“Holt? This is so crazy. I was just on my way to Dalton’s Grange to see you.”
“You were?” he asked.
She nodded. “I had something to say but since you’re unexpectedly here, I’d rather you went first.” She opened the door wide. “My roommate is at work, so this is good timing.”
He came in, barely glancing around at the condo. He couldn’t take his eyes off Amanda and wanted to tell her everything without taking a breath.
“You were wearing that outfit when we met at Happy Hearts after ten long years,” he said.
She smiled and nodded. “I thought it meant the outfit is lucky.”
He stared at her, hoping he understood her right. If she’d been on her way to see him and had put on her lucky outfit, the very one she wore when they ran into each other, then it wasn’t too late. He could still make his comeback. Their comeback.
“I came over to show you something,” he said. “And to ask you something.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a little pink box and opened it. “Toward the end of camp a decade ago, I bought this for you. With the money I earned that summer. I had to give half to the state to pay my fine, but the other half went toward this.”
She gasped, staring at the tiny diamond, just a chip, really, on a thin gold band. She looked up at him, tears in her eyes. “I had no idea.”
“I bought it back when I was still pretending to be something I wasn’t. Or thought that’s what I was doing. It took me until very recently to realize that was me that summer. The twenty-two-year-old who bought you this ring loved you, and that was all he needed to know. Then the doubts crept in and overtook him. I’m not letting that happen again.”
She stared at him, waiting for him to continue.
“I’m so sorry I hurt you, Amanda. Then and now. But I love you so much. If you’ll agree to give me that second chance again, I’d like to spend the rest of my life proving to you how much you mean to me, how much I want you to be my wife and Robby’s mother.”
Tears welled in Amanda’s eyes. “You can definitely have that second second chance.”
He put his arms around her and she wrapped hers around his neck. “Robby is going to be one happy little boy.”
“We’re going to be one happy little family,” he said.
“Little? There’s Bentley and Oliver and Poindexter, so that makes six, plus I figure we might have a kid or two in the future.”
He held her tight. “I love you, Amanda Jenkins.”
“I love you, Holt Dalton. And by the way, I love that ring. I love the pink box. I love that you bought it when you believed. It symbolizes a big piece of us, Holt.”
She held out her left hand and he slipped the little ring with the barely visible diamond on her finger.
“One more thing,” he said. “I made a stop before I got here.” He reached into his other pocket and withdrew a black velvet box. When he opened it, Amanda gasped.
“Oh Holt, that is too gorgeous.”
He got down on one knee, holding the box, the beautiful emerald-cut 1.5 carat diamond sparkling. “Amanda Jenkins, will you make me the happiest guy alive by marrying me and becoming my wife?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes!” she shouted.
He grinned and stood and slid the gold ring with the much bigger diamond right behind the little one.
She laughed and held up her hand. “Not many women can say they have two engagement rings from the same guy, bought ten years apart.”
He looked at the rings on her finger, the two together symbolizing the past and present.
“Meow, me-owwww.”
Holt glanced down to see Poindexter staring up at him. He picked up the big gray cat with the white paws. “Well, not many men can say they speak cat, but Poindexter was clearly saying he wanted to get in on the celebrating. I think you and Oliver and Bentley will make fast friends. What do you think, Poindexter?”
The cat stared at Holt with his amber eyes, but Holt didn’t get another meow. He laughed and scratched the cat on his back by his tail and got a rub against his face for it. “That’s a yes,” he added.
“Definitely,” Amanda said, her brown eyes misty. “Sorry, I’m just so overwhelmed with happiness right now I can barely form words.”
“Then let’s get to Dalton’s Grange and tell Robby his daddy’s getting married and that he’s about to get the mommy of his dreams. Robby is never at a loss for words.” Poindexter wriggled out of his arms and jumped onto the back of the sofa, then meowed loudly as if in agreement.
“I promise you right now, Holt, I will be a great mother to Robby. I’ll love him with all my heart—I do already. I’ll be there for him, no matter what, in good times and bad.”
“I know it,” Holt said. “And thank you. For completing our lives.”
“You might think this is nuts, Holt, but you know where I want to get married?”
He thought about that for a moment. “Wait. I think I do know. Is it somewhere that a cow named Daring Drake could wear a bowtie around her neck during the ceremony?”
Amanda grinned. “Exactly!”
“I think that’s perfect. Happy Hearts it is.”
With that settled, they headed out to Dalton’s Grange to tell Robby—their son—that he was going to be the best man at a wedding this fall.
Happy hearts, indeed.
EPILOGUE
A week later, Holt was at the grill on the patio at his parents’ house, keeping an eye on the burgers, chicken and ribs for many hungry Daltons, when he heard his son laughing.
He glanced over at Robby, wedged beside Amanda on one of the padded lounge chairs, a new chapter book that was two reading levels up in his hand. Bentley was on the grass beside the chair, chewing on a rawhide bone.
As Amanda ruffled Robby’s hair, her engagement ring sparkled in the bright sun. They had a wedding to plan, and his son was going to be his best man, his brothers his groomsmen.
“Amanda, do you think you can find me a book about a kid who’s really, really, really happy about his new mom?” Robby asked.
“I have a better idea. We can write that book together! You’ll write a line, then I’ll write a line. Before you know it, we’ll have a whole chapter. Then another. Then another.”
Robby leapt up. “Everybody, guess what? I’m getting a mom and I’m going to write a book!”
Neal Dalton, who was setting the huge rectangular patio table, put down the forks in his hand and walked over to his grandson for a high-five. Robby slapped him a hard one, and Neal grinned. “Are Bentley and Oliver going to be in the book?”
Robby laughed. “Yup. And you, too, Gramps. And Gram. And all my uncles. And Daring Drake. But it’s mostly gonna be about how my dad and my great new mom met at Happy Hearts because I wanted a dog and Daddy said yes.”
“And then Amanda said yes,” Morgan quipped from his own lounge chair as he pushed his black sunglasses up on his head.
“Crazy woman,” Boone added with a smirk.
Holt tossed one of Bentley’s stuffed toys at Boone, which landed on his dad’s shoe.
“Oh, good aim,” Neal said, grinning.
Holt couldn’t believe the changes in his dad in such a short time. He’d mellowed out considerably, stopping by the cabin at least once a day to see Robby, bringing a catnip toy for Oliver, throwing balls for Bentley in the yard, and letting his grandson take running leaps into his outstretched arms.
Morgan snatched the toy and chucked it, Bentley racing for it down the yard.
“Hey, Uncle Morgan,” Robby said. “When are you getting married? You’re older than Daddy.”
That got a big laugh out of everyone.
“He’s older but is he wiser?” Shep joked from his spot in a rocking chair.
Bentley brought the toy back to Morgan and dropped it at his feet. Robby ran
over to his dog for a high-five, to praise how good Bentley was at playing fetch. He’d taught the dog how to high-five by giving him a ton of liver snaps for lifting up a paw to Robby’s palm. The sight of that never failed to make Holt’s heart skip a beat.
Morgan picked up the stuffed llama and threw it far again. “Well, Robby, if I ever meet a woman as super cool as your new mom-to-be, we’ll see. But right now, the single life suits me just fine.”
Holt eyed his older brother. Morgan dated—a lot. Women were always after him, handing him their cards or slips of paper with their cell phone numbers in the grocery store aisles and while in line at the coffee shop. But he never committed. Holt wondered if he ever would.
“Someday, all my sons are going to be married and giving me grandchildren,” his mother said as she came out of the house with a huge bowl of homemade potato salad that she put in the center of the table.
“The more, the merrier,” Neal called out, then sniffed the air. “Boy, does that smell good, Holt.”
He grinned. “And everything’s ready. Come and get it, folks!”
“Last one to the table is a rotten cheeseburger!” Robby shouted, taking a big head start.
“Hey, no fair,” Neal said with a smile and raced him to the table.
His grandson beat him handily.
Holt laughed. He loved everyone in this yard so much. His parents, his brothers, his son, their dog.
And of course, his fiancée. He loved referring to Amanda that way but couldn’t wait to replace that word with wife.
The crew headed for the table, stopping by the grill to admire Holt’s skills with tongs and a spatula and knowing just when to flip. He made up two big platters of the food and set them on either end of the table.
Robby came charging at Holt and flung himself into his arms. Holt wouldn’t change that about Robby for anything. Amanda walked over, Bentley trailing, clearly hoping for his own burger.
“Can I get in on this family hug?” Amanda asked.
“Absolutely,” Holt said, opening his arms wide.
Like his heart was.
* * *
Look for The Maverick’s Baby Arrangement by Kathy Douglass the next book in the new Harlequin Special Edition continuity Montana Mavericks: What Happened to Beatrix?
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In Search of the Long-Lost Maverick by New York Times bestselling author Christine Rimmer
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Lawfully Unwed
by Allison Leigh
Chapter One
“Delicious cake, Nell.”
“It’s going to be a great year, Nell.”
“Don’t look a day older, Nell.”
With a smile that felt wooden on her face, Nell Brewster returned hugs as the well-wishers departed The Wet Bar one after another.
Fortunately, there weren’t as many people at the pub as Nell’s best friend, Rosalind, had expected. She was the one who’d insisted on the party for Nell. Her reasoning was that Friday afternoon on a holiday weekend would be perfect. Prime time for their crowd to escape their offices for a little more R&R before the long weekend. The July Fourth holiday—on the coming Monday—meant no court proceedings until Tuesday.
“It’s not every day a girl turns thirty-six,” Ros had said on a laugh not even a month ago when she’d emailed the invitations.
Thank God for that, is what Nell had thought. At the time, she’d been thinking only about becoming another year older and feeling like she was spinning the same wheels she’d been spinning for years.
Now, as far as birthdays went, she couldn’t have imagined a worse one. If she could have skipped the celebration altogether, she would have.
Ros had—a fact that had earned more than a few comments.
Instead of telling the truth behind her absence, Nell had just let everyone assume that her friend was stuck on a case. Anyone who knew Ros knew that she wasn’t the type who would have escaped for an early holiday celebration if she still had work to do. She was too devoted to her career.
And why not? Rosalind Pastore was the heir apparent at her father’s law firm. She’d just been made a partner. Working was a reasonable excuse for her absence that afternoon, and a far more preferable one than the truth.
That was going to come out soon enough.
The legal community in Cheyenne—in the entire state of Wyoming for that matter—was a tight one.
Nell suffered through a final hug from Scott Muelhaupt—the newest associate at Pastore Legal—as he wished her a happy birthday for what felt like the tenth time. He hugged her longer than necessary, but she supposed he figured he had a right to, given the fact that they’d been casually dating for several weeks now.
“Sure I can’t take you out somewhere for dinner?” He smiled hopefully. He was a nice-looking guy. Decent. He smelled clean and he even took his mother out for dinner every Sunday afternoon.
He just didn’t make any real bells ring for Nell, much less any cymbals crash.
She wondered if he’d be as interested in her once word got out that she’d quit her job at Pastore Legal. Or if he, like Ros—with whom she’d been friends forever—would decide it was time to cut all ties. If he—again like Ros—would land on the other side of the line that had been drawn in the sand between Nell and Martin Pastore.
Martin. The founder of Pastore Legal. Champion of the people.
As long as the “people” weren’t an associate named Nell Brewster.
Quit or be fired.
Those had been her choices. She’d figured that out quickly enough even though she hadn’t been so quick to see everything else.
She hated knowing how oblivious she’d been. Hated knowing that she’d been such an easy pawn. Really, really hated facing the fact that for so long she’d put her trust where it didn’t belong.
At thirty-six, she was no smarter than she’d been at twenty-six. Or sixteen, for that matter.
“I’m sure.” She slid off the seat where she’d been tensely perched as those who had stopped by for birthday cake and adult beverages said their goodbyes, and kept the tall metal-backed stool between them. Casually dating a work associate was fine and dandy. Until it wasn’t. “Thanks, though.”
Scott shrugged, ever good-natured. “Next time.”
She kept her wooden smile in place as she waved toward the slab of cake that remained on the long table. “Take some cake. There’s plenty.”
It was sized for the crowd Ros had initially expected. The crowd that hadn’t panned out.
At another time, the two of them would have laughed about it, just figuring that left more cake and wine for them. Neither of which was ever a bad thing.
But it wasn’t another time.
Still, what was a copious amount of leftover cake when the rest of Nell’s life had landed in such an unexpected mess?
No job.
No best friend.
She stifled a sigh, then nearly jumped out of her skin when a tall man brushed against her as he took the barstool next to hers and greeted the bartender by name.
She automatically shifted aside with a murmured apology, but pressed her lips together when she realized who the man was.
Well, this was just the icing on the cake, wasn’t it? Proof that she really was oblivious.
One portion of her pathetic mind heard the newcomer
order a drink while the rest of her bristled with fresh awareness.
It was always that way when it came to Archer Templeton.
Bristling nerves. Bristling irritation. Bristling...whatever.
The last time she’d seen him had been almost a month ago, in a small courtroom several hours away from Cheyenne.
Now, before she could even ask what he was doing here, Archer turned to her, the squat glass Cheri the bartender had given him clasped in his long, square-tipped fingers and said, “Happy birthday, Cornelia.” His lips were curved slightly as he lifted the glass in a toast.
Even though she knew better, she couldn’t help feeling a secret thrill at the notion that he was there at The Wet Bar because of her. Her pulse quickened, and she felt a vague but inevitable cymbal crash. And it annoyed the daylights out of her. “Why are you here?”
The faint lines arrowing out from his vivid green eyes deepened with obvious amusement. “Ah, Nell.” He waved his whiskey glass slightly in the direction of the table and the leftover cake. “Is it too hard to believe I’m here to wish an old friend a happy birthday?”
She steeled herself against the charm that he’d no doubt been radiating since birth. He’d certainly had it ever since they met half her lifetime ago. But it was dangerous to be sucked into that charm. She’d had too many of her own court cases decimated because of Archer’s charm, which made it so easy to forget how fiercely brilliant he was.
“Yes.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’ve heard, haven’t you.” It wasn’t a question. “That’s why you’re here.”
His tawny eyebrows rose a fraction. “Heard what? That you and Muelhaupt are a thing?” he goaded, his eyes glinting. “You always did go for the mousy type. What’s he in charge of again at Pastore Legal? Keeping the flowers fresh in the conference room?”
Her jaw tightened. Scott was a very competent tax lawyer and she knew the more she defended him to Archer, the more he’d make of it. And Archer never had anything good to say about her law firm and particularly the man who’d founded it. “Go away, Archer.”
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