Claiming The Cowboy's Heart. Brenda HarlenЧитать онлайн книгу.
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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