Buch lesen: «The Heart Won't Lie»

Is there anything sexier than a hot cowboy? How about four of them!

New York Times bestselling author Vicki Lewis Thompson is back in the Blaze^® lineup for 2013, and this year she’s offering her readers even more…

Sons of Chance

Chance isn’t just the last name of these rugged

Wyoming cowboys—it’s their motto, too!

Saddle up with

I CROSS MY HEART (June)

WILD AT HEART (July)

THE HEART WON’T LIE (August)

And the first full-length Sons of Chance

Christmas story

COWBOYS & ANGELS (December)

Take a chance…on a Chance!

About the Author

New York Times bestselling author VICKI LEWIS THOMPSON’S love affair with cowboys started with the Lone Ranger, continued through Maverick and took a turn south of the border with Zorro. She views cowboys as the Western version of knights in shining armor—rugged men who value honor, honesty and hard work. Fortunately for her, she lives in the Arizona desert, where broad-shouldered, lean-hipped cowboys abound. Blessed with such an abundance of inspiration, she only hopes that she can do them justice. Visit her website, www.vickilewisthompson.com.

The Heart
Won’t Lie
Vicki Lewis Thompson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Louis L’Amour, an author who claimed that,

if necessary, he could write a story sitting in the

median of a busy intersection. He’s my kind of guy!

Prologue

August 13, 1988, from the diary of Eleanor Chance

MY GRANDSON JACK, who turns ten this fall, can be a trial at times. I cut him some slack because he still carries the scars from being abandoned by his mother when he was a toddler. I’m not sure if that wound is ever going to heal, no matter how much love we all give him.

Truth be told, Jack and I have a special bond because I took over raising him for a couple of years until my son Jonathon married his second wife, Sarah. I’ve stepped back now, because Sarah is terrific with Jack and the two sons who came along after that, Nick and Gabe. The Last Chance Ranch is a happier place with Sarah living here.

But Jack is still a handful. Even so, he’ll always have a special place in my heart, and that’s partly because we both love to read, especially Westerns. Whenever the real world gets too complicated for Jack, he escapes into a book. I just introduced him to one of my favorites, Louis L’Amour, and he’s gobbling up those stories.

I remember doing the same when I first discovered Louis L’Amour back in the fifties. That man could spin a yarn like nobody’s business. I was so sad to hear that he’d died this past June, but he left us a whole lot of good reading, and I’m grateful for that.

Winters are dark and cold in Jackson Hole, and I don’t know what I’d do without my Westerns. You can bet this winter both Jack and I will be curled up in front of the fire with a book. I envy Jack having all those Louis L’Amour stories ahead of him.

I may read them all again, myself. I should probably try one of the new authors, like that Larry McMurtry everyone’s so keen on. But it just seems as if nobody quite comes up to Louis L’Amour.

1

Present day

“WHAT NAME DO you want to go by while you’re at the ranch?”

Michael James Hartford, aka Western writer Jim Ford, thought about how to answer Jack Chance, who was currently driving him to the Last Chance Ranch. Michael had flown to Wyoming from New York City so he could learn some cowboy basics before a publicity team put him in front of a video camera in three weeks. Nobody besides Jack was supposed to know Michael was also Jim Ford, who wrote as if he could ride and rope but…couldn’t.

He wondered if he should be known as Mike while he was here. A shortened name seemed better for a cowboy, but he already had his Jim Ford persona. If he adopted too many alternate names he wouldn’t remember which one he should answer to. “Michael’s fine,” he said. “Michael Hartford. That shouldn’t tip anybody off.”

“Michael Hartford it is, then. I don’t think you have anything to worry about, though. Some of the hands have read your books, but they’d never believe a greenhorn like you could possibly be the guy who writes those stories.”

“Yeah, I know.” Michael took the blow to his ego with good humor. His lack of cowboying skills really was an embarrassing joke.

“Besides, the picture in the back of your books shows you with a mustache. That really changes how a guy looks.”

“I grow that mustache before I have to make any appearances or get my picture taken. Then I shave it off. I’ll have to start growing it again next week. Between that and the Stetson, I’ve fooled just about everybody except my family, and they’re not about to broadcast the fact that I’m Jim Ford.”

“I don’t get that. You’d think they’d be proud of you.”

Michael laughed. “They would be if I wrote deep, philosophical literature. The Hartfords are old money, loaded to the gills with culture. They don’t want to claim a pulp fiction author. That’s actually worked to my advantage. If nobody knows who Jim Ford really is, then nobody knows that he’s never been on a horse in his life.”

“That still boggles my mind. You write as if you’re a real cowboy. I would have sworn you’d done all those things. What’s your secret?”

“Research.” Michael felt good knowing he’d managed to get it right, despite his lack of experience. “Plus I grew up reading Louis L’Amour.”

“Me, too. I didn’t think I’d find his equal, but you’ve hooked me real good. I wish my grandmother was still alive. She would have loved your books, too.”

“Thank you. That’s high praise.”

“I mean it sincerely.” Jack shook his head. “But I can’t figure you out. The way you write, I can tell you love the idea of being a cowboy. How come you never got the itch to spend time on a ranch?”

“You hit the nail on the head. I love the idea of being a cowboy, but I’ve avoided the reality, in case it doesn’t live up to my image of it.” Or I don’t. “I’m selling a fantasy, and if I discover that fantasy doesn’t exist…”

“Damnation. You mean this visit could burst your bubble? I don’t want that on my conscience.”

“Hey, Jack, you’re not the one forcing me into this. The publicity department is to blame.” He blew out a breath. “No, that’s not right, either. I created this stupid situation all on my own. I chose to write about a world I don’t know firsthand, and then I accidentally became a big success at it.”

Jack nodded. “I noticed. Your name keeps getting bigger on the cover.”

“If my books weren’t selling so well the publisher would never pay for a video of me playing cowboy. My secret would be safe. But they made it clear I need to do this video if I expect continued support from the marketing team.”

Smiling, Jack glanced over at him. “Cheer up, little buckaroo. It won’t be so bad.”

“Easy for you to say. I’m going to make a damned fool of myself, and you know it.”

“Maybe so, but I’ll be the only one who’ll know it. Your lessons will be as private as I can make them.”

“Thank you for that.” Michael relaxed a little. “Bethany told me I could trust you.” He’d met motivational author Bethany Grace on the Opal Knightly TV talk show and they’d kept in touch. When he’d needed riding lessons on the QT he’d thought of her, because she’d grown up in Jackson Hole.

“Bethany’s good people,” Jack said. “Did you catch her wedding to Nash Bledsoe on Opal’s show?”

“Sure did. Nash is a friend of yours, right?”

“Yep.” Jack checked his mirrors before pulling around a slow-moving semi. “Nash owns a little spread next door to the Last Chance.”

“Bethany mentioned that. She inherited it, sold it to Nash and the rest reads like a romance novel.”

Jack chuckled. “It does, at that. Poor Nash, though, having to get hitched on national TV. There was some talk of me being the best man at that shindig, but it was way better for Nash’s dad to have that honor.”

Michael was beginning to get a bead on Jack’s personality so he made a calculated guess. “You didn’t want to do it, did you?”

“Hell, no. Not after I found out I had to wear makeup.” Jack grimaced.

“It’s not so bad, little buckaroo.”

“Maybe not for a city slicker like yourself, but real cowboys don’t wear makeup.”

“What about your friend Nash? I guarantee he had on makeup during that wedding.”

“Only because otherwise he wouldn’t get to marry Bethany. Bethany was beholden to Opal for letting her out of her TV contract, and Opal was determined to stage that wedding on TV.”

“What a guy won’t do for love.” As he said it, Michael realized he had no personal experience to go by, and that was a damned shame.

“Ain’t it the truth. My wife, Josie, has got me wrapped around her little finger. Between her and my kid, Archie, I’m like a bull with a ring in its nose. They can lead me anywhere.”

Michael grinned. “I seriously doubt that.”

“No, really. They’ve got me hog-tied. How about you? Is there some citified lady calling the shots in your life?”

“Nope.”

“Too busy?”

“Kind of, but that’s not really the problem. The highsociety women I meet don’t interest me, but I can’t date the ones I meet as Jim Ford because they think I’m a cowboy, which I’m not.” He didn’t like being caught between worlds, not belonging in either one, but he hadn’t figured out what to do about it. He envied a guy like Jack, who knew who he was and where he fit in.

Jack tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. “But you will be a cowboy.”

Michael felt a jolt of pleasure at the possibility. But he had to be realistic. “In a week? Not likely.”

“Are you doubting my ability?”

“No, I’m doubting mine.”

“Well, cut that out right now. First and foremost, a cowboy faces every challenge with an air of quiet confidence.”

“Of course he does, especially if he’s a hero in one of my books.” Michael looked over at Jack and expected they’d share a laugh over that. Instead, Jack seemed totally serious. “Wait, you’re not kidding, are you?”

“No, I’m not. Being a cowboy is a state of mind. You can start working on your attitude before you ever put your booted foot in a stirrup.”

“I see.” Michael was fascinated. For years he’d assumed that the larger-than-life cowboys in his books didn’t exist in reality. But Jack Chance was proving that assumption had been dead wrong.

AFTER A YEAR working as the housekeeper at the Last Chance’s main house, Keri Fitzpatrick, former Baltimore socialite, could wield a mean mop. She’d learned the basics from her boss, Sarah Chance, and the cook, Mary Lou Simms. Following their instructions, Keri could clean windows like nobody’s business and polish bathroom fixtures until they sparkled like fine silver.

But she’d challenge anybody, even a professional armed with power equipment, to eliminate some mysterious smell left by eight adolescent boys. They’d been part of the Last Chance’s summer program for disadvantaged youths, and they’d moved out early that morning. She’d been cleaning nonstop ever since except for a short lunch break with Mary Lou.

The second floor, where the boys had slept in two rooms fitted with bunk beds, was warm, and she dripped with sweat. Putting her hair in a ponytail to get it off her neck hadn’t helped cool her off much. She’d opted for jeans instead of shorts because she’d anticipated getting on her hands and knees for this job.

Sure enough, she’d had to clean some gunk off the baseboards. God knew what it was. She’d dealt with this last August right after being hired, but she was sure the previous year’s batch of kids hadn’t left a stink this bad. She’d noticed a slight odor yesterday, but had thought it would leave with the kids. Instead, it was worse.

Glancing at her watch, she gasped. The wealthy tenderfoot from New York City was due any minute. She’d been told very little about him, but Jack had said the guy was used to the best.

Keri had been raised in luxury, too. Although she didn’t live that way now, she knew exactly how to prepare guest quarters for a wealthy man. She’d spit-shined his room, which was at the other end of the hall, right across from her room. The crockery vase of wildflowers she’d placed on his dresser gave off a delicate aroma.

The poor things couldn’t begin to compete with the stench coming from the boys’ rooms. She’d already tested the situation, and the entire top floor, including the tenderfoot’s room, smelled like a garbage dump. Opening all the windows hadn’t made a dent in the foul odor.

Desperate to find the source, she went through everything again—closets, drawers, even under the bunk beds. Finally she found a kitchen matchbox crammed so far under one of the bunks that she’d missed it when she’d swept and mopped. Using a broom, she nudged it free and nearly gagged. She’d found her culprit.

She shouldn’t have looked, but after all this effort, she wanted to know what was in that box. As she slid open the matchbox, the smell got worse. She stared at a very fragrant, and very dead, mouse. It rested on a carefully folded tissue, and a second tissue covered the lower part of its body, so only the head was exposed.

Guessing what had happened wasn’t hard. She’d been around the boys enough to understand how their minds worked. They’d found the dead mouse, decided it deserved a decent burial and put it in the matchbox. Then they’d forgotten all about it.

Now what? She could throw it in the trash, but that seemed wrong. They’d folded the tissues so carefully, and she was touched by their concern for the little creature’s final resting place. Silly as it seemed, she wanted to bury it the way they’d intended.

Okay, so she would. Holding the box, she walked into the hall. She didn’t dare take the smelly thing down the back stairs and through Mary Lou’s pristine kitchen, so she made for the curved stairway leading to the front door. If she was very lucky she could get rid of the dead mouse before the tenderfoot arrived.

Luck was not on her side. The front door opened and Jack Chance ushered a broad-shouldered man through it. From this angle he didn’t look like a tenderfoot. His jeans were slightly worn and his blue chambray shirt was faded. His leather suitcase was scuffed up some, and even his hat seemed broken in. If she didn’t know better, she’d think this was a seasoned cowboy, and a nicely built one, at that.

Jack closed the door behind them. “I’ll take you straight upstairs so you can get settled in before dinner.”

As Keri froze in position, unsure whether to go up or down, Jack spotted her. “Ah, Keri! Perfect! You can show Michael to his room. Michael Hartford, this is Keri Fitzpatrick, our housekeeper. I’m sure she has your room all ready.”

Michael Hartford glanced up. “Nice to meet you, Keri.”

“Nice to meet you, too.” Whoa. Cute guy. Square jaw, strong nose and dreamy eyes that were an unusual blue-gray color. He looked vaguely familiar, too, although she was sure she didn’t know anybody named Michael Hartford.

She’d love to show him to his room, but not while she was holding an extremely dead mouse. “Um, Jack, before I show Mr. Hartford to his room, I need to—”

“What’s that godawful smell?” Jack wrinkled his nose.

“I found a dead mouse under one of the bunks.”

“It’s in that box?”

“Yes, and I—”

“Let me have it.” Jack started up the stairs. “I’ll throw it in the trash.”

Although it might not be wise to disagree with the man who signed her paycheck, Keri couldn’t let him take the mouse. “That’s okay. I’m going to bury it out back. I won’t be a minute. The guest room is all ready.” She started down the stairs.

“You’re going to do what?” Blocking her passage, Jack shoved his hat back with his thumb as he stared up at her.

She paused on the step above him. “Bury it.” Jack could be intimidating, but she’d also seen him melt whenever he was with Archie, his little son. Jack had marshmallow insides. “The boys fixed it up with tissues and everything, like it was in a little coffin.”

Jack’s mouth twitched and amusement flickered in his dark eyes. “Keri, those boys are gone. They’ll never know what happened to the mouse. Besides, they obviously forgot all about this burial they’d planned.”

“I realize that, but it was a sweet impulse, a sign they cared for this little creature. I think it proves that they made progress while they were here, and I’d like to carry out their wishes.”

“Or else it was meant as a joke.”

“I prefer to believe it was sincere.”

“All righty, then.” Jack moved aside to let her pass. “Bury it deep. Put a few stones on top. That thing stinks to high heaven and I don’t want the dogs digging it up.”

“I’ll dig a deep hole.” She gave their visitor a quick smile as she walked past him. “Welcome to the Last Chance Ranch, Mr. Hartford. Sorry about the dead mouse.”

He smiled back. “May it rest in peace.”

“That’s the idea.” She held his gaze for a little longer than was polite, but he had such beautiful eyes, especially when they were lit up with that warm smile of his. She hoped he wouldn’t always associate meeting her with the smell of dead animals.

2

AFTER HIS INTRODUCTION to Keri Fitzpatrick, Michael decided he was going to like it here. Most women he knew would refuse to deal with a dead rodent, and if forced to do so, would grab the first opportunity to get rid of it. Instead, Keri had held on to the stinky mouse because she respected the impulse that had caused someone to tuck it into a matchbox.

He would have admired her spunky behavior whether she’d been pretty or not, but she was pretty, which made the encounter even better. He’d thoroughly enjoyed those few seconds of gazing into her vivid green eyes. The fact that she was flushed and sweaty made her eyes even brighter and her dark hair more tempting as it escaped from her ponytail and curled damply at her neck.

Her disheveled state probably wasn’t her favorite way to greet visitors, but she hadn’t bothered to apologize for how she looked. She’d only been concerned about the foul smell of a decaying animal. Good thing he didn’t have a weak stomach.

“Sorry about that,” Jack said. “Ready to go up?”

“You bet.” Michael wanted to ask about Keri. The scene with the dead mouse had charmed him, and when she’d spoken he’d heard a familiar accent. She was from back east somewhere. Not New York, but close.

He’d felt an instant attraction, and her steady gaze had told him she’d been drawn to him, too. But he didn’t ask Jack about her, because that would imply he was intrigued. Maybe he was, but he was here to learn riding and roping skills, not romance the housekeeper.

Pursuing her would be a rotten way to repay the Last Chance’s generous hospitality. Besides, it would be totally out of character for him. He wasn’t a sexual opportunist, ready to make a move on any good-looking woman he ran across.

“The smell should fade in a bit,” Jack said. “At least you’ll be at the other end of the hall. The boys stayed down there.” He gestured to his right as he topped the stairs. “It’ll be a lot more peaceful up here now that they’re gone.”

“Will you miss them?”

Jack glanced at him. “Interesting that you should ask. I will miss those varmints. When they’re here, I’m ready to tear my hair out, but when they leave, the place seems too quiet.”

“I can imagine. All that energy must grow on you.” Michael was impressed by what he’d heard of the program, which Jack had casually described during the ride from the airport.

Judging from the offhand way Jack had talked about it, he’d only intended to give Michael some background in case the subject came up while he was at the ranch. But Michael had made a mental note to donate to the cause. Jack had refused to charge anything for this week because he claimed it was an honor to tutor his favorite living author. So Michael would reimburse Jack in a different way, one the cowboy couldn’t refuse.

“We had to shovel them out of here, though,” Jack said, “to make room for wedding guests arriving at the end of the week.”

“Right. The wedding.” Bethany had told Michael that Sarah, the ranch’s matriarch, was marrying Peter Beckett. Sarah had been widowed several years ago, and everyone seemed thrilled that she’d fallen in love again. “I’m still worried that I’m here at a bad time.”

“No, you’re here at a good time.” Jack grinned as they headed down the hall. “Much as I love my mother and respect Pete, I hate all the fuss and bother that goes into the planning stages of a wedding. You’re the perfect excuse to get me out of that. Come Saturday I’ll dress up and play my role, but until then I’m busy with an important pupil.”

Michael had an uneasy moment. “Why am I so important? I thought nobody knows who I am.”

“Don’t worry. They don’t. But you’re Bethany’s friend. Nash is like family, and Bethany married Nash, so now Bethany’s like family, too. So any friend of Bethany’s is a friend of ours.”

“I see.” Apparently the right connections mattered in the West just as they mattered back east.

“Here’s your room. Used to be mine before I got married, but the furniture’s all different.” Jack walked through a door on the left side of the hallway.

Michael followed him into a large room decorated in shades of green. He noticed a king-size bed and a spectacular view of the Grand Tetons. The jagged peaks still had a smattering of snow, even in August. “Very nice.”

“I like it. Looks like Keri picked you some wildflowers.”

Michael had been captured by the view of the mountains, but now he noticed that a bouquet of Indian paintbrush and purple lupine sat on the dresser. “That was thoughtful.” Research for his books had taught him what they were, because he wouldn’t have had a clue otherwise.

“Yeah, Keri’s a gem. She thinks of those things. Don’t look for an attached bath, though. The bathroom’s right next door, but connecting it would be tricky. The bathtub would get in the way of cutting a door between the rooms. I doubt you’re used to walking out into the hall, but it can’t be helped.”

“Jack, the view from the window is spectacular. I couldn’t care less about an attached bath.”

“Good.” Jack seemed pleased by that. “I’ll leave you to unpack, then. Dinner’s at six, but you can explore the place before then if you want. I have some issues to handle, but Keri should be back from the mouse funeral soon. If you need a guide, I’m sure she’d be glad to show you around.”

“Great.” Michael was careful not to sound too eager about having Keri do him that favor. “And thanks, Jack.”

“Don’t thank me yet. Tomorrow, when your butt’s sore from spending hours on a horse and you ache all over, you may not be so thankful.”

“I thought you said it wouldn’t be too bad?”

Jack smiled. “I didn’t want you to panic.” Then he turned on his booted heel and left the room.

Some exit line. And thanks to that line, anxiety had him firmly in its grip. What the hell did he think he was doing? Nobody could learn to be a cowboy in a week.

Despite the help from Jack, he could end up falling off his horse during the shooting of the video. That would be embarrassing as hell, both to him and to the publicist. He should have confessed his shortcomings to the gung-ho woman who’d called him with feverish excitement to propose the video they would shoot in three weeks.

Michael could have told her the truth and suggested they drop the idea. Some still shots might work if they found a docile horse for him. But no, he hadn’t said those things because he’d wanted to preserve the mystique. Ego, pure and simple.

With a sigh, he walked over to the window and looked out at the majestic Tetons. He should have come to this part of the country years ago. A summer on a dude ranch would have given him what he needed and he wouldn’t be in this fix now.

But he hadn’t admitted all his fears to Jack. He was deathly afraid that he wouldn’t have any talent for being a cowboy, no matter how long he worked at it. By cramming his lessons into a week, he could excuse himself if he failed. If he’d taken an entire summer and failed, he’d have been forced to conclude that he wasn’t cut out for the life he wrote about so convincingly.

That would be a tough pill to swallow. He wasn’t sure how that would affect his writing, but he had a hunch it would make a dramatic difference. If he’d never tried to be a real cowboy, then he could hang on to the illusion that such a thing might be possible.

“Mr. Hartford?”

He turned from the window and discovered Keri standing in the doorway. “Call me Michael, okay?”

“All right, if that’s what you’d prefer. Is there anything you need? I ducked out on my job, but I’m available now.”

“Has the mouse received a decent burial?”

“It was quick, but I think the boys would have been satisfied.” She studied him. “It’s the strangest thing, but I feel as if I know you from somewhere. I don’t, do I?”

He didn’t dare ask if she read Westerns, but this was the very thing he’d worried about. “I doubt it. I have one of those faces. People often think they know me.”

“Maybe, but I’ve seen you somewhere. I’ll figure it out.”

That settled one thing for sure. He wouldn’t start growing his mustache while he was here.

“So, is everything to your liking? Have you checked out the towel supply in the bathroom?”

“I’m sure it’s fine.” He still couldn’t quite place her accent.

“What’s your pillow preference? You currently have down, but I can substitute polyester fill if you’re allergic.”

“Not allergic. I’m pretty low maintenance.” He had a feeling she was, too. She’d hurried right back without stopping to primp.

“Then I’ll quit pestering you and let you settle in. If there’s anything you need, my room’s right across the hall.”

“It is?”

“I know. It’s not the usual thing to have the employees stay on the same floor as the guests, but Sarah never planned on having more help than Mary Lou, the cook. Then the boys came, which made extra work. When they hired me last summer, they put me up here.”

“Do we…uh…share a bathroom?” That could get quite cozy.

“No, we don’t. That one is all yours. Last fall Jack renovated my space and installed a small bathroom. He also put one in between the boys’ rooms, but it’s tiny, too. The nicest one is yours.” She backed toward the door. “Let me know if you need anything, though. Seriously.”

“Jack said you might give me a tour of the house.”

“He did?” She glanced down at her clothes. Without saying a word, she’d managed to communicate her desperate hope for a shower and change of outfit.

“But it can wait until you get cleaned up.”

Relief showed in her green eyes. “Thank you. I feel gross. Give me fifteen minutes.”

“I’ll give you thirty. Listen, I’ve been trying to place your accent. Where are you from?”

“Baltimore. See you in twenty minutes.” Flashing her bright smile, she turned and walked across the hall.

He gazed after her. He had a hunch she hadn’t been a housekeeper back in Baltimore. Everybody had a story, and he wanted to know hers.

KERI RETREATED TO her room so she could give herself a good talking to while she showered off the grime. She was attracted to Michael, and she needed to put a lid on that inconvenient attraction ASAP. She was a member of the staff, which meant no fraternizing with the guests.

Nobody had told her that in so many words, but she’d been on the other end of the social spectrum. Her parents would have fired any maid who’d shown interest in a houseguest. It just wasn’t done.

The Chances hadn’t turned this upstairs bedroom into housekeeper’s quarters so that she could mingle with the guests. They’d put her here because it was the only space available that also could be plumbed for a small bathroom. If she happened to be across the hall from the extremely good-looking Michael Hartford, she didn’t have to emphasize the fact. God knew what he’d thought when she’d mentioned how close she was to his room.

When she took him on a tour, she’d establish more distance between them. The whole mouse incident had thrown her off and made her forget her position here. She’d even pushed the issue of burying the little rodent when Jack had clearly thought that was nonsense, and she’d made her stand in front of Michael. She’d apologize to Jack about that.

After years of being at the top of the social pecking order, she sometimes forgot that she wasn’t there now, at least not in Jackson Hole. Then again, the Chance family didn’t stand on ceremony with their employees. Back home, the household help wouldn’t dream of calling their employers by their first names. At the Last Chance, first names were all anybody used.

That made it easy for her to forget that she wasn’t in charge around here. She figured the Chances understood why she slipped up sometimes, though. They all knew that anytime she chose, she could tap into her trust fund. She was proud to say she hadn’t needed to.

Eighteen months ago, on New Year’s Eve, she’d scandalized Baltimore society by engaging in an epic girl fight at a ritzy party. Selena had started it, and Keri had finished it. Pictures of the fight had shown up on Facebook, and somehow Keri had become the villain of the piece.

When she could no longer be effective in her job at a Baltimore PR firm because of the gossip, she’d decided that a change of scenery might be a good idea. Wyoming had seemed far enough away to accomplish that, and she’d loved the area when the family had come for ski vacations. She’d flown to Jackson, rented a car and searched for a job.

Lucky for her, the Last Chance had taken her on, and instinct had told her to grab the opportunity. Sure, she could have lived off her trust fund while she was in Jackson Hole, but she’d wanted to see if she could make it on her own. She’d been a trust-fund baby for too long, and she hadn’t realized how that steady income had undermined her confidence.