Brenda Harlen - The Maverick's Thanksgiving Baby

Still she hesitated, and Jesse began to suspect that her gratitude didn’t actually extend to the point where she wanted to be seen in public with him. And that was okay. He understood what she’d been saying about small-town gossip, and he really didn’t want to be put under the microscope any more than she did. But damn, he really did want to spend more time with her.

“I could do better than a burger,” she finally said. “I could make dinner.”

“You’d cook for me?”

“Which part surprises you the most—that I can cook or that I’m offering to cook for you?”

“I’m not sure,” he admitted.

She laughed again. “At least you’re honest.”

“I guess I just thought, with you being a busy lawyer and all...”

“Lawyers have to eat on occasion, too,” she said, when his explanation ran out.

“Yeah, but I would figure you’ve got a lot of dining options in LA.”

“We do,” she agreed. “But as it turns out, I like to cook. It helps me unwind at the end of the day. So what do you say—are you going to let me make you dinner?”

He was beginning to suspect that he would let Maggie Roarke do absolutely anything she wanted, but he figured dinner was a good start.

“An offer I can’t refuse,” he told her.

* * *

Maggie prided herself on the fact that she was an intelligent, educated woman. She’d graduated summa cum laude from Stanford Law School and was establishing a reputation for herself at Alliston & Blake—a prominent Los Angeles law firm. She’d gone toe-to-toe with formidable opponents in the courtroom, she’d held her ground in front of arrogant judges and she’d refused to be impressed or intimidated by powerful clients. One of her greatest assets was her ability to remain calm and cool whatever the circumstances. She simply didn’t get flustered.

But as Jesse followed her into Gage and Lissa’s kitchen, she was definitely feeling flustered. There was just something about this shy, sexy cowboy that had her heart jumping around in her chest. She opened the refrigerator, peered inside.

“What do you like?” she asked.

He looked at her blankly.

“For dinner,” she clarified.

He flashed a quick smile. “Sorry, I guess my mind wandered. As for food—I’m not fussy. I’ll eat whatever you want to make.”

“Chicken and pasta okay?” she asked him.

“Sure.”

She took a package of chicken breasts out of the fridge, then rummaged for some other ingredients. She found green peppers in the crisper, onions in the pantry and a bowl of ripe tomatoes on the counter. But what she really needed was fresh basil, and Lissa didn’t have any.

“Do you know if they carry fresh herbs at the General Store?”

“I doubt it,” Jesse said. “You’d probably have to go into Kalispell for something like that.”

“I can use dried,” she admitted. “But fresh basil leaves would add a lot more visual appeal to the dish.”

“I’m going to have dinner with a beautiful woman,” he said. “That’s enough visual appeal that I wouldn’t mind if you made macaroni and cheese from a box.”

She felt her cheeks heat. She’d received more effusive compliments, but none had ever sounded as sincere. No one had looked at her the way he looked at her.

“Even without fresh basil, I do think this will be a step up from boxed mac and cheese.”

She filled a pot with water and set it on the back burner, then drizzled some oil into a deep frying pan. While the oil heated, she sliced the chicken into strips and tossed them into the pan. As the chicken was cooking, she chopped up peppers and onions, then added those, too.

“Can I do anything to help?”

“You could open the wine,” she suggested. “There’s a bottle of Riesling in the fridge and glasses in the cupboard above.”

He uncorked the bottle and poured the wine into two crystal goblets.

She dumped the pasta into the boiling water and set the timer, then took the glass he offered.

“To new friendships,” he said, lifting his glass in a toast.

“To new friendships,” she agreed. “And first dates.”

“Is this a date?”

“Of course. Otherwise, I would have lied to Jared.”

“We wouldn’t want that,” he teased.

She added the tomatoes to the frying pan, sprinkled in some of this and that, gave it a stir. Her movements were smooth and effortless, confirming her claim that she enjoyed cooking. Which was convenient, because he enjoyed eating.

Ten minutes later, he was sitting down to a steaming plate of penne pasta with chicken and peppers.

“This is really good,” he told her.

“Better than mac and cheese from a box?”

“Much better.”

They chatted while they ate, about anything and everything. She learned that he worked at his family’s ranch, The Shooting Star, but had his own house on the property, and that he was close to his siblings but was frequently baffled and frustrated by them. She confided that she sometimes felt smothered by her brothers, who tended to be a little overprotective, and admitted that she could have gone to work at Roarke & Associates—her parents’ law firm—but wanted to establish her own reputation in the field.

She had a second glass of wine while he had a second serving of pasta, and they lingered at the table. He was easy to talk to, and he actually listened to what she was saying. As a result, she found herself telling him things she’d never told anyone else, such as her concern that she’d been so focused on her career that she hadn’t given much thought to anything else, and she was starting to wonder if she’d ever find the time to get married and have a family.

Not that she was in any hurry to do so, she hastened to explain. After all, she was only twenty-eight years old. But she was admittedly worried that if she continued on the same course, she might be so focused on her billable hours that she wouldn’t even hear her biological clock when it started ticking.

Jesse told her that he’d gone to Montana State University to study Animal Science, graduating with a four-year degree. As for dating, he confided that he hadn’t done much of that, either, claiming that most of the women in town had gone out with one or more of his brothers and he had no intention of trying to live up to their reputations.

After the meal was finished, he insisted on helping with the cleanup. While she put the dishes into the dishwasher, he washed the pans.

She’d enjoyed spending time with Jesse, and she wasn’t eager for the night to end. He was smart and interesting and definitely easy to look at, and despite the underlying hum of attraction, she felt comfortable with him—or at least she did until he turned to reach for a towel at the same moment that she straightened up to close the door of the dishwasher and the back of his hand inadvertently brushed the side of her breast.

She sucked in a breath; he snatched his hand back.

“I’m so sorry.”

“No, it was my fault.”

But fault was irrelevant. What mattered was that the air was fairly crackling and sizzling with awareness now. And the way he looked at her—his gaze heated and focused—she was certain he felt it, too.

She barely knew him. But she knew she’d never felt the same immediacy and intensity of connection that she felt the minute he’d taken her hand inside the community center only a few hours earlier. But she was a Los Angeles attorney and he was a Rust Creek cowboy, and she knew that chemistry—as compelling as it might be—could not bridge the gap between them.

And Jesse had obviously come to the same conclusion, because he took a deliberate step back, breaking the threads of the seductive web that had spun around them. “I should probably be on my way.”