The Last Single Maverick

“Yes, ma’am. Everything.” To his left, he was vaguely aware that the second cousin sitting there had risen. Someone else slipped into the empty spot.

And Aunt Melba wasn’t through with him yet. “Jason, you know that we’re all concerned about you.”

“Kind of seems that way, yes.” He got busy on his second ear of corn, still hoping that putting all his attention on the food would get rid of her. It had worked with Belinda.

But Aunt Melba was not about to give up. “I understand you’re having some kind of life crisis.”

He swallowed. The wad of corn went down hard. He grabbed his water glass and knocked back a giant gulp. “Life crisis? No, ma’am. I’m not.”

“Please call me Melba—and there’s no point in lying about it. I’m seventy-six years old, young man. I know a man in crisis when I see one.”

“No, ma’am,” he said again. “I mean that. There’s no crisis.” By then, he was starting to feel a little like Judas at the last supper. If he just kept denying, maybe she would go away.

“I asked you to call me Melba,” she corrected a second time, more sternly.

“Sorry, Melba. But I mean it. I’m not having a crisis. I am doing just fine. And really, I—”

“There’s a lovely church here in town that I’ve been attending. Everyone is so friendly. I felt at home there from the first. And so will you, Jason.”

“Uh…”

“Tomorrow. Join us. The Thunder Canyon Community Church. North Main at Cedar Street. Come to the service at ten. I’ll be watching for you. There is no problem in this wide world that a little time with the Lord can’t resolve.”

“Well, Melba, thank you for the invitation. I’ll, um, try to be there.”

“Get involved, young man,” Melba instructed with an enthusiastic nod of her imposing double chin. “That’s the first step. Stop sitting on the sidelines of life.” She opened her mouth to say more, but the white-haired lady on her other side touched her arm and spoke to her. Melba turned to answer.

Jace held his breath. And luck was with him. Melba and the other old lady had struck up a conversation.

He was just starting to feel relieved when a hand closed on his left thigh and a sultry voice spoke in his ear. “Jace, aren’t you even going to say hi?”

He smelled musky perfume and turned his head slowly to meet a pair of glittering green eyes. “Hi.”

The woman was not any member of his extended family that he knew of. She had jet-black hair and wore a painted-on red tank top. “Oh, you’re kidding me.” She laughed. “You don’t remember? Last summer? Your brother Corey’s bachelor party at the Hitching Post?” The Hitching Post was a landmark restaurant and bar in town.

“I, uh…”

“Theresa,” the woman said. “Theresa Duvall.”

“Hey.” He tried on a smile. He remembered her now—vaguely anyway. For Jace, the weekend of Corey’s bachelor party and wedding had been mostly of the “lost” variety. His twin, Jackson, had still been single then. The two of them had partied straight through for three days. There had been serious drinking. Way too much drinking. And the night of the bachelor party, he’d gone home with Theresa, hadn’t he? Somehow, that had seemed like a good idea at the time. “So, Theresa,” he said, “how’ve you been?”

Her hand glided a little higher on his thigh. “I have been fine, Jace. Just fine. And it is so good to see you,” she cooed. “I had such a great time with you.” Theresa, as he recalled, was not the least interested in settling down. In fact, the look on her face told him exactly what she was interested in: another night like that one last summer.

He had to get out of there. He grabbed another wipe, swabbed off his greasy fingers and then gently removed Theresa’s wandering hand from his thigh. “Excuse me, Theresa.”

“Oh, now,” she coaxed in a breathy whisper, “don’t run off.”

“Men’s room?” He put a question mark after it, even though he knew perfectly well where the restrooms were.

Theresa pointed. “Over there.” She gave him a low-eyed, smoldering glance as he pushed his chair out and rose. “Hurry back,” she instructed, licking her lips.

It wasn’t easy, but he forced himself not to take off at a run. He ambled away casually, waving and nodding to friends and family as he headed for the restrooms—only detouring sharply for the exit as soon as he was no longer in Theresa’s line of sight. A moment later, he ducked out of the Rib Shack altogether and into the giant, five-story clubhouse lobby of the resort.

Now what?

Someplace quiet. Someplace where he could be alone.

The Lounge, he thought. It was a bar in the clubhouse and it was exactly what he needed right now. The Lounge was kind of a throwback really—a throwback to earlier times, when cattlemen had their own private clubs where the women didn’t trespass. In the Lounge, the lights were kept soothingly low. The bar was long and made of gleaming burled wood. It had comfortable conversation areas consisting of dark wood tables and fat studded-leather chairs. Women seemed to avoid the Lounge. They tended to prefer the more open, modern bar in the upscale Gallatin Room, or the cowboy-casual style of the bar in the Rib Shack.

The Lounge was perfect for the mood he was in.

He found it as he’d hoped it might be—mostly deserted. One lone customer sat up at the bar. A woman, surprisingly enough. A brunette. Jace liked the look of her instantly, which surprised him. As a rule lately, it didn’t matter how hot or good-looking a woman was. He just wasn’t interested. Not on any level.

But this woman was different. Special. He sensed that at first sight.

She had a whole lot of thick, tousled brown hair tumbling down her back. In the mirror over the bar, he could see that she had big brown eyes and full, kissable lips. She was dressed casually, in jeans and a giant white shirt, untucked. She wore very little makeup.

And the best thing about her? She seemed so relaxed. Like she wasn’t after anything except to sip her margarita and enjoy the quiet comfort of the Lounge.

She saw him watching her in the mirror over the bar. For a second or two, their eyes met. He felt a little curl of excitement down inside him before she glanced away. Instantly, he wanted her to glance at him again.

Surprise. Excitement. The desire that a certain woman might give him a second look. These were all emotions with which he’d become completely unfamiliar.

Yeah, all right. It wasn’t news that he used to be something of a player. But in the past six months or so? Uh-uh. He was tired of being a ladies’ man—like he was tired of just about everything lately. Including finding the right woman and settling down.

Because, yeah, Jason had tried that. Or at least, he’d wanted to try it with a certain rich-girl swimsuit model named Tricia Lavelle.

It hadn’t worked out. In fact, the whole experience had been seriously disheartening.

A cell phone on the bar started ringing. The brunette picked it up, scowled at the display and then put it to her ear. “What do you want?” She let out an audible sigh. “You’re not serious. Oh, please, Kenny, get real. It’s over. Move on.” She hung up and dropped the phone back on the bar.

Jace took the stool next to her and signaled the bartender. “Jack Daniels, rocks.” The bartender poured and set his drink in front of him. “And another margarita,” Jace added. “For the lady.”

“No, thanks.” She shook her head at the barkeep and he left them alone. Then she turned to Jace and granted him a patient look from that fine pair of enormous brown eyes. “No offense,” she said.

“None taken.”

“And don’t even think about it, okay? I’m on a solo vacation and right now, I hate men.”

He studied her face. It was such a great face. One of those faces a guy could look at forever and still find new expressions in it. “Already, I really like you.”

“Didn’t I just say I hate men?”

“That makes you a challenge. Haven’t you heard? Men love a challenge.”

“I’m serious. Don’t bother. It’s not gonna happen.”

He faced the rows of liquor bottles arrayed in front of the mirror over the bar and shrugged. “Okay, if you’re sure.”