Six Weeks to Catch a Cowboy

by Brenda Harlen

  His mouth was hot and hungry, demanding a response from her. She willingly—eagerly—gave him what he wanted.

  What she wanted.

  This. Here. Now.

  He deepened the kiss, and her lips parted. Her tongue dallied and danced with his in a sensual rhythm that made her knees weak. Thankfully, he had those strong, broad shoulders that she could hold on to, and she did.

  She was so caught up in the seduction of his talented mouth that she didn’t realize he’d unbelted her robe until his hands were inside it, under her pajama top. His rough, callused palms sliding over the soft skin of her torso, making her shiver and want.

  Oh, how she wanted.

  You wanted him once before, and look how that turned out.

  She couldn’t ignore the warning that echoed in the back of her mind, because it was true. She’d been down this path before, and when he’d gone away, she’d been left trying to put together the pieces of her broken heart.

  That same heart hammered against her ribs now, as if to reassure her that it wasn’t just healed but fully functioning.

  And hey, hadn’t she been thinking—just before he showed up—that she should have gone out with Megan tonight? Hadn’t she decided that she’d been celibate for too long and resolved to change that status? So really, it was kind of convenient that he’d stopped by and seemed favorably inclined toward helping her rectify that problem.

  It was also incredibly arousing the way his strong palms gently cradled her breasts, his thumbs tracing and teasing her nipples.

  But don’t you deserve more than just a quick roll in the hay?

  Because although they weren’t actually in the hayloft this time, she knew that whatever happened between them tonight wouldn’t mean anything more to him than that.

  And maybe it wouldn’t mean anything more to her, either, but she didn’t trust herself not to fall for him again. That was a risk she wasn’t willing to take.

  She finally turned her head away, breaking the kiss.

  “We can’t do this.” But even to her own ears, she sounded more uncertain than firm as his lips trailed along her jaw.

  “I promise you, we can,” he said, nibbling on her ear.

  She shook her head, determined to resist, though the rasp of his stubble against tender skin as he nuzzled her throat had every other part of her shaking with desire.

  “Let me show you all the things we can do,” he urged.

  But Kenzie lifted her hands to his chest and pushed him away. Then, in case that wasn’t clear enough, she took a step back, putting more space between them.

  “Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m no longer the infatuated teenage girl you knew seven years ago.”

  Spencer took a minute to draw in a breath and attempt to get his raging hormones under control. Not an easy task when Kenzie’s lips were still swollen from his kiss and her nipples were almost poking holes through the thin cotton top.

  He forced his eyes back to her face. “I noticed,” he assured her. “And I’m not at all disappointed.”

  She pulled her robe together again, covering her chest. As if that was going to make him forget the image of those perky breasts, the feel of them in his hands.

  Kenzie had been something of a late bloomer. The girl he remembered from high school had cruelly been called Ken by some of the guys, because her body had fewer curves than that of Barbie’s plastic boyfriend. But when she’d finally bloomed, she’d done so very nicely.

  For most of the past seven years, he’d managed to relegate his memories of her to the back of his mind. After all, she hadn’t been anything to him—she was Brielle’s friend. And it had been easy to dismiss her as a kid with a crush—until she kissed him.

  Despite the absence of any technique in that first kiss, her lips had been temptingly soft and sweet. What she’d lacked in experience, she’d more than made up for with enthusiasm. And when he’d taken the lead, she’d been eager to follow.

  There was little evidence of that girl in the woman before him now. This new Kenzie was confident, strong, sexy.

  And smart enough to push him away.

  She cleared her throat. “And didn’t we agree, just the other night, that this—you and me—is a bad idea?”

  “I’ve had a change of heart on that.”

  “I don’t think it’s your heart calling the shots,” she remarked dryly.

  He chose to ignore the not-so-subtle gibe, instead asking, “Do you want me to apologize for kissing you?”

  “No,” she said, a little primly. “I just want your assurance that it won’t happen again.”

  His brows lifted. “You want me to promise not to kiss you again?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t think I can.”

  She frowned. “Why not?”

  “Because it seems that lately, I can’t seem to think about anything but how much I want you.”

  “You’re looking for a distraction.”

  “What?”

  “I can only imagine how difficult these past few weeks have been—finding out that you have a child, dealing with your injury, coming home.”

  “None of that has anything to do with us,” he told her.

  “Not you and me specifically,” she agreed. “But all of it has added to your stress, which you want to alleviate with sex.”

  He blinked, not sure whether he should be insulted or amused by her clinical assessment.

  “You really have changed,” he mused. “The last time we kissed, you couldn’t say the word sex without stammering and turning a dozen shades of red.”

  “I’m not a sixteen-year-old virgin anymore.”

  “Thank goodness for that,” he agreed.

  “I’m also not going to fall into bed with you just because you think it’s what you want.”

  “I know it’s what I want,” he said. “And I think it’s what you want, too.”

  She shook her head. “It’s not going to happen.”

  “But you didn’t deny that you want me,” he noted.

  “I want a lot of things that aren’t good for me.”

  “I’ll be good for you—I promise.”

  She shook her head again, even as a smile tugged at her lips. “Good night, Spencer.”

  He sighed. “I guess that’s my cue to leave.”

  “Wow,” she said. “Not just handsome but quick, too.”

  “So...you think I’m handsome?”

  She shoved him toward the door.

  He didn’t resist; he had no intention of overstaying his welcome. But before he walked out the door, he dipped his head for one last brief kiss. Just to be contrary.

  She closed the door in his face, but not before he saw the tip of her tongue touch her top lip, as if she was savoring the taste of him.

  He was grinning as he descended the stairs and whistling as he made his way across the parking lot to his truck.

  Sharing a few kisses with a pretty girl wasn’t going to fix everything that was wrong in his world, but for the first time in a long time, things were starting to look up.

  * * *

  While Kenzie was growing up, Helen and Harold Powell had resided in the house beside the little bungalow on Whitechurch Road where she lived with her mother. If Cheryl had to work late at her job cleaning rooms at the Dusty Boots Motel, as she frequently did, Kenzie would go to the Powell house after school.

  Mrs. Powell would offer her a snack and supervise her homework or, if she was lucky enough not to have any homework, they’d play cards or board games. But only until four-thirty, when The Light of Dawn came on TV. Helen was addicted to “her story,” as she referred to the soap, and nothing else happened in her house during the half hour it was on Monday through Friday.

  Helen had a particular fondness for the character of Brock Lawrie, played by P
eter Ross, and Kenzie still remembered the tension that had filled the half hour during a five-week period of prolonged contract negotiations between the studio and its star, during which Brock languished in a coma. Harold had confided to Kenzie that he’d been just as relieved as Helen when the character finally emerged from the deep sleep to declare his love for Lorelei, because he’d been certain his wife would have gone into a real period of mourning if the show had killed off Brock.

  When Kenzie went away to college, she missed the Powells as much as she missed her mother. Then Harold died and Helen decided she didn’t want to stay in the house that had been their home for forty years together. Six months later, she’d moved to a ground-floor apartment in a three-story triplex now owned by Spencer’s brother, Jason.

  It was a pleasure for Kenzie to squeeze out time to spend with Helen, as she did that Saturday morning. She arrived armed with the second batch of muffins—minus the one she’d given to Spencer the night before—and two tall vanilla lattes from The Daily Grind.

  “I heard Spencer Channing is back in town,” Helen remarked, as they sipped their coffee and nibbled on the muffins.

  “Obviously there’s nothing wrong with your hearing,” Kenzie teased.

  “Or my eyes. And—” Helen boldly winked one of those clear green eyes “—in my opinion, the boy is even better looking now than when he left.”

  “He’s hardly a boy anymore,” Kenzie remarked.

  “You’ve seen him, too, then,” her former neighbor guessed.

  She nodded, although she hadn’t only seen him, she’d touched him, lusted for him and even kissed him. And the memory of that kiss had kept her awake—and yearning—late into the night.

  “Was it awkward?” her friend asked.

  She blinked. “What?”

  “Seeing him again,” Helen prompted gently.

  “Not as awkward as I thought it might be,” she said. “And still, more awkward than I’d like to admit when he started taking his clothes off.”

  Helen rubbed her hands together gleefully. “Oh, this sounds almost as good as what happened on The Light of Dawn yesterday.”

  Kenzie had to laugh. “I’m sure it’s not.”

  “Let me be the judge of that,” her friend suggested. “You just tell me what happened—and don’t skimp on any of the juicy details.”

  “It was a Wednesday afternoon in Haven,” she began, setting the stage for the story. “When our unsuspecting heroine, relaxed after lunch with a friend, walks into her office to find the hero there, waiting for her. After seven long years apart, they can deny their love for one another no longer and come together in a passionate embrace.”

  Helen sighed dreamily—then narrowed her gaze on the storyteller. “How much of that is actually true?”

  “Well, it was Wednesday,” Kenzie said. “And I did have lunch with Megan on Wednesday.”

  “And the part about him taking off his clothes—that was in your treatment room, right?” her friend guessed.

  Kenzie nodded.

  “So no declarations of love? No passionate embrace?”

  Of course, Helen already knew the answers to those questions and shook her head, so obviously disappointed that Kenzie felt a little guilty about teasing her.

  “I’m sorry we’re not Brock and Lorelei,” she said.

  Her friend waved a hand. “Believe me, you don’t want to be Brock and Lorelei. The things those two have been through—well, of course, it’s just a story. But the way they always come back to one another is a testament to the power of love.”

  Or good writing, Kenzie mused, though she knew better than to say so aloud.

  “But one thing I can tell you—in strict confidence,” she warned, “is that Spencer Channing has a body to rival that of Brock Lawrie in his prime.”

  The revelation made Helen sigh happily again. “And you got to run your hands all over those tight muscles.”

  “Not all over,” Kenzie pointed out. “And strictly for professional reasons.”

  “I understand.” Her friend nodded. “Strictly professional,” she agreed, tongue firmly in cheek. “I’m sure you didn’t enjoy it all.”

  “Well, maybe just a little,” she allowed.

  Of course, the opportunity for stolen moments of guilty pleasure was officially closed to her now that Spencer had asked for a new therapist. And she was grateful that he’d taken the step she’d only contemplated, sparing them both the awkwardness—and temptation—of being behind closed doors together.

  “You know, too many people underestimate the value of physical attraction,” Helen said now. “Sexual compatibility is an important component of any relationship.”

  “So I’ve heard,” Kenzie noted.

  “If you’re going on the basis of hearsay, it’s a good thing you gave back Dale’s ring,” her friend remarked. “Of course, it would have been even better if you’d never accepted it in the first place.”

  “I thought you liked Dale.”

  “Sure, but I never believed he was the right man for you.” Then she shrugged. “But I’ve also never believed that a woman needs a man to make her happy.”

  Kenzie lifted her almost empty latte cup in a toasting gesture. “I’ll drink to that.”

  “For really great sex when you’re out of C batteries, yes,” Helen continued, causing her guest to choke on her coffee. “For happiness, no.”

  When Kenzie stopped coughing, she started to laugh. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she promised. “But right now, I need to get over to The Trading Post to pick up some groceries or I’ll be having muffins for dinner tonight.”

  Helen rose with her and wrapped Kenzie in a White Shoulders–scented embrace. “I’m so glad you stopped by.”

  “Me, too,” Kenzie said sincerely.

  Her comment about the barren state of her pantry had not been much of an exaggeration, and she was mentally reviewing her grocery list when she closed the door and nearly bumped into Spencer Channing—and a teary-eyed little girl who could only be his daughter.

  Chapter Six

  Finding himself face-to-face with Kenzie wasn’t the first surprise of Spencer’s day. And it definitely wasn’t the biggest one. It was, at least, a pleasant one. But his happiness at seeing a familiar and friendly face barely lasted long enough to register before Dani pulled her hand out of his and threw herself at Kenzie, wrapping her little arms around Kenzie’s legs and crying, “Wanna go home with Nana.”

  Kenzie lifted a brow; he lifted his shoulders.

  “If only her caseworker could see us now,” he said dryly.

  She stroked a hand over Dani’s silky blond hair, instinctively attempting to soothe the distressed child. He’d tried to soothe her, too, but Dani had resisted his efforts, apparently blaming him for all of the recent upheaval in her life.

  “Did I lose a week somewhere?” Kenzie asked, obviously remembering that his daughter was expected to arrive the following weekend.

  “Change of plans.”

  “Apparently.” She loosened Dani’s arms and crouched down to the child’s eye level. “You must be Dani.”

  His daughter sniffled and nodded.

  “Your daddy told me all about you,” Kenzie said. “And I know he’s really happy that you’re here in Haven.”

  Dani sneaked a glance at him, then looked quickly away again. “Wanna go home,” she insisted stubbornly.

  “I know change can be scary,” Kenzie said. “It’s just going to take some time for this to feel like home.”

  She shifted her attention to Spencer to ask, “But what are you doing here?” Then, as a thought occurred to her, “Visiting your brother?”

  He shook his head and gestured with his thumb to the door marked 1A. “I’m subletting Alyssa’s apartment,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

  She nodded her head
in the other direction, toward Unit 1B. “I was visiting Mrs. Powell.”

  “Of Mrs. Powell’s muffins,” he remembered.

  She smiled at that. “The same,” she confirmed.

  “Muffin?” Dani echoed, looking at Kenzie with teary eyes.

  “Are you hungry?” Kenzie asked her.

  The little blond head nodded.

  “She had breakfast,” he said, not wanting Kenzie to think that he’d let his daughter go without food. “At the Sunnyside Diner with her g-r-a-n-d-m-o-t-h-e-r,” he said, spelling the word in the hope that Dani wouldn’t know who he was talking about and start crying all over again. “But then she was so upset about...the situation, she threw up her pancakes all over the floor.”

  “Nothing like easing you into the whole parenthood thing, huh?” Kenzie mused.

  “Tell me about it.”

  She turned her attention back to his daughter again. “What kind of muffins do you like, Dani?”

  “Choc’ate chip?”

  “They’re my favorite, too,” Kenzie said.

  Dani rewarded this confession with a tentative smile.

  “And there’s a little coffee shop not too far from here that makes these ginormous chocolate chip muffins,” she continued. “Maybe you and your daddy could walk over there for a snack.”

  “You an’ me walk,” Dani said to Kenzie.

  Kenzie glanced at him, confusion and apology in her gaze.

  “Wendy, the caseworker, warned me that Dani hasn’t had much interaction with men and might take some time to warm up to me.”

  And he was trying really hard not to take it personally, but when his daughter chose the arms of a stranger for comfort over those of her father, it was even harder.

  On the other hand, he couldn’t blame her when he’d found comfort in Kenzie’s arms, too—although not nearly as much as he’d wanted to.

  “I guess that makes sense,” Kenzie agreed, straightening to her full height again.

  “So...will you come with us?” he asked her.

  “To The Daily Grind?” She immediately shook her head.

  “Why not?”

  “I know you’ve been gone a long time,” she said, “but surely you haven’t forgotten that gossip is the only thing hotter than the coffee at The Daily Grind.”