The Combustible Engagement (Cobble Creek Romance Book 3)

  Also by Maria Hoagland

  Billionaire Classics

  Beauty and the Billionaire Beast

  Her App, a Match, and the Billionaire

  Falling for Her Billionaire Best Friend

  Cobble Creek Series

  The Inventive Bride

  The Practically Romantic Groom

  The Combustible Engagement

  Romance Renovations Series

  Home for the Holidays

  Kayaks & Kisses

  New Year’s Resolutions

  Love for Keeps

  Santa Cam

  Still Time

  The ReModel Marriage

  The Combustible Engagement

  A Cobble Creek Romance

  Maria Hoagland

  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

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  The Cobble Creek Series

  The Billionaire Classics Series

  Copyright © 2018 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.

  To my amazing sister, Michelle.

  I’ll always look up to you, but never again from behind a catcher’s mask. The biggest compliment would be for you to finish this and pronounce it a “good book.”

  * * *

  Chapter One

  Tess Graham led her clients, Mr. and Mrs. Perry, into the large eat-in kitchen. An old dresser had been expertly transformed into a marble-topped island, the cabinet a distressed blue that added a pop of color to the otherwise white country kitchen. The kitchen was open and airy, and pretty much every client’s dream.

  “Can you see yourselves enjoying family meals here? I can’t think of a better kitchen-dining space we’ve seen so far.”

  Mrs. Perry walked up to the bay window and practically pressed her nose against the glass. “Oh, this is gorgeous.”

  She stepped back, never taking her eyes from the outdoors. For all the attention she’d given the house, Tess could have found her a shack as long as it had this view. Which was fine. Outside Cobble Creek city limits, the large farmhouse was set on a large, open field with a view of the mountains. Whatever the client wanted.

  “It would be perfect for Cheyenne.” She laid a hand on her husband’s forearm. “I can just imagine watching her practice while I’m cooking dinner or reading a book here at the table . . .” Her voice trailed off dreamily. It was a good sign.

  Mr. Perry nodded his head. “Maybe. The stables are in great condition—newer than most, even if they are small. And the fact that there’s already an outdoor practice arena works.”

  Although what he said was mostly positive, Mr. Perry wasn’t as easy to read as his wife. Tess tugged absently on her necklace as the two talked through it. If the view didn’t clinch the deal, she didn’t know what would. This house checked off more of their wish list than any other property she’d shown them so far, and she’d shown them everything in their price range. They should be ecstatic about this house. It was beautiful, secluded, updated, and under budget. What wasn’t to like?

  “With a space like this, Cheyenne could really get serious about her barrel racing.” Mrs. Perry was starting to convince Mr. Perry. Another good sign. “If we can find the right teacher.”

  “You know who would be good—” Enthusiasm finally tipped Mr. Perry’s words. He turned his eyes on Tess. “Aren’t you Ava Graham’s sister?”

  He barely waited for a response, but Tess had already nodded automatically. Of course, this would come up.

  “Ava Graham, the barrel racing champion a few years back?” Mrs. Perry asked.

  Off in his own little world, Mr. Perry shook his head in admiration. “She was amazing. The best Cobble Creek has had the past thirty years. You don’t ride, do you?” He barely looked at Tess and didn’t give her a chance to even respond. The question was rhetorical, as if there were no possible way Tess could be as good as Ava at anything. This was nothing new to her. Mr. Perry looked back at his wife, excited at the connection he was making. “Ava was good. Better than good. She could have gone pro, I think. I know you remember her, Fern.”

  “Oh, I sure do.” Fern Perry placed fists on full hips, but her eyes glazed over as if she were somewhere else. An old rodeo, presumably. “Can you imagine how good Cheyenne would be if she were able to take lessons from Ava Graham?” She and her husband had a united front on this one point. “Do you think if we bought this house, Ava could teach Cheyenne a few lessons?” She eyed Tess as if this were a stipulation that would be written into the offer for the house—if they wrote one.

  “I heard she’s coming back for a visit soon,” Mr. Perry said.

  That was news to Tess. She hadn’t heard that yet.

  Mr. Perry checked out the mechanics on the window. Another good sign if he was looking at details like that on the house. “Do you know if she’s going to work in Cobble Creek when she’s done with med school?”

  “I don’t know.” Tess was barely holding in her frustration.

  Ava had talked about setting up a practice in Cobble Creek, but Tess didn’t feel like getting into it. It was too far away—Ava had her entire residency to complete first—and too personal to discuss with clients, really. The whole barrel racing lesson idea was hypothetical, but buying the house, well, that needed to be done now, and without those kinds of strings.

  She wanted to sell the house for any number of reasons but getting the sale because she was Ava Graham’s twin would chafe. What about her own skills and talents? Tess had built her own profitable business from the ground up. Last year, Tess had sold a record number of homes. Tess had a nearly perfect 4.7-star rating with her clients, amazing reviews, and excellent stats. She was dang good at matching clients with their forever homes. Except this time. All they cared about was Ava.

  “We’ll take it,” Mr. Perry said, making his decision final. “Draw up the papers and bring them by my office at one.”

  Okay, then.

  Tess was satisfied she’d made the sale, but the part about Ava still didn’t sit well. Except she’d get over it. And a little chat and a hug from her dad would do the trick.

  * * *

  Tess Graham parked her SUV in front of her father’s pharmacy on Main Street, still in the gloom of Ava’s shadow. Not for the first time, Tess fantasized about leaving Cobble Creek for a bigger city where people appreciated her for who she was, but her life was here. Moving was a big production, she knew, and with a healthy business she’d worked hard to build, most of her family, and all of her childhood memories, she felt tethered to the area. Yet days like this made the work of relocating sound more like an adventure than a drudgery.

  Tess pushed the door open, stepping from the bright sunlight into the refreshing air conditioning, and she took a calming breath in an attempt to cool off emotionally. She strode past the old-fashioned soda counter toward the pharmacy at the back of the st
ore where she knew her father would be. “What’s this about Ava coming home?”

  “Morning, Tess,” Gordon Graham grumbled almost inaudibly, but his mouth kept moving as he silently counted out a few more pills. He herded the correct amount into the small plastic bottle and screwed on the lid before looking up over his reading glasses at his daughter. “Come again?”

  She knew he hadn’t been listening. “I hear Ava is coming home?” Tess could feel the confusion wrinkled into her forehead and tried to relax. She liked her sister fine. They rarely disagreed because they rarely talked.

  After high school graduation, the two had gone their separate ways. Or more specifically, Ava had gone her way—to college and then medical school—while Tess had remained behind, obtained her real estate license, and started selling Cobble Creek one property at a time. “What about residency?”

  “Oh, that.” Gordon turned and placed the bottle in a bin. “She and Tyler have a few months off before residency starts, and she told your mother they might be coming for a visit. We don’t know when she’s coming or for how long, but your mother is over the moon about it, of course—”

  “Obviously.” That must be why everyone in town knew: her mother sharing the good news.

  “—she has a feeling Ava’s going to be getting married soon,” he continued as if Tess hadn’t even spoken.

  “Ava’s engaged?” Tess blurted out. Of course. She took a slow breath, hoping her father wouldn’t notice.

  “Oh, no. Not yet. But you know she and Tyler have been together for . . .”

  “Five years.”

  “And she’s hinted that this might be it.” Gordon came through the pharmacy door, checking to make sure it locked behind him, and then placed an arm around Tess. “What can I get you?” He squeezed and then dropped his arm from around her. They walked side by side to the soda fountain. “I know you didn’t come down here to talk about Ava.”

  Her father’s touch had soothed her bruised feelings, but she didn’t want to admit it out loud. “I was just sneaking down for a sparkling raspberry lemonade, but I can make it myself.”

  “Allow me.” Gordon waved to a customer who walked in and glanced over at the couple at the table, who still seemed to be doing fine. He washed his hands and then started preparing the drink. “What do you have this afternoon? A clandestine meeting?” The way he raised his eyebrows at her made her laugh.

  “You wish.” He handed her the drink, and she reached for a straw. “You never know, Dad. I don’t tell you all my secrets, you know.”

  “I am well aware, sweet pea. And you know I only joke about it because I want you to be happy.”

  Connie from the hair salon entered, her strawberry-tipped hair and matching bubbly personality filling up the space. “Hi, guys! I hear Ava’s heading back to town, huh?”

  Wasn’t there anything else for people to talk to her about?

  A reminder beeped from Tess’s phone, saving her. “Oh, shoot. Dad, I’ve got to run. I need to write up an offer and drop it off to a client soon.” She turned off the alarm, shoved her phone back in her purse, grabbed her raspberry lemonade, and rushed toward the door. “Bye, Connie!”

  Chapter Two

  “Yet one more town to get to know,” Johnny groused from the passenger side of Monroe Scott’s old standby pickup.

  If there were two things Monroe could count on, it was, one, that no matter which town he and his crew was assigned, he would be driving his slightly worse-for-the-wear pickup. Sure, its black matte finish would be hidden under a layer of dirt and ash and the interior freshened by daily doses of wildfire smoke, but it was the nicest thing he owned. Everything else in his life was temporary, but his vehicle accompanied him on every new adventure, every new job assignment, and the latest deployment was across the state line and a good five hours away from home in Eastern Idaho.

  The second thing Monroe could count on was that his longtime assistant helitack supervisor, Johnny “On-the-Spot” Stein, would be grumbling about the town.

  “You mean one more town we get to save.” Monroe’s answer was knee-jerk, but no less sincere. Something about the small town of Cobble Creek, Wyoming, intrigued him.

  Main Street stood straightforward, its shops and businesses lined up like orderly, well-maintained soldiers. Antique shops, a bookstore, flower shop, and an old-fashioned diner exuded small-town charm. The hanging planters, though, snagged his attention as each basket of flowers struggled in the summer heat, the edges of the plants singed. Town residents waved to this truckload of dirty wildland firefighters, strangers in their community, and even used crosswalks like there was some crazy-strict sheriff in town enforcing jaywalking laws. The town was a paradox.

  “Diner or old-fashioned soda counter?” Monroe asked his two passengers. He didn’t care as long as he got something to wet his parched throat. Who said Wyoming didn’t get hot?

  He was about to pass both establishments and, by the looks of it, end up on the short road out of town if someone didn’t decide pronto.

  “Pharmacy,” one of Monroe’s helitack crew, Ryan, said, leaving him barely enough time to yank his steering wheel to the right and pull into the last parking stall. “Might as well do something out of the ordinary while we have the chance.”

  Monroe couldn’t agree more. He stepped out of his truck and stretched his back in the hot, dry air and looked up into the mostly clear sky. Hot was relative, he’d learned. Once he had experienced a few wildfires up close and personal, a regular ninety-plus-degree day in July was nothing. In the same way, a clear sky was also somewhat relative. Compared to where the fires were raging, the smoky haze in Cobble Creek was a shadow of what it could be, would be, if they couldn’t get the Wolf Ridge Fire contained and out soon.

  Sparked from Independence Day fireworks meeting dry forest vegetation, the simple fire had spread into a massive incident. Although not in the immediate area when it started, Monroe and his helitack crew were called in to support the growing numbers of hotshots and engine crews as the fire raged on, even a month later. Now, after their first five days working the fire, the crew had been ordered to take their day off, and they’d decided to venture into town for a break.

  “You can’t tell me you aren’t getting tired of this, man,” Johnny said, not wavering in his determined pessimism. “You’ve been working fires longer than the rest of us.”

  “I think it would be great to have some kind of distraction for when we’re not on duty,” Ryan said, stomping his boots on the sidewalk to rid them of the dry mud that clung to them. “I know the fires are high, but they’ve brought in more teams than ever this year, and—”

  “Do not tell me you’re complaining about not having enough work to do,” Monroe cut him off. “Because I could get you scheduled for doubles.”

  “No, you couldn’t.” Ryan rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. They both knew policy typically precluded overtime, wanted or not, but as supervisor, Monroe could find other ways to make things harder on his crew members if he wanted to. “Supe, sir.”

  Monroe shook his head at the tacked-on respect. Underneath it all, he knew his crew respected his position as the helicopter supervisor, but they also worked together, played together, and joked together.

  Days away from the wildfires were necessary, not only physically, but also emotionally. The stress of keeping his team alive versus balancing keeping the forests and surrounding homes safe was mentally taxing every moment of every shift. Each life was important, be it tree, critter, or human. But Ryan was right. As a construction worker and wood reclaimer in the winter months, Monroe was always on the lookout for his favorite kind of distraction, and on the drive in, he’d seen just the side project.

  “‘Graham’s Pharmacy and Old-Fashioned Soda Shop,’” Johnny read the sign as he opened the door and held it for the crew. “Just tell me they have good old-fashioned Mountain Dew. That’s all I ask.” He bowed slightly and waved a hand in front of him, gesturing the guys to go through.
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  Stepping forward, Monroe heard voices from the inside, some local chatting to another, talking about someone named Ava coming back to town, and Monroe felt the familiar stab of loss in his gut. He missed being known in town, having a neighbor ask after his family or running into an old schoolteacher or coach.

  He shouldn’t complain; he had his crew. They’d become his family over the past five years—even to the point of receiving middle-of-the-night phone calls to get them out of trouble.

  “Just don’t wreak havoc on Cobble Creek like you did the last town, okay, Johnny?” Monroe ribbed his buddy, eyes locked on Johnny’s as if daring him to come back with a jab of his own, as he stepped over the threshold.

  Next thing he knew, he’d run into someone, and automatically, his hands shot out to steady the person. A high-pitched squeak and the light scent of orange blossoms told him she was female, but he hadn’t been prepared for the beauty that was in his arms when he looked down. “Whoa, where’s the fire, pretty lady?”

  Ugh. Pretty lady. He mentally rolled his eyes. Now that didn’t sound sexist. Hopefully the beautiful redhead would take it as it was meant—a surprised and harmless compliment.

  “Excuse you.” The tone was all ice. “You might want to watch where you’re going.” She raised a cup and straw to pink lips, and Monroe distracted himself by wondering how she’d kept from dumping the drink all over him. Something to be grateful for.