Christie Ridgway: The Marriage Maker

Stories of family and romance

beneath the Big Sky!

“I need something from you, Cleo.”

“Me?” Her voice sounded breathless. “What could I possibly do for you?”

“You could marry me.”

Marry him. Marry Ethan.

Cleo’s heart lurched, as if it was trying to find a way out of her chest. “Are you kidding?” she said.

“Not kidding.”

Marry Ethan? This whole episode was like something out of a fantasy, a too-familiar fantasy born the first moment she saw Ethan last winter. But the reality of Ethan was right in front of her. She could smell his delicious, sophisticated scent and see new lines of tiredness, or grief, maybe, etched around his serious mouth. His sister had died. He had a baby now.

A husband. A child. Ethan. A fantasy come to life.

“Yes, Ethan. I’ll marry you.”

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Native Californian Christie Ridgway started reading and writing romances in middle school. It wasn’t until she was the wife of her college sweetheart and the mother of two small sons that she submitted her work for publication. Many contemporary romances later, she is the happiest when telling her stories despite the splash of kids in the pool, the mass of cups and plates in the kitchen, and the many commitments she makes in the world beyond her desk.

Besides loving the men in her life and her dream-come-true job, she continues her longtime love affair with reading and is never without a stack of books. You can find out more about Christie or contact her at her website, www.christieridgway.com.

To my editor, Lynda Curnyn.

Thanks for everything.

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Never in her life had Cleo Kincaid Monroe schemed to get a kiss.

“But there’s a first time for everything,” she muttered to herself as she moved around the spacious kitchen of the Big Sky Bed & Break fast.

“Did you say something?” The deep voice of Ethan Redford, her evening’s date, came from the direction of the small den off the kitchen.

“Say something? Not me. Uh-uh. Nothing.” And nothing was exactly what had happened between Cleo and Ethan. Not tonight when he’d taken her to dinner at the White horn Country Club, not last week when he’d flown her in a private plane for lunch in Bozeman, not all the times they’d run into each other at the B and B where he was staying and where she lived with her mother and sister.

Cleo scooped coffee into an unbleached filter, vowing to change that nothing to something, to a kiss, because for the three weeks since Ethan had arrived in White horn, Montana, she hadn’t been able to think of anything but kissing him.

Aware that it was after midnight, she dumped another generous scoop of grounds into the filter and clicked on the coffeemaker. Drowsiness wasn’t going to get in the way of this kiss, either, by gosh.

Another woman might have thought Ethan didn’t want to kiss her, but Cleo figured it had more to do with all the interruptions that came with living at the family business. Why, after their Bozeman lunch they’d stood in this very kitchen and she’d actually seen the kiss in his eyes, even felt his warm breath rush across her mouth as he leaned toward her. But then her sister Jasmine and their mother had bustled in, wanting every detail of Cleo’s first-ever private plane ride.

She could have killed them.

But tonight, ah, tonight the B and B was blissfully quiet. Ethan was their only guest right now—early February not being the high tourist season in Montana—and Jasmine went to bed early. Cleo cast a glance down the hall that led to the family’s bedrooms and didn’t see a light under her mother’s door, either. That was good, too. Celeste hadn’t been sleeping well lately and maybe she was finally getting a chance to catch up on her rest.

Cleo loaded a tray with the coffee carafe, mugs, cream, sugar and spoons, then took one bracing breath before stepping into the den.

And there he was.

Her stomach gave that funny little hiccup it always did when she looked at Ethan. There wasn’t much call for elegant dark business suits, white shirts and ties in Montana, but Ethan wore them with the ease most of the men she knew wore down jackets and cowboy boots.

He’d thrown his suit jacket over the rocking chair in the corner, rolled up his sleeves and loosened his tie. Cleo’s tummy hiccuped again. Who’d have thought “corporate rumple” could look so delicious and complement so well that glint of gold stubble on his chin?

She let her gaze wander up to his blue eyes. Guilt pinged her. “You look tired,” she said, and here she was, ready to feed him mega doses of caffeine to satisfy her own sensual curiosity. She knew he’d been working long hours on a merger deal between the local ATI Com company and the Kyoto-based Sokia Industries.

But he smiled—grinned really, that confident Ethan grin—and stood to take the tray out of her hands. “It wears a man out, talking about himself all night.” He set the tray on the small table in front of the love seat he’d been sitting on. “Don’t think I didn’t realize you were plying me with questions.”

With her hands unoccupied, Cleo found herself suddenly nervous. The den was small and the love seat—the only sitting space avail able since Ethan’s jacket occupied the rocking chair—was even smaller. She swallowed as he sat back down, his tall frame taking up more than half of the cushions. “My questions were legitimate,” she said, trying to hide her nervousness with a smile. “I didn’t know a thing about a merger and acquisitions consulting company.”

He grimaced. “And now you probably know more than you ever wanted to…and about the man who owns one.”

Cleo remained standing, her hands clutching each other. Yes, Ethan had told her about his company, United Mergers, Inc., and about the deal he was trying to put together here in White horn. He’d told her about his penthouse condo in Houston and about the constant travel his work required. But did she know much about him? He hadn’t shared one word with her about his personal life. A little shiver of apprehension tickled her spine. Maybe kissing Ethan wasn’t such a good idea, after all.

“Are you cold?” Ethan patted the love seat beside him. “Come and sit down and let me warm you up with some…coffee.”

Was Cleo imagining that little hesitation? What about that little gleam in his eye? “Maybe…” She glanced back toward the kitchen, as if some excuse might conveniently present itself.