THE MAVERICK'S THANKSGIVING BABY

by Brenda Harlen

  “Are you inviting me to have dinner with you?”

  “It would substantiate your claim that we’re dating.”

  “The Ace in the Hole?” she said dubiously.

  He shrugged. “Since this isn’t your first visit to Rust Creek Falls, you know that our options here are limited.”

  Still she hesitated, and Jesse began to suspect that her gratitude didn’t actually extend to the point where she wanted to be seen in public with him. And that was okay. He understood what she’d been saying about small-town gossip, and he really didn’t want to be put under the microscope any more than she did. But damn, he really did want to spend more time with her.

  “I could do better than a burger,” she finally said. “I could make dinner.”

  “You’d cook for me?”

  “Which part surprises you the most—that I can cook or that I’m offering to cook for you?”

  “I’m not sure,” he admitted.

  She laughed again. “At least you’re honest.”

  “I guess I just thought, with you being a busy lawyer and all...”

  “Lawyers have to eat on occasion, too,” she said, when his explanation ran out.

  “Yeah, but I would figure you’ve got a lot of dining options in LA.”

  “We do,” she agreed. “But as it turns out, I like to cook. It helps me unwind at the end of the day. So what do you say—are you going to let me make you dinner?”

  He was beginning to suspect that he would let Maggie Roarke do absolutely anything she wanted, but he figured dinner was a good start.

  “An offer I can’t refuse,” he told her.

  * * *

  Maggie prided herself on the fact that she was an intelligent, educated woman. She’d graduated summa cum laude from Stanford Law School and was establishing a reputation for herself at Alliston & Blake—a prominent Los Angeles law firm. She’d gone toe-to-toe with formidable opponents in the courtroom, she’d held her ground in front of arrogant judges and she’d refused to be impressed or intimidated by powerful clients. One of her greatest assets was her ability to remain calm and cool whatever the circumstances. She simply didn’t get flustered.

  But as Jesse followed her into Gage and Lissa’s kitchen, she was definitely feeling flustered. There was just something about this shy, sexy cowboy that had her heart jumping around in her chest. She opened the refrigerator, peered inside.

  “What do you like?” she asked.

  He looked at her blankly.

  “For dinner,” she clarified.

  He flashed a quick smile. “Sorry, I guess my mind wandered. As for food—I’m not fussy. I’ll eat whatever you want to make.”

  “Chicken and pasta okay?” she asked him.

  “Sure.”

  She took a package of chicken breasts out of the fridge, then rummaged for some other ingredients. She found green peppers in the crisper, onions in the pantry and a bowl of ripe tomatoes on the counter. But what she really needed was fresh basil, and Lissa didn’t have any.

  “Do you know if they carry fresh herbs at the General Store?”

  “I doubt it,” Jesse said. “You’d probably have to go into Kalispell for something like that.”

  “I can use dried,” she admitted. “But fresh basil leaves would add a lot more visual appeal to the dish.”

  “I’m going to have dinner with a beautiful woman,” he said. “That’s enough visual appeal that I wouldn’t mind if you made macaroni and cheese from a box.”

  She felt her cheeks heat. She’d received more effusive compliments, but none had ever sounded as sincere. No one had looked at her the way he looked at her.

  “Even without fresh basil, I do think this will be a step up from boxed mac and cheese.”

  She filled a pot with water and set it on the back burner, then drizzled some oil into a deep frying pan. While the oil heated, she sliced the chicken into strips and tossed them into the pan. As the chicken was cooking, she chopped up peppers and onions, then added those, too.

  “Can I do anything to help?”

  “You could open the wine,” she suggested. “There’s a bottle of Riesling in the fridge and glasses in the cupboard above.”

  He uncorked the bottle and poured the wine into two crystal goblets.

  She dumped the pasta into the boiling water and set the timer, then took the glass he offered.

  “To new friendships,” he said, lifting his glass in a toast.

  “To new friendships,” she agreed. “And first dates.”

  “Is this a date?”

  “Of course. Otherwise, I would have lied to Jared.”

  “We wouldn’t want that,” he teased.

  She added the tomatoes to the frying pan, sprinkled in some of this and that, gave it a stir. Her movements were smooth and effortless, confirming her claim that she enjoyed cooking. Which was convenient, because he enjoyed eating.

  Ten minutes later, he was sitting down to a steaming plate of penne pasta with chicken and peppers.

  “This is really good,” he told her.

  “Better than mac and cheese from a box?”

  “Much better.”

  They chatted while they ate, about anything and everything. She learned that he worked at his family’s ranch, The Shooting Star, but had his own house on the property, and that he was close to his siblings but was frequently baffled and frustrated by them. She confided that she sometimes felt smothered by her brothers, who tended to be a little overprotective, and admitted that she could have gone to work at Roarke & Associates—her parents’ law firm—but wanted to establish her own reputation in the field.

  She had a second glass of wine while he had a second serving of pasta, and they lingered at the table. He was easy to talk to, and he actually listened to what she was saying. As a result, she found herself telling him things she’d never told anyone else, such as her concern that she’d been so focused on her career that she hadn’t given much thought to anything else, and she was starting to wonder if she’d ever find the time to get married and have a family.

  Not that she was in any hurry to do so, she hastened to explain. After all, she was only twenty-eight years old. But she was admittedly worried that if she continued on the same course, she might be so focused on her billable hours that she wouldn’t even hear her biological clock when it started ticking.

  Jesse told her that he’d gone to Montana State University to study Animal Science, graduating with a four-year degree. As for dating, he confided that he hadn’t done much of that, either, claiming that most of the women in town had gone out with one or more of his brothers and he had no intention of trying to live up to their reputations.

  After the meal was finished, he insisted on helping with the cleanup. While she put the dishes into the dishwasher, he washed the pans.

  She’d enjoyed spending time with Jesse, and she wasn’t eager for the night to end. He was smart and interesting and definitely easy to look at, and despite the underlying hum of attraction, she felt comfortable with him—or at least she did until he turned to reach for a towel at the same moment that she straightened up to close the door of the dishwasher and the back of his hand inadvertently brushed the side of her breast.

  She sucked in a breath; he snatched his hand back.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “No, it was my fault.”

  But fault was irrelevant. What mattered was that the air was fairly crackling and sizzling with awareness now. And the way he looked at her—his gaze heated and focused—she was certain he felt it, too.

  She barely knew him. But she knew she’d never felt the same immediacy and intensity of connection that she felt the minute he’d taken her hand inside the community center only a few hours earlier. But she was a Los Angeles attorney and he was a
Rust Creek cowboy, and she knew that chemistry—as compelling as it might be—could not bridge the gap between them.

  And Jesse had obviously come to the same conclusion, because he took a deliberate step back, breaking the threads of the seductive web that had spun around them. “I should probably be on my way.”

  “Oh.” She forced a smile and tried to ignore the sense of disappointment that spread through her. “Okay.”

  She followed him to the door.

  He paused against the open portal. “Thanks again for dinner.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said. “And if you ever need a fictional girlfriend to get you out of a tight spot, feel free to give me a call.”

  He lifted a hand and touched her cheek, the stroke of his fingertips over her skin making her shiver. “I don’t want a fictional girlfriend, but I do want to kiss you for real.”

  She wasn’t sure if he was stating a fact or asking permission, but before she could respond, he’d lowered his head and covered her mouth with his.

  She might have caught him off guard when she’d pressed her lips to his outside of the community center, but it hadn’t taken him long to respond, to take control of the kiss. This time, he was in control right from the beginning—she didn’t have a chance to think about what he was doing or brace herself against the wave of emotions that washed over her.

  For a man who claimed he didn’t do a lot of dating, he sure knew how to kiss. His mouth was warm and firm as it moved over hers, masterfully persuasive and seductive. Never before had she been kissed with such patient thoroughness. His hands were big and strong, but infinitely gentle as they slid up her back, burning her skin through the silky fabric of her blouse as he urged her closer. Her breasts were crushed against the solid wall of his chest, and her nipples immediately responded to the contact, tightening into rigid peaks.

  She wanted him to touch her—she wanted those callused hands on her bare skin, and the fierceness of the want was shocking. Equally strong was the desire to touch him—to let her hands roam over his rock-hard body, exploring and savoring every inch of him. He was so completely and undeniably male, and he made everything that was female inside of her quiver with excitement.

  Eventually, reluctantly, he eased his mouth from hers. But he kept his arms around her, as if he couldn’t bear to let her go. “I should probably be on my way before the sheriff gets home.”

  “He won’t be home tonight,” she admitted. “He and Lissa went to Bozeman for the weekend.”

  He frowned at that. “You’re going to be alone here tonight?”

  She held his gaze steadily. “I hope not.”

  He closed the door and turned the lock.

  Chapter Two

  November

  Jesse had tossed the last bag of broodmare supplement into the back of his truck when he saw a pair of shiny, high-heeled boots stop beside the vehicle. He wiped the back of his hand over his brow and lifted his head to find Lissa Christensen, Maggie’s cousin and also the sheriff’s wife, standing there.

  He touched a hand to the brim of his hat. “Mrs. Christensen,” he said politely.

  “It’s Lissa,” she told him, and offered a smile that was both warm and apologetic.

  He wondered what she felt she had to apologize for. Maggie had told him that Lissa wasn’t just her cousin—she was her best friend—and he would bet that whatever Maggie’s reasons for ending their relationship before it had really even begun, she would have confided in the other woman. No doubt Lissa knew more than he wanted her to, but she didn’t need to know—he wouldn’t let her see—how hurt he’d been by Maggie’s decision.

  “Is there something I can help you with, ma’am?”

  “Actually, I’m here to help you.”

  “While I appreciate the offer, I’m already finished,” he said, deliberately misunderstanding her.

  She shook her head, clearly exasperated with him. “Have you talked to Maggie recently?”

  “Can’t say that I have,” he said, his tone carefully neutral.

  “You need to talk to her,” Lissa insisted. “Sooner rather than later.”

  And though Jesse’s heart urged him to reach out to her once again, Maggie had trampled on it once already and he wasn’t eager to give her another chance. Maybe pride was cold comfort without the warmth of the woman in his arms, but it was all he had left, and that pride wouldn’t let him continue to chase after a woman who had made it clear she wasn’t interested.

  “If your cousin wants to talk, she knows where to find me,” he countered.

  Lissa huffed out a breath. “If nothing else, the two of you have obstinacy in common.”

  He closed the tailgate of his truck. “If that’s all you wanted to say, I need to get back to Traub Stables.”

  “There’s plenty more to say,” she told him. “But it’s not for me to say it.”

  He lifted his brows in response to that cryptic comment as he moved to the driver’s-side door.

  “Please talk to her,” Lissa urged again.

  He slid behind the wheel and drove away, but her insistence nagged at the back of his mind all the way back to Traub Stables. Lissa had to know that he’d been out of touch with her cousin for a while, so why was she all fired up about him needing to talk to Maggie? Why now?

  Oddly enough, he’d got a phone call—out of the blue—just a few days earlier from his former fiancée. Shaelyn had said she wanted to talk, so he’d told her to talk. Then she’d said she wanted to see him, but he hadn’t thought there was any point in that. Now he was wondering why the women from his past, who had already tossed him aside, had suddenly decided he was worthy of their attention.

  He continued to puzzle over his recent conversation with Lissa as he worked with a spirited yearling. And because he was thinking about her cousin, when he got the feeling that someone was watching him, he instinctively knew that someone was Maggie.

  He hadn’t seen her since July, and the passing of time was evidenced by the changing of the season. When he’d met her the day of the community center opening, she’d been wearing a slim-fitting skirt and high-heeled sandals that showed her long, slender legs to full advantage along with a sleeveless silky blouse that highlighted her feminine curves. Today she was bundled up in a long winter coat that he’d bet she’d borrowed from her cousin since she wouldn’t have much use for one in Los Angeles. In addition to the coat, she was wearing a red knitted hat with a pom-pom and matching red mittens, and even from a distance, he could see that her cheeks were pink from the cold.

  Her choice to stand outside, he decided. And though it was obvious to both of them that she was waiting for him, he refused to cut the yearling’s workout short. He wasn’t being paid to slack off, and he wasn’t going to let her distract him from his job. Even when she hadn’t been there, she’d been too much of a distraction over the past several months.

  While he continued to work with the filly, he cautioned himself against speculating on the purpose of her visit. He didn’t know why she was there or how long she planned to stay this time, but he knew it would be foolish to expect anything from her. He finished running the young horse through her exercises before he passed her off to one of the stable hands for cooldown and grooming and finally turned his attention to Maggie.

  “Hello, Jesse.”

  She looked good. Better than good. She looked like everything he’d ever wanted in a woman, and he knew that she was. He also knew that she was definitely out of his reach.

  He nodded in acknowledgment of her greeting. “When did you get back into town?” he asked, his tone polite but cool.

  “Last night.”

  Which confirmed that she’d already been in Rust Creek Falls when he ran into her cousin at the feed store—suggesting that Lissa’s appearance there had not been a coincidence. “More of Arth
ur Swinton’s business?”

  She shook her head. “I came to see you.”

  And damn if his heart didn’t kick against his ribs like an ornery stallion trying to break out of its stall. Because he was feeling more than he wanted to feel, more than he intended to admit, the single word was harsh when he asked, “Why?”

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “Isn’t that what we’re doing now?”

  “Please, Jesse. Can we go somewhere a little more private?”

  He wanted to refuse. He definitely didn’t want to be alone with her, because that would undoubtedly remind him of the last time he’d been alone with her—the night they’d made love.

  “I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t important,” she said.

  “Do you know where The Shooting Star is?” he asked, naming his family’s ranch.

  She nodded.

  “My house is the first one on the left, after the driveway splits. Can you meet me there in an hour?”

  She nodded without hesitation. “That would be good.”

  No, good would’ve been if she’d come back three months sooner and asked to be alone with him. Then he would have been sure that they both wanted the same thing. Now, after so much time had passed, he had no idea what she wanted, what she thought they needed to talk about.

  But he knew she’d been gone 119 days, and wasn’t that pathetic? He’d actually been counting the days. At first, he’d been counting in anticipation of her return. More recently, he’d been counting in the hope that with each day that passed he would be one day closer to forgetting about her.

  And he’d been certain he was getting there—but only five minutes in her company had him all churned up inside again, wanting what he knew he couldn’t have.

  * * *

  What was she going to do for an hour?

  She slid behind the wheel of her rental car and considered her options. She was less than five minutes away from Gage and Lissa’s house, but she didn’t want to go back there. Her cousin hadn’t stopped nagging her since she’d got into town the night before. Not that Lissa had said anything Maggie hadn’t already thought herself.