Книга - Claiming The Cowboy’s Heart

Claiming The Cowboy's Heart
Brenda Harlen


Three bundles of joy! Opening Haven’s first boutique hotel is Liam Gilmore’s longtime dream come true, especially when he hires alluring Macy Clayton as manager. Good thing the single mother’s already spoken for—by her adorable eight-month-old triplets! Because Liam isn’t looking for forever after….







The cutest threesome in Haven is still in diapers

Opening Haven’s first boutique hotel is Liam Gilmore’s longtime dream come true, especially when he hires alluring Macy Clayton as manager. Good thing the single mother’s already spoken for—by her adorable eight-month-old triplets! Because Liam isn’t looking for forever after. Then why is the playboy rancher fantasizing about a future with Macy and her trio of tiny charmers?

“Brenda Harlen writes couples with such great chemistry and characters to root for.”

—#1 New York Times bestselling author Linda Lael Miller


BRENDA HARLEN is a former attorney who once had the privilege of appearing before the Supreme Court of Canada. The practice of law taught her a lot about the world and reinforced her determination to become a writer—because in fiction, she could promise a happy ending! Now she is an award-winning, RITA® Award-nominated national bestselling author of more than thirty titles for Mills & Boon. You can keep up-to-date with Brenda on Facebook and Twitter or through her website, brendaharlen.com (http://www.brendaharlen.com).


Also by Brenda Harlen (#u5e53afec-fd72-52a5-8095-b5f603e32506)

The Sheriff’s Nine-Month Surprise

Her Seven-Day Fiancé

Six Weeks to Catch a Cowboy

A Forever Kind of Family

The Bachelor Takes a Bride

Two Doctors & a Baby

Building the Perfect Daddy

Baby Talk & Wedding Bells

The Last Single Garrett

The Maverick’s Midnight Proposal

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Claiming the Cowboy’s Heart

Brenda Harlen






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ISBN: 978-1-474-09074-2

CLAIMING THE COWBOY’S HEART

© 2019 Brenda Harlen

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


For Neill—with love and gratitude. xo


Contents

Cover (#u07204d67-a696-5d84-910d-05206c422aee)

Back Cover Text (#u3b61b61b-a359-5a25-b462-3ca48e94f661)

About the Author (#u318d27d0-5ae1-5f52-87aa-58c0af59dc0d)

Booklist (#u22b8d909-4c94-517d-b4d3-6c292fc76c83)

Title Page (#u743c0e12-dc23-5632-932f-0f4f734454c6)

Copyright (#u8e1c0e41-5234-58bd-9d76-302600e1d980)

Dedication (#u017ebeec-7d84-5796-8f50-8d02e9edba80)

Chapter One (#u7a222bb3-634e-5cb5-a037-133172f7e79c)

Chapter Two (#uf98987da-6e7a-5db5-9831-9c6034381c27)

Chapter Three (#u989938e2-a02b-5214-a589-7d2a62d4cd6b)

Chapter Four (#u874f0452-ecd9-56d7-9778-fd70f30a3ace)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#u5e53afec-fd72-52a5-8095-b5f603e32506)

“Oh, no,” Liam Gilmore said, shaking his head for emphasis when he saw his sister Katelyn walk through the front doors of the inn with her briefcase in one hand and a rectangular object that he knew to be her daughter’s portable playpen in the other. The baby was strapped against Katelyn’s body and an overstuffed diaper bag was draped over one of her shoulders. Loaded down with the kid’s stuff, she looked like a Sherpa ready to embark on a mountain trek.

“I’ve got an emergency hearing at the courthouse in half an hour,” she explained, as she dropped the diaper bag next to his makeshift desk and set her briefcase beside it.

“And I’ve got interviews scheduled for this afternoon,” he told her.

“You’ve got a manager, a weekend housekeeper and a breakfast chef—what more does a boutique hotel need?” she asked, as she unzipped the carrying case of the playpen.

Because he couldn’t sit there and watch his sister struggle, he took the portable enclosure from her and opened it up, then clicked to lock each of the sides, pushed down the center support and slid the mattress pad into place. “Andrew decided to take a job in Los Angeles, so I no longer have a manager,” Liam admitted.

“I’m sorry,” Kate said sincerely, as she unbuckled the baby carrier and carefully extracted the sleeping baby.

He shrugged. “Not your problem,” he said. “Just as your requirement for a last-minute babysitter—again—isn’t my problem.”

“And yet I’m willing to help you out, because that’s what siblings do,” she told him.

“Tell me how you’re going to help me,” he suggested.

She pressed her lips to Tessa’s forehead, then carefully laid the sleeping baby down in the playpen.

And maybe his heart did soften a bit as he watched his sister with her little girl, and maybe that same heart had been known to turn to mush when his adorable niece smiled at him, but he had no intention of admitting any of that to Kate, who already took advantage of him at every opportunity.

“By giving you the name of your new manager,” she said.

“Please do. Then I can cancel the interviews I’ve scheduled.”

“Your sarcasm is unnecessary and unappreciated, and if I didn’t have to be in court in—” Kate glanced at the slim silver bangle on her wrist “—sixteen minutes, I’d make you not just apologize but grovel. Since I do have to be in court, I’ll just say Macy Clayton.”

Liam recognized the name. In fact, Macy was scheduled for an interview at two thirty, but he didn’t share that information with his sister, either. “And why should I hire her?” he prompted.

“Because she’s perfect for the job,” Kate said. “She’s been working in the hotel industry in Las Vegas for the past eight years, including several as a desk clerk and concierge before she was promoted to assistant to the manager at the Courtland Hotel & Casino.”

“If she had such a great career in Las Vegas, what is she doing in Haven?” he wondered aloud.

“That’s something you’ll have to ask her,” she told him.

* * *

He hated when his sister was right.

And as he looked through the applications on his desk after Kate had gone, Liam couldn’t deny that she was right about the woman she’d recommended for the managerial position.

Macy Clayton was, at least on paper, perfect for the job. Then again, he’d thought Andrew would be perfect, too—and so had the Beverly Hills Vista. Not surprisingly, Andrew had chosen the possibility of celebrity sighting on the West Coast over the probability of boredom in northern Nevada.

Most of the locals had expressed skepticism about his plan; opening a boutique hotel in a sleepy town off the beaten path was a risky venture. David Gilmore had been less kind in his assessment, referring to his oldest son as both a disappointment and a fool.

“Gilmores are ranchers” had been his refrain every time Liam tried to talk to him about the inn. And while it was true that the family had been raising cattle on the Circle G for more than a hundred and fifty years, Liam had been chafing to get away from the ranch for more than fifteen years.

Not that he’d had any specific plans. Not until he’d seen JJ Green affixing a New Price sticker to the faded For Sale sign stuck in the untended front yard of the Stagecoach Inn.

The old, abandoned hotel had been falling apart when Hershel Livingston bought it for a song nearly a decade earlier. The Nevada native had made his fortune in casinos and brothels, but he’d planned to make his home in Haven, one of only a few places in the state where those vices were illegal.

Hershel had spent millions of dollars on the rehab, then abandoned the project just as it was nearing completion. No one knew why, although the rumors were plenty. One of the more credible stories was that his wife had visited Haven during the renovation process and immediately hated the small town. A different version of the story suggested that his wife had caught the billionaire dallying with a local girl.

There were as many variations of this claim as there were single women in town. The only indisputable truth was that Hershel had abruptly ordered his construction crew to vacate the premises, and then he called Jack Green to put a For Sale sign on the narrow patch of grass in front of the wide porch.

The real estate agent got a lot of calls about the property in the first few weeks, but they were mostly local people who wanted to walk through and take a gander at the work that had been done. None of them was seriously interested in buying the inn, because they didn’t believe a fancy hotel could survive in Haven. As a result, interest had faded more quickly than the paint on the sign.

Then, nearly two years ago, JJ Green—now working in the real estate business with his father—slapped that New Price sticker across the weathered sign. More out of curiosity than anything else, Liam had called the agent to inquire and learned that the price had been drastically reduced.

Without any prompting, JJ confided that the elusive Mrs. Livingston had filed for divorce from her cheating husband and was going after half of everything. To retaliate, Hershel was selling off his assets at a loss to decrease the amount of the settlement he would have to pay to her.

Kate had pointed out that the wife could argue fraud and claim half of the fair market value rather than half of the sale price. On the other hand, the property was only worth what someone was willing to pay, and the fact that the old hotel had been on the market for years without anyone making an offer might support Hershel’s decision to slash the price. Either way, Liam wasn’t going to protest the lower number. In fact, after securing the necessary financing, he managed to negotiate an even further reduction before he signed on the dotted line.

Now he was only weeks away from opening, still waiting on deliveries and attempting to schedule the final inspections—and trying to fill unexpected vacancies in his staff.

If Macy Clayton had responded to the original posting, he might have hired her rather than Andrew and not been feeling so panicked right now. Of course, he was making this assumption on the basis of her résumé and his sister’s recommendation without even having met the woman. So while he agreed that she seemed to have all the necessary qualifications for the job, he was going to reserve judgment.

Then she walked in—and his body stirred with a purely sexual awareness he hadn’t experienced in a long while. And in that first moment, even before the introductions, he knew there was no way he could hire her. He also knew that he had to at least go through the motions of the interview.

When she accepted his proffered hand, he felt a jolt straight through his middle as their palms joined. Her skin was soft but her grasp was firm, and he caught a flicker of something that might have been a mixture of surprise and awareness in her espresso-colored eyes when they met his. Her hair was also dark, with highlights of gold and copper, and tied away from her face in the messy-bun style made famous by the Duchess of Sussex before she was royalty.

He guessed Macy’s height at around five feet five inches, though her heeled boots added a couple of inches to that number, and her build was on the slender side, but with distinctly feminine curves. The long coat she wore in deference to the season had been unbuttoned to reveal a slim-fitting black skirt that fell just below her knees and a matching single-breasted jacket over a bright blue shell.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Clayton.” He resisted the temptation to brush his thumb over the pulse point at her wrist to see if it was racing; instead, he let his hand drop away.

“Likewise,” she said.

“Can I take your coat for you?”

“No need.” She shrugged it off her shoulders and draped it over the back of the chair before perching on the edge of the seat. “I have to tell you, I was skeptical when I’d heard that the old Stagecoach Hotel was being renovated and reopened, but based on what I’ve seen so far, you’ve really done a wonderful job with this place.”

“Most of the major renovations were done by the previous owner—I just hired the right people to pick up where he left off,” Liam admitted.

“Well, the actual coach at the back of the lobby is a nice touch,” she noted.

“I thought so, too,” he said. A simple idea that had been a lot more complicated to execute, as the antique carriage had to be taken apart to get it through the doorway and then reassembled inside.

“You’re planning to open in three weeks?” she prompted.

He nodded. “Valentine’s Day.”

Her smile was warm and natural. Friendly. He imagined she’d make the guests feel welcome—which was, of course, what he wanted, but didn’t alleviate his other concerns.

Sexual harassment in the workplace was a serious issue, and Liam had been raised to be respectful of all women. Still, he suspected it would be a mistake to hire a woman who, upon their first meeting, made him think all kinds of inappropriately tempting thoughts.

“Your résumé shows that you spent the last four years working at the Courtland Hotel in Las Vegas,” he noted, forcing himself to refocus on the matter at hand.

“That’s correct.”

“So why did you leave Las Vegas and move to Haven?”

“I moved back to Haven,” she clarified. “I grew up in this town and my parents still live here and—” Her words stopped abruptly, as if she’d caught herself saying more than she wanted to.

“And?” he prompted.

She offered another easy smile and a quick shrug. “And I was ready to come home.”

It seemed like a reasonable response, but he doubted it was what she’d initially intended to say.

He looked at her résumé again, skimming through the pages that attested to a wealth and breadth of experience. She’d worked a lot of different jobs on her way up to her most recent position as assistant to the manager of the Courtland Hotel & Casino in Las Vegas: she’d served drinks in a hotel casino, worked as a hostess in the restaurant and even done a stint cleaning rooms.

“Your experience is impressive,” he told her.

“Thank you.”

“But why do you want to work here?”

“Because there are no openings at the Dusty Boots Motel.”

His brows lifted. “Is that a joke?”

The corners of her mouth tipped up at the corners. “Yes, Mr. Gilmore.”

“Liam,” he said.

“I’m not sure it’s appropriate to call my boss by his given name.”

“I’m not your boss,” he pointed out.

“Yet,” she clarified, and smiled again.

Before he could reply to that, he heard a rustling sound in the playpen behind him, followed by a tiny, plaintive voice asking for, “Ma-ma?”

Macy leaned forward in her seat, looking past him to the little girl who’d pulled herself up into a standing position, holding onto the top rail.

“Mama’s going to be back soon,” Liam promised. Hoped.

“You have a beautiful daughter,” Macy said.

“What? No,” he responded quickly. Firmly. “She’s not my daughter—she’s my niece.”

“Then you have a beautiful niece,” she amended.

He looked at the child in question and felt a familiar tug in the vicinity of his heart. “Yeah, she is kinda cute.”

Tessa lifted her arms, a wordless request.

Liam glanced at his watch and tried to remember if Kate had told him when she expected to be finished in court. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tessa’s arms drop back down and her lower lip thrust forward in a pout.

He sighed and reached for her. “I’m conducting an interview here,” he said, as he settled his niece on his hip. “So let’s try to keep things professional, okay?”

She responded by leaning forward and pressing her puckered lips to his cheek.

“Not really a good start,” he noted dryly.

But his potential innkeeper smiled, clearly charmed by the little girl.

“And if your diaper needs changing, that’s going to have to wait until your mom gets back,” he warned his niece.

“You don’t do diapers?” Macy guessed.

“Not if I can help it. And Kate promised she’d be back from court before Tessa woke up so that I wouldn’t have to.”

“Either Kate was delayed or Tessa woke up early—maybe because she was wet,” she suggested. “Did your sister leave a diaper bag?”

“If you can call something that would likely be tagged ‘oversized’ by an airport luggage handler a bag,” he remarked, gesturing to the multipocketed behemoth.

Macy reached for the bag and, after rifling through its contents, pulled out a change pad, clean diaper and package of wipes, which she set on the table in front of him.

Still, Liam hesitated. “I’m sure she can wait until we’ve finished our interview.”

“Maybe she can, but she shouldn’t have to be uncomfortable,” Macy said. “I can step out of the room, if you want privacy.”

“Do you have much experience with babies and diapers?”

The corners of her mouth tipped up again. “Some.”

He unfolded the changing pad and laid his niece on top of it. “Then you should probably stay, because I might need some pointers—or an extra set of hands,” he said, as Tessa started to roll away from him.

While Macy seemed willing and able to help, he managed to unsnap his niece’s corduroy overalls with one hand and hold her in place with the other.

“Give me some specific examples of guest complaints you’ve heard and tell me how you dealt with them,” he suggested, as he pulled a wipe from the dispenser.

Macy shared anecdotes from her work experience while also jiggling a plastic ring of colorful keys she’d found in the diaper bag to hold the little girl’s attention while he focused on changing the diaper.

Her stories proved that she was creative and clever, and by the time he’d slid the clean diaper under his niece’s bottom, he didn’t doubt that the Courtland Hotel had been sorry to lose her when she left Las Vegas.

“Usually I fasten the diaper tabs before I do up the pants,” she remarked, as he began to pinch the snaps that lined the inseam of Tessa’s overalls together.

“What?”

“You didn’t secure the diaper.”

“Of course I did.” He finished his task and let Tessa roll over. She immediately pushed herself to her feet and clapped her hands. Since she’d learned to stand and, more recently, walk, she’d become accustomed to her every effort being applauded.

His own efforts were hardly cause for celebration, because the awkward bulging in her pants confirmed that Macy was right. He sighed. “Apparently I didn’t.”

So he scooped up Tessa again. “Uncle Liam messed up,” he said. “And now we need to fix it.”

But Tessa didn’t want to be reasoned with—she wanted to be free. And she kicked and screamed in protest.

“What’s this?” Macy said, offering the little girl a sippy cup filled with juice that she’d found in the bag.

Tessa stopped kicking and reached out with both hands. “Joosh!”

“Do you want your juice?”

The little girl nodded.

Macy gave her the cup and Liam unsnapped her overalls again—only to realize that the diaper tabs were stuck to her pants. He tried to peel them away from the fabric, determined to salvage the diaper—but his fingers felt too big and clumsy for the task.

“I think I need some help,” he admitted.

Macy didn’t hesitate to brush his hands aside, unstick the tabs from the little girl’s pants, reposition the diaper and deftly fasten it in place. Though the woman kept her gaze focused on the child, she spoke to Liam as she completed the task. “I trust you know that a good employee is one who steps up to do a job that needs doing, even if it falls outside of her job description.”

“You can’t expect me to hire you just because you helped change my niece’s diaper,” he remarked—after the task was completed.

“Of course not,” she agreed, passing the clean and happy little girl to him. “I expect you to hire me because I’m the best person for the job.”


Chapter Two (#u5e53afec-fd72-52a5-8095-b5f603e32506)

In retrospect, Macy acknowledged that she should have taken a change of clothes when she left home for her interview. Whenever she headed out with Ava, Max and Sam, she triple-checked to ensure she was prepared for every possible contingency. But when it came to making plans for herself, she couldn’t seem to think two steps ahead.

Her friend Stacia called it “pregnancy brain” and confessed that she’d experienced similar bouts of absentmindedness during both of her pregnancies. But that title suggested to Macy a temporary condition that would correct itself after she’d given birth. Instead, it had transitioned to “momnesia.”

Apparently there was scientific proof that the hormonal changes designed to help a new mother bond with her baby could interfere with the brain’s ability to process other information. This explained why Macy could jolt from a deep sleep to wide awake when any of her babies stirred in the night but the cook at Diggers’ had to repeat her name three times before she realized that an order was up. And even though the triplets were close to eight months old now, her brain apparently hadn’t gotten the memo that she’d bonded with them and could, perhaps, start to focus on other things again.

So she was feeling a little bit guilty about boasting to Liam Gilmore that she was the best person for the manager’s job—because what if she wasn’t? What if she’d forgotten everything she’d ever learned about the hospitality industry? Maybe her only real talent now was being able to diaper three squirming babies in less than a minute.

But she wanted the job. She’d been excited about the possibility as soon as she’d learned that the new owner of the Stagecoach Inn was looking for a manager, and even more so when she’d walked through the front door and breathed in the history and grandeur of the old building.

Her only hesitation derived from the frisson of something she’d experienced when Liam Gilmore clasped her hand in his. It had been so long since she’d felt anything in response to a man’s touch that she hadn’t been sure how to respond. Thankfully, her brain had kicked back into gear and reminded her that the handsome cowboy was her potential boss and not a man she should ever contemplate seeing naked. Which was a shame, because the breadth of his shoulders—

No, she wasn’t going there.

The admonishment from her brain had helped refocus her attention on the interview. She could only hope he hadn’t sensed her distraction, because she really wanted the job.

Macy had started working at Diggers’ Bar & Grill because she’d wanted—needed—to do something to help support her family. But she missed the hospitality business more than she’d anticipated. Working at the inn wouldn’t just be a job, it would be a pleasure. For now, though, she was still a waitress—and if she didn’t hurry up, she was going to be late for her shift.

She took a few minutes to play with Ava, Max and Sam, though, because they weren’t just the reason for everything she did but the center of her world. Yes, she’d been stunned—and terrified—when she’d discovered that she was pregnant with triplets, but after only eight months, she couldn’t imagine her life without her three precious and unique babies.

Ava, perhaps because she was the only girl, was already accustomed to being the center of attention. Of course, it helped that she had a sweet disposition and was usually quicker to smiles than tears. She also had big blue eyes with long dark lashes and silky dark hair that had finally grown enough that Macy no longer felt the need to put decorative bands on her head to broadcast that she was a girl.

Max was her introspective child—usually content to sit back and watch the world around him. His eyes were green, his hair dark, and his happy place was in his mother’s arms.

Sam looked so much like his brother that it was often assumed they were identical twins, though the doctor had assured Macy they were not. Sam was the last born and smallest of her babies. He was also the fussiest, and Macy felt a special bond with the little guy who seemed to need her more than either his brother or sister did.

When she could delay her departure no longer, Macy headed out again, entrusting her precious babies to the care of their doting grandparents.

Bev and Norm had been shocked to learn of their unmarried daughter’s pregnancy—and even more so when she confided the how and why it had happened. To say that they disapproved would be a gross understatement, but they’d put aside their concerns about the circumstances of conception to focus on helping their daughter prepare for the life-changing event.

And having triplets was life changing. Macy’s apartment in Vegas had been far too small for three babies, but she couldn’t afford anything bigger. And she’d budgeted for the expense of daycare for one baby, but triplets meant that cost would be multiplied threefold. So when she was five months pregnant and already waddling like a penguin—another perk of carrying three babies—she did the only thing she could do: resigned her position at the Courtland Hotel, packed up everything she owned and moved herself and all of her not-so-worldly possessions to her parents’ house in Haven, Nevada.

At least she hadn’t had to move back into her childhood bedroom, instead taking up residence in the in-law suite downstairs. The apartment was originally designed for her maternal grandmother, so that Shirley Haskell could live independently but close to family, and she’d occupied the space for almost six years before her dementia advanced to a stage where she needed round-the-clock nursing care. After that, Bev and Norm had occasionally offered the apartment for rent, most recently to Reid Davidson, who’d come to town to finish out Jed Traynor’s term when the former sheriff retired. Almost two years later, most people still referred to Reid as the new sheriff—and would likely do so until he was ready to retire.

The apartment had remained vacant for a long time after the sheriff moved out, and Macy suspected it was because the rooms were in dire need of redecorating. The sofa and chairs in the living room were covered in bold floral fabrics that attested to their outdatedness, and the coffee table, end tables and lamps all bore witness to the tole painting class Bev had taken while her mother was in residence.

When Macy moved in, the first thing she did was buy covers for the furniture and strip away all evidence of cabbage roses and daisies and tulips. If Beverly was disappointed that her art wasn’t appreciated by her daughter, she never said so. Instead, she focused her energy on getting ready for the arrival of three new grandbabies.

For the first few months after Ava, Max and Sam were born, Macy had done nothing but learn how to be a mother. It was a bigger adjustment than she’d anticipated. With three babies, she felt as if she was constantly feeding, burping, changing, bathing or rocking one or more of them. Bev helped as much as she could, and Macy knew there was no way she would have made it through those early days without her mother.

Norm had done his part, too. Although he occasionally made excuses to avoid diaper duty—not unlike Liam Gilmore had attempted to do earlier that afternoon—Macy’s dad was the first to volunteer to take the babies for a walk in their stroller or rock a restless infant to sleep. And he never once complained about the fact that the presence of his only daughter and her three children had completely upended his life—as she knew they had done.

Life was busy but good, so Macy had been a little surprised when, shortly before the triplets’ six-month birthday, Beverly suggested that her daughter think about getting a job. Macy had assured her mom that she had savings and could increase the amount of rent she paid—because she’d refused to move into their home without contributing at least something to the cost of the roof over her head.

Of course, they’d argued about that, with her parents recommending that her savings should remain that, as there was no way to know what unexpected expenses might arise in the future. But Macy had insisted, and her parents had finally relented—then promptly started education savings plans for Ava, Max and Sam with the money Macy paid to them.

“We don’t need you to pay more rent,” Bev had assured her. “But you need a reason to get out of the house and interact with other people.”

“I do get out of the house.”

“Taking Ava, Max and Sam to the pediatrician doesn’t count.”

“But…if I got a job—who would look after the kids?”

“Oh, well.” Bev tapped a finger against her chin, as if searching for an answer to a particularly difficult question. “Hmm…that is a tough one.”

“I can’t ask you to do it,” Macy explained. “You already do so much for us.”

“You don’t have to ask, I’m offering. In fact, I’m insisting.”

And that was how Macy found herself replying to the Help Wanted ad in the window at Diggers’ Bar & Grill.

At first she’d only worked the lunch shift two days a week. But after a couple of weeks on the job, Duke had added dinner shifts to her schedule—and dinner occasionally extended to late night. Usually she worked the restaurant side, but she was sometimes tagged to help out in the bar when it was particularly busy.

Tonight she was scheduled to work 6 p.m. to midnight in the bar. It was six-oh-seven when she parked her car and six-oh-eight when Duke found her in the staff lounge—really not much more than a closet where employees hung their coats and stashed their personal belongings—tying her apron around her waist.

Her boss folded his beefy arms over his chest and pinned her with his gaze. “You’re late.”

“I’m sorry.” Macy’s apology was automatic but sincere. “Max was fussing and I wanted to help settle him down before I left.”

“I’ve got kids,” Duke said. “Of course, mine are grown now, but I remember the early days and can empathize with your situation. However, your customers don’t care if Sam’s cutting teeth or Ava’s got a fever—they just want to order food and drink from a waitress who’s on time.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” she said again.

“You were bussing tables here while you were still in high school. We both know you’re overqualified for this job, but as long as you’re working here, I need you to do the job you were hired to do.”

She nodded.

“Of course, if you were to get another job more suited to your interests, then I could hire someone who is more interested in waiting tables,” he remarked.

“I had an interview with Liam Gilmore today,” she told him.

“Good. Because I interviewed Courtney Morgan for your job here.”

“Hey,” she said, because she felt compelled to make at least a token protest. Though it wasn’t her lifelong dream to wait tables, she usually enjoyed working at Diggers’—the hub of most social activity in Haven. Of course, the town only boasted two other restaurants: the Sunnyside Diner and Jo’s Pizzeria, so if residents wanted anything other than all-day breakfast or pizza, they inevitably headed to Diggers’.

Early in the week, business wasn’t nearly as brisk as it was on weekends, but Macy didn’t mind the slower pace because it meant that she had more time to chat with the customers she served.

“Somebody was hungry,” she commented, as she picked up the now-empty plate that had contained a six-ounce bison burger on a pretzel bun, a scoop of creamy coleslaw and a mountain of curly fries when she’d delivered it to Connor Neal.

“Yeah, me and the sheriff got caught up with a case and worked right through lunch,” the deputy told her.

Macy hadn’t really known Connor while she was growing up in Haven. He was a few years younger than she was and, even as a kid, he’d been known around town as “that no-good Neal boy.”

She’d never been sure if he’d earned his bad-boy reputation or simply had the misfortune of living on the wrong side of the tracks with his unwed mother and younger half brother, but notwithstanding this difficult start, he’d managed to turn his life around. Not only was he a deputy in the sheriff’s office now, he’d recently married Regan Channing, whose family had made their substantial fortune in mining.

“Do you want dessert?” Macy asked him now.

“No, thanks. But I do need an order to go.” He scrolled through the messages in his phone, then read aloud: “Buffalo chicken wrap with extra hot sauce, fries and onion rings, and one of those big pickles.”

“It sounds like your wife might have worked through lunch, too,” she noted. “Or it might just be that she’s eating for two.”

“Three actually,” Connor confided.

“Three?” Macy echoed.

The deputy nodded. “She’s having twins. We’re having twins,” he hastily amended.

“I hadn’t heard,” she said. “That’s wonderful news—congratulations.”

He smiled weakly. “Two babies are twice the fun, right?”

“For sure,” she agreed. And twice the diapers and midnight feedings, but she kept that to herself. The reality would hit him quickly enough when the babies were born. “Do you know if you’re going to have two sons or daughters or one of each?”

“Daughters. They’re both girls. Although I’ve been told that sometimes the techs make mistakes,” he added.

She couldn’t help but laugh at the obvious hopefulness in his tone. “Sometimes they do,” she agreed. “And sometimes expectant mothers get cranky when they have to wait too long for their food, so I’ll get this order in for you right away.”

“Thanks,” Connor said.

Aside from being freaked out by the idea of two girls, it was obvious to Macy that the deputy was looking forward to the family he was going to have with his wife. And as she made her way to the kitchen, Macy found herself envying Regan that.

It was what she’d always wanted—not just a child, but a husband who was her partner in every aspect of life and a father for her children.

She’d given up on that dream and opted to go it alone. And though she wouldn’t give up her babies for anything in the world, there were moments when she regretted that she hadn’t been able to give them more.

A family.

* * *

It was almost eight o’clock when Liam left the inn. His booted feet pounded on the recently stained wooden slats of the porch that wrapped around three sides of the building. In the spring, there would be an assortment of benches and chairs to entice guests to rest and relax, interspersed with enormous pots of flowers to provide both privacy and color. But now there was only a light dusting of snow on the steps and the rail.

It had been snowing when Kate came back after court to pick up her daughter, he recalled. He’d noted the flakes melting in his sister’s hair and on the shoulders of her coat when she walked into his office—while he was meeting with another applicant for the manager’s job. He’d pretended to be annoyed by the interruption, but the truth was, he’d been grateful for an excuse to cut the interview short.

Having left his gloves in the truck earlier, he shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket now and hunched his shoulders against the bitter wind as he considered his next move. He had an apartment on the third level, so that he’d be onsite overnight if his guests needed anything. But since there were no guests to worry about just yet, he’d postponed his move to continue helping with morning chores at the Circle G. If he was smart, he’d head back to the ranch, grab a bite to eat and hit the hay for a few hours before he had to be up again to help with those chores. Apparently he wasn’t very smart, because he turned toward Diggers’ instead.

The double doors opened into an enclosed foyer and two other doorways—one clearly marked Bar and the other designated Grill. Once inside, patrons could easily move from one side to the other as there was only a partial wall dividing the two sections, but the division ensured a more family-friendly entrance to the restaurant side. The interior was rustic: the floors were unpainted, weathered wood slats, scuffed and scarred from the pounding of countless pairs of boots; framed newspaper headlines trumpeting the discovery of gold and silver hung on the walls alongside tools of the mining trade—coils of rope, shovels, pickaxes, hammers and chisels.

“You look like you’ve had a long day,” Skylar remarked when he straddled a stool at the bar. The regular bartender at the town’s favorite watering hole was also a master’s candidate in psychology—and Liam’s younger sister.

“You have no idea.”

“So tell me about it,” she suggested, already tipping a glass beneath the tap bearing the label of his favorite brew.

“You heard that Andrew took a job in California?”

“I did,” she confirmed.

“Well, that leaves me without a manager three weeks before opening,” he told her.

“Macy Clayton,” she said without hesitation, and set the pint glass on a paper coaster in front of him.

He shook his head. “Not you, too.”

Sky’s brows disappeared beneath her bangs. “Too?”

“Kate mentioned her name earlier,” he explained.

“Maybe because Macy’s the only person in Haven who has the kind of experience you need.”

“How does everyone seem to know so much about her?” he wondered aloud.

“It’s Haven,” his sister pointed out unnecessarily. “Everyone knows everything about everyone in this town—unless they’ve been living under a rock…or buried in the details of a property renovation.”

“Well, I interviewed her today,” he admitted, and lifted his glass to his mouth.

“And?” she prompted.

“And…she’s got the kind of experience I need,” he agreed.

Sky set a bowl of mixed nuts on the bar beside his glass. “So why haven’t you hired her?”

He nibbled on a cashew. “I don’t know.”

“You’re attracted to her,” Sky guessed.

He scowled, not because it was untrue but because he was uncomfortable with the accuracy of his sister’s insights. “Where is that coming from?”

“The fact that I know you. And the fact that she’s an attractive woman, but not at all your type,” she cautioned.

“You’ve always said I don’t have a type,” he reminded her.

“You might not show any preference between blondes, brunettes and redheads, but since your one failed attempt at a grown-up relationship—”

“I’ve had several grown-up relationships,” he interjected.

“I’m not talking about sex,” she said dryly. “I’m talking about meaningful interactions that happen with your clothes on.”

“Now you’ve lost me.”

She sighed. “And that’s Isabella’s fault. When you were with her, you actually seemed to be growing into a mature and responsible human being. But since she broke your heart—”

“She didn’t break my heart,” he denied.

“—you’ve been all about having a good time,” she continued, ignoring his interruption. “And Macy is all about responsibility.”

“I can’t remember the last time I had a good time,” he lamented.

“At Carrie and Matt’s wedding—with Heather,” she surmised.

“Oh, yeah.” He smiled. “That was a good time.” Until Heather decided that one night meant they were back together again. “It was also seven months ago.”

“Working for a living really sucks, huh?” she teased.

“You know I’m not just putting in a few hours at the hotel every day. I’m helping out at the ranch every morning, too.”

“Why is that?” she prompted, because she got her kicks out of digging into other people’s psyches and prying into their motivations. “You’ve made no secret of the fact that you want a life away from the ranch, but you keep going back.”

“Because there are chores that need to be done.”

“You don’t think there are enough hands to manage without you?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Okay, so maybe I don’t want the old man to forget that he’s got two sons.”

“He’s not going to forget you,” Sky assured him. “He’s also not going to get over being pissed off any quicker just because you’re mucking out stalls every morning.”

“I know. But at least when I’m there, he has to talk to me.”

His sister’s sigh was filled with exasperation. “He’s reverted to the silent treatment again?”

“He’s barely spoken a dozen words to me since January 2,” Liam confided. Because the holidays had officially ended then and, with them, the détente Katelyn had imposed on her family. During the period of eight days between Christmas Eve and New Year’s Day, she’d forced her father and brother to play nice, threatening to celebrate Tessa’s first Christmas without them if they couldn’t get along. But now the holidays were over and so, too, was the father-son ceasefire.

“I’m sorry,” Sky said. “Obviously Dad’s going to need some time to accept that the hotel is more than a whim to you…assuming it is more than a whim.”

He scowled at the implication. “You think I’d invest all my money—and a fair amount of our grandparents’—on a whim?”

“Maybe not,” she allowed.

“Not to mention that the whole town will benefit from the reopening of the hotel,” he assured her.

“Everyone except the owner of the Dusty Boots,” she remarked dryly.

“No doubt there’s a specific type of clientele that will still opt to pay the hourly rate at the budget motel.”

Sky chuckled at that. “No doubt,” she agreed. “And in addition to being an opportunity for the community, the hotel is an opportunity for you to finally escape the ranch you’ve hated since—”

“I’ve been thinking the hotel should have a bar,” Liam said, deliberately cutting his sister off. “It would be nice to have a place to grab a beer without being psychoanalyzed by the bartender.”

“A bar isn’t a bad idea,” she said. “A restaurant would be even better.”

“Have you been talking to Grams?”

“Occasionally, since she happens to be my grandmother, too. But yes, she told me about The Home Station.”

He shook his head. “We don’t have a restaurant, only a solarium where we’re going to serve breakfast. I don’t know where she got it in her head that we should offer an upscale dining option, but you shouldn’t encourage her.”

“It’s not a bad idea,” Sky mused.

“It’s not happening,” he assured her.

Then a movement in the corner of his eye snagged his attention and he turned his head for a better view of the waitress delivering a tray of drinks to a nearby table. His gaze skimmed slowly up her long, slender legs to a nicely rounded bottom, trim waist and—

Sky interrupted his perusal by reaching across the bar to dab at the corner of his mouth with a cocktail napkin, as if he was drooling. He swatted her hand away and resumed his perusal.

Between the ranch and the inn, he’d had little time for anything else since the wedding his sister had referred to—and even less interest. But somehow, after months had passed without anyone snagging his attention, he’d felt his body unexpectedly stir in response to two different women in the same day. Obviously it was a sign that he needed to readjust his priorities and find the time—and a willing woman—to help him end this unintended period of celibacy.

Then the waitress turned from the table, and his jaw nearly dropped. Because the female he’d been eyeing wasn’t different at all—she was Macy Clayton.


Chapter Three (#u5e53afec-fd72-52a5-8095-b5f603e32506)

“You didn’t know she worked here?” Sky guessed, her tone tinged with amusement.

Liam shook his head. “This job wasn’t on her résumé.”

“She’s only been here a couple weeks. Or maybe I should say back here, because apparently she worked for Duke when she was in high school.”

“Is she a good waitress?”

“Why? Do you want to hire her to work in your restaurant?” his sister teased.

“There is no restaurant,” he said firmly. “And I’m asking you because you have an opinion about everything.”

“Then I’ll tell you that she’s got great people skills. She’s friendly without being flirty, and she knows when and how to placate an unhappy customer but she’s not a pushover. Definite management material.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said dryly.

“And I’ll go put in your food order.”

“I haven’t told you what I want.”

“Steak sandwich with mushrooms, onions and pepper jack cheese with fries.”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” he admitted.

With a smug smile, she turned toward the kitchen.

And he shifted his attention back to the waitress who’d caught his eye. “Macy.”

She pivoted, her eyes widening with surprise and recognition. “Mr. Gilmore.”

“Liam,” he reminded her.

“Liam,” she echoed dutifully.

“You didn’t mention that you had a job here.”

“It’s a temporary gig,” she said, then smiled. “Just until I start my job at the Stagecoach Inn.”

He couldn’t help but smile back. “Confident, aren’t you?”

“Qualified,” she clarified.

“So why is a former assistant to the manager of a Las Vegas hotel working at a bar and grill in Haven?”

“I needed a job and Duke needed a waitress.”

It sounded like a simple enough explanation, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was missing a major piece of the puzzle that was Macy Clayton. And though he knew he was treading dangerously close to a line that should not be crossed, he was intrigued enough by the woman to want to know more.

“I didn’t give you a tour of the hotel today,” he noted.

“And I was so hoping for one,” she confessed.

“Stop by tomorrow, if you want,” he said. “As long as I haven’t had a kid dropped in my lap, I should be free to show you around.”

“I want,” she immediately agreed. “Anytime in particular?”

“Whenever it’s convenient for you.”

“Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He watched her move away, making her way toward a table of six that had just sat down. Regulars, he guessed, as they didn’t seem to need to look at the menus that were tucked beneath the tray of condiments on the table.

“It’s my fault,” Sky lamented, as she set a plate of food and his cutlery on the bar in front of him.

“What’s your fault?” he asked.

“I should have realized that saying Macy wasn’t your type would compel you to prove otherwise.”

“Maybe you should tell me why you’re so sure she’s not my type,” he suggested, lifting his sandwich from the plate.

“And maybe you should trust me for once,” his sister countered.

His gaze shifted to Macy again. “Yeah, I’m having a little trouble with that.”

“Then keep in mind that she’s going to be working for you.”

He wanted to argue that point, but after interviewing three other candidates for the job, he’d been forced to acknowledge that none of them was even remotely qualified.

Darren, currently a bouncer at a honky-tonk bar in Elko, was looking for a day job so he could go to night school. When Liam, simply out of curiosity, asked him why he wasn’t choosing to study during the day and continuing to work nights, it was immediately apparent that Darren hadn’t considered the possibility—an oversight that didn’t bode well for success in his future studies.

Felix’s résumé indicated that he was already college educated and had a master’s degree in English literature. Unfortunately, he had absolutely no experience in the hospitality business and even less interest. During the interview, he confided that service industries were tedious and boring and acknowledged that he’d only applied for the job because employment opportunities in the town were limited.

And then there was Lissa, a college dropout who claimed that her life experience made her uniquely qualified for the job. When Liam asked her to give him an example, she explained that she’d lived with her in-laws for eighteen months without killing either of them—though she confessed that she’d given the idea more than a passing thought on a few occasions.

Which meant that, for the sake of the business, there really was only one choice for Liam to make.

He was going to have to hire Macy Clayton.

As he chewed on his sandwich, he accepted that whether she was or wasn’t his type, hiring Macy Clayton would definitely put her off-limits for any romantic overtures.

And that was a damn shame.

* * *

Macy showed up just as the delivery truck was pulling away from the inn the following afternoon. Liam had kept himself busy directing the unloading and placement of the furniture so that he could pretend he wasn’t watching and waiting for her to arrive for the promised tour of the property. At the same time, he reassured himself that his response to her couldn’t possibly have been as powerful as he remembered.

Then he saw her, and the awareness hit him again, like a sucker punch in the gut.

It wasn’t just that she was beautiful, though she was undoubtedly that. Even dressed casually, as she was today, in slim-fitting jeans and a cowl-neck sweater beneath a charcoal-grey wool coat belted at her waist, she was stunning. But he’d crossed paths with plenty of attractive women in his twenty-nine years without ever experiencing such an immediate and intense reaction, and he couldn’t deny that it worried him a little.

“Good timing,” he said, in lieu of a greeting as she walked up the steps.

“Was that the delivery truck just leaving?” she asked.

He nodded.

“I recognized the logo,” she said. “You’re obviously a man of exquisite taste.”

“Garrett Furniture has a great collection of pieces that coordinate without being exactly the same,” he told her. “The idea is that every room will offer the same level of luxury but in a distinctly individual setting, so that guests who enjoyed their stay in the Doc Holliday Suite might want to come back to experience the Charles Goodnight Suite—or upgrade to the Wild Bill Getaway Suite.”

“Are all of the rooms named after famous people?”

“They are,” he confirmed. “It was my grandmother’s idea, and she did the research, from Annie Oakley to Wild Bill. Interesting details about their lives are engraved on plaques in each room—but instead of telling you about them, why don’t I show you?”

“Sounds good to me.” She reached toward the door before he could, but instead of grasping the handle, her fingers traced the outline of the raised panel on which was carved an intricate and detailed image of a horse-drawn stagecoach. “This is amazing.”

“The previous owner wanted to acknowledge the building’s origins,” Liam told her. “There’s a series of paintings in the library—original oils by local artists—that also pay tribute to the town’s history.”

Since the door opened into the lobby on the main level, that’s where they started the tour.

Macy had come in the same way when she’d arrived for her interview the day before, but the folding table and cheap plastic chairs that had created an ad hoc interview space had been replaced by an elegant double pedestal executive desk with dentil molding and antique brass hardware. The high-back chair behind the desk was covered in butter-soft leather that coordinated with the sofa and oversized chairs that faced the stone fireplace.

“You should have a lamp for that table,” she suggested, pointing. “And a focal point for the coffee table. Maybe a copper bowl—wide and shallow. Have you ever been to the antique and craft market out by the highway?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You should go,” she told him. “There’s a local artist who sells his pieces there. I bet you could find all kinds of unique things to add not just visual interest but local flavor.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, as he directed her toward the library.

The room had the potential to live up to its name, with two walls of built-in floor-to-ceiling bookcases—currently completely empty of books. She thought about the fun she could have stocking those shelves to provide guests with a variety of reading materials. Maybe she’d even throw in some board games, lay out a chess set on the square table between the two silk-upholstered wing chairs.

She took a moment to study and admire the paintings he’d told her about, appreciating not just the talent but the subjects represented in every brush stroke and color.

“Basque linens,” she said, as they moved down the hall to the main floor guest rooms.

“What?”

She chuckled. “Sorry—I’m sure that seemed to come out of nowhere, but I was just thinking about other ways to highlight the history of not just this building but the local area.”

“I know about the Basques but nothing about their linen.”

“It was originally made from flax grown in the fields and woven with colorful stripes, traditionally seven, which was the number of Basque provinces in France and Spain. The source of the fabric and the process has evolved over the years, but the colorful stripes remain a defining feature.”

“How do you know this?”

“In high school, I did a research paper on how the Basque people and culture have influenced our local community, which is just one more reason—” she offered a hopeful smile “—I’d be an asset at your front desk.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he promised, leading her down the hall to the Annie Oakley Room.

She wondered if he’d chosen the color palette and furnishings, or if his grandmother had taken the lead in that, too. Either way, the overall impression of the room was warmth and comfort, and she could imagine herself contentedly curling up in the middle of the half-tester and dreaming sweet dreams. That tempting fantasy was followed closely by one of sinking into the claw-footed tub filled with scented bubbles when she peeked into the bath.

Appropriately, Bonnie & Clyde were adjoining rooms—the former with a single queen-size sleigh bed, the latter with two double beds of the same style.

“A, B, C,” she realized. “I assume you did that on purpose?”

“Yeah, although it kind of fell apart upstairs where we jump from D to F.”

“What’s beyond those doors?” she asked.

“Serenity Spa.”

She sighed, a little wistfully. “When I heard you were looking for a manager, I knew I wanted the job,” Macy told him. “Because it’s what I’ve trained to do—and what I’m good at. But that was before I’d seen what you’ve done here, and now that I have, I want it even more.”

“You haven’t seen half of what we’ve done here,” he said, leading the way to the second floor.

He was right. And with every door she walked through, she fell more and more in love. The rooms were all spacious and inviting, with natural light pouring through the windows, spilling across the glossy floors. She’d often thought hardwood was cold, but the rugs that had been added provided warmth, color and texture. There were crown moldings in one room, window seats in another, elaborate wardrobes and antique dressing screens, padded benches and hope chests. The en suite baths boasted natural stone tiles and heated towel bars, waterfall showerheads inside glass enclosures and freestanding soaker tubs.

Each room was unique in its style and substance, and Macy honestly couldn’t have said which one was her favorite—until they reached the third floor and Liam opened the door to Wild Bill’s Getaway Suite.

Everything about the space screamed luxury, from the intricate mosaic pattern in the floor tile to the elegant chesterfield sofa and forty-two-inch flat-screen TV mounted above the white marble fireplace. Beyond the parlor was the bath, with more white marble, lots of glass and even an enormous crystal chandelier. There was a second fireplace in the bedroom, along with a king-size pediment poster bed flanked by matching end tables, a wide wardrobe and even a makeup vanity set.

“Well, it’s not the Dusty Boots Motel,” she remarked dryly when they’d made their way back down to the main level—and the solarium where he told her breakfast would be served.

Liam chuckled. “The idea was to give visitors to Haven another option.”

“I’d say you succeeded.”

The solarium had two sets of French doors that opened onto the deck, where additional bistro tables and chairs would be set up for guests to enjoy their breakfast in the warm weather.

“Did you have another space in mind for more formal, evening dining?”

He shook his head. “We’re limiting our service to breakfast-slash-brunch, with an afternoon wine and cheese in the library on Fridays and Saturdays.”

“I like the wine and cheese idea,” she said. “But if you’re not offering an evening meal, you’re missing out on the opportunity for guests to spend more of their money right here.”

“There are other places people can go for dinner,” he pointed out.

“There’s no place in town that offers an upscale dining experience. When my parents celebrated their fortieth anniversary last year, they drove all the way to Reno because they wanted candlelight and a wine list that wasn’t printed on the bottom of a laminated page below the kids’ menu.”

He smiled at that. “I can see your point, but I know nothing about the restaurant business.”

“Which is why you hire people who do,” she said.

“Like you?” he guessed.

She immediately shook her head. “No. That’s not my area of expertise. But Kyle Landry studied at the School of Artisan Food in England.”

“I’m sure his mother could have taught him everything he needed to know about making pizza.”

“Except that Kyle doesn’t want to make pizza. He wants to run his own kitchen in a real restaurant.”

Liam winced. “Don’t let Jo hear you say that.”

“His words, not mine,” Macy explained.

“Maybe that’s why he’s not working in her kitchen right now,” he suggested.

“Yeah, she’s not happy that Duke gave him a job. But Kyle’s not really happy, either, because Duke won’t even contemplate any changes to the menu. Kyle added chili-dusted pumpkin seeds to the coleslaw to give it a little bit of crunch and zing, and three customers sent it back. They grudgingly acknowledged that it was good but complained that it ‘didn’t taste right.’”

“People want what they want, and local people don’t want fancy food.”

But Macy disagreed. “They might not want fancy food in a familiar setting,” she allowed. “But a new restaurant would open up a world of new possibilities. Not to mention that a restaurant would create another revenue stream for your business.”

“Have you been talking to my grandmother?”

She laughed. “No, but I’m guessing she said the same thing.”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “And maybe it is something to think about.”

“You might think about talking to Kyle, too” Macy suggested.

“I might,” he agreed.

* * *

She didn’t ask him about the job.

Macy figured there was a fine line between eager and pushy and she didn’t want to cross it. Besides, Liam had promised to make a decision by the end of the week, so she would hold on to her patience a while longer.

But by Friday afternoon, with another long and late shift at Diggers’ looming ahead, her patience was running out. She was grateful that she had a job, but it was hard to keep a smile on her face when she was working on less than five hours of frequently interrupted sleep.

Her babies, now eight months old, had started sleeping a lot better, more consistently and—maybe even more important—concurrently, which allowed Macy to get more sleep. But the past couple of weeks had been rough as two of the three were cutting teeth. Two tiny buds had poked through Ava’s bottom gum almost a week earlier with minimal fuss, but her brothers were struggling and miserable.

And despite Macy’s optimism after she’d completed her tour of the Stagecoach Inn—and Liam Gilmore’s promise to be in touch by the end of the week—she still hadn’t heard anything from him about the job. So she left a little early for her shift at Diggers’ and stopped by the hotel on her way. There was no one in the main lobby when she arrived, so she peeked inside the library, but that was empty, too. She wandered a little further and finally found Liam in the kitchen, muttering to himself as he opened and inspected a stack of boxes on the island.

“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.”

“Kids?” 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?”


Chapter Four (#u5e53afec-fd72-52a5-8095-b5f603e32506)

The smile that curved Macy’s lips illuminated her whole face. “I’ve got the job?”

Liam nodded, though he worried that his heart seemed to fill with joy just to know that she was happy. Clearly the wayward organ hadn’t received the message from his brain that his new manager was a single mom or it would be erecting impenetrable shields.

“I’d have to be a fool to hire anyone else,” he said.

And from a business perspective, it was absolutely true.

From a personal perspective, it might turn out that he was just as big a fool to hire her.

During their tour of the inn a few days earlier, he’d been driven to distraction by her nearness. And he’d wanted to move nearer, so that he was close enough to touch her—or even kiss her. Would her skin feel as soft as it looked? Would her lips taste as sweet as he imagined?

“A lot of people think you’re foolish to reopen the hotel,” she noted.

Her comment dragged him out of his fantasy and back to the present.

“I guess it’s lucky for you that I didn’t listen to those people.”

“I guess it is,” she agreed. “But in response to your earlier question, I can start whenever you need me.”

“Two weeks ago?”

She chuckled softly. “Are you running behind schedule on a few things?”

“A few,” he acknowledged.

“Since I have to go so I’m not running behind schedule for my shift at Diggers’ tonight, why don’t you fill me in on Monday morning?”

He nodded. “That works for me.”

* * *

After a late Friday night at Diggers’, Macy usually struggled to drag herself out of bed on Saturday mornings. But knowing that this was her last such morning after her last late night, she was able to greet the day with a little more enthusiasm.

“What are you doing up so early?” Bev asked, when Macy tracked down the triplets—and her mother—in the upstairs kitchen.

Ava, Max and Sam were in their high chairs, set up side-by-side at the table where their grandmother could keep a close eye on them while she fried bacon on the stove.

Sam spotted his mama first, and he gleefully banged his sippy cup on the tray of his high chair. Ava, not to be outdone by her brother, stretched her arms out and called “Ma!” Max just smiled—a sweet, toothless grin that never failed to melt her heart.

“I wanted to get breakfast for Ava, Max and Sam today.” And though caffeine was required to ensure that she could function, she paused on her way to the coffee pot to kiss each of her precious babies.

“Because you don’t think I can handle it?” her mother queried, transferring the cooked bacon onto paper towels to drain the grease.

“Because you handle it all the time,” Macy clarified, reaching into the cupboard for a mug that she filled from the carafe.

After a couple of sips, she found the box of baby oatmeal cereal in the pantry. She spooned the dry mix into each of three bowls, then stirred in the requisite amount of formula. Ava, Max and Sam avidly watched her every move.

“You guys look like you’re hungry,” Macy noted, as she peeled a ripe banana and cut it into thirds. She dropped a piece of fruit into each of the bowls and mashed it into the cereal.

“Ma!” Ava said again, because it wasn’t just her first but also her only word.

She chuckled softly as she continued to mash and stir.

“While you’re taking care of that, I’ll make pancakes for us,” Bev said, as she gathered the necessary ingredients together.

Macy had given up asking her mother not to cook for her, because the protests had fallen on deaf ears—and because it was a nice treat to have a hot breakfast prepared for her on a Saturday morning. Especially pancakes.

“You always made pancakes as part of a celebration,” she noted, with a smile. “Whether it was a birthday or a clean room or an ‘A’ on a spelling test.”

“Which is why you got them more often than your brothers,” her mother remarked, as she cracked eggs into a glass bowl.

It wasn’t true, of course. If Bev made pancakes, the whole family got to eat pancakes, but she always acknowledged when one of her kids did something special to warrant a breakfast celebration.

“Well, we’ve got something to celebrate today, too,” Macy said.

Her mother looked up from the batter she was whisking. “You got the job?”

Macy grinned and nodded. “You are looking at the new manager-slash-concierge of the Stagecoach Inn.”

Bev set down the whisk to hug her daughter. “Oh, honey, I’m so proud of you.”

“I’ll work Monday through Friday for the next few weeks, and then, when the hotel is open, Wednesday through Sunday, eight a.m. until two p.m.”

“That’s perfect,” her mom said. “You’ll have more time with your kids and be able to work at a job you enjoy.”

Macy carried the bowls of oatmeal to the table. “I’m already looking forward to getting started,” she confided. “This is exactly what I’ve always wanted.”

Her mother sprinkled a few drops of water on the griddle, testing its readiness. “Except that it’s in Haven,” she pointed out.

Macy scooped up some oatmeal and moved the spoon toward Max’s open mouth. “You don’t want me to stay in Haven?”

“Of course, I want you here,” Bev said, ladling batter onto the hot pan. “But I know that was never your first choice.”

“Where are you getting that from?” Macy shifted her attention to the next bowl, but she was sincerely baffled by the statement.

“Maybe the fact that you were on your way out of town practically before the ink was dry on your high school diploma.”

Macy used the spoon to catch the cereal that Sam pushed out of his mouth with his tongue. “I graduated in June and I moved in August—three days before the start of classes at UNLV.”

“Well, you’ve hardly been home since,” her mom remarked.

“I came home every chance I got, which wasn’t a lot because I was juggling two part-time jobs along with my studies.” Ava swallowed her first mouthful of cereal, and Macy gave her a second before making her way backwards down the line again.

“We could have helped you a little more,” Bev said.

“You offered,” Macy assured her. “But the experience of those jobs was even more valuable than the paycheck.”

“I know you’ve always wanted to work in the hospitality industry—ever since we visited your aunt at The Gatestone in Washington when you were a little girl,” her mother noted, as she began to turn the pancakes. “And, of course, the best career opportunities are probably in Las Vegas.”

“There were zero career opportunities for me in Haven when I left,” Macy pointed out, as she continued to feed her babies. “The only place around that offered any kind of temporary accommodations was the Dusty Boots Motel, and they weren’t hiring.

“I came back to Haven because I knew I couldn’t handle—or afford to raise—three kids on my own in Vegas. Maybe I was a little disappointed to give up my career, but I was happy to be home and happier still to know that my babies would grow up close to their extended family.

“I might not have envisioned an arrangement quite this close,” she said. “But it works. And if I haven’t mentioned it lately, I’m incredibly grateful to you and Dad for everything you’ve done for all of us.”

“You tell us every day,” Bev said. “And we’re happy to help.”

“Still, I should probably look into making other arrangements for part-time childcare, don’t you think?”

“What?” Her mom turned around so fast, the pancake on her spatula dropped to the floor. “Why?”

Macy got up to retrieve the broken cake and toss it into the sink. “Because I feel as if I’m taking advantage of you and Dad.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Bev said. “Your father and I aren’t doing anything that we don’t want to do.”

“You’re also not doing things that you would like to do,” Macy pointed out. “Like last Saturday, when Dad had to cancel his fishing trip with Oscar Weston because I was working a double shift and you were in bed with a migraine.”

“Well, he’s fishing with Oscar today.”

“And you gave up your pottery classes because I worked almost every Wednesday night.”

“I was happy to have an excuse to quit—I couldn’t ever make a lump of clay look like anything else.”

“I don’t believe it.” Macy scraped the last of the cereal from the bottom of Ava’s bowl. “But I appreciate you saying so.”

“And since you won’t be working nights anymore, I can join Frieda’s book club.”

She wiped Ava’s mouth with her bib, then offered the little girl her sippy cup of juice. “Mrs. Zimmerman has a book club?”

Her mother nodded. “She started it last summer, after she saw the movie.”

“The movie?” Macy echoed, because she was pretty sure that the local movie theater would have shown more than one movie the previous summer.

“Book Club.”

“Ahh, that makes sense,” she said, helping Max finish his breakfast.

Bev stacked three pancakes on a plate, added four strips of bacon, then set it on the table. “Eat while it’s hot,” she instructed her daughter.

Macy picked up a slice of crisp bacon, nipped off the end. “I’m glad the pediatrician finally approved the introduction of solid foods for Ava, Max and Sam,” she said, pouring maple syrup over her pancakes. “They’re definitely sleeping for longer stretches now and waking up happier.”

“You’re grumpy, too, when you’re hungry,” her mom noted, bringing her own plate and mug to the table to eat with her daughter.

“Is that why you always have breakfast ready for me when I get up on a Saturday morning?”

“One of the reasons,” Bev acknowledged. “Another is that I really do enjoy having someone to cook for.”

“You cook for Dad,” she pointed out.

“Bacon and eggs. That’s what it’s been every Saturday morning for forty years.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to eat bacon and eggs.”

Her mother shrugged. “It seems like too much bother to make something different just for myself, but it’s a pleasure to make it for you.”

“Maybe I’ll make breakfast for you tomorrow,” Macy offered impulsively.

“You’ve got enough to do with three babies without worrying about cooking for anyone else,” Bev protested. “Plus, you’ve got to get ready for your first day at your new job on Monday.”





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