Cathy Mcdavid - The Cowboy's Twin Surprise

How would he react? Run far and fast? Angrily accuse her of lying to him and go after her for custody of the girls? Insinuate himself into their lives?

He had made that donation to her crowd-funding campaign. According to the stated terms, donations of a thousand dollars or more entitled the contributor to a share in her company—until, and if, she bought them out. With interest, of course. Ten thousand dollars would entitle Spence to a...she didn’t want to think about that.

Frankie arrived early. Typical. She was a bit obsessive-compulsive when it came to not making people wait, something she herself hated.

All six picnic tables were empty, though a few children played in the nearby playground under the supervision of their parents, and a young couple rode their horses along the designated equestrian trail. At dinnertime on a weekday evening, the park was bound to be empty.

By six, her and Spence’s agreed-upon time, she had various covered containers unpacked and arranged. At five minutes past six, she huffed and checked her watch again.

Her anger returned, overpowering her nervousness. She should have expected this. He didn’t know the meaning of punctual. Her glance constantly traveling to the parking area, she alternated between sitting, standing, pacing and gnashing her teeth.

Two vehicles arrived: one a compact car and the other a brand-new, fire-engine-red dually pickup with all the bells and whistles. She immediately dismissed the compact car as something Spence wouldn’t drive. Could the truck be his? It did seem a bit much. She’d never seen him drive anything that wasn’t destined for the junkyard.

Another ten minutes. That was the most she’d give him. If he didn’t show by then, she was leaving. When a lone, tall man wearing a cowboy hat emerged from the pickup, Frankie’s heart gave an abrupt leap. It was Spence. How in the world—

He came toward her, his stride easy and confident, his trademark sexy grin firmly in place. As he neared, he removed his sunglasses and slipped them into his front shirt pocket.

She’d worried earlier about how she looked to him. Older. Less attractive. A duller version of her younger self. What she should have worried about was how he looked to her. Good. As appealing as always. Lip-smacking gorgeous.

Frankie knew in that instant she hadn’t changed one bit and was in serious danger of falling under his spell again. She struggled to shore up her defenses. Except she didn’t have a chance before Spence reached her and swept her into a hug.

Not a rib-crushing, good-to-see-an-old-friend hug but the heady, twirl-in-a-circle, steal-your-breath-away kind.

What am I going to do now?

He set her down. Fortunately, he didn’t let go of her arm or she might have stumbled. He’d left her that disconcerted and that unsteady.

Pretending to have caught her sandal heel in a hole, she insisted, “I’m fine,” and tried to extract her arm from his grasp.

He held firm, his glance roving her face before moving lower. “Yes, you are.”

“Spence.” She tugged harder. When was he ever not pouring on the charm?

“Sorry I’m late.” He finally released her.

“What was it this time?” She couldn’t keep the irritation from her voice. He always had one excuse or another. Flat tire. Dead battery. Traffic. A buddy who just happened to drop by.

“I had to make a few calls. The transport driver encountered flooding in Texas. He’s going to be delayed a good half day.”

“What’s being transported?” She occupied herself with reorganizing the containers.

“I own two retired racing mares.”

“Racing mares?”

He peered over her shoulder at the spread she’d prepared, getting a little too close for Frankie’s comfort. As if set on automatic, her body responded before she could stop herself, softening and leaning ever so slightly into him.

“We should probably sit down,” he said, his breath tickling her neck. “A lot’s happened these past few years.”

Little did he know she could say the same thing.

* * *

IF IT WASN’T incredibly rude, Spence would have smacked his lips. “You could always cook, honey.”

“Don’t call me that. Please.”

Frankie had quickly regained her composure and eased away from him. He liked knowing he could still rattle her. What he didn’t like was the skittish look in her eyes. It was one thing for her to fight an attraction to him, another to be uneasy.

Popping the lids on various containers, she dealt paper plates as if they were cards from a deck. Next, she unwrapped the barbecue beef brisket he’d been dreaming about this entire past week, ever since deciding on returning to Mustang Valley.

All right, all right. Food wasn’t all he’d been dreaming of. Luck had been on his side when he stopped by the café this morning and found Frankie’s sisters there. He’d assumed she wouldn’t be glad to see him, not after the last time he’d left and she told him in no uncertain terms to delete her number from his phone contacts.

And he’d been right. After her initial shock wore off, she’d fired an entire arsenal of invisible daggers at him.

Her sisters, however, had been happy to make room for him in the booth. They’d always liked him. And he’d liked the entire Hartman clan, which had apparently grown by a long-lost half sister and a brand-new stepmother.

With very little prodding, Mel and Ronnie had opened up, telling Spence the most important details—Frankie wasn’t married and she wasn’t currently seeing anyone.

Music to his ears. Though how some guy had yet to put a ring on her finger baffled Spence. In his admittedly biased opinion, she was better looking now than ever. The short, chic hairstyle suited her, as did the stunning hourglass figure outlined by shorts and a snug top. Her brown eyes, when serious, had the power to captivate him, and make him laugh when twinkling with amusement.

She definitely wasn’t amused now. Really? Just because he was a few minutes late?

“Would you like a beer?” she asked, her hand disappearing into the cooler.

He shook his head, reminding himself to focus. He likely had one chance with Frankie and didn’t dare blow it.

“No, thanks. Lemonade’s great.”

“You’re refusing a beer?” She turned to him, an incredulous expression on her face.

“I don’t drink much anymore, except on special occasions.”

“Since when?” She narrowed her gaze.

“No DUIs or mornings I regret or nights I blacked out, if that’s what you’re thinking. I just cut back. Different lifestyle these days.”

She handed him the lemonade she’d already poured, then grabbed another cup. “I forgot to ask earlier. Where are you staying?”

“Eddie’s putting me up.”

“Did he ever move out of that old double-wide trailer?”

“Are you kidding?” Spence took a swig of lemonade, sweetened exactly to his liking, then another. “At least I have my own room. With a bed.” He’d spent many a night on a friend’s couch or floor, more than he cared to admit. “But I have to figure out what to do with my mares. The transport truck will be here tomorrow afternoon.”

“You shouldn’t have much trouble. Plenty of places in the area accept temporary boarders.”

Temporary? Was she fishing for information or insinuating he was leaving soon?

“Any suggestions?” he asked.

“Ronnie keeps her horses at Powell Ranch.”

She filled a plate with slices of brisket and one big, meaty rib. Handing it to him, she indicated he should sit and help himself to the sides and her homemade barbecue sauce. He noticed right away she’d made coleslaw. His favorite.

“I’ll check them out.”

Spence had been casually acquainted with the Powells at one time years ago. The family owned the largest public horse stables in the valley and had made a name for themselves breeding and training mustangs—some of them captured in the nearby McDowell Mountains.