Brenda Harlen – Claiming The Cowboy's Heart (страница 9)

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

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.”