Patricia Johns – Her Cowboy Boss (страница 1)
A SIMMERING ROMANCE
Avery Southerly has finally met her biological father...sort of. Instead of properly introducing herself, she took a job as cook at her dad’s ranch in Hope, Montana. There’s just one problem: Avery can’t cook! Luckily ranch manager Hank Granger agrees to help, and things quickly begin heating up in the kitchen.
But romance is not on the menu—Hank could be fired for fraternizing with an employee, and Avery is only in town to get answers. Then she’s headed home to Kansas, where she truly belongs. Hank is determined to help Avery discover the truth about her past. Yet the more time they spend together, all he can see is the future. He just needs to help Avery do the same!
“Why are you really in Hope?” he asked.
She was silent, and for a moment he thought she might not answer. Then she said, “My mom left Hope pregnant and never came back. I never knew my dad, but I’d like to get to know him, if I get the chance.”
Her dad... Had she applied for the only job available to buy herself a little more time in town...or did she think Mr. Harmon was her father? He had questions, but she was turning away again.
“Good night, Hank,” she called softly over her shoulder. “See you at breakfast.”
He waited until she got inside before he headed back toward the road. He was jaded from a messy divorce and she was looking for a dad she’d never met. It was the reality check he needed. Attraction was one thing, but he liked to be realistic. He was her boss, and if he let those lines get blurred, he’d lose his job, smear his reputation and find himself back down at the bottom of the heap on another ranch.
My husband asked me to marry him after two weeks. We’ve been married twelve years now, and the other day, I was chattering about something and I said, “But you didn’t plan that proposal, right?” He gave me a funny look and said, “Of course I planned it.”
And while a two-week romance might sound like a spontaneous thing, he’d walked me to that fountain on that summer night because he wanted to ask me to marry him. And I only just figured that out!
As a romance novelist, I’m often asked if my books are “realistic.” And I have to say—yes! I write what I believe, and I believe in love that lasts and men who commit. In my humble opinion, forever is not too much to ask for.
If you’d like to connect with me, you can find me on Facebook or at my website, patriciajohnsromance.com.
Patricia Johns
Her Cowboy Boss
Patricia Johns
PATRICIA JOHNS writes from Alberta, Canada. She has her Hon. BA in English literature and currently writes for Harlequin’s Love Inspired, Western Romance and Heartwarming lines. You can find her at patriciajohnsromance.com.
To my husband—he’s the best choice I ever made!
Contents
So this is my dad.
Avery Southerly shook Louis Harmon’s calloused hand, suppressing a wince at his too-tight grasp. He was in his midforties with a potbelly and a white cowboy hat that shaded his heat-reddened face. His dark eyes were kind, and he gave her a cordial nod. He’d only have been nineteen when she was born, but somehow, she’d always imagined her father looking older than this.
With a quick look around the property, she could tell that he ran a clean ranch. The front yard had been recently mowed, and the drive was clear of vehicles. The fence that separated yard from pasture was well maintained, and she could make out some horses grazing in the distance. Farther off she could hear the growl of a tractor’s engine on the grass-scented June breeze. She’d have found this place relaxing if she weren’t so wound up.
“Avery, you said?” He released her hand, and she waited for some sort of recognition to dawn. It didn’t.
“Avery Southerly.”
He raised his eyebrows—still no recognition. She’d come out to Montana to introduce herself to her father, and she’d known it would be difficult. Since her mother passed away, she had a new desire to meet the father she’d never known. However, she was nervous enough that she’d come with an excuse: an advertisement for a cook at the Harmon Ranch that she’d spotted on a bulletin board in the coffee shop. If she couldn’t suss up the courage to tell him everything right away, then she’d simply apply for the job and wait for the right moment...maybe even get to know her father a little bit before there was all the pressure of surprise paternity.
He nodded toward the flyer in her hand. “I assume you’re here for the cook position.”
She looked down. It was now or never...
“Yes.” She gave a decisive nod. “I’m applying for the job, sir.”
“Glad you are because the competition is very thin right about now.” He laughed.
Well, that took care of that. Louis nodded toward the house and started walking away, so she followed him.
“The team isn’t too fussy,” he said over his shoulder. “They like the basics—griddle cakes, bacon, eggs, baked beans, steak once a week and as much corn bread as you can bake.”
He led the way along a path toward the side door of the low ranch-style house. It was large and sprawling, with one wing dedicated to a three-door garage. He pulled open the screen door and gestured her through.
“You can make corn bread, can’t you?” he asked.
“Uh—yes. I can make corn bread.”
She’d made corn bread once, at least, from a recipe she found online. She wasn’t a great cook, to be honest... She wasn’t completely inept in a kitchen, but she knew her limitations, and this idea was starting to unravel in her mind already. She should just come out with it—tell him the truth—but Actually, I’m here to inform you that I’m your daughter just wouldn’t come out of her mouth.
The kitchen table was stacked with books and ledgers, along with a smattering of papers. A horse bridle hung on the back of a kitchen chair, and Louis took off his hat and tossed it on the seat. He ran his hand over his salt-and-pepper gray hair. He definitely looked like he could be somebody’s dad, but hers?
At the age of twenty-four, Avery wasn’t looking for a father figure, just some answers. She wanted to know about the man who sired her and the story of his connection to her mother—the story her mother refused to tell. Maybe she could gather up some medical history. But she didn’t have a lot of time for this visit. Back in Salina, Kansas, she was about to reopen her mother’s flower shop, which had been closed since her mother entered hospice. She had two weeks until the June 24 opening date, and she wanted to make the most of that time. That store was her home—the place where she’d spent her formative years. But first, she wanted to learn about her father, whom her mom had only confessed on her deathbed.
“Coffee?”