Claiming the Cowboy's Heart

by Brenda Harlen

  * * *

  When Liam returned to the hotel following his lunch with Jenna, who was heading back to California later that day, he found Kyle Landry waiting in the library to see him.

  “What can I do for you?” Liam asked, surprised by the unexpected visit of a man he knew only well enough to wave at in passing.

  “Actually, I’m here because of what I can do for you.”

  Liam knew the beginning of a sales pitch when he heard one, and he was immediately wary. “Okay, what do you think you can do for me?”

  “I can offer your guests a culinary experience that will be as unique and unforgettable as your inn,” Kyle said.

  “Thanks, but we already have a chef.”

  “You have someone who cooks breakfast,” the young man acknowledged.

  “That’s all we need.”

  “You’re doing your business a disservice by not offering dinner to your guests.”

  Liam’s gaze narrowed suspiciously. “Have you been talking to Macy?”

  “Not recently, but in the interest of full disclosure, we used to work together,” Kyle said.

  “Well, I’ll tell you what I told her,” Liam said. “There are other places in town where guests can get an evening meal.”

  “Diggers’, Jo’s Pizzeria or the Sunnyside Diner,” Kyle said dismissively.

  “I eat at those places frequently and have never had any complaints.”

  “But they hardly reflect the upscale image you’re attempting to establish for your hotel.”

  “What do you know about what I’m trying to establish?” Liam challenged.

  “The Dusty Boots Motel on the highway is never booked to capacity, so Haven didn’t really need another hotel. Which suggests that you wanted to appeal to a different clientele. People who want to stay for a few days and not just sleep off their bachelor parties in Reno.”

  “How do you know about the hotel business?”

  “Two years of restaurant and hotel management.”

  “Is that enough to get you a diploma?” Liam asked.

  “No,” Kyle admitted. “And then I went to England to get some practical experience.”

  The School of Artisan Food, he remembered Macy telling him. It didn’t sound as fancy as Le Cordon Bleu in Paris, but Liam imagined the experience Kyle had gained there was still much more sophisticated than the palates of Haven’s residents.

  “And you think that qualifies you to run a hotel kitchen?”

  “I think I’m more qualified than anyone else in this town,” Kyle said. “I’d use locally sourced ingredients as much as possible—why truck ingredients in when we’ve got some of the finest dairy, beef and produce right here in Haven? The less we have to ship, the more we keep our food costs down. And I’d create hearty meals that would satisfy the hungry rancher and impress the sophisticated traveler.”

  Sure, the concept was appealing, but Liam still had reservations about venturing into the food service business—and especially about this particular chef. “Does your mom know you’re here looking for a job?” he asked.

  “No,” Kyle said.

  “Are you going to tell her?”

  “When there’s something to tell.”

  “I guess that’s fair enough,” Liam agreed.

  “I could do a tasting menu for you,” the chef suggested.

  “What’s that?” he asked, proving, no doubt, that he had no business in the restaurant business.

  “Sample portions of appetizers, main courses and desserts,” Kyle explained. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

  Liam quirked a brow. “What does my relationship status have to do with your desire to work in my kitchen?”

  “Nothing. I was only going to suggest that, if you do have a girlfriend—or any kind of significant other—I could do a formal meal presentation for both of you. A dinner for two slash job interview.”

  “You know what, Kyle? I think that sounds like a terrific idea.”

  * * *

  “I was beginning to worry that you got lost on your way to the store,” Macy’s father commented when his wife came through the back door with the “few groceries” she’d gone out to get more than an hour earlier.

  “You make me crazy sometimes, but I haven’t completely lost my mind yet,” Bev replied, setting her bags on the counter. “I guess I did lose track of time, though, chatting with Celeste Rousseau.”

  “What’s the latest gossip from Miners’ Pass?” Macy asked, referring to the name of the street where Ben and Margaret Channing had built the enormous home that Celeste took care of for them.

  “The latest—and very exciting—news,” her mother said, emphasizing the word because she did not approve of gossip, “is that the Channing family is going to grow by two.”

  Macy waved a hand dismissively. “That’s old news. Deputy Neal told me weeks ago that Regan was expecting twins.”

  “Maybe I should have said two more,” Bev clarified. “Because Jason’s and Spencer’s wives are both pregnant.”

  “That is exciting news,” Macy agreed.

  “I’d be more excited if I got to hear the news while I was enjoying the roast-beef-on-rye sandwich you promised would be my lunch,” Norm said.

  “Instead of just rummaging through the bags, you could actually put the groceries away,” Bev remarked, gently lifting the carton of eggs that had been turned on its side by her husband’s efforts.

  “I just want the bread,” he said. “Shouldn’t bread be on top?” But he did as his wife had suggested—until he found the bread. Then he started pulling the other ingredients out of the fridge to make his sandwich.

  Bev sighed. “Honest to goodness, you have the attention span of a gnat sometimes.”

  “My attention has been focused on a roast-beef-on-rye sandwich since you went out to get the bread.”

  “Sit.” She pointed toward the table. “I’ll make your sandwich.”

  “Horseradish and mustard,” he reminded her.

  “Because that’s different than what I’ve been making for you for forty years,” she muttered dryly.

  Macy smiled at the familiar and affectionate bickering as she took over putting the groceries away.

  When she was in high school—and helping a close friend deal with the fallout of her parents’ divorce, she’d sometimes wondered what inspired one couple to weather the stormy seas of matrimony for a lifetime together while another might jump overboard when the first waves hit. She still didn’t know the answer to that question, but she was grateful to her parents for providing her with an example of what a marriage could be. Bev and Norm’s wasn’t perfect, of course, but it was always a work in progress.

  “When are the babies due?” Macy asked, when her father was happily chowing down on his coveted sandwich.

  “Both in November, although Kenzie is due at the beginning of the month and Alyssa closer to the end.”

  “It’s like there’s suddenly a baby boom in this town,” Norm chimed in, after gulping down half the glass of milk his wife had served with his sandwich.

  Bev nodded. “And a sign that our young people are sticking around to help grow the community instead of running off to the cities, like they all used to do.”

  “You mean like I did?” Macy guessed.

  “Like a lot of young people did,” her mother said.

  “And you’re home now,” her father pointed out. “Raising your babies where you were raised.”

  “And grateful to be here.”

  “Oh, don’t start that again,” Bev chided. “Tell me instead about your plans for tonight.”

  “My plans are to hang out with Ava, Max and Sam—reading stories, singing songs, rolling around on the floor and splashing in the tub.” She grinned. “In other words, the usual.”

  “You should go out,” her mother urge
d.

  “Where would I go?” she asked, startled by the suggestion.

  “To see a movie?”

  “Or I could stay in and watch a movie,” Macy suggested as an alternative. “There’s got to be something new on Netflix.”

  Bev shook her head despairingly. “You really need to set the bar a little higher. Do something for yourself. Reconnect with old friends. Meet new people.”

  “Ahh. Now I see where you’re going with this.”

  “What do you mean?” her mother asked, feigning innocence—albeit not very convincingly.

  “You think if I put on some pretty clothes and high heels, I’ll somehow manage to dazzle an unsuspecting cowboy who will then declare his undying love and desire to marry me and be a father to my three babies.”

  “A little lipstick wouldn’t hurt, either,” Bev said.

  “While I appreciate your confidence in the power of painted lips, my days of dazzling anyone are long past. I don’t have the time or the energy for any romantic entanglements right now.”

  “I don’t want you to grow old alone,” her mother admitted.

  “I think I’m pretty much guaranteed not to be alone for the next eighteen years.”

  “And since you brought them into the conversation, I’ll say what I’ve been saying since they were born—those babies need a daddy.”

  “No,” Macy denied, though perhaps not as vehemently as she had a few months earlier. “They need to grow up in a stable and loving environment, and I’m so grateful to both of you for helping to give them that.”

  “She gets that stubborn streak from you,” Norm said to his wife.

  “Whose side are you on here?” Bev asked him.

  “Yours. Always yours,” he placated her, rising from the table to put his plate and cup in the dishwasher. “But in this case, I think we all want the same thing—and that’s what’s best for Ava, Max and Sam.”

  “Of course, that’s what we all want,” Bev said.

  “We just can’t agree on what that is,” Macy noted.

  “I’m only suggesting that our daughter shouldn’t close herself off to any possibilities,” her mother said, refusing to let the issue drop.

  “And I only wish—”

  The ring of her cell phone cut off that thought.

  Macy grabbed for the device, grateful for the interruption. But her finger hovered above the screen, hesitating to answer the call when she saw Liam Gilmore’s name and number on the display.

  “I’m going to hang out with my grandchildren,” Norm announced, moving toward the living room.

  “They’re napping,” Bev said.

  “Then that’s what I’m going to do, too.”

  His wife smiled as she shook her head.

  “Are you going to answer that?” she asked Macy, when the second ring sounded.

  “I probably should,” she said.

  Because while it wasn’t often that her boss contacted her when she was away from the inn, it wasn’t out of the ordinary, either. He’d called her once because he couldn’t remember the password for the computer—ST@G3_C0@CH_1NN—and another time to ask her where she’d hidden the laundry detergent—cleverly and deviously, in the cupboard beside the washing machine in the laundry room.

  She didn’t mind these harmless inquiries. What she minded was the way her heart inevitably skipped a beat when she saw his name on the display, and then another when she heard his voice. He’d made no more overtures since he’d kissed her in the barn the day of his niece’s birthday party, but the memories of the kisses they’d shared continued to keep her awake at night—and tease her in explicit and erotic dreams when she finally did sleep.

  Macy pushed those thoughts aside and connected the call.

  Chapter Ten

  “Can you come in tonight?” Liam asked.

  “Aside from the fact that today is one of my days off, I don’t work nights,” Macy reminded him.

  “It’s not work, really,” he hedged. “More like a favor—with food.”

  “The last time you offered to feed me, I got pizza.”

  “Jo’s pizza,” he said, as if that somehow elevated the basic meal.

  And, okay, Jo’s pizza was the best she’d ever had. Vegas might have a lot more dining options, but she’d never found a pizzeria in Sin City to rival the local favorite.

  “And tonight it will be Jo’s son doing the cooking.”

  “You hired Kyle?” she asked, surprised and pleased to hear of this apparent change of heart.

  “Not yet,” he said. “I’m still not completely convinced that there’s a market for upscale dining in Haven. But as part of his interview, he’s preparing a tasting menu.”

  “That sounds tempting, but—”

  “Great. I’ll pick you up at six,” he interjected.

  “I didn’t say—”

  But he’d already disconnected.

  She huffed out a breath and scowled at the now silent phone.

  “Is something wrong?” her mom asked.

  “Liam wants me to have dinner with him tonight.”

  “A date?” Bev asked hopefully.

  “No,” she responded immediately. Firmly. “A working dinner.”

  “Regardless of what you call it, sharing a romantic meal with a handsome man sounds like a date to me,” her mother remarked.

  “I didn’t say I’d go,” she pointed out.

  “I didn’t hear you say no.”

  “Because he hung up before I could get the words out. But I’m going to call him back now and say it,” she announced.

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t like being manipulated. And because I want to have dinner with you and Dad, Ava, Max and Sam.”

  “Honey, you have dinner with us every night.”

  “And I rely on you to look after my babies too much.”

  “Who says it’s too much?” her mother demanded.

  “I do.”

  “Well, I disagree.”

  Macy sighed and tried again, “I know they’re a handful—”

  “Actually, they’re three handfuls,” Bev interjected. “But between your dad and me, we’ve got four hands and we love spending time with our grandbabies.”

  “Maybe you should check with Dad before you volunteer him for extra babysitting duties,” Macy suggested.

  Her mother immediately waved that suggestion away. “Now forget about making excuses not to have dinner with Liam and go downstairs to find something to wear.”

  “I really don’t think this is a good idea,” she hedged.

  “Because you don’t like Liam? Or because you do?” Bev wondered aloud.

  “It doesn’t matter whether I do or don’t—I’m a single mother with three babies.”

  “But maybe you don’t have to be a single mother forever.”

  She sighed. “Are we really back to this again?”

  “I’m not telling you to marry the man,” her mother said. Then she winked. “At least, not before you’ve had dinner with him.”

  * * *

  It did take some time for Macy to figure out what she was going to wear. After a quick shower to ensure she didn’t smell like baby spit—or worse—she stood in her undergarments in front of her open closet, surveying the contents.

  She had work clothes: skirts and pants with matching jackets and an assortment of coordinating tops, and she had mom clothes: yoga pants and stretch leggings with oversized shirts and hoodies. She also had two pairs of pre-pregnancy jeans that she was able to squeeze into again, but she wouldn’t count on the button holding through a meal. And tucked in the back of the closet were half a dozen dresses from her I’m-a-single-woman-in-Sin-City days, but as she rifled through them, she doubted there was even one that would accommodate the extra pounds she continued to carry,
even eight and a half months after giving birth.

  Although maybe...

  She lifted the hanger holding a long-sleeved sheath-style dress off the rod. The fabric was a silky jersey knit in royal blue that had a fair amount of stretch and give and just might—if she crossed her fingers and held her breath—be suitable.

  So she removed it from the hanger and wriggled into it. Smoothing down the skirt, she turned to check out her reflection in the mirror and decided that she didn’t hate it. And if she put on a pair of Spanx—

  No. She wasn’t going to squeeze herself into Spanx for a dinner outing that wasn’t even a date.

  Then why the lacy underwear?

  She ignored the taunting question from her subconscious. She’d selected her bra and matching underwear because they were comfortable, not because anyone else was going to see them—especially not her boss.

  Although there wasn’t a lot of snow on the ground, the frigid temperature had her opting for boots rather than shoes. Thankfully, she had a stylish knee-high pair with a chunky heel and silver buckles that worked with the short-skirted dress. She added silver earrings and a trio of bangle bracelets and decided she was good to go.

  With her mother’s earlier remarks still fresh in her mind, she almost ignored the makeup bag on the counter, but her vanity was apparently stronger than her obstinacy. And okay, even at her best she didn’t look anything like a twenty-year-old Swedish model, but dinner with Liam wasn’t anything like a real date, either.

  “You look lovely,” Bev said, when she came downstairs to check on her daughter’s progress.

  Macy glanced down. “I don’t think my stomach is ever going to be flat again.”

  “You used to be too skinny—now you’ve got some curves.”

  “What I’ve got is ten pounds of baby fat.”

  “And it looks good on you,” Bev insisted.

  “Thanks, Mom. But it doesn’t really matter how I look, because this isn’t a date,” she reminded her mother—and herself.

  “I don’t care what you call it—I just want you to relax and have a good time.”

  “I’ve got my phone,” she said, tucking it into the outside pocket of her handbag. “Call me if you have any problems with the kids.”