It is the Hometowns with Heart woman.” Paris moved forward, excitement now lighting her eyes. “Did you see her blog this morning with the adorable snowman? Come on, Jake, let’s go meet her.”

When he held back, she turned, her gaze questioning. Then she laughed. “You’ve already met her haven’t you? I forgot as a city councilman you have a front row seat to welcome incoming celebrities.”