“But you know you don’t need to, right? If this is about Simon, you don’t need to run. No one here would think less of you, if—”

  “You don’t know that!” She turned her back on him to hide sudden tears. “And I can’t afford to wait and see. I’m out of money, Trent. I’m out of time. I need to worry about my livelihood. My life. My future. And I need to do that, me, by myself. This is my decision, and…” She faltered, voice cracking. She had so much time to make up for, so much to do, now her dream was dead. She’d been right all along, to rely on herself. How could she have let Trent get so close? Let him mess with her choices, her future, her life?

  Trent seemed to sense what she was thinking. He made a frustrated sound, a low, gusty huff. “Marianne, I am not your ex-husband. Letting me help you didn’t lose you that contest. That was all Simon, and I can help you there too.”

  “Forget it,” Marianne said. “You’ll just make it worse.” She brushed past him, heading back to her car. It would be too easy to give up her resolve with him looking at her like that. She had her escape—and every reason to take it. “I’m sorry, Trent. I…I’m sorry I talked to you the way I did. You didn’t deserve that. You’re a good man. But I need to do this. The Honky-Tonk’s done.”

  “It doesn’t have to be,” Trent called after her. “The Bend would surprise you. They’d rally around you. You’re one of us now, if you’d just believe it.”

  Marianne kept walking. She wanted to believe that, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t.

  “There’ll always be a place for you if you change your mind.” Trent stopped at the top of the Honky-Tonk’s steps. “You’ll always be welcome in Lockhart Bend.”

  Marianne stopped walking, but only for a moment. Then she got in her car and threw it in gear. She drove off without looking back, or even glancing in the mirror. She knew she wasn’t strong enough to look at what she’d left behind.

  Marianne was exhausted after her brewery tour. The moment she returned to her hotel, she kicked her shoes off, bypassed the couch, and collapsed face-first on the bed. The mattress was stiff and resisted her weight in all the places she needed it to give. It wasn’t her mattress, and it wasn’t home, but she supposed it was a start. Yet another fresh start. She groaned with exhaustion.

  Her interview had gone well, at least. Lucas had seemed impressed with the depth of her knowledge, and with her ideas for expanding his line. But things had taken a turn at the end of the day, when he’d asked her about the one thing she’d been trying to put out of her mind.

  “If you’d won that contest, what were your plans? That little place you had—where was that headed?”

  She’d frozen and stammered, thrown for a loop. Where had she been headed? It was a legitimate question, but it hurt to think of the future she might have had—long, sun-soaked Texas days, the Tonk’s kitchen hopping. Her own little bottling line, brews inspired by Lockhart Bend and the happiness she’d found there. And Trent—there was Trent. Wonderful Trent. Frustrating Trent. Trent, who’d called after her, you’ll always be welcome.

  She wasn’t sure how much of that she’d said to Lucas, only that her eyes had stung and his had gone wide. She’d made her excuses and made her escape, the dreary Seattle rain drizzling in her face.

  Now, she turned over and shielded her eyes with her arm. She supposed she could just get up and turn the light off, but the idea of lying alone in a dark room with the rain beating on the window was intolerably pathetic. She closed her eyes instead, and for a while, she dozed. When she woke, it was dark outside, and her jeans were vibrating.

  Marianne lurched upright and fumbled for her cell. A wild, hopeful part of her was sure it would be Trent, but an unfamiliar number popped up on her screen. She answered with a sigh.

  “Hello?”

  “Ah…hello? Is this Marianne Stanton?”

  Marianne sat up straighter, rubbing sleep from her eyes. “Yes, this is she. How can I help you?”

  “This is Anita Lemon from Revel Organics. I’m sorry to call you so late, but I hoped you might have a moment to talk.”

  Marianne blinked, first bewildered, then angry. She thought about hanging up, throwing the phone across the room, but instead, she sighed again. “If this is about the contest—”

  “It is and it isn’t.” Something creaked down the line, like Anita was leaning back in her chair. “First, I want to apologize about how that was handled. The decision was made quickly, without proper investigation, and knowing what I know now, with the photographer being arrested—”

  Marianne nearly choked. “Simon’s been arrested?”

  Anita cleared her throat. “I didn’t catch his name, but if he’s the photographer, yes. But the reason I’m calling is, I spoke to Lucas Swallow. He told me about your vision for your new brewpub, and I think we can still—”

  “I’m sorry, wait. When was Simon…Did Trent arrest him?” Marianne’s sleepy brain was racing to catch up.

  “I’m not sure who Trent is,” said Anita. “But you could call the local sheriff’s department if you’re still worried.”

  “I—I…Maybe I will.” Marianne wasn’t sure what she felt—relieved, confused, guilty, lonely, frustrated. Drowning in a cocktail of conflicting emotions.

  “I realize this might not be the best time,” said Anita. “But I wanted to talk to you before Lucas snaps you up. I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but Revel Organics partners with a lot of small businesses. Based on your contest entry and Lucas’s recommendation, we’d be excited to partner with you.”

  Marianne stared out the window, seeing nothing at all. “I’m sorry—partner?”

  “I mean, you’d sign on with Revel Sprouts. That’s our small business incubator program. We’d help you cover your startup costs, and you’d sign an exclusive distribution contract for your in-store sales. You’d still be able to sell your brews in your brewpub, but for wider distribution, you’d be locked in with us.”

  “Startup costs…” Marianne’s mouth had gone dry. Was this woman saying—was her dream back in play? Could she still go back? Could she—

  “…and if sales look good, we can help you expand. Either way, it’s a good deal. What do you think?”

  Marianne hadn’t heard a word Anita just said. She licked her lips, coughed, and rubbed her aching head. “I, uh…Could I have some time to think it over?”

  “Of course,” said Anita. “Take all the time you need. I’ll send over the paperwork, and you can have your lawyer look at it. If our deal looks good to you, we’d love to be in business with you.”

  Marianne hung up and let her phone drop to the bed. She sat gaping, stunned. What had just happened? Lucas had talked to Anita…for her? But why? And Anita really wanted to be in business with her? And then there was Simon…Had it been Trent who arrested him?

  “I don’t get it. Why…?”

  Could it be that Lucas had wanted to help? That she’d spilled out the details of her dream and he’d wanted to help her achieve it? Trent had tried to convince her that folks were on her side, but she’d never believed it, not once, except…

  Except with Trent. Trent made it feel true.

  She went to the window. Seattle wasn’t home. Lockhart Bend wasn’t either, but maybe one day it could be. If she gathered her courage, stood her ground, and made it work, damn it. She could do it, she thought, if she wasn’t alone.

  Her phone buzzed again, and a text bubbled up. The job’s yours if you want it, Lucas had written. But I understand you may have another offer. Either way you decide, don’t worry about me. I’ll look forward to dining at the Honky-Tonk if that’s the way you go.

  Marianne closed her eyes. She’d hurt Trent when she ran, maybe broken his heart. He might not want her back, but what if he did?

  What if home was waiting, along with everything she’d ever dreamed of?

  15

  TRENT

  Trent had pretty much lost his taste for beer—at least the cheap kind, his usual brand.

  He popped a can anyway and took a long sip as he looked disinterestedly around his backyard. It, too, didn’t hold the same charm for him it once had. He had always prided himself on keeping the lawn green and the furniture ready to entertain any guests who might happen by, drawn by the smell of what he had on the grill. Now, his attention kept wandering to the extra, empty lawn chair. Marianne’s chair, as he’d come to think of it. It hurt to see it there, empty, but the thought of putting it away stung even worse.

  Trent couldn’t even tell if his beer was fresh or flat. It didn’t spark along his tongue the way it used to. Its taste didn’t wake up his tastebuds the way it once had. Beer had once been a comfort to him. Now, its flavor felt as empty as the chair. Marianne had taken his thirst with her when she left.

  She was the one who had inspired it to begin with.

  Trent checked the heat of the grill, laid down a single, lonely burger, then plopped into his chair. He gazed up at the sky, watching the white clouds scuttle across a vast canvas of blue that was somehow dimmer than he remembered. He needed to get out of this funk. He’d thought turning Simon over to the Denver police would’ve lightened his depression, but now his work was done, he only felt worse.

  “Hey, neighbor.”

  Trent turned his head, the shadow of his hat brim darkening his view. For a moment, he’d thought he heard Marianne, but since she’d left, he’d been seeing her everywhere. It hadn’t been her at the drugstore this morning, and she hadn’t been real in his dreams last night. But that slender figure leaning over the fence—well, she sure looked like his Marianne.

  Trent pinched himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming again. Marianne leaned into the sunlight, and it was her, really her. Dark hair, sparkling blue eyes, and a sheepish, almost pensive smile.

  “Hey yourself,” he replied. He still didn’t trust his eyes, or his heart, to interpret this new reality.

  “Hay is for horses,” Marianne said as she let herself through the gap in the fence. “Or so I’ve heard. You still haven’t taken me by Trevor’s place to see how the ranch operates.”

  “I take it there were no horses in Seattle?” Trent pulled the empty lawn chair closer to him, and Marianne sat down. She perched on the edge, as if she didn’t expect to stay long.

  “No horses,” she said. “But plenty of beer. Plenty of opportunities, too, but…Trent, I’m so sorry.” Her earnest blue eyes met his, and Trent’s chest felt tight.

  “Don’t say you’re sorry,” he said. “Say you’re back. Say you’re real.” The words came out harsher than he’d intended, all rough and raspy in his dry throat. “I don’t know if it helps, but he’s gone. Simon’s gone.”

  “I heard you arrested him,” said Marianne. “But that’s not why I’m back. I was wrong about all of it—I was so wrong. He could still be out there, and I’d still have come back. I should never have run, Simon be damned. I had you, I had all of you, and I couldn’t see it.”

  Trent’s heart felt light, but his head was still spinning. Was Marianne really saying what he thought she was saying?

  “I had the whole town in my corner, people wanting to help, and I couldn’t see it. I was stuck in the past.”

  “I don’t blame you,” said Trent. “Who wouldn’t have trust issues after all you’ve been through? The important thing is, you’re back. You are, aren’t you?”

  “I am. I promise. And I’m done running. I don’t expect you to welcome me with open arms, but if we could find our way to being friends again…” Her eyes were so wide and blue in that moment Trent worried he’d fall straight into them.

  “What if I did?” he said.

  “What? If you...?”

  “If I opened my arms and said ‘welcome home,’ and kissed you until we both forgot our names?”

  Marianne stilled where she sat. Her eyes shone. “Do you want to?”

  “More than anything.”

  “Then what are you waiting for?”

  Trent had no answer for that, so he pulled her upright and into his arms, and kissed her like the world was ending and this would be their last kiss. He spun her around and she laughed in surprise, and Trent kissed her again and crushed her to his chest. He never wanted to let go of her or let her out of his sight.

  “You’re safe,” he whispered, when he set her down at last. “Simon’s back in Denver, and he’ll be locked up a while.”

  Marianne frowned. “For the photos?”

  “No, not for those.” Trent steadied Marianne on her feet. “He’s been running some investment scam, some Ponzi scheme.”

  Marianne paled. “Do they think I—”

  “No.” Trent helped her sit down. “They know it’s all him. They might want to talk to you, but you’re not in trouble.”

  “So he’s gone, and the Honky-Tonk…I can still…” A slow smile spread across Marianne’s face. “I’d have come back anyway. I’d have come back just for you. But Revel Organics offered me a deal. The grand opening’s happening, just not for a month.”

  “I knew it would work out,” said Trent. “Didn’t I tell you?”

  “You did,” said Marianne. “I wish I’d listened sooner.” She leaned her head against his chest, and Trent exhaled an enormous breath of relief. He felt like he had been holding it ever since she left a week ago.

  “You’re here now,” he replied. “And that’s what matters.”

  Trent held her close a moment longer, until she raised her head to look at him. God, he would never get used to seeing those angelic eyes trained on him. And to think he’d despaired of ever seeing them again. “Want me to bring over some real beer?” she offered.

  “Hell, yes. So long as you don’t plan on disappearing on me again.”

  “I’ll hurry back.” Her cool hand caressed his cheek, and Trent leaned into it to plant a firm kiss to its palm. It wasn’t enough. Before Marianne could withdraw from him, he reached around back behind her head and cupped her neck, pulling her in for a long, sensuous, joyful kiss.

  She brought out the expert taster in him, after all.

  MARIANNE

  “And if you’ll walk this way,” Marianne said, “you’ll find the Honky-Tonk’s herb garden located out back. We grow a lot of the herbs we use in our menu, including the rosemary that gives Wildhorse Rose its kick. That’s the brew that rocketed us to small-town stardom.”

  “Don’t be modest on my account.” The woman at her side, Cheryl Lynn, grinned. “You’re looking at more than just small-town stardom after I publish my piece. Trust me.”

  She was a writer for Craft, one of Austin’s hot new hipster brewing magazines. Trent’s celebrity quarterback brother, Charlie, had been the one to put Cheryl in touch with Marianne. One sip of Wildhorse Rose and Charlie had been on the phone pressuring the Craft editors to get a writer out to Lockhart Bend, or so Trent claimed.

  Marianne liked Cheryl. She was as delightfully weird as the city she hailed from: dark-framed glasses, bottle-blond hair buzzed up one side, red cowboy boots that looked hand-painted. The tattoo of a hops plant that Marianne noticed on the journalist’s arm won her over completely. She knew the Honky-Tonk’s image was in good hands.

  “I’ll let you in on a secret: this is actually my second garden.” Marianne chuckled sheepishly. “I had a bit of trouble with the local jackrabbits, but once I got my fencing situation under control…”

  They rounded the corner and found the garden plot, all right. What they also found was a jeans-clad male posterior, flexed and in full view. The conversation died on their lips instantly as both women paused to stare.

  Marianne had been from Texas to Seattle and back again, and in all her travels, she’d found nothing quite like the sight of Sheriff Trent Wild doubled over in a patch of dirt. The man took to gardening with more positive vigor than she ever had. The way he squatted now, with one knee bent beneath him and the other planted as firmly as the seeds he was spreading, made the denim of his jeans hug his muscular ass in a way that was borderline indecent.

  Marianne cleared her throat, partly to free her stalled train of thought and partly to let Trent know that they were behind him. He glanced up, letting the sun hit his face beneath his hat brim. He rose from the plot, hitching his belt a little as he did. His face and neck were flecked with dirt, and a dark patch of sweat stained the unbuttoned collar of his open shirt. Marianne thought being filthy had never looked so utterly appealing.

  “And that’s Sheriff Wild. Fences don’t work on him,” she informed Cheryl, who looked both flushed and suddenly winded by the sight of him. “He’s something like my assistant brewer.”

  “Something like that.” Trent stripped off his gardening gloves and came forward, offering his large palm in a handshake. Cheryl struggled with her pen but settled on stabbing it into her bun to free up her hand. “Trent Wild, ma’am. At your service.”

  “Cheryl Lynn. What service I can be remains to be seen,” Cheryl replied. To Marianne, she said, “This is a great photo op. Do you mind if I get a few pictures of the two of you out here by the garden together?”

  “Not at all!” Marianne moved to Trent’s side, trying to flatten some of the frizz out of her hair. It was hopeless with the humidity. She should have known it was double-hopeless the moment she saw the wicked glint in Trent’s eye. Before she knew what was happening to her, he’d seized her around the waist and dipped her over his knee…only he didn’t stop at his knee. “Trent, don’t you dare!” she exclaimed, but of course he didn’t listen. Soon she was so low she could feel the dampness from the ground leeching into the backs of her knees and thighs.

  He hauled her back up again before letting her drop completely on her ass. What a gentleman, Marianne thought furiously. Cheryl was laughing, which had probably only egged Trent on in his campaign to torment her.

  Marianne patted the back of her jeans, and her hands came away soaked in black mud. Trent’s own booming laugh drew her attention from her ruined appearance, and her horror turned vengeful. She slapped her palms against his chest in a shove, leaving black handprints in her wake.