Harlequin Special Edition November 2014 - Box Set 2 of 2: The Maverick's Thanksgiving Baby\A Celebration Christmas\Dr. Daddy's Perfect Christmas (2 page)

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

J
esse 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 Arthur 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.

She pulled out of the parking lot and back onto the road, heading toward town. She drove down Falls Street, turned onto Sawmill, crossing over the bridge without any destination in mind. She was only killing time, watching the minutes tick away until the allotted hour had passed.

Her phone buzzed to indicate receipt of a text message, so she turned onto Main and pulled into an empty parking spot by Crawford's General Store to dig her phone out of her purse.

Have you seen him yet?

The message, not surprisingly, was from Lissa.

Mtg him at SS @ 4,
she texted back.

Good luck!
her cousin replied.

Maggie was afraid she was going to need it.

Since she had her phone in hand, she decided to check her email from work. There wasn't anything urgent, but responding to the messages helped her kill some more time.

She knew that she was stalling, thinking about anything but the imminent conversation with Jesse. Now that there were less than twenty minutes before their scheduled meeting, she should be focused on that, thinking about what she was going to say, how to share her news.

She'd hoped to take her cue from him—but the few words that they'd exchanged at Traub Stables hadn't given her a hint about what he was thinking. His gaze had been shuttered, but the coolness of his tone had been a strong indication that he was finished with her. It wasn't even that he was over her—it was as if they'd never been.

Maybe she shouldn't have come back. Maybe this was a monumental mistake. It was obvious that he felt nothing for her—maybe he never had. Maybe the magic of that night had only ever existed in her imagination.

But she didn't really believe that. She certainly hadn't imagined the numerous phone calls, text messages and emails they'd exchanged every single day for the first couple of weeks. And during those early weeks, he'd seemed eager for her to come back to Rust Creek Falls, as anxious to be with her again as she was to be with him.

She'd originally planned to return in the middle of August, but only two days before her scheduled trip one of the senior partners had asked for her help with an emergency injunction for an important client threatened by a hostile takeover. Of course, that injunction had only been the first step in a long process of corporate restructuring, and Maggie had been tapped for assistance every step of the way.

She'd enjoyed the challenge and the work and knew it had been good for her career. Unfortunately, it had consumed almost every waking minute and had signaled the beginning of the end of her relationship with Jesse. Four months was a long time to be apart, and he'd obviously moved on.

She rubbed a hand over her chest, where her heart was beating dully against her breastbone. The possibility that their passionate lovemaking could have been so readily forgotten cut her to the quick. Maybe it was irrational and unreasonable, but she'd started to fall in love with him that night. Even when she'd said goodbye to him the next day, she didn't think it was the end of their relationship but only the beginning.

Of course, her emotions were her responsibility. He'd never made her any promises; he'd certainly never said that he was in love with her. But the way he'd kissed her and touched her and loved her—with his body if not his heart—she'd been certain there was something special between them, something more than a one-night affair. She didn't think she'd imagined that, but even if the connection had been real, it was obviously gone now, and the pain of that loss made her eyes fill with tears.

Blinking them away, she pulled from the curb and headed toward The Shooting Star.

Jesse's house was a beautiful if modest two-story with white siding, a wide front porch and lots of windows flanked by deep green shutters.

His truck in the driveway confirmed that he was home, and he opened the door before she even had a chance to knock.

“You're punctual,” he said, stepping back so that she could enter.

“I appreciate you making the time to see me.”

He shrugged. “You said it was important.”

“It is,” she confirmed.

She continued to stand just inside the door, looking at him, wanting to memorize all the little details she was afraid she might have forgotten over the past four months.

The breadth of his shoulders beneath the flannel shirt he wore, the rippling strength of his abdominal muscles, the strength of those wide-palmed hands. The way his mouth curved just a little higher on the left side when he smiled; the almost-imperceptible scar on his chin, the result of a misstep as he'd climbed over a fence when he was eight years old. His hair was damp, as if he'd recently stepped out of the shower, and his jaw was freshly shaven, tempting her to reach up and touch the smooth skin.

“Do you want to take your coat off?”

“Sure.” But she pulled off her mittens and hat first, tucking them into the pockets of the long coat she'd borrowed from her cousin. When she finally stripped off the heavy garment, he took it from her, hanging it on a hook by the door, beside his Sherpa-lined leather jacket.

“Keep your boots on,” he said when she reached down to untie them. “The floor's probably cold.”

It might have been true, but the abruptness of his tone suggested that he didn't want her to get too comfortable or stay for too long. She kept her boots on, but wiped them carefully on the mat before stepping off it.

The main floor plan was open, with a dining area on one side and a living room on the other. The furniture was distressed leather with nail-head trim, oversize and masculine in design but perfect for the open space. Flames were crackling inside the river-rock fireplace, providing the room with both warmth and ambience. Jesse had moved to the kitchen, separated from the dining room by a long, granite-topped counter.

“Do you want a cup of tea?” he asked, already filling the kettle.

“That would be nice, thank you.”

Even she winced at the cool politeness of their conversation. It was as if they were strangers meeting for the first time rather than lovers who had spent hours naked together. Yes, it had only been one night, but it had been the most incredible night of her life. The way he'd touched her, with his hands and his lips and his body, had introduced her to heights of pleasure she'd never imagined.

Even now, the memories of that night made her cheeks flush and her heart pound. Though it took a determined effort, she pushed them aside and forced herself to focus on the here and now.

“You've lost weight,” he noted, his gaze skimming over her.

“A few pounds,” she admitted. Actually, she'd been down nine pounds a couple of months earlier, but she'd managed to gain six of them back.