The Fixer-Upper Bride: Country Brides & Cowboy Boots (Cobble Creek Romance Book 2) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  The Fixer-Upper Bride

  Maria Hoagland

  Copyright © 2017 by Maria Hoagland

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Photographer: Emily Penrod

  Contents

  Introduction

  Foreword

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Also By Maria Hoagland

  About the Author

  Introduction

  Welcome to Country Brides & Cowboy Boots, a series full of everything country, from horses and rodeo to small towns and business owners. There a little something for every reader in this series and we can’t wait for you to jump right in and get reading.

  One thing you’ll notice, is that the books stand alone. You can read them in any order (except for the Fair Catch Ranch Family Saga—but those books are labeled so you can easily find your way.) You’ll also find that they are all in the same universe—meaning what happens in one book, can be found in another. You’re going to love finding all the eggs we’ve stashed and once the whole series is out, you’ll want to read them again and again to connect the dots.

  Without further delay, please enjoy The Fixer-Upper Bride.

  Happy reading,

  Gelato

  Foreword

  I never have enough time to read all the books on my to-be-read list—there are too many and the list continues to grow. I was thrilled that I could put Maria Hoagland’s newest book, The Fixer-Upper Bride, at the top of my list.

  Snuggling up in the corner of my leather couch, I immediately got lost in the story and fell in love with the characters, Frankie and Logan. They weren’t looking for love, and Frankie tried her best to fix-up Logan with other women when he was exactly right for her.

  I know you will enjoy revisiting Cobble Creek, Wyoming, the picturesque town first introduced to us in The Sheriff’s Bride by Kimberly Krey, and the setting for Maria’s delightful book in the Country Bride & Cowboy Boots series.

  Cindy Roland Anderson, Author of the Georgia Moon Romance Series

  Chapter 1

  “Ready to begin our next grand escapade?” Logan Wells locked the house door for the last time and turned away to look to the future.

  In the weak dawn light, he watched his ten-year-old daughter, Harper, stuff her string bag of essentials into the corner between her seat in the front of the SUV and the armrest, completing the comfortable nest she’d created for herself. She flashed him a goofy grin and two thumbs-up.

  The console held their stash of mixed nuts, granola, and other, less-healthy snacks. Two bottles of water—one tainted with grape flavoring and one straight up—filled the cup holders. The charging cord for his phone lay prepared for the inevitable, but it was his daughter’s reaction, her spunk and thirst for adventure, that gave him the courage to start the ignition.

  He wasn’t sure what he would have done if Harper was wary of the move from Denver to the small Wyoming town of Cobble Creek, but she was way more excited than even he felt. Which meant he’d done a good job selling it. To her, at least.

  “How long is the drive again, Dad?” Harper’s long, dark hair with its whisper of waves reminded him so much of her mother.

  Logan’s chest tightened, as it did just about every day when reality struck. He could only take so much that reminded him of Christina without overloading with grief that should have ebbed long ago. Even after four long years, every attempt he’d taken to move on was hobbled by a reminder of their time together. Hence why it was time for something drastic. Not to forget Christina—because Logan never would—but to start living again.

  Relief from the memories came when he looked into Harper’s dark blue eyes that were like looking in the mirror and focused him on the here and now. He could do this.

  Logan handed Harper his phone. “You figure it out, navigator.” This would be their greatest adventure so far—geocaching on a grand scale—where they moved all of their earthly possessions to the new pin on the map.

  As he walked around the back of the SUV, Logan tugged on the hitch and chains to make sure they were secure and double-checked that the door to the rented trailer remained closed and padlocked. Logan had sold the house furnished to begin a new life. There were some memories he didn’t want to take with him.

  The plan was to move into a bed and breakfast while he made sure his optometry clinic was up and running smoothly, and then find a place of their own. Somehow, moving to a new state with only a few of their favorite things like bicycles, winter gear, and a crate of books and family photo albums made him feel that much freer. Things weren’t important to him, and over the past few months, the word simplify had become his mantra.

  Cobble Creek was the new start he needed. Logan climbed into the driver’s seat and smiled at Harper with relief. “We’re locked; let’s roll.”

  She rewarded him with an exaggerated eye roll, and he chuckled, the constriction in his chest lessening. He was headed for the western Wyoming of his childhood summers. A place where a kid could be carefree among the untamed mountains and open spaces, yet also a place where the people drew you into their community with warmth and friendship. He just hoped it would live up to his memories.

  “The GPS says eight hours and twenty-seven minutes.” Harper put the phone to sleep. “I don’t think we’ve gone on a hunt this far before.” She yawned and snuggled her pillow into the window, something else that reminded him of Christina. She never could stay awake during long car rides. “Wake me when we get somewhere interesting.”

  “How am I going to find it if my helmsman nods off and leaves me alone?”

  “You’ve got Siri to keep you company.” Harper shook her head sadly at her father. “I don’t think you can get lost. It’s not like you’re looking for a nano, Dad; it’s a hotel or B&D or whatever—”

  “B&B. It’s short for bed and breakfast,” he supplied in a tone that suggested she should continue.

  “You can’t expect me to watch the GPS for eight hours. That’s like … forever.”

  He supposed, to a ten-year-old, it probably was.

  Watching the miles tick by slowly beneath his tires, it could feel that way to him as well, if he allowed it. He’d never felt so lonely as he did stuffed into a packed SUV with only a sleeping child and a snarky smartphone persona. But as the dregs of Denver and its multitudinous suburbs weighted his rearview mir
ror, Logan felt freer the farther he drove—like a kite slowly climbing into the atmosphere.

  Relief trickled in. Relief from dealing with his previous business partner who’d made it easy to walk away, relief from managing his in-laws who made each day uncomfortable for him, and relief from the memories chained in grief that held happiness and contentment hostage.

  Logan wasn’t running away from his problems. Of that, he was certain. No, he was running to. Running to possibilities, to opportunities for him and his daughter. What he was seeking was his very own time machine. Time travel that could bring back happiness. Nothing could bring back his wife, but maybe, just maybe, he could locate a sliver of his childhood innocence to bestow upon his daughter—the best gift he could give her.

  Chapter 2

  In an attempt not to be too obvious, Frankie Lawson squeezed her temples to relieve a throbbing headache but masked it by removing the sunglasses from her hair. When she’d entered this meeting, the August sun outside had been blinding, but when it finally adjourned, she would have no further need of the glasses.

  “Thank you again, everyone, for being here!” Either Paul was excited for the end of the meeting, or someone had spiked his Coke. “It’s crunch time with only a few weeks left to work,” Paul continued. “Let’s make this year’s Cobble Creek Art Festival the best yet. We want Cobble Creek to be the mecca for crafts and art in western Wyoming, and every one of you is integral to make that happen.”

  Frankie tamped down the giggles that threatened to escape as she watched Paul Harris swing his arms as if conducting an orchestra. He’d taken up as festival chair as if he was assuming the presidency. While clearly gung ho, Paul’s motives were a mystery to Frankie. She, on the other hand, had an obvious stake in the event’s success. Her antique store thrived or floundered in direct correlation to the number of upcycle projects sold that weekend every year. Getting those sales was a lot of pressure, but, truth be told, exciting at the same time. If only she could find an additional venue to showcase her furniture makeovers and home décor projects.

  “Everyone has their assignments, right?” Paul wrapped up the meeting, and Frankie pulled her bag off the floor and onto her lap under the table. “Don’t forget to spread the word.”

  Frankie closed her spiral notebook and stowed it in her bag. Spread the word. As if they weren’t all already doing that. Her part on the committee was mostly taken care of at this point, barring someone new moving in or randomly reaching out to her on the Facebook page. She’d already committed every possible business, crafter, farmer, and local author she could think of who might want to participate, but she attended the committee meetings for voting purposes—and to see if anyone else needed help as the time got closer.

  “Hey, Frankie.” Although on the shorter side of six feet, Paul loomed over her chair. She stood up to put them on equal footing, but he placed a hand on her shoulder, keeping her down.

  The rest of the committee left quickly, as she’d hoped to do. At meeting time, she’d been in the middle of painting a bench she’d made from an old twin bed frame, and the project was calling her. If she got that coat done tonight, she could distress it tomorrow.

  Oblivious to her intentions, Paul slid into the chair next to her, and she barely kept herself from rolling her eyes. If he wanted to talk again …

  “Hi, Paul.” Frankie’s fake smile felt tight, a grimace after her long day, but she tried. It didn’t hurt to be friendly. After all, she’d known the man since he’d blasted dodge balls at her on the playground in elementary school.

  “Looking a little country tonight, are you?” He chuckled wryly, as if she would appreciate his dig about her attire.

  Frankie smoothed the lace skirt across her knees. The off-white dress and denim jacket was her favorite outfit when she wanted the comfort of her mother’s black cowboy boots. While it was true that she didn’t dress “country” all the time, she liked to when the mood struck—usually when she missed her mom.

  “One of my many eclectic looks.” According to Brooke, anyway. Her best friend joked that Frankie had no consistent style, but that was all part of her personal flair. Either way, it was nice to have the freedom with her job to decide which days were business casual and which were casual business.

  “What pieces do you have ready for the festival? Anything photo-worthy for the paper?”

  Frankie bounced her shoulders up and down, one at a time. “I have some things ready, of course, but not my big thing yet.”

  Paul smiled, revealing off-centered teeth that tended to distract her whenever they talked. “Yes,” he said. “I know you like to have that pièce de résistance. I’m sure it’ll come to you.”

  “I hope so.” That was nice of Paul to say. He was a good man when it came down to it, just not good for her. Especially if he was going to dis the boots. “Eventually the muse will strike. At least, that’s the plan.”

  “Muses work with a plan, do they? They come at your beck and call?” He could be clever. If she didn’t already know him, she might have considered going out with him … until he inevitably did something to creep her out. But she did know him, and knew it was only going to be a matter of time.

  “Okay, I concede that if that were the case, I’d already have a backlog of unique pieces. A plethora of intriguing projects to lure so many customers into the shop that when Benny makes his rounds, he threatens to dig up a fire marshal to throw them all out.”

  Conversation sagged in the middle like a boring book that made Frankie want to skip ahead. She started to get up again, but Paul placed a hand on her forearm this time, stopping her. The touch, though benign, made her shrink back. After a few moments of silence, Frankie decided they must be done.

  She stood, determined to escape this time. “It’s been a long day, Paul.”

  He stood as well, stepping between her and the door. “I could come with you …”

  Frankie felt her brows wrinkle in confusion and tried to smooth them away with sheer will.

  “At least let me accompany you home for safety. I worry about you living out there all alone in the woods. You never know who might be out there.”

  Thank you for that. Every scary teen movie she’d ever watched ran through her head. “Don’t go into the woods!” “Stay out of the basement!” “Not the barn! Anywhere but the barn!”

  But Paul wasn’t like that. He probably thought he was being protective. If only he understood it would never be more than in a big-brother kind of way. “I’ll follow you back in my car and watch until you make it inside safely.”

  “That’s sweet”—or creepy—“but I’ll be fine, thank you. I wouldn’t want to keep you from your kids any longer than you need to be.”

  “They’re with their mom.” He checked his watch. “Even though this would have been one of my nights, I told my ex she could keep them.” Paul and Frankie exited the community center into a beautiful night with a full moon and a lulling breeze. “Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?”

  “Absolutely. I’m a big girl.” He didn’t need to know she wasn’t going home right now, anyway. “I have no reason to think anything would happen to me out there. I’ve got more bears than men prowling around my house.” Not that she was inviting him. “You forget, Dad’s only a couple minutes away.”

  Frankie wouldn’t need to call him though. She wasn’t a damsel in distress, didn’t need a guy to save her—even her father. Little did Paul know she had a few tricks up her sleeve—and in her purse—if worse came to worst. “Thanks again. I’ll see you in a couple of weeks.” She pulled her keys from her bag and picked up her pace, hoping that would end the conversation.

  “Unless you’d be interested in dinner, say, Friday night?” Paul called after her.

  Ugh. Awkward! Blast the boots. Next meeting, she was wearing running shoes. She slowed to a reluctant stop.

  “Uh, Paul …” How to say this nicely? He really was an okay guy, but she wasn’t interested. “I just … I’m not
looking for a relationship right now.” She shrugged. Plausible but not offensive, right? She needed to work closely with him for the next month or two, not to mention the following year. She couldn’t afford to axe the art festival committee if she wanted to keep her antique shop afloat.

  “It’s my kids, isn’t it?” Paul stepped too close and narrowed his eyes, daring her to admit it.

  Frankie wanted to roll her eyes, but instead placed a hand on his forearm and chanced a look into his eyes so he would feel her sincerity. “No, Paul. It has nothing to do with them.” It’s me, not them, she wanted to say, but didn’t want to get into it. Not now. Not with him. Not ever. “I’ve really got to go, but I’ll see you next meeting.”

  Chapter 3

  “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!”

  Frankie looked up from sanding the corners of the bench, used to Brooke’s noisy entrances into Frank & Signs Antiques. “Excuse me? And hello to you too.” She stood up and took a few steps back to assess her progress. A little distressing went a long way. “Tell you what?”

  “You and Paul.” Brooke gave her an askance look. “Last night.”

  “Why, what did you hear?” Frankie’s eyes practically bugged out. “And more importantly—how?”

  Brooke nodded with exaggeration. “Exactly. ‘How?’ Certainly not from my so-called best friend, which is where I should have.”

  Frankie threw her arms up in the air. “There’s nothing to tell.” Her large ginger cat, Cogsworth, jumped off the workbench in alarm at the sudden movement. Frankie laughed.