Читать книгу Claiming The Cowboy's Heart - Brenda Harlen, Brenda Harlen - Страница 10
ОглавлениеIn 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.
