Sunday, December 23rd

“Claire Alice Morgan, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” Mac Garner asked aloud as he steered his pickup over the bridge into the Dancing Winnebagos RV Park.

He let those words sit out in the open for a few beats as he pulled up to the General Store, which was attached to the front of his aunt Ruby’s house. Someone had woven garland and lights through the porch railing since he was here last, and hung a red-ribboned wreath next to the screen door.

The winter morning sunshine softened the splintered edges of the decades-old building, giving the aged wooden porch and siding a sort of romantic, Old West feel. Or maybe the warm, glowing effect was due to the rose-colored glasses he’d been wearing since he’d picked up the ring in Tucson.

The honor of becoming …

What in the hell was he thinking? There was no way that would fly with Claire. For one thing, it was a little too formal for a woman who wore a tool belt to work most days. For another, “my wife” had a possessive edge to it, like there would be ownership involved down the line. Asking her to marry him like that would make her drop her hammer and run clear back to South Dakota.

“Claire, will you consider spending the rest of your life as my wife?”

Crap. There was “my wife” again. And he didn’t like how that rhymed at the end.

He sighed and shifted into park, watching the dust from the gravel drive drift off in the breeze.

Once upon a time, Mac had rolled along through life like a tumbleweed, bouncing here and there in the wind without a care in the world. Every so often, he’d get snagged on a pretty fence, but that never lasted for long, especially after he made it clear that his career as a geotechnician was his only true love, and then he would tumble along again sooner rather than later.

But eight months ago, he’d rolled into Claire. Her big brown eyes and tight T-shirts had snagged him from the start. Her soft lips and lush curves had kept him coming back for more.

One kiss wasn’t enough.

One night in her bed wasn’t nearly enough.

And he had a feeling that one lifetime with Claire wouldn’t be enough, either, so he was going to do whatever he could to stay entangled with her for the rest of his years.

It was just his luck that she was allergic to commitment, especially the sort that included a vow and a ring.

He killed the engine.

He’d need to be careful when he proposed. Figure out how to word it just right.

He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, clearing his throat. “Claire, please put me out of my misery and say you’ll marry me.”

Maybe, but the word “misery” was kind of negative, and Claire had enough pessimism in her life thanks to her mother. Mac shuddered at just the thought of facing off with Deborah repeatedly through the holiday. An abscessed tooth would have been preferable.

What about, “Claire, I’m gonna make you an offer you can’t refuse.”

He groaned. What was this, a Godfather movie?

Maybe if he just kept it simple: “How ’bout we get hitched?”

Christ, now he’d switched to Beverly Hillbillies. He just needed some of Granny’s love potion to drug Claire and drag her off to a shotgun wedding.

Damn it. This proposing business could give a guy one hell of an ulcer.

He shoved open his pickup door, but didn’t get out, taking a moment to enjoy a last breath of silence before heading into the storm of family theatrics that surely awaited him inside. With Deborah’s ex-husband riding into town, Mac had little doubt that there would be plenty of fireworks lined up to blast off this holiday. He just needed to be careful so that nothing exploded in his face.

Another cool breeze blew past, carrying the scent of dried grass and the desert.

He stared out the windshield at the General Store’s covered porch. A certain trouble-making beagle was lazing on his back at the top of the steps, basking in the mid-morning sunshine with his hind legs spread wide. One of the dog’s front legs twitched.

Mac chuckled. Claire was right about her grandfather’s prized pooch—Henry Ford wasn’t much of a guard dog.

Claire …

Marriage …

He groaned again, looking down at his palms. They were sweating already and he hadn’t even left the cab of his pickup.

Scrubbing them on his jeans, he released a long, slow breath. He needed to sound cool and relaxed when he asked her, or he’d scare her off before he even showed her the ring.

“Claire, my life was a desert until you came along and watered it with your …” He shook his head, not even able to finish that one. It was way too corny for either of them.

Leaning over, he opened the glovebox and pulled out the small box. The ring inside wasn’t super fancy, just a small, heart-shaped garnet on a white gold band, similar to the ring Claire sometimes wore that had belonged to her grandmother.

He’d contemplated something bigger and more expensive with diamonds, but Claire really wasn’t into jewelry. Accessories just got in her way while mending fences, fixing plumbing leaks, hanging drywall, and constructing new outbuildings at his aunt’s RV park.

He stared down at the ring, turning it this way and that, making it sparkle thanks to the sun’s rays.

“What’s it going to take for you to make an honest man of me, Claire?” he asked under his breath.

Maybe he should start with her dad since he would be in town for a couple of days. Take the old-fashioned route and get his permission to ask for her hand in marriage.

He hadn’t met Randy Morgan in person yet. The one time he’d traveled to South Dakota with Claire to pick up some of her clothes and other stuff, her father had been gone on a business trip, which wasn’t unusual, according to her.

Mac had learned over the last few months from Claire and her sisters that their father had traveled for business during much of their childhood, missing several milestones in their lives. He wasn’t surprised at their father’s absence, though, being that Randy was a risk management consultant. Like Mac, their father often had to go out “in the field” to do his job, and often for weeks at a time.

However, in spite of Randy’s traveling, each of the girls still had a strong bond with their father. Claire more so than Kate and Ronnie, because her mom had given up early on any hopes of molding her middle child into a mini version of herself. Although Deborah still liked to try to run Claire’s life whenever …

The creak of a screen door opening made him look over at the General Store. Jess, his sixteen-year-old cousin, be-bopped out onto the porch in blue jeans and a Dancing Winnebagos RV Park sweatshirt, letting the screen door slam in her wake. Her red-haired ponytail bounced as she hopped toward Henry and reached down to scratch his belly, which earned her another leg twitch. Her freckled cheeks curved and she scratched Henry on the belly again, then she pinched her nose and shook her finger at the dog, saying something too quiet for Mac to hear.

Mac stuffed the ring back into his glovebox, burying it deep under some paperwork, a package of mechanical pencils, and a tire pressure gauge. The last thing he wanted was the local gossip queen, aka Jess, to see the ring. Otherwise, all of Jackrabbit Junction and a good portion of Yuccaville would know his wedding aspirations before he even made it inside the front door of the General Store.

He stepped out onto the ground. The slam of the pickup door drew Jess’s gaze.

“Mac!” Her face broke out in a huge smile. “It’s a good thing you’re here already. We need your help real bad.”

He stopped at the base of the porch steps. “What’s wrong? Is your mom okay?”

“Yeah, but Claire’s not.”

He frowned. “What’s wrong with Claire?”

“Well, for starters, last night was her mom’s party and Claire stayed out really late.”

Claire had mentioned the belated bachelorette-type party when he’d talked to her yesterday afternoon, but she didn’t know what exactly Kate had planned because it was supposed to be a big surprise.

“Okay, so Claire’s really tired this morning?”

“It’s worse than that.” Jessica lifted her hand to her mouth, miming drinking from a bottle.

“Oh. She’s hungover.”

Where had they gone to celebrate? The Shaft? That wasn’t exactly a “big surprise,” considering Kate, Ronnie, and Claire worked there most nights.

“Yeah, but it’s even worse than that.”

“Hell. She didn’t get in another bar fight, did she?”

Claire had a history of swinging first and asking questions later. That was partly why Mac had started calling her “Slugger” shortly after they’d met. He’d hauled her out of a barroom brawl more than once, and he’d almost had to bail her out of another one when she’d gone up to South Dakota with Kate. Although Claire swore that her sister started that fight, and that she was only stepping in to help due to Kate being with child … and temporarily insane.

“I don’t know, but a fight is not what I’m talking about.”

He climbed the porch steps. “Damn it, Jess, spit it out.”

“Fine, but you don’t have to cuss about it.”

When he growled and reached for her, she dodged and squealed.

Henry rolled to his feet and let out a yip of surprise. The old boy started to bristle, but then recognized Mac and instead rushed over to head bump his leg. The dog’s hind end wiggled so hard that he almost fell down the porch steps.

“Jessica Lynn Wayne,” Mac said, reaching down to scratch Henry behind the ears. “What’s going on with Claire?”

She grimaced. “You should probably just come inside and see for yourself.”