The Maverick's Secret Baby

Maximilian shrugged. “It’s a legitimate question.”

Finn held up a hand. “Wait. That’s not what—”

But Viv wasn’t having it. She cut him off before he could explain. “There are far more important things than looks when it comes to a potential life partner.”

Agreed.

Finn wasn’t looking for a life partner, though. He doubted he’d be looking for one for another decade or so. Besides, he’d simply been trying to figure out if they’d been talking about the same Avery. All Old Gene needed to say was long, lush brown hair and dark, expressive eyes. Then he would have known.

Give it up. This is the opposite end of the country from Texas.

Or Oklahoma, for that matter.

Besides, Avery Ellington would stick out like a sore thumb in Rust Creek Falls. Surely he’d have run into her by now.

“You’ve found all of Viv’s picks attractive so far, son. I’m sure this Avery girl wouldn’t be any different,” Maximilian said.

Finn let out a long exhale. How shallow could his father possibly make him sound? Maybe it was time to stop humoring the old man and dating every woman Viv Dalton threw at him.

“Thank you for everything, Ms. Dalton, but I think it’s time to go.” Finn stood and turned toward Maximilian. “Dad?”

His father didn’t budge.

Fine. He could waste all the time and money he desired, but Finn was out of there. He tipped his hat to Viv and waded through all the pastel cupcake fluff toward the exit. All the while, his father’s words echoed in his head.

I’m sure this Avery girl wouldn’t be any different.

That’s where he was wrong.

Finn had never met a woman quite like Avery Ellington.

Avery Ellington tucked her yoga mat under her arm and made her way down the curved staircase of the old Victorian house where she’d been living for the past few weeks.

Living? Ha. Hiding is more like it.

Her grip on the banister tightened. She didn’t want to dwell on her reasons for tucking herself away at Strickland’s Boarding House in Nowheresville, Montana. She had more pressing problems at the moment—like the fact that her Lululemons were practically bursting at the seams.

Even so, instead of heading to the back porch for her early-morning yoga session when she reached the foot of the stairs, she veered toward the kitchen to see what smelled so good in there.

Her appetite had never been so active back in Dallas. She hardly recognized herself. Before, breakfast consisted of a skinny triple latte consumed en route to a business meeting. Then again, her entire life had been different before. This new after was strange…different.

And scary as heck.

“Ah, good morning, dear.” Melba wiped her hands on her apron and smiled as Avery entered the boarding house’s huge kitchen. “Claire just left to take Bekkah to school, but she made a fresh batch of muffins earlier. Would you like some?”

Claire, the Stricklands’ granddaughter, was the official cook for the boarding house. She and her family used to live with the Stricklands, but according to Old Gene, they’d recently moved out, leaving Melba a little out of sorts. Claire still came by regularly to cook, but Melba’s empty nest meant Avery got more than her fair share of the older woman’s attention.

Not that being doted on was a bad thing, necessarily. Truth be told, Avery was accustomed to it. She’d been doted on her entire life.

“Good morning. And thank you.” Avery bit into a muffin and nodded toward her mat. “I’m about to do a little yoga out back. It’s such a nice, crisp day.”

God, who was she? She sounded like Gwyneth Paltrow on a spa weekend instead of the Avery Ellington she’d been since graduating with honors from the University of Texas and stepping up as the vice president of Ellington Meats.

You’re still the same person. This is only temporary. Mostly, anyway.

Right. As soon as she did what she’d come to Rust Creek Falls to do, she’d go straight home and get back to her regular life in Dallas. Her charmed life. The life that she loved.

“Here you go.” Melba handed her a steaming mug of something that smelled wonderful—nutmeg, brown sugar and warm apple pie. Autumn in a cup. “We’ve had hot apple cider simmering all morning. This will get you nice and warmed up before you go outside.”

“Thank you.” Avery took a deep inhale of the fragrant cider and had a sudden urge to curl up and knit by the fire in the boarding house’s cozy hearth instead of practicing her downward dog.

Never mind that she’d never held a knitting needle in her life. Clearly she’d been in Montana too long.

She took a sip and glanced at Old Gene, sitting at the kitchen table with a live goat in his lap. “How’s the baby this morning?”

Baby.

Her throat went dry, and she took another gulp of cider.

“She’s settling in.” Old Gene nodded and offered the adorable animal a large baby bottle. The goat wasted no time latching on.

Melba rolled her eyes. “If you call waking up every two hours ‘settling in.’ Honestly, I don’t know what possessed you to bring that thing home.”

“My cousin is in the hospital with a broken hip, and he’s got a barn full of animals that need tending. What was I supposed to do? Bring home a pig?”

Melba tossed a handful of cinnamon sticks into the pot of cider. “Lord, help me.”

Old Gene winked at Avery behind Melba’s back, and she smiled into her mug. The morning goat wars had become a regular thing since Gene had returned from his rescue mission to his cousin’s farm a week or so ago, goat in hand. Melba was antigoat, particularly indoors, whereas Old Gene doted on the animal like it was a child.

Avery had yet to go anywhere near it. She didn’t know a thing about goats. Or baby bottles, for that matter.

“You’re really doing your best to get on my last nerve this morning.” Melba sighed.

“I was simply trying to do something nice,” Old Gene muttered. “You never know. Avery might enjoy going on a date with a nice young man.”

“Wait…what?” She blinked.

How had the conversation moved seamlessly and at lightning speed from the goat to her love life?

“Gene.” Melba looked like she might hit him over the head with her ladle.

“Can I ask what you two are talking about?” Avery set her mug down on the counter with a thunk.

Old Gene shrugged. “Viv Dalton just called. Apparently she knows a lonely cowboy.”

“Don’t you worry, dear.” Melba reached for her hand and gave it a pat. “I made sure Viv knows you’re not interested in meeting a man right now. Old Gene had no business even giving her your name.”

Avery had no idea who Viv Dalton was, nor did she care. But she cared very much about her name floating around town. She might be new to Rust Creek Falls, but she was well aware of how swiftly the rumor mill worked. Case in point: Melba knew her husband was bringing home a goat before he’d even walked through the door. Old Gene had stopped by the general store for supplies on the way back to the boarding house and before his truck had pulled into the driveway, Melba had already gotten half a dozen texts and calls about the furry little kid.