The Maverick's Holiday Masquerade. Caro Carson

But Mom, I’m not really a Roarke.

       Oh, but you are. I think you were always meant to be my son, and I was always meant to be your mother.

      The memory caught him by surprise. Did his analytical adoptive mother truly believe in fate, or had she said those words to comfort a boy who’d never forgotten being left behind?

      “Are you okay?”

      Kristen’s soft question brought him back to reality. He gave her a polite, reassuring smile that was little more than a reflex.

      “Yes, I’m fine.”

      How odd that she’d asked. He hadn’t changed the rhythm of their dancing or the way he was holding her as he’d remembered his mother’s words about destiny. On the surface, everything was the same, all smooth skin, smooth steps, synchronicity. And yet, Kristen had noticed his subtle change in mood.

      She was more than a pretty country girl, and he couldn’t fool himself otherwise. There was something special about her. This day had become so much more than a weekend away from the rat race. This town, this celebration, this woman all combined to make Ryan feel like he was standing at the brink of something new. Did she feel it, too?

      He’d known her for minutes. He couldn’t ask her if she believed in destiny, but he could hold her as the band played, so he lost himself in her blue eyes as they waltzed together under the big Montana sky.

      * * *

      The Cowboy didn’t seem inclined to make small talk, and she loved dancing too much to want to chatter about nothing when she could be enjoying the music and the motion, so they danced in silence as one song led to the next.

      Occasionally, though, she noticed someone on the dance floor would seem to recognize Ryan, and they’d exchanged a friendly nod.

       Who are you? Where did you come from?

      She was half-afraid to ask. He was too perfect for her—he even wanted to dance every song, just like she did—so she could almost imagine she’d conjured him up. Like a figment of her imagination, he could disappear as easily as he’d arrived.

      Sooner than she would have liked, the band stopped playing and the wedding cake was cut with the usual ceremony. It went without saying that after being so in tune with Ryan on the dance floor, they’d take their cake slices and walk in step toward one of the many card tables that had been set up under the park’s shade trees.

      Dancing had been all about communicating with movement, but Kristen had no desire to sit across from the man and eat wedding cake in silence.

      “Will you be in town long?” she asked, jumping in with both feet and asking the most important question first. Her brothers would probably shake their heads and say she was being too bold again, but her sister would probably tell her she’d make a good journalist, getting right to the point.

      “Just until tomorrow.” Ryan set his plate aside and gave her his full attention, arms crossed on the table, gaze on her face.

      Shivers ran down her spine. Hadn’t she vowed to find a man who paid attention to her and only her?

      Her sister had been so serious as they’d sat on the fence, telling Kristen she shouldn’t dare the universe with her declaration about not falling in love today. If the universe had decided to prove Kristen wrong by setting the perfect man in front of her as a temptation—well, heck, that wasn’t much of a punishment. She’d said she wouldn’t fall in love, but a girl would be crazy not to reconsider after meeting a man like Ryan.

      She flipped her hair back over her shoulder to keep it out of the white icing. “What did you mean when I asked you if you were from around here, and you said you could be?”

      “It’s a thought I’ve been entertaining. It might be time to get out of the fast lane and settle down, somewhere away from the madding crowds. I like Montana.”

      She licked a little frosting off her finger as she listened. Not a lot of cowboys would describe their lives as being in the fast lane.

      “I’ve visited a few places in Montana over the past couple of years,” he said, “but right now, Rust Creek Falls looks just about perfect.”

      He was looking right at her. Another shiver went down her spine, and she decided the sensation was as delicious as the cake. She was already half in love with Ryan. He was handsome and humorous, with a cowboy’s good manners and rock-hard body, and most of all, he seemed to be interested in everything she had to say. If he was considering a permanent move to Rust Creek Falls, the universe had won the dare. She’d fall in love today and be happy that the universe had known better than she had.

      “Are you a Traub?” he asked.

      “No, I’m a Dalton.”

      “Good. I was starting to think everyone was a Traub except me.”

      It could have been her overactive actress’s imagination, but he’d said that line with a touch of wistfulness.

      “Don’t feel too left out. There are oodles of Daltons and Crawfords and Stricklands here, too. You don’t have to be a Traub to live in Rust Creek Falls.”

      One of the Traubs in question passed near their table, Collin Traub, the mayor, to be exact. He nodded at Ryan, who hesitated just a moment before nodding back.

      “You know Collin?” Kristen asked. That was excellent. The more ties Ryan had to this town, the more reasons he had to stay.

      “Collin who?”

      “The man you just nodded at.”

      “No, not really.” He looked away from her toward Collin, then glanced around the other tables, but his gaze didn’t stop on anyone in particular.

      He knew no one, then. That could be a lonely feeling. Kristen remembered feeling lost on campus when she’d first arrived at the University of Montana. The modest city of Missoula had seemed like a giant metropolis of heartless strangers.

      She didn’t want Ryan to feel that way, not in her town. She slid his discarded plate back in front of him, took his fork and scooped up a chunk from the best part of the slice, the corner between the top and side that had the most frosting. Maybe a little sugar would bring the smile back to his face.

      She held the fork up. “Here, eat this. You can’t let homemade cake go to waste.”

      He didn’t smile. One brow lifted slightly at her impulsive gesture. She hadn’t thought it through, but if she’d expected him to take the fork from her, she’d been wrong. Instead, with his intense gaze never leaving her face, he leaned forward and ate the bite off the fork as she held it.

      It was a move for lovers. There was an intimacy to feeding someone. She could imagine that mouth on her skin, tasting her, taking his time, savoring the moment...

      Kristen sat back in the metal chair and lifted the hair off the back of her neck. The heat of the day hadn’t dissipated, although it was getting close to suppertime, but she knew the real reason she was warm, and it had to do with a man who was just a bit older, just a bit more self-possessed, just a bit more devilish, than the men she usually dated. The universe had outdone itself.

      She leaned forward once more, determined to match Ryan’s confidence. “Collin seemed to recognize you, even if you don’t know him.”

      Ryan nodded once, a crisp acknowledgment of her observation. “I’m surprised. I didn’t think anyone around here would recognize me.”

      The proverbial lightbulb went off over Kristen’s head. What kind of cowboy talked about crowds and fast lanes? What kind of cowboy got recognized by people who were strangers to him?

      A cowboy who starred in the rodeo, that was who. Collin Traub had once been a rodeo rider, and he recognized Ryan.

      In ninth grade, Kristen had gone through her rodeo phase. She’d been able to name all the best cutting horses