Although discovering more than Roy was a bit intriguing. They’d married when she was twenty and she hadn’t, technically, dated anyone but him. At least not seriously, seeing as her first boyfriend had been awful. All handsy and crushing her self-esteem with his comments and thoughts on how she should behave around him. She shuddered. No wonder Roy had seemed so amazing. And he had been, too.
But years of running the ranch together, falling into bed not out of passion but exhaustion from raising five boys and running their own business had sent them down separate roads and ultimately, apart.
“Go on the date,” Caroline suggested.
“He hasn’t asked me on a date,” Maria said. Because she’d closed that door so fast he hadn’t had a chance. Because he would have otherwise, wouldn’t he?
“He wants to do something with you tomorrow,” Kit pointed out. “And I’m going to be working all day.”
“Sounds like the perfect time for the two of you to go on a date,” Caroline said with a smile.
“Can we not call it that?” Maria said, dropping her head in her hands.
“Fine. How about calling it an exploratory expedition?” Kit giggled.
Amused at her friend’s persistence, Maria rolled her eyes. “And what if I fall in love with this man? Then what will I do when we return to Sweetheart Creek? My boys will freak out. And I can’t very well have him move onto my ex-husband’s family ranch.”
“Why not?” Caroline asked. “Your ex doesn’t live there. You do. And if you live on that ranch, I’m betting you’re putting effort into it. I believe labor ownership is real.”
“So do I,” chimed in a waitress who was walking by, her arm stacked with plates.
“There are exceptions to labor equaling ownership!” Caroline teased, giving her employee a good-natured smile, which was returned.
Maria thought about her tiny home located in the yard of the Sweet Meadows Ranch. She had her own space away from the boys. Maybe that would make it less weird if she started dating.
What was she thinking? She wasn’t looking to replace Roy. She was happy being single.
“I love that you’re already thinking about living with this man.” Kit said with a sly smile.
“I’m just problem solving. There are a lot of implications to dating again. The boys freaked out when they thought Clint was interested in me.”
“Your sons noticed his interest?” Kit leaned forward.
“He’s helpful and kind,” Maria insisted, her cheeks heating. “He does little things for me and my car. My boys are busy, and he knows that.”
The two women shared a knowing smile, and Caroline said, “Your suppers are getting cold. I’ll let the two of you continue your chat.” She gave Maria’s shoulder a friendly squeeze. “Let me know if you need any Indigo Bay date ideas.”
Maria huffed.
“Quit thinking about the future and just enjoy each day,” Kit recommended. “If you fall in love you fall in love. If you don’t, then no worries, right?”
“Sweetheart Creek is a small town.” Maria had felt the sting of everyone knowing her and Roy’s business, and she knew it was impossible to isolate herself from her ex. Every time she went anywhere it felt as though she was thrown against that constant pain once again. She didn’t want a repeat. “Clint is the only mechanic, and my car is nearly a decade old.”
“That’s a weak excuse.”
“It’s true! Where would I go?”
“Date him. If things go south, buy yourself a brand-new car guaranteed not to break down.”
Chapter 3
Maria thought Clint’s small moped—correction: scooter, because apparently there was a difference when talking to gearheads—was cute. That morning she’d taken a deep breath and texted him to see if he wanted to meet up for lunch.
Not because she was looking for a date, but because her curiosity had basically strong-armed her into it. Besides, she had nothing better to do and why not spend time with someone who made her feel good? Wasn’t that the purpose of a vacation? Feeling good?
Now she was out behind the Morrison Mansion contemplating an old scooter with flaking paint. It didn’t look like much, but it purred like her old car had after Clint had given it his magical touch. She wondered what else he could make purr.
“What do you think?” he asked his friend Jeff as he wiped his hands on a grease-stained rag. They stepped back and contemplated the machine.
The scooter was low to the ground, with a flat front that served as a bug and wind guard. It had handlebars similar to a bicycle, one giant headlight, no windshield and a padded seat with a smaller one behind. The floorboards were ample, giving the driver what looked like a fairly comfortable ride when the seats weren’t worn to tatters.
“I can’t believe how smooth the engine sounds,” Jeff said.
“It didn’t need as much as we thought it might.”
“First time that’s happened,” his friend said with a chuckle. “I think it’s time for a test drive before we talk paint.”
“Might want to borrow some cushions from my wicker chairs on the porch,” Jeff’s wife said wryly as she joined them, gesturing to the scooter’s seats. She’d been showing some volunteers the B&B’s ballroom, which they were going to decorate for the weekend’s fundraising gala. One volunteer had followed her out.
As Jeff leaned close to give Sonja a kiss, the wind tousled her dark blond hair. The two had found love again in a second marriage, and it reminded Maria of Kit and Caroline’s encouragement for herself. She almost laughed out loud. She wasn’t about to find this. Just a glimpse told her this pair had something rare.
The other woman cleared her throat and a flash of exasperation danced across Sonja’s face.
“I’m Miss Lucille with the Ashland Belle Society. I’m checking all the silent auction items for their income potential for the shelter. Your little motorbike idea is very last-minute.” She straightened her spine, nose high.
Miss Lucille Sanderson did still exist, almost exactly as Maria remembered her. Slender, impeccably dressed and snooty as could be. As her father used to say, only the good die young.
Introductions were made between Clint, Maria and Miss Lucille—who didn’t remember the ol’ cowgirl from the west. Naturally.
“She wants to see the scooter,” Sonja said apologetically.
Clint and Jeff both swept an arm out to showcase the machine, which instantly sputtered and stalled, as though in protest of Lucille’s appraisal.
“It’s… disreputable,” she declared with a sniff.
“The throttle probably needs adjusting,” Clint said, crouching to look at the machine.
“Did you change the fuel filter?” Jeff asked.
Clint nodded.
“I trust this is not the scooter you’re thinking of donating to the fundraiser.” Miss Lucille hugged her big purse closer and a fluffy white head popped out of it and gave a small yip of disapproval. “Hush, Princess. I know. This is foolishness, but it can’t be helped.”
“It’s not finished,” Jeff said, his tone flat.