The McKaslin Clan. Jillian HartЧитать онлайн книгу.
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“I guess this is goodbye.”
“Yes.” Brianna McKaslin shrugged out of his jacket with graceful movements and handed him the garment. “Here’s hoping we both have better luck on our next blind dates.”
“Sure.” It was all he could think to say. Max Decker, the man who had a comeback for any occasion, stood speechless as she cast him one last look. Her gaze met his like a bolt of electricity and it jarred his system, leaving him rooted to the spot.
Amazing. He watched as she glided away, unaware of what she’d done to him with one single glance. His heart had stopped beating. The blood was stalled in his veins. He struggled for air as she walked away with her gentle, easy gait, her sleek, straight hair brushing her shoulder blades with each step.
Why was he captivated? Was it sympathy for her or something more?
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JILLIAN HART
grew up on her family’s homestead, where she raised cattle, rode horses and scribbled stories in her spare time. After earning her English degree from Whitman College, she worked in travel and advertising before selling her first novel. When Jillian isn’t working on her next story, she can be found puttering in her rose garden, curled up with a good book and spending quiet evenings at home with her family.
Blind-Date Bride
Jillian Hart
There is no fear in love;
but perfect love casts out fear.
—1 John 4:18
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Epilogue
Questions for Discussion
Chapter One
It happened again. Another blind date gone wrong. No, worse than wrong. It hadn’t even started.
Brianna McKaslin let the edge of her sleeve slip into place, hiding the watch that said her supposed-to-be-perfect match was thirty-five minutes late. And counting.
Thirty-five minutes? Too late to be caught in traffic, not in this part of town. Bozeman, Montana, wasn’t that big of a place, so anything over half an hour meant she’d been officially dumped.
Guess what, Bree? He’s not coming. She leaned back in the chair and stretched her feet out under the table. Time to de-stress. This was, what, the third first date in a row to leave her solo in a restaurant? What was with men, anyway? Were they that commitment shy? Or was it something about her?
She took a sip of cooling tea but the soothing heat and sweetness didn’t comfort her. Not one bit. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirrored display case. An average-looking girl stared back at her. She might not possess a stunning fashion sense and/or spend hours at a mirror trying to enhance her appearance with a mascara wand and a curling iron. But all in all, she wasn’t so unattractive that she’d sent three poor men running to escape her, was she? Or did men come equipped with X-ray vision that could see past her plain straight hair and the average girl she was to the deeper flaws inside?
She let out a frustrated sigh. She had a lot of pent-up frustration at the male gender in general. Whatever committed, stable, loving men were out there, they seemed to avoid her like an I.R.S. audit.
She wanted to be married. Settled. Secure. Loved. Was that too much to ask?
Maybe. She straightened up in the chair, brushed the too-long bangs out of her eyes and gave the dregs in her teacup a final sip.
I’m not destined to be alone, right, Lord? No answer came blazing down from above. She sure hoped it wasn’t true. Alone was a painful place to be. She set the cup in its saucer with a clink and looked around at the other customers. She studied the few couples, obviously out on dates, seated on opposite sides of the tables, holding hands, leaning over their desserts and specialty coffees, chatting, their gazes locked together.
Could she help it if a sigh of longing escaped? Those couples had been able to find each other. And here she sat alone, the vision of romantic doom.
Maybe chocolate would help. A girl might not be able to count on a man, but a good piece of chocolate never let her down. She twisted in her seat to get a good look at the bakery’s display case packed with comforting sweets. It all looked so good. Maybe she would spring for a slice of triple-chocolate cake with fudge frosting. It was one of her favorites, and she had decorated it this morning. This was also her place of employment, where she was working her way very slowly through college.
A blur of movement flashed in the display’s mirror. The blur became a guy lumbering up to the front door. Could it be her mystery date? Did she dare hope? She whipped around to get a better look. There was a lanky, rather shorter guy around her age—twenty-twoish—with dark shades and slicked-back hair. In black leather jacket and tight pants, he wouldn’t look out of place in a twenty-something motorcycle gang or a gang of any kind.
Definitely not her kind of guy. He was not the man she’d come to meet, right?
She ought to go order that wedge of cake, but curiosity kept her watching. The gang guy planted his heavy biker’s boots and scanned the length of the bakery’s dozen bistro tables, wearing the reserved look of a man about to meet with his tax accountant.
She gulped; she couldn’t help it. What if he was looking for her? What if he was Billy, the man her half sister swore was The One? No, no, no, no. She clutched the wide ceramic mug in panic.
His gaze locked on hers through the glass for one brief, mind-numbing moment. The nose ring dangling from his left nostril twinkled in the late evening sunlight. Not that she was interested, but she couldn’t help wondering. How does one go about kissing a man with a nose ring? Wouldn’t it get in the way? For a woman with marriage on her mind, this was an important question.
His black eyes flashed wide in what had to be terror. He jerked his head away, plunged his fists in his jacket pockets and hurried away as fast as his boots could carry him.
Disaster avoided. Whew. And if that was Billy, then what had Colbie been thinking?