Brenda Harlen - Six Weeks To Catch A Cowboy

“Spencer? What are you doing here?”

There was reservation along with surprise in her tone. He had no reason to assume that she’d want to see him, but he was counting on her long-term friendship with his sister to at least get him in the door. “Can I come up?” he asked. “Or are we going to have an entire conversation through this speaker?”

She hesitated. Or maybe he only thought she did, because the next sound he heard was the lock being released.

“Now are you going to tell me why you’re here?” she asked after letting him into her apartment.

He took a moment to appreciate the fact that she’d changed out of the all-black she’d been wearing at the clinic and into a pair of slim-fitting jeans and a flowy kind of top in a patchwork print. She’d released her hair from its ponytail, too, so that the long tresses hung like a curtain of shiny silk around her face. Her driver’s license probably described her hair as brown, but it was actually an intriguing mix of many shades, including hints of gold and copper.

“Spencer?” she prompted, when he didn’t respond to her question.

“Sorry,” he apologized, realizing he’d been staring. “I just—wow, Kenzie. You really look great.”

“Thank you,” she said, a little cautiously.

He couldn’t blame her for being wary. Although she’d been best friends with his sister, he’d never been particularly close with Kenzie. Well, there was that one time...but it was probably best not to think about that night right now. Or ever.

Except that being back in Haven and seeing Kenzie again, he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about that night. And, seven years later, he still didn’t know if he was relieved or disappointed that it hadn’t ended differently.

Firmly pushing those memories to the back of his mind, he focused on the present—and his empty stomach. “I came by to see if you wanted to grab a bite to eat.”

“Grab a bite?” she echoed the words as if he’d suggested a quick trip to the moon.

Okay, so she was surprised by the invitation. And obviously skeptical about his motivations for showing up at her door. But a buddy had once remarked that he could charm a nun out of her habit if he put his mind to it, so he didn’t figure it should be too difficult to convince Kenzie to share a meal with him.

“Dinner,” he clarified, his lips curving in an easy smile. “You know—when you sit down at a table, sometimes in a restaurant, and enjoy a meal.”

“I’m vaguely familiar with the concept,” she said dryly. “In fact, I’ve got soup heating on the stove for mine.”

“Soup isn’t a meal,” he chided. “Even Diggers’ menu lists it as a starter.”

“Well, it’s my meal tonight,” she insisted, and turned her back on him.

Which afforded him a spectacular view of her nicely shaped derriere encased in snug denim.

He followed that sweetly curved butt to the kitchen, where she picked up a spoon from the counter and stirred the soup.

He averted his gaze so she wouldn’t catch him staring again and looked around the ultramodern kitchen with dark walnut cupboards and stainless steel appliances. A granite-topped island separated the kitchen from the open-concept living area with a trio of tall windows that overlooked Main Street.

“Nice place,” he remarked.

“I like it,” she agreed.

“How long have you lived here?”

“Just over a year,” she said. “Katelyn used to live up here and work downstairs, but then she married the new sheriff and they bought a house over on Sagebrush. As soon as I heard she was moving out, I asked if she’d rent the place to me.”

“Katelyn...Gilmore?”

“It’s Davidson now,” she told him.

“I didn’t know she’d married the sheriff.” Then he frowned. “Or maybe I just don’t pay much attention when my mother starts gossiping about local events.” It was also possible that Margaret Channing hadn’t said anything, preferring to pretend that the entire Gilmore family didn’t exist.

“Not just married but a new mom now to the most adorable little girl,” Kenzie told him.

Though she hadn’t invited him to sit, he straddled a stool at the island and folded his arms on the counter. His stomach rumbled.

“You know, if you made sandwiches to go with that soup, you’d probably be able to feed two people,” he told her.

“Is that your way of inviting yourself to stay for dinner?”

“Soup’s not dinner,” he said again. “But if you added a sandwich...”

She shook her head, but the smile that tugged at her lips confirmed that she was warming up to his presence. “Grilled cheese, okay?”

He grinned. “Grilled cheese is the best kind of sandwich with soup.”

Kenzie turned the knob for another burner, set a frying pan on it, then retrieved the ingredients for the sandwiches.

“Can I help?” he offered, as she began to butter slices of bread.

She nodded to the pot on the stove. “Just keep an eye on the soup.”

He picked up the wooden spoon she’d set down, so that he was armed and ready.

“If you haven’t kept up with local events, how did you know that I was living here?” Kenzie asked him now.

“Your mother told me,” he admitted.

The knife she’d taken out of the block to slice the cheese slipped from her grasp and clattered against the counter. “When did you talk to my mother?”

“When I stopped by the house on Whitechurch Road earlier.”

“Well, that would explain the three voice-mail messages she left for me,” Kenzie noted, picking up the knife again.

“Three messages and you didn’t call her back?” he asked in feigned shock.

She shrugged and resumed slicing the cheese. “If it had been anything important, she would have said so.”

He mimed thrusting a dagger in his heart. “Ouch.”

She rolled her eyes.

“She was surprised to see me,” he confided. “And reluctant to let me know where I could find you.”

Butter sizzled as Kenzie set the sandwiches in the hot pan.

“She’s always been...protective of me,” she said.

“I knew that,” he acknowledged. “I just never knew that she disliked me so much. Which was a surprise, because most women usually find me charming. Even moms.”

“No doubt.”

“And I never did anything to earn her disapproval.” But they both knew that wasn’t exactly true, so he clarified, “At least not anything that she knows about.” He sent Kenzie a questioning glance. “Or does she?”

She dropped her gaze to the pan, as if turning the sandwiches required her complete focus. “There’s nothing for her to know.”

He nodded, relieved by her response. Glad to hear her confirm that what happened between them hadn’t been a big deal to her, either.

Glad...and a little bit skeptical.

But he didn’t express his doubt. He didn’t want to have the awkward conversation they probably should have had seven years earlier. And he especially didn’t want to dig up old feelings of guilt and regret—not hers or his own.

She reached into the cupboard over the sink for dishes, then pulled open a drawer for cutlery.

He rose from his seat at the island to help.

“I do appreciate this.” He slid the sandwiches out of the pan and onto the plates while she poured the soup into the bowls. “You feeding me, I mean.”

She smiled at that. “As if I had a choice.”

“You always have a choice,” he told her.

She sat down beside him. “So tell me why you showed up at my door instead of grabbing a bite with Gage or Brett or one of the other guys you used to hang out with,” she suggested.

“Truthfully—” he dipped his spoon into his bowl “—I didn’t keep in touch with anyone when I left Haven. Aside from you, I don’t have many friends remaining in this town.”