Six Weeks to Catch a Cowboy

by Brenda Harlen

  “I’m not going to talk to you about Ashleigh,” he told her.

  “But she left and I’m still here.”

  “You shouldn’t be,” he told her bluntly.

  In the past, Kenzie had rarely managed to string a complete sentence together in his presence. But she was sixteen now, and she would not be dissuaded.

  Instead of taking the hint, she took a step closer.

  Then she lifted herself onto her toes and pressed her mouth to his.

  He didn’t respond at first, but she refused to give up. She refused to consider that this night might not end the way she’d planned. Then he muttered a shocking curse against her lips and finally gave in to the deep and abiding love she was certain he must feel for her.

  She gasped a little when his tongue slid between her parted lips, but she didn’t pull away. Not even when he pushed her back against the hay bales and pressed his body against hers—

  The ring of her cell phone jolted Kenzie back to the present.

  Seven years later, the memories of that night were still vivid enough to make her feel hot and shaky. Inwardly chiding herself for this reaction, she pressed cool hands to her heated cheeks and drew in a deep, steadying breath, then reached for her phone.

  “Hey,” Kenzie said, smiling as she answered the FaceTime request from Spencer’s sister. “How are things in the Big Apple?”

  “Everything’s great here,” Brielle said. “But there might be a bit of a tremor on its way to the Silver State.”

  Kenzie heard the worry underlying her friend’s deliberately casual words and immediately suspected the reason for the call. “If you’re talking about Spencer returning to Haven, your warning is too late.”

  “Who told you?”

  “It would be a shorter list to mention the people who didn’t tell me,” Kenzie noted dryly.

  But she was touched by her friend’s concern. Although Brie didn’t know all the details about what had happened—or almost happened—between Kenzie and Spencer before he went away to college, she knew about her friend’s crush and that she’d been heartbroken when he left.

  “That’s only one of the many things I don’t miss about living in a small town,” Brielle muttered.

  “But you miss your friends, don’t you?”

  “I miss you,” Brie confirmed. “I’ve lost touch with almost everyone else from high school.”

  “They’d be happy to see you if you came home for a visit,” Kenzie said.

  “I will,” Brielle responded, as she always did. And though she always sounded as if she meant it, she’d only ever returned to Haven once since she’d moved to New York City for college and decided to stay—and that had been for her grandmother’s funeral.

  “In the meantime, I thought you should know that Spencer is on his way home.”

  “Your intel is a little out-of-date,” Kenzie noted.

  “Huh?”

  “He’s not on his way, he is home. In fact, he came into the clinic today.”

  “How bad is his shoulder?” Brielle asked.

  “You know I can’t share any details of a patient’s treatment,” she said. She probably shouldn’t even have disclosed his appointment, but it was hardly a secret as anyone might have seen Spencer on his way into or out of the building.

  “He’s not a patient—he’s my brother,” Brie reminded her.

  Kenzie relented enough to say, “And he’s healing.”

  Brielle considered this for a moment before asking, “You don’t think it’s anything that would keep him away from the circuit, do you?”

  Though she knew she was breaching the rules regarding patient confidentiality, she was eager to assuage the concern she heard in her friend’s voice. “Numerous tests and physical examinations suggest a simple glenohumeral dislocation.”

  “Okay.” Brie nodded. “That’s good. I mean, I have no idea what a gle-no-whatever is, but the way you said it was reassuring.”

  Kenzie smiled at that. But her friend’s earlier question made her ask, “Do you know something that you’re not telling me?”

  “No,” Brie denied. “But when we talked last week...he seemed to suggest that he was thinking about making a career change...and I didn’t get the impression that it was entirely willingly.”

  “Bull riding takes a toll on the body,” Kenzie noted. “He’s probably starting to feel his age.”

  “He’s twenty-five.”

  “And he’s been a professional bull rider for five years already, after competing in college and as an amateur for I-don’t-know-how-many years before that.”

  “At least ten,” Brielle admitted. “Because that’s how old he was when he won his first buckle for steer riding.”

  “Maybe he’s just ready for a change,” Kenzie suggested.

  And as she considered the possibility that Spencer might not just be home for a visit but forever, a tiny blossom of something that felt like joyful hope began to unfurl inside her heart. Then she remembered how eager he’d been to leave Haven, how determined he’d been to find fame and fortune away from “this backwards backwoods town,” and that tiny blossom shriveled up again.

  “Maybe,” her friend echoed, though her tone was dubious.

  “And speaking of change—rumor has it that the Mountainview kindergarten teacher put in for a transfer to Reno.”

  “Shelby Bradford’s been making plans to leave Haven since long before I did,” Brielle remarked. “She’s not going anywhere.”

  “Well, she’ll have to retire eventually,” Kenzie pointed out.

  Her friend laughed. “Don’t hold your breath.”

  They chatted for a few more minutes, then Brie had to run to meet some friends for dinner, which prompted Kenzie to think about her own evening meal.

  Not that she was really hungry, but anything was better than thinking about Spencer Channing—and the long-forgotten feelings that his return had stirred inside her.

  * * *

  If Spencer had asked around town, he might have learned that Kenzie rented an apartment above a law office on Main Street, not too far from the clinic where she worked. Instead, he’d taken a more circuitous route to get there.

  “Hey,” he said, when Kenzie replied to the buzz of the intercom from the street level entrance behind the building.

  “Spencer? What are you doing here?”

  There was reservation along with surprise in her tone. He had no reason to assume that she’d want to see him, but he was counting on her long-term friendship with his sister to at least get him in the door. “Can I come up?” he asked. “Or are we going to have an entire conversation through this speaker?”

  She hesitated. Or maybe he only thought she did, because the next sound he heard was the lock being released.

  “Now are you going to tell me why you’re here?” she asked after letting him into her apartment.

  He took a moment to appreciate the fact that she’d changed out of the all-black she’d been wearing at the clinic and into a pair of slim-fitting jeans and a flowy kind of top in a patchwork print. She’d released her hair from its ponytail, too, so that the long tresses hung like a curtain of shiny silk around her face. Her driver’s license probably described her hair as brown, but it was actually an intriguing mix of many shades, including hints of gold and copper.

  “Spencer?” she prompted, when he didn’t respond to her question.

  “Sorry,” he apologized, realizing he’d been staring. “I just—wow, Kenzie. You really look great.”

  “Thank you,” she said, a little cautiously.

  He couldn’t blame her for being wary. Although she’d been best friends with his sister, he’d never been particularly close with Kenzie. Well, there was that one time...but it was probably best not to think about that night right now. Or ever.

  Except that being ba
ck in Haven and seeing Kenzie again, he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about that night. And, seven years later, he still didn’t know if he was relieved or disappointed that it hadn’t ended differently.

  Firmly pushing those memories to the back of his mind, he focused on the present—and his empty stomach. “I came by to see if you wanted to grab a bite to eat.”

  “Grab a bite?” she echoed the words as if he’d suggested a quick trip to the moon.

  Okay, so she was surprised by the invitation. And obviously skeptical about his motivations for showing up at her door. But a buddy had once remarked that he could charm a nun out of her habit if he put his mind to it, so he didn’t figure it should be too difficult to convince Kenzie to share a meal with him.

  “Dinner,” he clarified, his lips curving in an easy smile. “You know—when you sit down at a table, sometimes in a restaurant, and enjoy a meal.”

  “I’m vaguely familiar with the concept,” she said dryly. “In fact, I’ve got soup heating on the stove for mine.”

  “Soup isn’t a meal,” he chided. “Even Diggers’ menu lists it as a starter.”

  “Well, it’s my meal tonight,” she insisted, and turned her back on him.

  Which afforded him a spectacular view of her nicely shaped derriere encased in snug denim.

  He followed that sweetly curved butt to the kitchen, where she picked up a spoon from the counter and stirred the soup.

  He averted his gaze so she wouldn’t catch him staring again and looked around the ultramodern kitchen with dark walnut cupboards and stainless steel appliances. A granite-topped island separated the kitchen from the open-concept living area with a trio of tall windows that overlooked Main Street.

  “Nice place,” he remarked.

  “I like it,” she agreed.

  “How long have you lived here?”

  “Just over a year,” she said. “Katelyn used to live up here and work downstairs, but then she married the new sheriff and they bought a house over on Sagebrush. As soon as I heard she was moving out, I asked if she’d rent the place to me.”

  “Katelyn...Gilmore?”

  “It’s Davidson now,” she told him.

  “I didn’t know she’d married the sheriff.” Then he frowned. “Or maybe I just don’t pay much attention when my mother starts gossiping about local events.” It was also possible that Margaret Channing hadn’t said anything, preferring to pretend that the entire Gilmore family didn’t exist.

  “Not just married but a new mom now to the most adorable little girl,” Kenzie told him.

  Though she hadn’t invited him to sit, he straddled a stool at the island and folded his arms on the counter. His stomach rumbled.

  “You know, if you made sandwiches to go with that soup, you’d probably be able to feed two people,” he told her.

  “Is that your way of inviting yourself to stay for dinner?”

  “Soup’s not dinner,” he said again. “But if you added a sandwich...”

  She shook her head, but the smile that tugged at her lips confirmed that she was warming up to his presence. “Grilled cheese, okay?”

  He grinned. “Grilled cheese is the best kind of sandwich with soup.”

  Kenzie turned the knob for another burner, set a frying pan on it, then retrieved the ingredients for the sandwiches.

  “Can I help?” he offered, as she began to butter slices of bread.

  She nodded to the pot on the stove. “Just keep an eye on the soup.”

  He picked up the wooden spoon she’d set down, so that he was armed and ready.

  “If you haven’t kept up with local events, how did you know that I was living here?” Kenzie asked him now.

  “Your mother told me,” he admitted.

  The knife she’d taken out of the block to slice the cheese slipped from her grasp and clattered against the counter. “When did you talk to my mother?”

  “When I stopped by the house on Whitechurch Road earlier.”

  “Well, that would explain the three voice-mail messages she left for me,” Kenzie noted, picking up the knife again.

  “Three messages and you didn’t call her back?” he asked in feigned shock.

  She shrugged and resumed slicing the cheese. “If it had been anything important, she would have said so.”

  He mimed thrusting a dagger in his heart. “Ouch.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “She was surprised to see me,” he confided. “And reluctant to let me know where I could find you.”

  Butter sizzled as Kenzie set the sandwiches in the hot pan.

  “She’s always been...protective of me,” she said.

  “I knew that,” he acknowledged. “I just never knew that she disliked me so much. Which was a surprise, because most women usually find me charming. Even moms.”

  “No doubt.”

  “And I never did anything to earn her disapproval.” But they both knew that wasn’t exactly true, so he clarified, “At least not anything that she knows about.” He sent Kenzie a questioning glance. “Or does she?”

  She dropped her gaze to the pan, as if turning the sandwiches required her complete focus. “There’s nothing for her to know.”

  He nodded, relieved by her response. Glad to hear her confirm that what happened between them hadn’t been a big deal to her, either.

  Glad...and a little bit skeptical.

  But he didn’t express his doubt. He didn’t want to have the awkward conversation they probably should have had seven years earlier. And he especially didn’t want to dig up old feelings of guilt and regret—not hers or his own.

  She reached into the cupboard over the sink for dishes, then pulled open a drawer for cutlery.

  He rose from his seat at the island to help.

  “I do appreciate this.” He slid the sandwiches out of the pan and onto the plates while she poured the soup into the bowls. “You feeding me, I mean.”

  She smiled at that. “As if I had a choice.”

  “You always have a choice,” he told her.

  She sat down beside him. “So tell me why you showed up at my door instead of grabbing a bite with Gage or Brett or one of the other guys you used to hang out with,” she suggested.

  “Truthfully—” he dipped his spoon into his bowl “—I didn’t keep in touch with anyone when I left Haven. Aside from you, I don’t have many friends remaining in this town.”

  “I was your sister’s friend,” she said, as she tore off a piece of her sandwich and popped it into her mouth. “Not yours.”

  “Maybe we weren’t friends,” he acknowledged. And then, because he apparently did want to have the awkward conversation they’d skipped seven years earlier, he added, “But we were almost lovers.”

  She shook her head as she finished chewing. “A quick roll in the hay would not have made us lovers.”

  He touched a hand to her arm. “I treated you badly that night, and I’m sorry.”

  “It was a long time ago—and long forgotten,” she told him.

  But he didn’t believe it.

  Certainly he’d never forgotten.

  “Then you’re not still mad at me—about what happened that night?” he prompted.

  “Nothing happened,” she said again, tearing off another piece of her sandwich. “And I was never mad at you,” she confided. “I was mad at myself. And...embarrassed.”

  “Why would you be embarrassed?” he wondered aloud.

  She swirled her spoon in her soup. “Because I threw myself at you.”

  Apparently they had different recollections of that night. Because while there was no denying that she’d made the first move, he’d made a lot more after that. “As you said, it was a long time ago and nothing happened.”

  “Nothing of any significance,” she agreed. “But not for lack of tryin
g on my part.”

  It was true that she hadn’t been shy about what she wanted. And he’d been unexpectedly and shockingly aroused by the bold actions of a girl he’d previously dismissed as just another friend of his little sister.

  “Back then, you and me—” He shook his head. “It would have been a mistake.”

  She nodded. “I know.”

  “But now...” He deliberately let the words trail off and dramatically waggled his eyebrows.

  She smiled, seemingly appreciative of his effort to lighten the mood, but immediately shot him down. “Now it would be an even bigger mistake.”

  She was probably right—for more reasons than even she knew—but he was curious about her rationale. “Why would you say that?”

  “Because even if we weren’t friends before, I get the impression you showed up at my door because you need a friend now.”

  “Or at least wanted to see a friendly face,” he acknowledged, as he shoved the last bite of sandwich into his mouth before turning his attention back to the soup.

  “What was going on at your parents’ place tonight that you didn’t want to eat there?” she asked.

  “Celeste had a thing this afternoon—a baby shower? Bridal shower? Some kind of shower, anyway. And I told her that I’d fend for myself so she didn’t have to rush back.”

  “Fending for yourself meaning inviting yourself to share my dinner?” she queried dryly.

  “I offered to take you out,” he reminded her. “You could have had a thick, juicy steak at Diggers’—or anything else on the menu.”

  “Mmm... I do love their strip loin, but this is better,” she told him.

  He spooned up the last of his soup which, along with the sandwich, had sated his gnawing hunger but was, by no stretch of the imagination, better than steak. “Why?”

  “Because if we’d walked into Diggers’ together, the whole town would be buzzing about it before the meat hit the grill.”

  “And that would bother you?”

  “I don’t like being the subject of gossip and speculation,” she said.

  “You’re not worried that people will remark on my truck being parked outside your apartment?”

  “I wasn’t—” she frowned as she stacked the empty bowls and plates “—until just now.”