Her Favorite Maverick

by Christine Rimmer

  She plucked the twins from their swings, put them in their baby seats and carried them upstairs. She changed their diapers, then settled them against her on the glider chair for a made-up story about their favorite squirrels. Their little eyes drooping, Brooke carefully transferred each back into his baby seat, praying they wouldn’t wake up.

  Yes, success! With an eye on the time, she brought the carriers into her bedroom, set them on the floor and opened her closet door. Thank heavens she’d showered this morning. At 4:50 a.m., she’d taken a fast, hot shower, with the baby monitor on the sink, since the twins woke at five o’clock and, if she wanted to shower in peace, she had to do it very, very early. She looked through her closet, nodding at her elegant white pantsuit. Very Satler sisters. She took off her T-shirt and shorts and put on the pretty outfit, adding a watercolor-patterned silk scarf and three-inch peep-toe red fabric heels, which were also very Satler sisters. A quick application of pressed powder, mascara, and lipstick, ponytail off and hair fluffed, a dab of Chanel No. 19, and voilà—the harried single mother turned into the sign-with-me businesswoman. She stared at herself in the mirror, almost amazed at the transformation.

  Carrying a baby seat in each hand, she headed back downstairs, on heels she wasn’t used to anymore, and went into her office. She gently placed the baby seats under the big ornate desk; its backing completely obscured them from view of the sofa, where her clients would sit.

  Also under the desk was a complete stash of baby paraphernalia: diapers, bottles, pacifiers, chew toys, burp cloths and an extra set of pajamas. A single mother without childcare for the time being had to be at the ready.

  Brooke had timed the appointment for the twins’ usual midmorning naptime, and if things went her way, she would have forty-five minutes to an hour and a half of blessed silence to conduct business with the Satler sisters. Her former nanny, a wonderful, patient saint of a woman, had had to take four to five weeks off to help her daughter, the new mother of twin babies herself. That was two weeks ago. Brooke had had interview after interview with prospective nannies, but for one reason or another, none was right for the job.

  One applicant had reeked of marijuana. Another said she couldn’t stand the sound of crying, but “that’s what binkies were for, right?” A very loud talker insisted that Morgan and Mikey should be separated in the home to ensure independence from each other starting at the most tender of ages. And then there was the one great prospect, who burst into tears during the interview because she was having fertility issues and ran out the door.

  I can do this, Brooke chanted to herself in her head. The lack of childcare had presented problems during the past couple of weeks, but Brooke had managed to bring in one client—a small New Year’s Eve wedding, at the stroke of midnight. She’d signed that bride earlier this week, with the twins napping under her desk, and her new client none the wiser. Three other prospective clients had slipped through her fingers because of the lack of childcare, but her babies came first. They always would.

  For you guys and for gram, she thought, I’m going to secure the Satler sisters’ business. A triple wedding, particularly Satler style, would mean being back in the black instead of the scary red she was in now. It would mean saving her grandmother’s business. The Kardashian-esque Satlers were very popular in town, and signing them would have new brides beating down her door.

  She heard a car pull up into the driveway and three doors slam, then the chatter of voices as the Satler sisters approached the Dream Weddings entrance. Brooke got up to open the door and welcome them. Last thing she needed was for the doorbell to wake the twins.

  “Congratulations!” Brooke said, giving each triplet a quick hug.

  “We’re so excited!” Samantha Satler said as the women sat down on the sofa. “Of course we want the ceremony at the Wedlock Creek Chapel, and Suze said you mentioned the Wellington Hotel’s grand ballroom—that is exactly where we want to have the reception!”

  Ha! She knew it. The tall, slender, blonde Satlers, who each wore a different-colored pastel leather cowboy hat, super-skinny jeans, and high-heeled hot-pink perforated cowboy boots, liked bling. Their engagement rings, matching big square diamonds, twinkled on their fingers.

  Brooke launched into her plans, giving each sister a handout bullet-pointing their Dream Weddings possibilities for their triple wedding. From the knitting class, she knew the triplets worshipped Carrie Underwood and never missed an area concert, so she’d listed ten fabulous country bands with Carrie-esque female vocalists. A mix of local small businesses and companies in the nearby big town of Brewer, for everything from flowers—the sisters loved white roses—to catering—all three were gluten free, which was another tidbit she’d learned from Beginning Knitting—and Brooke’s most trusted printing shops, for exquisite shades of barely-pink invitations and the most delicate velum.

  “It’s like you’re in our heads!” Samantha Sattler trilled. “This is amazing!”

  Suzannah Sattler flipped through the handout. “I agree! Okay, so can we talk about the Wellington Hotel’s grand ballroom and what we envision for tables and—”

  “WAAH! WAAH-WAAH!”

  Oh foo. Brooke bit her lip and felt her cheeks flame. She forced a smile. “Excuse me. Just one moment,” she said to the sisters, and then she bent under the desk to give Mikey’s seat a gentle rock. “There, there,” she whispered to Mikey, who was screeching bloody murder. Morgan, miraculously, was still fast asleep.

  “Omigod,” Shelley said. “Do you have a baby under your desk?”

  Brooke’s cheeks now burned. She quickly told them about her nanny—or lack thereof—situation. She caught the triplets sliding each other uncomfortable glances.

  And then it happened.

  The worst possible thing, at the worst possible moment.

  The unmistakable smell of...baby poop filled the air.

  “Ugh, gross!” Samantha said, pinching her nose closed.

  Suzannah’s face crinkled in disgust and she waved the air in front of her. “Oh God, I think I’m making it worse.”

  “We’re having lunch with our soon-to-be mothers-in-law in an hour and now we’ll smell like baby dung!” Shelley muttered.

  Brooke stood and pulled out the baby seat, unlatched Mikey and held him in her arms. He screamed, making little fists. “I’ll just change him and we can get right back to discussing your dream wedding,” Brooke said, trying to keep the pleading out of her voice. She grabbed a diaper and the pack of wipes from her stash under the desk and hoisted Mikey up. “I’ll be right back—”

  She was about to flee into the restroom when a man she’d never seen before—tall, dark and crazy hot—opened the door to Dream Weddings and walked inside. He was holding her ad from the Gazette. Dear Lord, was he here to apply for the job as her nanny? This guy? He reminded her physically of every actor who’d ever played Superman. Down to the piercing blue eyes.

  The Satler triplets, who’d been about to run out, stopped and stared at him. Newly engaged or not, a gorgeous specimen of man was a gorgeous specimen of man.

  But then Mikey let out a high-pitched shriek that could shatter a window. Shelley slammed her hands over her ears. A wail came from under the desk. Now Morgan was crying too.

  First an explosive poop diaper. Then an applicant—an incredibly sexy one—for the nanny job, walking right into one of the most important meetings of her career. Now two babies screaming bloody murder.

  She could kiss the lavish triplet wedding at the Wellington adieu.

  The stranger looked at Brooke, then at the baby in her arms and glanced toward the desk, where more wailing could be heard, if not seen. Suddenly, Morgan stopped crying, though she was sure it would be short-lived. He eyed the frowning triplets edging toward the door. “Looks like you have your hands full,” he said to Brooke, setting the nanny-wanted ad on the credenza. “Allow me. I’m pretty good with babies.”r />
  He stepped toward her, arms extended as if to take her child, and Brooke stepped back, shielding Mikey from him.

  “Listen, bucko, I don’t know you,” she said.

  God, he really did have the most gorgeous blue eyes with long dark lashes. The slightest of five-o’clock shadows graced his strong jawline.

  Shelley Satler was staring at him. “Hey, aren’t you Nick Garroway?” she asked him. “You were a year ahead of us in high school. You played football and baseball, if I remember correctly.”

  “You do,” he said with a smile. “And of course I remember you three. The lovely and smart Satler triplets. Copresidents of your class. One of you—maybe all of you, at various points—used to babysit my younger brother. It’s very nice to see you again.”

  The triplets beamed and swooned and chatted with this Nick Garroway about old times.

  So, he wasn’t an axe murderer. Or baby-napper. The Satlers were four years older than Brooke, so Nick was out of high school by the time Brooke would have been a freshman. She would have had a serious crush on him if she’d known him back then.

  He stepped closer again. “May I?” he said, reaching for Mikey. “If you direct me to a changing area, I’ll take care of this ASAP and you can continue your meeting.”

  Uh, I guess? How weird was this? She handed him the diaper, the wipes, and her precious baby son, and pointed toward the restroom, where she had a changing station set up. “Where I can see your every move,” she whispered to him, and he nodded as he took Mikey inside, keeping the door half open. The Satlers couldn’t see into the bathroom from where they stood—thank heavens—but they could all hear him humming a lullaby. Brahms’s.

  “Well, Brooke, looks like you found your new nanny,” Shelley said with a grin. “And just in time.”

  “You mean her new manny,” Samantha corrected, with a wiggle of her eyebrows. “Male plus nanny equals manny.”

  “A hot manny,” Suzannah put in. She grinned at Brooke, tipping her lemon-yellow leather cowboy hat at her. “Brooke, you seriously impress! Listen, why don’t you write up a comprehensive plan for our wedding, with all the new info we discussed here today, and we’ll go over it, but we’re 99 percent going to hire you and Dream Weddings for our big day.”

  Thank you, universe.

  And thank you, Hot Manny.

  The man himself emerged from the restroom, with Mikey smiling and grabbing Nick’s chiseled jawline. “Now this little dude smells like snips and snails and puppy dog tails and everything else good that little boys are made of.”

  Brooke stared at him, speechless. Where on earth had he come from? Was he even from earth?

  Each Satler sister winked at Brooke, made a little fuss over Mikey, said goodbye to Nick with one last admiring glance at him and then left.

  “The job is yours,” Brooke said to him as she pointed at the ad. “Can you start immediately? I guess you already have.”

  The Hot Manny tilted his head and stared at her. “Oh, I’m not here about the job.”

  Copyright © 2019 by Melissa Senate

  Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to Christine Rimmer for her contribution to the Montana Mavericks: Six Brides for Six Brothers continuity.

  ISBN-13: 9781488042072

  Her Favorite Maverick

  Copyright © 2019 by Harlequin Books S.A.

  All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 22 Adelaide St. West, 40th Floor, Toronto, Ontario M5H 4E3, Canada.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

  ® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Intellectual Property Office and in other countries.

  www.Harlequin.com