The Taming of the Bachelor
Read The Taming of the Bachelor Online
Authors: Jane Porter
The Taming of the Sheenans Series
Jane Porter
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The Taming of the Bachelor
Copyright © 2015 Jane Porter
The Tule Publishing Group, LLC
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-1-942240-78-5
An Excerpt from Christmas at Copper Mountain
An Excerpt from Take Me, Cowboy
For Megan Crane
who sat me down and reminded me
I know how to write
This one wouldn’t have happened
without you.
D
illon Sheenan was celebrating.
Which meant he was at Grey’s Saloon in downtown Marietta drinking.
He’d been at Grey’s for awhile, too, and had a decent buzz going. But since he wasn’t driving tonight, crashing instead at Troy’s room at the Graff Hotel so he’d be in town for an early morning meeting, he wasn’t counting his drinks. Tonight he was free to feel good.
It’d been a long time since he felt good.
Months.
Years.
Not that anyone in Marietta knew. He didn’t wear his heart on his sleeve. He couldn’t afford to wear his heart on his sleeve, not as the youngest in a family of five boys. His brothers had been brutal. Maybe all brothers were tough, but Dillon learned early to keep his head down and his mouth shut.
It was his mantra growing up, and his mantra going through school.
As a kid he drew no attention to himself, asked for no favors, and sought no special recognition. His dad, a third generation Montana cattle rancher, was blindsided when the principal of Marietta High called to say that Dillon had been named the school valedictorian and was Mr. Sheenan or anyone from the family coming to see Dillon receive his awards on Baccalaureate Night?
Bill Sheenan couldn’t fathom why Dillon would be selected, unaware that Dillon wasn’t just a straight A student, but the only student in the past five years to have earned perfect scores on the SAT.
Dillon also kept quiet about his full ride to MIT (although of course his dad did know this), along with the details on how he graduated with a BS in three years instead of four.
By the time Dillon had finished his master’s degree, Troy had obviously figured out that Dillon had something special going on and he backed Dillon’s biomedical engineering start-up, Tutro, with some serious dollars.
The gamble on Tutro had paid off. Biomedicine and biomedical engineering was the future, and Dillon’s engineering brain was happiest thinking, inventing and problem solving. The future appeared bright.
Then everything went sideways. Trey was arrested and sent to jail. Dad got sick. Then Dad wasn’t just sick, his cancer was terminal, and there was no one else willing or able to run the ranch and be there with Dad while he died.
Of course Cormac and Troy could have been options but neither loved the land, not enough to live on it, and work it. Brock had his own spread in Paradise Valley but he still struggled to forgive Dad for all that Dad had put the family through, and had suggested they just sell the ranch. Cormac agreed, adding that maybe Dad would be better off in town, at one of those nice nursing homes, getting the care he needed.
Cormac and Brock’s suggestions offended Dillon. He couldn’t bear to think of Dad in a home. Dad was a tough SOB, but he was Dad.
Family.
Family—even a broken, dysfunctional family—came first.
In the end Dad still died, and Dillon hadn’t just lost his father, but his company. He didn’t like losing. How could he? He was a
Sheenan.
Nine months after Dad’s funeral, Trey was released early from prison, and back working the ranch. Dillon wasn’t needed in Marietta anymore. He was taking stock of his options and reaching out to old friends from his MIT days when he got a phone call from one of the Tutro board members. Would Dillon be interested in returning?
Three years after losing Tutro, three years after being kicked out of the company he co-founded, Tutro wanted him back, dangling all kinds of salary and benefit packages in front of him.
But Dillon wasn’t going to accept just any offer. He vowed to make them work for it. To make them work for
him
.
It took four weeks of discussions and negotiations before they got anywhere because initially, he wasn’t going to go back. He was still angry, deeply angry. He’d been wronged. Maligned. And Sheenans weren’t built for shaming. So Dillon said no thank you to the first offer. He might have co-founded Tutro, but the company had been used and abused and left in the toilet while he was out, and it made him sick.
They broke Tutro. They destroyed it. He wanted no part of it.
He refused the second offer.
A week later the board returned with a third offer, this time begging him. On their knees, take the cash, kiss our ass kind of begging.
Dillon knew it was petty, but deep down inside, he was glad they were groveling and pleading and wringing their hands and offering Dillon full control of Tutro.
It was the kind of offer that made him think, really think about what he wanted, and what mattered, and what he could do.
Greg—the lying cheat—was gone. Fired. The board was in turmoil, lukewarm bodies replaced by new blood that understood desperate times called for desperate measures. That resonated with Dillon. He understood how desperate times called for desperate measures. Wasn’t that how he lost Tutro in the first place? His brother was in jail, his dad was sick, and there was a big family ranch in need of someone to run it.
Desperate times...
Dillon raised his glass, sipped the whiskey, letting it scorch and burn all the way down.
Hopefully the worst was behind him. Hopefully once in Austin he could just focus on the company, and the future. The Tutro he’d left was gone. But they could start over. Start fresh. He’d been wanting a new beginning, and now he had it.
The stool on his right moved, scraping back a few inches, and then scraping forward as the very pretty, very appealing Paige Joffe took a seat next to him.
“Mind if I sit here?” she asked.
Dillon was too old to harbor crushes, but he had a soft spot for Paige, owner of Main Street Diner, a woman that was tragically out of bounds due to her close friendship with his sister-in-law, McKenna. “Not at all.”
“I promise not to bother you.”
His jaw eased. He smiled faintly. “You could never bother me.”
“You say the nicest things.”
“Not really. You’re just easy to be around.”
“Because I’m not chasing you?”
He liked how the light played on the lines of her face, highlighting her cheekbones and the smooth angle of her jaw. “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to. I’ve lived here three years now and I hear the chatter. You’re extremely popular with the ladies.”
“That’s only because I still have a full head of hair and a very small beer belly.”
Her laugh was pitched low and sweet. “Of course, that’s the only reason.” Her lips curved up, and her blue eyes smiled at him before her gaze dropped to sweep over his torso. She took her time studying him, too. “And from what I can see, I don’t think there is any beer belly happening there. If anything, you probably have a decent six-pack.”
“You can tell through a thick thermal?”
Her gaze lifted, meeting his. “Wasn’t born yesterday, and I was married to a man like you. Fit. Smart. Athletic. So don’t make me heap on the compliments. It’d be uncomfortable for both of us.”
“It might be uncomfortable for you, but I’d like it.” He shifted on the bar stool, facing her. She wasn’t that big, barely reaching his shoulder even sitting on the bar stool. “Maybe that’s because I like you.”
Paige pushed a silky gold strand of hair behind her ear. “How much
have
you been drinking?”
“I’ve had a few.”
“Thought so.”
“But not enough to lose control. I know what I’m saying. I know what I like.”
“Really?”
“You’re impossible not to like. You’re smart, kind, funny, and ridiculously pretty.”
“Don’t stop.”
“Should I continue? I will—”
“No. Just kidding.” She was blushing and fidgeting. “Now I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything. Just thought I’d tell you what I was thinking.” He hesitated, then shrugged. “But no, I’m not drunk. And I’m not hitting on you.”
“Good. Because I’m too old for you.”
“Not true.”
Her lips pressed, her blush deepened. “I’m almost thirty-eight?”
“So?”
“You are a lot younger.”
“Eight years difference. Big whoop.”
She turned, pivoting on her stool to get a better look at him. “So why aren’t you hitting on me then?” Her question dangled there between them. Her brow lifted. “What’s the problem then? Is it because I’m a mom?”
He did have rules about dating single mothers, but in her case, it wouldn’t have kept him from asking her out. “You’re McKenna’s best friend.”
“And?”
“You mean a lot to her.”
“Mmm?”
“I don’t date McKenna’s friends. Ever.”
She looked at him a long moment and then nodded. “You’re afraid things would end badly.”
“Yes.”
“Why would it end badly?”
“You’ve been around this town long enough to know. I’m not what nice girls want, or need.”
“Interesting. But you’re wrong. One, I’m not that nice. And two, I’m not a girl. I
have
a little girl, but I haven’t been a girl in a long, long time.” Her lips twitched. “And if you don’t date nice girls, who do you date? I didn’t think there were any bad girls in Marietta.”
He smiled crookedly. “I do spend a lot of time drinking whiskey and playing pool.”
“It’s all becoming clear now.”
“So you should be able to relax with me. You’re safe.”
Her expression turned thoughtful. “Quick recap: you find me attractive—”
“
Very
attractive.”
“Very attractive, but you won’t ask me out, or make any moves on me, because I’m way too nice, and McKenna’s best friend.”
