Paradise Hills Thanksgiving: A Paradise Hills, Montana Sweet Romance #3: Paradise Hills, Montana, #3

By Merri Maywether

Will this be the decision that introduces the ending to a lifelong friendship?

Gibson is the visionary. Sam is his anchor.

 

Gibson had this great idea.  If he and Sam were to pretend they were a couple, everyone would believe it. They already do everything together anyway. He'd love nothing more than to have Sam sit beside him at the Thanksgiving dinner table. It took some persuasion, but Sam finally agreed to the ruse.

 

Sam's father, Charles Ellis, has an opinion on the matter. Gibson is not good enough for his daughter.

 

Gibson's idea wasn't as well planned as he thought. A simple charade, meant to make Gibson and Sam's lives easier, takes the two best friends through twists and turns that test the foundation of their friendship.  

 

Paradise Hills Thanksgiving is a small town, feel-good, love story that readers of Hallmark Channel stories would enjoy. 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Merri Maywether
• Release date: Nov 8, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393779421

Merri Maywether

Twenty years ago, Merri Maywether went on a date with a very sweet man from Montana. Three weeks later they were engaged and they have lived happily ever after. This is Merri taking over the biography section...When I write my romance novels, the characters are the people that I see on a day to day basis. Up here in what I like to call the far, far north, people work hard, live fiercely, and love knowing that they have a community of people behind them. We support each other through the hardships and celebrate the victories. The best part...similar to the characters in my stories, at the end of a long day or a rough week we have stories to share for the years to come.

Book preview

1

SAM

Gibson and Sam were sitting on the bench in front of the big tree on Main Street when Gibson asked, Why don’t we date each other?

Sam’s heart leaped into her throat, and she gave him a hard stare to confirm what she thought she had heard. A slight quirk of his lip preceded the playful glint in his eye. He was joking. Sam rolled her eyes. I’m not your type.

What’s that supposed to mean? Gibson tilted forward. The quirk morphed into a thin line of doubt, and a shadow replaced the glint.

Let see, Sam sighed heavily, Shall we go with the standard, 'Sam, you are the kind of woman men marry, not date.’ Or do you want to discuss how I’m too smart to put up with your shenanigans?

Oh, I remember, Gibson snapped his fingers, You are difficult. I believe the term is high maintenance. He leaned back against the bench and directed his attention toward the scenery in front of them. The park had finally given away to autumn. Crisp leaves formed gold and red auroras on the ground around the trees.

Insisting on a relationship lasting longer than three weeks is not high maintenance. Sam sipped on her coffee and scooted away from Gibson. He had lost his mind, and she didn’t want to catch whatever kind of crazy he had picked up.

She averted her gaze to what was going on around them. Eldon, the jewelry store owner, waved at her from the window. He held a vine of artificial leaves that he most likely would use as a backdrop for his window display to match the harvest theme the town was transitioning to.

People were starting to wear heavier jackets, scarves, and sweaters. Sam wished Gibson’s suggestion was sincere. The season for getting cozy in front of the fire was on the horizon, and Sam was, once again, going solo.

Can I ask you a favor?

The absence of the upbeat tone in Gibson’s voice warned Sam. She wasn’t going to like the favor. You want me to watch your dog while you go on a cruise with Cassidy?

At least, she thought that was the name of his latest girlfriend. The name changed, but Gibson’s girlfriends always looked the same. Long blond hair, leggy, and clothes that had to have cost them, or Gibson, a lot of money.

I stopped seeing her a month ago and don’t have a dog. No, this is a different kind of favor. He leaned forward on his elbows and tilted his body to face Sam. Could you pretend to be my girlfriend for a while?

He was crazy.

Sam thought there was something different in his demeanor. Why would I? she cleared her voice, Err, I mean, it wouldn’t work. I’m not your type.

Sam was the opposite of the Gibson flavor of the day. She had shoulder-length brown hair, a round face, and glasses. Kind of like her name, Sam had a boyish body style.

Gibson, on the other hand, was a Lane. He was tall, lean, had striking gray eyes, and hair that was always impeccably styled.

Gibson and Sam were like cookies and yogurt. He was the cookies. She was the yogurt. He was the treat. She was a healthy alternative.

An uneasy feeling, somewhat like she had to cough but didn’t have enough air to muster the reaction settled in Sam’s chest. She scanned the area around them and leaned in to make it easier for Gibson to hear her lowered voice. Clearly, he was plotting. We’ve been each other’s plus ones before. Wouldn’t that work instead.

I’m getting to the age where I need to present a stable personality.

Those weren’t Gibson’s words. Gibson said things along the lines of I’ll have time for a serious relationship when things settle down at the restaurant. Your parents? You’re trying to get them off your back.

The fog over the picture blew away. Gibson was the second oldest of the Lane brothers. Hunter was the rugged one. Everyone assumed the brother who lived in a remote house on the outskirts of town would remain single.

Mark, the brother after Gibson, was the single father of two sons, and Liam, the youngest, married the previous summer.

Gibson’s parents must have said something about it being Gibson’s turn to settle down. Sam tightened to hold in the flinch. She saw a recipe for disaster, the train wreck coming down the tracks, the tornado following a course that promised no survivors.

We already do everything together. It wouldn’t be much different from the way things already are. Gibson rubbed his hands along the crease of his jeans. People think we’re dating, anyway. Once they saw us together, they’d assume you were the reason why things didn’t work out with me and the other women. If it helps, I’d say I was distracted from what was in front of me.

There was no good reason for Gibson Lane to be single. He may have grown up, but his attention span to stay in a relationship was consistent with the ten-year-old boy Sam remembered.

When they were in elementary school, girls fought over Gibson. Once after a volleyball game, Kendra McArthur and Nessa Bates got into an all-out fight. Nessa should have been paying attention to the game, but she was making googly eyes at Gibson. The ball hit her in the face. Sam would have laughed if it hadn’t cost the team the game.

After the game, the girls followed the normal routine. They slapped hands with the other team under the net and said the obligatory Good game. If she remembered correctly, they played the Three Creeks, Badgers, who went on to win the division championships that year. So, it wasn’t exactly Nessa’s fault they lost.

As soon as they passed through the locker room doors, Kendra, who was dating Gibson, at the time, was not amused and had no problem reminding Nessa of her boundaries. Words were exchanged, hair was pulled, and both girls were suspended from three games.

Because of how things went in elementary school, Gibson broke up with Kendra through his friend Kasen. She cried. Nessa consoled her. Samantha Ellis decided then and there that boys, especially ones named Gibson, were a stupid waste of time.

Twenty-five years later, the wisdom stuck. Sam wasn’t about to get into a fight with a woman to turn around and have Gibson break up with her the next day. However, the look on his face said they had only finished round one of this discussion.

Sam checked the time on her phone and blinked in astonishment. It was five already? It seemed like she had lunch with Gibson less than an hour ago.

Not that she was complaining. Sam loved her job at KPHM radio station, but she still had four or five more things to get done before she could think about heading home for the day. Instead of shrinking, her to-do list expanded with every line she crossed off. The season for events loomed over her for the foreseeable future.

At the end of the week, the town would have the Halloween fundraiser for the hospital. As soon as that wound down, under Sam’s tutelage, KPHM would launch their annual Thanksgiving food drive.

Since she was a teenager, Sam had worked with the radio station to ensure everyone had food on their tables on the third Thursday of November. The project fulfilled her vision of helping people in her community and opened the door for the position she held. When the people she graduated with were trying to get their names out in the radio and television industry, Sam already had an established rapport.

Cassie, the receptionist that was gifted with the eternal youth gene, looked like someone fresh out of high school. She waited on the other side of Sam’s desk. Her slightly wrinkled slacks gave away that she was ready for the end of the day. If it’s okay with you, I will head out.

Sam twisted the knob on her computer to lower the volume of the radio segment she used as background noise. Sure. Did you transfer the calls to my desk? Sam appreciated how Cassie could just leave at the end of her workday, but she always asked instead of telling Sam goodbye or see you tomorrow.

Yes. Cassie’s green eyes brightened as she brushed the bottom of her neatly cut, dark brown bangs. You might be interested to know that the holiday coffees and creamers arrived. So, if you need a little pumpkin spice, pick me up to finish your day, it’s in the fridge.

Sweet. Sam rose from her desk to make herself a coffee with pumpkin spice creamer when a call came from Carlton through the speaker on her desk phone. Sam, do you have a minute?

Carlton Evans was an affable man in his early fifties. He had been around long enough to garner respect from the community but was young enough to understand simple indulgences went a long way with his employees.

Sure. Sam waved to tell Cassie it was okay to leave and returned to her conversation with Carlton. I was getting ready to make a cup of coffee. Do you want me to bring you one, too?

I’m fine. Thanks for offering. It shouldn’t take that long.

Something on the edge of Carlton’s voice hinted that Sam wouldn’t like what he had to say. Sam decided to hold off making the coffee. In that case, I’ll be right there.

The next harbinger of bad news came when Carlton greeted Sam before she approached his door. Sam smiled, but her gaze flitted to the interior of the office to look for a sign that the tension in her gut was unnecessary.

Carlton’s desk was positioned so he and the person on the opposite side could see the snowcapped belt of mountains on the horizon. Her eyes darted to the back wall with a custom-made wooden bookshelf with a coffee bar built into the side. Mugs with the radio station’s KPHM logo were stacked neatly in a tree-style cup stand beside the cleaned coffee pot.

Sam had nothing to validate the sensation that her life was about to change. Still, she sensed it the way a mother knows when her child withholds information.

Carlton directed her to sit while taking his place behind his desk. I want to start by thanking you for all you’ve done for us at KPHM. You’ve helped us connect with the community. He folded his hands and laid them on his desk. Our partners tell us they appreciate your professionalism and efficiency.

Why, thank you. Sam couldn’t tell where Carlton was headed with the conversation. Connections came easily to her. As a third-generation Montanan, she was raised to value the people who were her family, either through blood or bond. Anyone who knew Sam didn’t use the phone book or the internet to research a business. They called her. Maybe Carlton wanted her to pull in the connections for a favor?

I want you to know. Carlton paused, hinting that he was searching for the proper way to convey his message. I am grateful to your family. When I first came on at KPHM, your uncle Ray taught me the ins and outs of the radio industry. His blue eyes bore into Sam’s. The intensity set her on edge. They conveyed what he couldn’t attach to words. Carlton had something to say but didn’t know how to say it without hurting her feelings.

Is something wrong? The sense that Sam wouldn’t like the answer should have filled her with dread. Instead, she felt the need to ease Carlton’s concerns. Whatever the problem, they could come up with a workable solution.

Yes, and no. He sighed. I might as well tell you what’s happening, and we can go from there.

Then, a floating sensation took over Sam’s head. She gripped the bottom of the chair and prepared herself for what was coming next.

Someone started a rumor that I demand too much of you.

With that being the last thing Sam expected to hear, she exclaimed, What? Sure, she worked long hours, but it didn’t matter. It wasn’t like she had a family to worry about. That’s the furthest thing from the truth. You are the most supportive person I know.

His eyes softened. Well, you are thirty-four. And single. And we’ve been working together for the past twelve years. People make up their own stories.

Sam’s heart dropped through her stomach to the floor beneath her chair. Who started that rumor? She seethed.

The trash talkers targeted Carlton. Carlton Evans was one of the kindest, most thoughtful people she had the privilege of knowing. When Sam learned who tried to use her to make Carlton look bad, she’d set the record straight.

It wouldn’t be a rumor if we knew who started it. Carlton’s smile was forlorn. In either case, we should probably shift some of the job functions within KPHM.

Everyone else in the office had gone home for the day while she still had easily two to three more hours of work to finish before she headed home. It didn’t take an MBA to translate that shifting jobs meant scaling back on her responsibilities.

Sam visualized all the things she loved about her career, disintegrating in front of her. If she were on the other side of the desk, she’d start with taking the Thanksgiving food drive off her roster. They could give the responsibility to an intern. People would still