Brenda Harlen - Claiming The Cowboy's Heart

“Is this a bad time?” she asked.

He held up a dinner plate. “Does this look like white to you?”

“Only if tangerines are white,” she noted.

He set the plate on the counter and selected a bowl from another box. “How about this? Is this—” he glanced at the notation on what she guessed was an itemized list of his order “—dove?”

“Um, no. I’d say that’s lemon,” she said.

“And this?” He showed her a salad plate.

“Lime.”

“Great,” he said dryly. “I ordered tableware and they sent me fruit salad.” He held up a mug.

“I’m tempted to say blueberry.” She fought a smile. “But it’s actually closer to turquoise.”

He shook his head, obviously not amused.

“I’m guessing you got someone else’s order.”

He scrubbed his hands over his face. “An order that I’ve been waiting on for three months.”

She moved to the island and set the salad plate on top of the dinner plate, then the bowl in the center of the salad plate and the mug beside it. “I like it,” she decided.

He lifted a brow. “You’re kidding.”

She shook her head. “White and grey are basic, boring. This tableware makes a statement that’s more reflective of what you’re doing with the distinctive décor in each of the guestrooms—providing your visitors with a unique experience.”

“I wanted basic and boring,” he said stubbornly.

“So you can send this back and find basic and boring tableware somewhere else, or you can keep this and negotiate a price reduction from the supplier.”

He looked dubious. “You really think I should keep it?”

“I do, but it’s not my decision to make. Unless that kind of thing falls under managerial duties,” she added hopefully.

“Someone once told me that a good employee is someone who steps up to do what needs to be done, even if it isn’t in her job description.”

“Touché.”

“And I’m guessing that’s why you’re here,” he realized.

“Well, you did say you’d make a decision by the end of the week, and it’s the end of the week.”

“So it is,” he agreed. “And there’s no doubt you’re the most qualified of the applicants I’ve interviewed.”

“Why do I get the feeling there’s a but ?” she asked warily.

“But I have some reservations about hiring you,” he admitted.

“What kind of reservations? Did Duke complain about me being late? Because that was once. Okay, maybe twice, but—”

“Duke gave you a glowing recommendation,” he interjected to assure her.

She frowned. “Then why don’t you want to hire me?”

“Because you’re an incredibly attractive woman and… I find myself incredibly attracted to you.”

His reply wasn’t at all what she’d expected, and it took Macy a moment to wrap her head around it and decide how to respond to it—and him.

She was undeniably flattered. Liam Gilmore wasn’t at all hard to look at, and he was built like the rancher she knew he’d been before he bought the old Stagecoach Inn. And she admittedly felt a stir of something unexpected whenever she was near him, but she hadn’t let that dissuade her from going after the job she wanted, because she knew that a man like Liam Gilmore would never be interested in a woman whose first, second and third priorities were her children.

“I fail to see how that’s relevant to my ability to do the job you need done,” she finally said.

“You don’t think the attraction might make our working relationship a little…uncomfortable?”

“Not at all,” she assured him. “Because I have no doubt that you want this venture to succeed, and that requires hiring the right person for the right job. Aside from that, an initial feeling of attraction is always based on superficial criteria, and once you get to know me, you’ll realize I’m not your type.”

He scowled. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

“While I must admit to some curiosity about the ‘everyone’ else who might have said the same thing, the reason is simple,” she said. “Because I’d guess that someone known around town as ‘Love ’em and Leave ’em Liam’ is only looking for a good time and—”

“That nickname isn’t just ridiculous, it’s completely inaccurate,” he interjected.

She ignored his interruption to finish making her point: “And, as a single mom, I don’t have time for extracurricular activities of any kind right now.”

* * *

Liam took an actual physical step backward, a subconscious retreat.

“You have a kid?”

Macy’s lips curved in a wry smile. “Yeah, I figured my revelation would have that effect.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I just… I didn’t know.”

“Like I said—not your type,” she reminded him.

And she was right.

Everyone was right.

Because as much as he adored his niece—and he did—he wasn’t willing to play father to some other guy’s kid.

Not again.

He looked at Macy, dressed for another shift at Diggers’ in a different short skirt and low-cut top, and couldn’t help but remark, “You sure as heck don’t look like anyone’s mother.”

She smiled at that. “Thanks, I think. But I don’t want platitudes—I want a job. I want the manager’s job,” she clarified. “I don’t mind waiting tables at Diggers’, but the late hours mean that I miss the bedtime routine with my kids almost every night.”

“Kid s ?” he echoed, surprised to learn that she had more than one.

She nodded.

“How many?”

“Three,” she admitted. “They’re eight months old.”

He waited for her to provide the ages of her other two children, then comprehension dawned. “Triplets?”

She nodded again.

“Wow.”

“Yeah, that was pretty much my reaction when the doctor told me—although I might have added a few NSFW adjectives.”

“And the dad?” he wondered. “I imagine he was shocked, too.”

“I’m not sure it’s appropriate to ask a prospective employee about her personal relationships,” she noted. “But since there are no secrets in this town, I’ll tell you that he’s not in the picture.”

“You’re right—it was an inappropriate question,” he acknowledged.

Also, Macy’s relationship with the father of her babies was irrelevant. She might be the sexiest single mom he’d ever met, but he had less than zero interest in being the “dad” who transformed the equation of “mom plus three kids” into “family.”

“I guess the only question left to ask is—when can you start?”

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