“But I guess we’ll have to wait and see to know for sure,” Megan continued. “In the meantime—” she winked suggestively “—a girl can only hope he isn’t completely out of commission.”
“I thought you were dating Brett Tanner,” Kenzie remarked.
“I am,” her friend confirmed. “But until there’s a ring on my finger, I’m keeping my options open...unless I’d be stepping on your toes.”
“What? No!”
“Are you sure?” Megan asked. “I know you had a major crush on him in high school.”
Kenzie could hardly deny it. Instead, she only said, “I got over that—and him—a lot of years ago.”
“I had a crush on him, too,” Megan confessed.
It was hardly a revelation. Most of the female contingent at Westmount High School had sighed when Spencer Channing walked through the halls, his hands tucked in the pockets of his Wranglers.
“Of course, he never gave me the time of day,” her friend continued.
“He was already a junior when we were freshmen—plus we were friends with his little sister,” Kenzie reminded her.
“Which meant that we were never likely to get anything more than a brotherly nod of recognition,” Megan noted.
It was true.
Mostly.
There had been the one time, the night before he was scheduled to leave town, that Spencer had looked at Kenzie as if he really saw her.
As if he really wanted her.
And maybe Kenzie had occasionally wondered if her life might have taken a different course if that night had ended differently. But she never dwelled on the what-ifs for too long. Because Spencer had been larger than life, with big dreams for his future, while she’d had much more modest plans.
In the end, they’d both got what they wanted.
Now he was a big-name rodeo star and she was a small-town massage therapist and, as decreed in the poem, “never the twain shall meet”—except maybe in her dreams.
And yeah, there were still times when she dreamed about him, because she had no control over the direction of her subconscious mind. And apparently her subconscious mind believed that sex with Spencer Channing would somehow be different—and better—than sex with any other guy she’d been intimate with.
“But I’m not just a friend of his little sister anymore,” Megan continued, oblivious to Kenzie’s meandering thoughts. “And he’s going to want a date for his brother’s wedding.”
“The wedding’s in Irvine,” Kenzie reminded her friend.
“And I’d love to go to SoCal in December. Going with Spencer Channing would just be delectable icing on the cake.”
“Have you considered the possibility that he might not be all that anymore?” Kenzie wondered aloud.
“Have you not seen the June cover of ProRider magazine?” Megan countered.
“I saw it,” she admitted.
Of course, she’d seen it. Because Spencer Channing was the closest thing to a celebrity to ever come out of Haven, Nevada, and as soon as the issue hit newsstands, all anyone could talk about was the local boy who’d made it big on the rodeo circuit. As if being able to stay on the back of an angry bull for eight seconds was some kind of accomplishment.
Okay, maybe it was. She’d watched some of his competitions on TV, and she’d held her breath and curled her hands into fists, as if doing so might somehow help him hold on. And maybe she’d been excited for and proud of him every time he’d beat the buzzer. But still, it wasn’t as if he was changing the world. He was just playing at being a cowboy, as he’d always wanted to do, so that he didn’t have to grow up and get a real job.
So yes, she’d seen the magazine. She even had a copy of it—and all the other magazines that had featured him on the cover or mentioned him in a footnote—in the bottom drawer of her desk.
“If you saw that cover, then you know the guy who was all that in high school is now all that and a whole lot more,” Megan said.
“The whole lot more could be staging and airbrushing,” Kenzie suggested.
Megan pushed her empty plate aside. “I’m a little surprised by your lack of interest,” she admitted. “Of all the girls in our class, you had the biggest crush on him. If he ventured within ten feet of you, you’d get completely tongue-tied.”
“It was embarrassing,” Kenzie agreed. “It was also a long time ago.”
“You really don’t care that he’s coming home?”
The only thing she cared about was that she might see him, and then have to face the memories and humiliation of the last time she’d seen him. When she’d thrown herself at him and practically begged him to take her virginity.
Not surprisingly, he’d rejected her offer.
She’d been both heartbroken and relieved when he left for UNLV the next day—and certain she couldn’t ever face him again.
Over the years, he’d made regular if not frequent visits home, and Kenzie had always been careful to stay away from any and all of the places he might be.
If Megan was right about the reason for Spencer’s return, and if he planned to stay in Haven for any significant period of time while his unknown injuries healed, it was inevitable that Kenzie would cross paths with him.
But she was confident that when that happened, he wouldn’t detect any hint of the pathetic, lovestruck teenager she’d been inside the confident and capable woman she was now.
* * *
“Your two o’clock is waiting in treatment room four,” Jillian, the clinic receptionist, told Kenzie when she got back after lunch.
She glanced at her watch. “Mrs. Ferris is early today.”
“Mrs. Ferris canceled,” Jillian informed her. “She wasn’t feeling well.”
Kenzie shook her head. “She complains that her treatment isn’t working but refuses to take any responsibility for the fact that she only shows up for half her scheduled appointments.”
“And complains when we bill her for the ones she misses last-minute,” the receptionist added.
“So who’s my two o’clock?” Kenzie asked.
“A new patient rehabbing a shoulder injury.” Jillian sighed dreamily. “And, oh-my-god, does he have fabulous shoulders. And a smile that could melt any woman’s panties from across the room.”
Though Kenzie was accustomed to Jillian’s outrageous and unapologetic objectification of their attractive male clients, the remark made her cringe—and glance around to ensure there were no other clients within earshot.
“Not my panties,” she asserted confidently. Because only one man’s smile had ever had the power to do that, and that had been a long time ago.
“I’m telling you, if you’d been five minutes later, I might have snuck into the treatment room to massage him myself,” Jillian said, then immediately amended her claim. “No, I probably wouldn’t have lasted more than three minutes.”
Kenzie shook her head. “Does Mr. Panty-Melter have another name?”
“As a matter of fact, he does.” The receptionist glanced down at her computer screen, where the scheduled appointments were displayed. “It’s Spencer Channing.”
Keep reading for an excerpt from The Texas Cowboy’s Quadruplets by Cathy Gillen Thacker.
Copyright © 2018 by Brenda Harlen
Life, Love and Family
COMING NEXT MONTH!
Cathy Gillen Thacker
debuts her heartfelt series Texas Legends: The McCabes
in Harlequin Special Edition.
Don’t miss
The Texas Cowboy’s Quadruplets
Available October 2018
Read the first two books in the
Texas Legends: The McCabes series from Harlequin Western Romance:
The Texas Cowboy’s Baby Rescue
The Texas Cowboy’s Triplets
www.Harlequin.com
The Texas Cowboy’s Quadruplets
by Cathy Gillen Thacker
Chapter One
“So,” the way-too-handsome Chase McCabe drawled in a low, sexy voice, “the boot is finally on the other foot.”
Mitzy Martin stared at the indomitable CEO standing on the other side of her front door, looking more rancher than businessman, in nice-fitting jeans, boots and tan Western shirt. Ignoring the sudden skittering of her heart, she heaved a dramatic sigh meant to convey just how unwelcome he was. “What’s your point, cowboy?” she demanded impatiently.
Mischief gleaming in his smoky-blue eyes, Chase poked the brim of his hat back and looked her up and down in a way that made her insides flutter all the more. “Just that you’ve been a social worker for Laramie County Department of Children and Family Services for whatten years now?”
Electricity sparked between them with all the danger and unpredictability of a downed power line. “Eleven,” Mitzy corrected, doing her best to ignore the impressive amount of testosterone and take-charge attitude he exuded beneath his amiable demeanor.
And it had been slightly less than that since she had abruptly ended their engagement
“And in all that time, my guess is, very few people have been happy to see you coming up their front walk. Now you seem to be feeling the very same disinclination,” he continued with an ornery grin, angling a thumb at the center of his masculine chest, “seeing me at your door.”
Leave him to point out the almost unbearable irony in that! Mitzy drew a breath, ignoring the considerable physical awareness that never failed to materialize between them. No matter how vigilantly she worked to avoid him.
She remained in the portal, blocking his entrance. And gave him a long level look that let him know he was not going to get to herno matter how hard he tried. Even if his square jaw and chiseled features, thick, short sandy-brown hair and incredibly buff physique were permanently imprinted on her brain. “There’s a difference, Chase.” She smiled sweetly, tipping her head up to accommodate his six-foot-three-inch frame. “When people get to know me and realize I’m there to help, they usually become quite warm and friendly.”
“Well, what do you know!” He surveyed her pleasantly in return. “That’s exactly what I hope will happen between you and me. Now that we’re older and wiser, that is.”
Twins Bridgett and Bess Monroe, there to assist with her two-month-old quadruplets, appeared behind her. “Hey, Chase.” Bridgett grinned.
“Here to talk business, I bet?” Bess added, a matchmaker’s gleam in her eye.
He nodded, ornery as ever. “I am.”
Mitzy glared. She and Chase had crashed and burned once—spectacularly. There was no way she was doing it again. She folded her arms in front of her militantly. “Well, I’m not.”
He stepped closer, deliberately invading her personal space, inundating her with his wildly intoxicating masculine scent. “Mitzy, come on. You’ve been ducking my calls and messages for weeks now.”
So what? She gave him her most unwelcoming glance. “I know it’s hard for a carefree bachelor like you to understand, but I’ve been ‘a little busy’ since giving birth to four boys.”
He shrugged right back, meeting her word for cavalier word. “Word around town is you’ve had plenty of volunteer help. Plus the high-end nannies your mother sent from Dallas.”
Mitzy groaned and clapped a hand across her forehead. “Don’t remind me,” she muttered miserably.
The sympathy on his face matched his low, commiserating tone. “Didn’t work out?”
“No,” she bit out, “they didn’t.” Mostly because they had been even more ostentatious—and intrusive—than her mom. Telling her how things should be, instead of asking her how she wanted them to be. “Just like this lobbying effort on your part won’t work, either.”
“I know you’d rather not do business with me, Mitzy,” he said, even more gently. “But at least hear me out.”
Silence fell between them, as fragile as the still-shattered pieces of her heart. He rocked forward on his toes and lowered his face to hers. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think it were crucial.”
Mitzy caught her breath at the unexpected reminder of what it had been like to kiss him. Or how much the reckless side of her wanted to do so again.
Just to see
“You could use a break,” Bess pointed out.
Bridgett, who’d recently found her own happily-ever-after with Chase’s older brother, Cullen, agreed. “And you may as well get this talk over with. If—” she paused heavily “—that’s all it is.”
That’s all it could be, Mitzy told herself bluntly. Since there was no way she was opening up her heart to this impossibly sexy cowboy CEO again. “Fine.” She ducked inside long enough to grab a fleece to ward off the chill of the November afternoon and hurried back outside. “You’ve got five minutes, Chase, and that is all!”
Five minutes wasn’t much, but it was better than what he’d had in a very long time. Plus, he had promised her late father he’d take care of Mitzy, and her quadruplets, whether she wanted him to or not.
Chase followed Mitzy to the end of the porch on her Craftsman-style home, taking a moment to survey the recent changes in her. The birth of her four sons had given her five-nine body a new voluptuousness. Her thick medium brown hair was still threaded with honey-gold strands, but she’d cut it since he last saw her in town a month ago, and now it just brushed the tops of her shoulders. Her fair skin was lit with the inner glow she’d had since she was pregnant, her delicate features just as elegant as ever, and her lips soft and full and enticingly bare.
Which meant she still favored plain balm over lipstick. A fact he had always liked
She bypassed the chain-hung swing and settled instead on a wicker chair. Acutely aware of how hard this was going to be for her to hear, he removed his hat, set it aside and took the seat kitty-corner from her.
Resisting the urge to take her small hand in his, he leaned toward her, hands knotted between his spread knees. Looked her in the eye and got straight to the point. “Word on the street is that Martin Custom Saddle is in big trouble financially.”
Anger flared between them, even as her long-lashed aquamarine eyes widened in surprise. “I think—as CEO—that I would know if that was the case.”
She certainly should have, Chase thought reprovingly. “Have you been there recently?”
Mitzy straightened. “I’ve been in touch with Buck Phillips—the chief operating officer—at least once a week.”
Chase focused on the pretty pink color flooding her face. Matter-of-factly, he ascertained, “But you haven’t actually been to the facility where the saddles are made.”
She ignored his question. Stood, walked a short distance away, then swung back to face him. “What’s your point, Chase?”
He hated to be the bad guy. In this situation, he had no choice. Gently, but firmly, he said, “You can’t simultaneously run MCS—at least not the way your late father would have wished—and be Laramie County’s best social worker. And all the while care for four infants all by your lonesome to boot. No one could.”
Mitzy stalked toward him. “I’m not trying to do all that. I’m on maternity leave from the Department of Family and Child Services for the next ten months. Maybe longer. I haven’t decided yet.” Ignoring the seat close to him, she perched on the porch railing. “And Buck Phillips is running the business side at the saddle company, same as always.”
Noting the way the dark denim hugged her slender thighs, and the swell of her breasts beneath the snug-fitting black fleece top, he rose and ambled toward her. “Are you sure about that?”
“Someone would have told me if there were issues. Financially, or otherwise.”
Unless they were trying to protect her.
Her lower lip slid out in a sexy pout. “The em
ployees there are not just personally invested in the success of the company, they’re like family to me and each other.”
With effort, Chase ignored the urge to kiss her. “It takes more than good intentions to run a company, Mitzy,” he said quietly.
She tilted her chin at him, a myriad of emotions running riot in her pretty eyes. “You don’t think I have it in me?”
He came closer and perched beside her. Bracing his hands on the rail on either side of him, he murmured, “Your father had a passion for saddle making.”
“I know that.”
He knew this would hurt. Still, it had to be said. “And you don’t.”
She gasped, indignant. Hands balled into fists at her sides, she bounded to her feet and swung on him once again. “I don’t need to have that same passion. All I need to do is keep everything exactly the way it was when he was alive, and honor him by carrying on his legacy. And we—the company and all its employees—will be fine!”
Taking charge of a business was a lot more complicated than that. Clearly, though, she wasn’t ready to hear that.
Help my daughter make it through the holidays, Gus Martin had said. The first, after my death, will be the most difficult.
And with Thanksgiving almost upon them
Chase could see Mitzy was struggling. Even if she wouldn’t admit it. He tried again, even more gently this time. “The point is, darlin’, I’m interested in doing that, too.”
Abruptly, Mitzy looked like she wanted to deck him. “Like you did when you worked for my dad? Before he was forced to fire you?”
Of course she would bring up the business crisis that had precipitated the end of their engagement. Their breakup had ripped him up inside. Chase shrugged regretfully. “I admit, I was overly ambitious.”
An even rosier hue flooded her high, sculpted cheeks. “You insulted him and everything he stood for with your plans to turn his artistry into a mass-manufacturing business.”
Chase squinted. “I’m not sure your dad saw it that way.”
You’re meant for bigger things, Chase. You’ll never be happy herewas what Gus had said, when he’d cut him loose.
The Little Maverick Matchmaker (Montana Mavericks: The Lonelyhearts Ranch Book 3) Page 20
