The Maverick's Secret Baby. Teri Wilson

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.

      “You gave my name to a stranger?” Avery felt sick.

      The goat let loose with a pitiful bleat that perfectly mirrored the panic swirling in her consciousness.

      Old Gene and Melba exchanged a worried glance.

      “Only your first name.” Melba reached for Avery’s empty cup and refilled it with another ladleful of fragrant apple cider. A peace offering. “I’m sorry, dear. Old Gene was just trying to help, but I set him straight.”

      Avery nodded.

      She wasn’t sure what to say at this point. The day she arrived, she’d made it very clear to Melba that she was in town for a little respite. She’d been in desperate need of peace and quiet.

      Avery had a feeling Melba assumed she was on the run from a bad boyfriend—maybe even a not-so-nice husband. She was somewhat ashamed to admit that she’d done nothing to correct this assumption. But it had been the only way to prevent her arrival in Rust Creek Falls from hitting the rumor circuit.

      Her time had run out, apparently.

      “Apologize to Avery, Gene.” Melba pointed at her husband with a wooden spoon.

      “I’m sorry,” he said.

      Avery smiled in return, because it was impossible to be angry at a man bottle-feeding a baby goat. “You’re forgiven.”

      Melba let out a relieved exhale and turned back to the stove. “Go on now and do your yoga in peace. Gene and I both know you’re not one bit interested in meeting that Crawford boy, no matter how charming and handsome Viv Dalton says he is.”

      Avery almost dropped her yoga mat.

       That Crawford boy?

      She couldn’t be talking about Finn. Absolutely not.

       Please, please no.

      And yet somehow she knew it was true.

      Charming? Check.

      Handsome? Double check.

      She swallowed hard, but bile rose up the back of her throat before she could stop it. She felt like she might be sick to her stomach…again. But that was pretty much par for the course now, just like her crazy new insatiable food cravings and the broken zipper on her favorite pencil skirt.