by Cindy Kirk
Had he once hoped for a career on the big screen? He certainly had the looks, charm and a charisma that went beyond the physical. Mitzi tried to visualize Keenan waiting tables while hoping for a big break.
His sister was right. There was a quiet confidence about him, one that said here was a man who’d support, encourage, stick.
Shaking the ridiculous thought aside, Mitzi reminded herself she barely knew the guy. To make suppositions on limited information could be dangerous. “Were you a starving actor?”
“Starving MMA fighter,” he said, then immediately switched the focus back to her. “Tell me how a pretty Latina ended up in Wyoming.”
Mitzi resisted the urge to sigh. Though normally there was nothing she liked better than talking about herself, she was reluctant to share too much. Knowledge was power, after all. And like her, she sensed Keenan preferred to hold those reins.
Yet no matter how many times she tried to switch the conversation to him, he kept redirecting it back to her.
“I returned to California for my residency,” she told him finally. “Kate and I met then, and we’ve been good friends ever since. She moved here and really liked it. When I finished my fellowship, there was an opening at Spring Gulch Orthopedics. They offered me the position, and here I am.”
Instead of grabbing another slice of pizza, Keenan kept his entire attention on her. “Do you still have family in California?”
“My mother.” Mitzi shifted in her seat, wishing the seats had more padding and Keenan would stop with the family questions. “A sister. Three nieces. What about you? I know your sister is here. What about your parents?”
A shadow passed over his face. “I don’t remember my old man. He cut out shortly after Betsy was born. I was five. Gloria—our mother—died in a car accident several years back.”
“I’m sorry to hear that—”
“She was drunk.” His voice turned flat, his eyes now shuttered. “Police estimate she was going close to seventy when she hit the tree. Almost took out a kid on a bike.”
Sympathy for the boy who’d grown up on his own washed over her even as the air filled with the bruised weight of the past.
“It’s tough. My father died when I was seven.” She surprised herself by revealing so much. But it felt right. “He was digging a trench when it caved in. He suffocated before they could get to him.”
His gaze never left her face. “Heck of a way to go.”
“Is there a good way?” Mitzi gave a careless shrug before pulling her hand from his and taking another slice of pizza.
They ate in companionable silence for several minutes. Mitzi found it odd she could be so relaxed in the company of a man she barely knew. Perhaps it was because she didn’t feel the need to be anything but herself with him.
“Ben Campbell and I were on the same Little League team in grade school,” Keenan said abruptly. “I heard the two of you dated for a while.”
Mitzi raised a brow. “Plugged into the Jackson Hole gossip line already, McGregor?”
A quick grin flashed. “Hey, I can’t help it if people want to catch me up to date.”
“Then you should also be aware Ben is now a happily married man with a wife he loves and a bouncing baby boy.”
“Wish it was you?”
“If I’d wanted it to be me, I’d have tried harder to make it work.”
“If it don’t come easy, best to let it go.”
“Aren’t you the philosophical one?”
His smile widened. “Just sayin’ if you have to work at it so hard, perhaps it’s not meant to be.”
“If I subscribed to that theory, I’d still be back in L.A., cleaning houses like my mother or tending bar like my sister.”
“Nothing wrong with honest labor,” Keenan said mildly.
“There’s also nothing wrong with having goals and trying to better yourself,” she said casually. It was all she could do not to snap back at him.
“Is this where you get up and start preaching that everyone can succeed if they just try hard enough?”
There was something behind that bland expression, something in the way he said the words that told Mitzi if she did preach that sermon, he’d be the first to get up and leave. She called on her inner control and forced calmness to her voice she didn’t feel. “You don’t agree?”
He shrugged. “Does it matter?”
Let it go. His opinion didn’t matter. She knew what she believed. Yet, she found herself saying, “Tell me.”
He did. She listened—and ate—as Keenan spoke of the people he’d met before he’d gone to prison: decent hardworking men and women trying to build a better life for themselves and their families.
“When you get down so low, it’s almost impossible to get out.”
“Yeah, it’s hard,” Mitzi insisted. “Sacrifices have to be made.”
“Did you work when you were in high school?”
“I worked my butt off. I cleaned houses. I scrubbed floors and toilets.” She wrinkled her nose. “While my mother encouraged me to study, she’d have been satisfied to have me cleaning full-time after graduation. I was the one who wanted more.”
“You were lucky,” he said.
“Hardly.” She gave a little laugh. “My bedroom in the new house is bigger than our entire apartment in L.A.”
“You had someone who kept a roof over your head, food on the table. Someone who encouraged you to study.”
“Yes, but—” Mitzi’s frustration began to churn like an approaching thunderstorm inside her. “I could have gone out and partied. Gotten knocked up at sixteen like my sister.”
“You made the most of the opportunities you were given.” Keenan’s tone seemed to gentle. “That’s commendable. I’m not taking anything away from you, Mitzi. I’m simply saying in many ways you were fortunate and had a leg up on a lot of other people. That’s all.”
Mitzi stared at him for a moment. He made a good point. She hadn’t had to take care of her sister, and her mother had done her best to provide for the family.
“You’re right.” Instead of picking up her pizza, Mitzi stabbed it with her fork. “But I got out of East L.A., left that lifestyle behind because of the choices I made.”
“Hey.” Keenan reached across the table, laid a hand across hers and gave it a squeeze. “You’re a success story. You have every right to be proud of what you’ve achieved.”
Some of her irritation slipped away at the admiration in those hazel eyes.
“Care if I join you while I wait for my pizza? I don’t want to interrupt.”
Jerking back her hand, Mitzi shifted her gaze.
Winston Ferris stood by the table, smiling down at them. From his hand-tailored suit, Hermès tie and black Hublot watch encircling his wrist Winn radiated an aura of wealth and privilege. And why not? He was a successful land developer and son of wealthy rancher Jim Ferris. Though there were some in town who decried his ethics, Mitzi admired his tenacity and focus.
“Please join us.” Mitzi moved over and made room for Winn on her side of the booth.
Keenan took another sip of cola and eyed Winn thoughtfully. But once Winn sat down, her dinner companion extended his hand.
“Keenan McGregor,” he said. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
Winn introduced himself before Mitzi could do it, then gazed thoughtfully at Keenan. “You’re Betsy Harcourt’s brother, the one who just got out of prison.”
Mitzi’s gaze shot to Keenan’s face but his expression remained bland.
“That’s right,” Keenan said easily. “And your father owns the Triple K.”
Surprise skittered across Winn’s face. “You know my father?”
“I know the spread,” Keenan clarified. “I used to do some work for the previous owner back in hi
gh school. Prime ranch land.”
“Dad is happy with it.” Looking perplexed, Winn shifted his attention to Mitzi. “I thought you were dating Kelvin Reid?”
“You’re out of the loop, Ferris.” Mitzi waved a dismissive hand. “That player is old news.”
Winn turned to Keenan, but before he could get a word out, Mitzi continued.
“Keenan and I met at his welcome-home party,” she said hurriedly. “Now we’re sharing a friendly pizza.”
“What she’s trying to make clear is this isn’t a date.” Keenan gave a little chuckle. “I’m not her type. She’s not mine.”
Mitzi’s eyes widened then narrowed. Not his type. Whom was he kidding? She’d seen the look in his eyes earlier. If he could have tossed her to the floor and had her right there, he would have.
She ignored the annoying thought that if he had done that, she’d probably have let him. Of course, desire wasn’t the same as being someone’s type. Any more than simply sharing a pizza and conversation was a date.
* * *
Mitzi watched Keenan stroll out the front door of Perfect Pizza. He’d chatted amiably with Winn but when the man’s pizza was delivered and Winn continued to sit, Keenan made some excuse about needing to get home.
She told herself she didn’t care if Keenan left. Winn was whom she really wanted to get to know better.
“How’s the golf-course development coming?” While Mitzi knew golf was the reason Winn had originally come to Jackson Hole and stayed, those tiny white balls had never been her friend. Whenever she’d had occasion to be around one, it always did everything it could to get away, hiding from her behind rocks, in trees, even plopping deep into water.
“We should be breaking ground soon.” Winn leaned back and gazed admiringly across the table at her.
Once Keenan had disappeared from sight, Mitzi suggested Winn move to the other side of the booth so they could face each other. She needed to put a little distance between them. Though his cologne was an expensive brand, she’d never particularly liked the musky scent.
“The environmentally sensitive guidelines have been a thorn in my side,” he said, frustration evident in his tone. “But thankfully we’re finally in a position to move forward.”
“You faced a lot of obstacles,” she observed. “But you persevered.”
He grinned. “That’s the kind of guy I am.”
Here, Mitzi thought, was a true kindred spirit. No wonder Winn Ferris currently reigned at the top of her husband list.
As he talked of his boarding school years, his private-school education and his work with GPG, a large investment firm, her mind wandered.
Granted, Winn had achieved much success. He was exactly what she wanted. In fact, he was practically perfect, Mitzi told herself, even as she couldn’t help looking at the door and wishing Keenan hadn’t hurried off so quickly.
Chapter Five
“Trust me.” Kate passed Mitzi the mashed potatoes at her dinner table the following evening. “You don’t want to move into a home that’s under construction. It’ll be dusty and dirty and dangerous.”
“I don’t see I have much choice.”
“Did I mention dusty?”
Mitzi took a small tablespoon of potatoes and passed them to Joel, who so far had wisely kept his mouth shut on the matter.
Mitzi had already discussed the subject with him in depth at the job site today. He’d done his best to change her mind, but she’d dug in her heels. She realized he was frustrated, but in the end, as the client, it was her decision.
“We always have a choice.” Kate’s gaze shifted from her husband back to her friend, two lines of worry between her brows.
“My swimming teacher didn’t give me a choice,” ten-year-old Chloe piped up from the other side of Mitzi. “She said I had to tread water for five minutes.”
Mitzi smiled sympathetically at the child. “Bummer.”
She and Kate had become friends around the time Kate had given birth to Chloe. Mitzi remembered well the pain Kate had experienced when she’d given the baby up for adoption. And she recalled the joy when she’d finally been reunited with her daughter.
Now she and Joel and Chloe were a family. And last year, Samuel Joel Dennes had been born. The energetic boy was currently engrossed with smashing carrots into his high chair tray.
Mitzi turned back to her friend.
“The closing on my condo is at the end of the week,” Mitzi reminded her. “Then I’m homeless.”
“I made it clear I want you here.” Kate’s hazel gaze met Mitzi’s. “We have a lovely guest room that only gets used when Joel’s family comes to visit. Which isn’t nearly often enough.”
Kate made no mention of her own family, Mitzi knew, because they weren’t close. In her parents’ minds they had one child, Kate’s older sister, Andrea. Though in recent years, Kate and her “perfect sister” had forged a tentative relationship, as far as Mitzi knew, there were no plans for any of Kate’s family to visit.
“This is a lovely home,” Mitzi said with sincerity, glancing around the room with the large picture window overlooking the mountains. “But I like my privacy.”
Kate lifted a brow.
“It’s true.” Mitzi gave a little laugh. “Blame it on all those years with too many people in a one-bedroom apartment.”
“You have a busy practice. Your home should be your sanctuary.” Kate reached over and covered Mitzi’s hand. “A house still under construction isn’t much of a sanctuary. It will be a chaotic place to live.”
“Perhaps.” Mitzi squeezed Kate’s hand then sat back. “But I want to give it a try. If it doesn’t work, I’ll let you say ‘I told you so,’ and come crawling to your guest room.”
“Can’t you simply skip the trying-it-out part?” Kate began, then shook her head at Mitzi’s mulish expression. “No, of course you can’t.”
Kate turned to her husband. She smiled with a confidence nobody at the table believed. “It will be fine. Having Mitzi in the house while you finish the inside won’t be a problem. You’ll hardly know she’s there.”
* * *
Joel had pulled Keenan off Mitzi’s house to work on the house in the mountains. It was for the best. Though Keenan found the pretty doctor intriguing, she also irritated the hell out of him.
After a week away, he returned to the house-in-progress and was shocked to discover Mitzi had moved in.
“It’s not finished,” he said to Bill, incredulous. “Why did Joel allow this?”
A resigned look settled over Bill’s wrinkled features. “He didn’t allow her anything. She’s the client. This is what she wanted.”
“What about the dirt? The noise?”
Bill shrugged. “She works long hours. And we’ve got strict orders to be out of here by five. We’ve got the doors on, so security shouldn’t be a problem. This is a nice neighborhood.”
It was the kind of neighborhood Keenan wished he could have given Betsy when she was growing up. Where residents drove slowly because of families riding their bikes, where little girls played dolls on the porches and boys had mock sword fights in the front yard.
Even though he’d started delivering papers at ten, any money he made had gone to help make rent so they had a roof over their heads. That had been the best he could offer his baby sister. Keenan shoved the memories from his mind and concentrated on caulking. Normally, Bill wasn’t much of a talker, but today the man was like one of those rabbits with new batteries.
Once his coworker had exhausted every other topic, Bill settled his gaze on Keenan. “What was it you did before being sent to the Big House?”
Keenan didn’t take offense. In the short time he’d been working with Bill, his prison stay had quickly become a running joke.
“I was an airplane mechani
c.” Keenan’s voice warmed, the way it always did when he thought about anything to do with flying. “I also had my pilot’s license and did some hauling for a charter service.”
Obviously perplexed, Bill tilted his head. “Why aren’t you doing that now?”
“Couldn’t find a job.” Keenan shrugged. “Right now, I’m saving up for a deposit on an apartment.”
“I thought you were living with your sister.”
“Not anymore.” Keenan looked down, wiped off some extra caulking with the side of a finger. “She and her husband haven’t been married that long. Now with a baby, well, they need their privacy. I got a room downtown.”
Betsy, he admitted, had wanted him to stay. She’d actually gotten tears in her eyes when he told her he’d found a room at a boardinghouse. Her husband, Ryan, a buddy from way back, had also tried to convince him to stay, but Keenan refused to be swayed by Betsy’s tears or Ryan’s logic.
They’d both done so much for him already. Though the room he’d rented was Spartan and the bathroom a shared one down the hall, it was still a step up from a cell.
“You probably need to get some flying time in if you want to get your license back.” Bill measured a piece of trim.
“Exactly right.” Keenan refused to be discouraged. It might take a few months but he’d fly again. “Time in the air costs money. Once I get an apartment and a few bucks together, that’ll be number one on my list.”
“My brother, Steve, owns Grand Teton Charter.” Bill’s gaze fixed on Keenan. “He’s been whining about one of his mechanics moving to Colorado. I could hook the two of you up. See if maybe you could do some repair stuff for him in exchange for air time.”
Keenan’s fingers tightened around the caulking gun. He’d turned down several friends who’d offered to give him money to help him get the air time. But this would be bartering services, not charity.
“Sounds like a good plan.” Keenan kept his tone casual, not wanting to get his hopes up. Bill’s brother might not favor the idea. “Yeah, check and see if he’s interested in some kind of arrangement. If not, that’s cool.”
The rest of the day passed quickly, after Bill promised to speak with Steve that night.
