“Definitely me,” Maggie muttered.
“Jana Stone wasn’t going to shank anyone,” their father said. “Naturally, she’s upset and confused.” He glanced toward Maggie and then away. “We all are.”
Ben didn’t look convinced. “If someone handed her a rusty knife, she would have gutted Maggie like—”
“Not helping, Ben.” Jim Spencer leveled a glare at his teenage son.
Undeterred by the gruesome talk, Vivian moved toward Maggie until they were inches apart. Grammy barely reached Maggie’s chin and she’d proudly been a size-two petite for as long as anyone could remember. Her hair was teased into a silver pouf, and she wore a rose-hued coat and matching crepe dress that made her look like she took fashion advice from the Queen of England.
Her diminutive stature belied the fierceness of her spirit. Maggie’s grandmother was more than the family matriarch. She was the backbone of the Spencer clan, still with a hand in actively managing most of the family’s business holdings in town and the land they owned throughout the valley.
The Spencers, along with the Stones, had founded Stonecreek in the mid-1800s. It still grated on the nerves of various relatives, Grammy included, that the town had officially been named Stonecreek instead of the planned Spencerville.
The Stones claimed that founders Jonathan Spencer and Charles Stone flipped a coin for naming rights. According to Spencer family lore, Charles got Jonathan drunk, then sneaked out to file the town’s name in the early-morning hours while his friend slept off a night of whiskey and women.
That spark lit the fuse on the Hatfield-and-McCoy-esque rivalry between the two families. The friction had ebbed and flowed over the decades until settling into a civil, if awkward, truce.
Recently, the animosity had heated up again. The Spencers had been the more successful family for years, owning most of the businesses in town, as well as much of the land in the surrounding area. But Griffin and Trevor’s father took over the struggling family farm when the boys were still in diapers. Dave Stone began growing grapes in the volcanic soil and within a decade had turned the vineyard into one of the leading producers of pinot noir varietals in the lush Willamette Valley.
Suddenly, power shifted, and the rural farming family began to assert its muscle in ways the Spencers didn’t appreciate. The power play was subtler these days, with deals over dinner and drinks more than fistfights at town meetings. It had been Vivian who’d pushed Maggie to view Trevor as something more than a platonic friend.
Both of them had gone away to college, then returned to Stonecreek to work with their respective families. It had been easy to ramp up the childhood friendship to a more intimate level.
They’d dated for three years, and Trevor had been at her side when she’d won her first mayoral election, becoming the youngest person to hold that office in the town’s history.
If you asked her grandmother, it was the two families’ combined support that had propelled Maggie, relatively inexperienced in politics, to victory in the election. But Trevor had made her feel like she’d won on her own merit, and remained quite possibly the only person in either of their families who believed it.
He’d proposed last Christmas. Of course, Maggie had said yes. So what if their relationship was more of a comfortable partnership than romantic or exciting? She didn’t need excitement and believed Trevor felt the same. Oh, how wrong she’d been.
“You embarrassed me today,” her grandmother said, pale blue eyes flaring with temper, “and brought shame to the Spencer name.”
Maggie swallowed and purposely put weight on her right foot, focusing on the physical pain instead of the emotional sting of her grammy’s words.
“Mom.” Maggie’s father let out an exasperated sigh. “Let her explain.”
“Can you explain yourself, Mary Margaret?”
“I changed my mind,” she whispered, her gaze trained on the corsage pinned just below the collar of her grandmother’s dress. “Trevor and I realized we don’t love each other in the way two people who are getting married should.” She couldn’t look Grammy in the eye as the half-truths spilled from her mouth.
Not complete lies. She went into the wedding with a bone-deep understanding that her marriage to Trevor had more to do with her family than any kind of grand passion. But she would have gone through with it if she hadn’t walked in on him locked in a furtive embrace with the curvaceous date of one of his groomsmen.
“What did Trevor do?” Grammy demanded, much like Griffin had earlier. Good thing Maggie wasn’t a gambler because she clearly had no poker face.
“Nothing.” She lied outright this time. She’d decided at the church that she’d rather be the bad guy in this scenario than the poor, duped and undesired fool. Trevor had agreed. He would have agreed to anything Maggie had asked. “I’m sorry, Grammy. I’ll take back the gifts and write apology notes to each of the guests. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right.”
Vivian held up a weathered hand, the manicured tips of her fingers trembling. “This cannot be undone, Mary Margaret.” She turned to Maggie’s father. “Take me home, Jim.”
He glanced between his mother and older daughter. “Maybe Maggie doesn’t want to be alone right—”
“She made her choice,” Vivian said through clenched teeth. She waved a hand at both Morgan and Ben. “Let’s go.”
Morgan stood and placed a hand on her dad’s sleeve. “I can stay with—”
“We’re all going,” Vivian insisted, walking toward the front door without a backward glance.
“It’s fine,” Maggie whispered when Morgan’s delicate brows drew together. “I’ll text you later, Mo.”
Her father took a step toward her, but Maggie shook her head. “It’s okay. Go. I’m fine.”
He looked like he wanted to argue, but she forced a smile and motioned for him to follow Grammy. Right now she needed time alone.
“I love you,” her dad whispered, then walked out behind Grammy and Morgan. Ben turned back to her with his hand on the doorknob.
“I wouldn’t have let Mrs. Stone shank you,” he said gravely.
Maggie managed a watery smile. “Thanks, buddy.”
He nodded, shutting the door behind him. As soon as the latch clicked, Maggie’s knees buckled. She collapsed to the hardwood floor with a sob, her life in pieces around her.
Keep reading for an excerpt from The Texas Cowboy’s Quadruplets by Cathy Gillen Thacker.
Copyright © 2018 by Michelle Major
Life, Love and Family
COMING NEXT MONTH!
Cathy Gillen Thacker
debuts her heartfelt series Texas Legends: The McCabes
in Harlequin Special Edition.
Don’t miss
The Texas Cowboy’s Quadruplets
Available October 2018
Read the first two books in the
Texas Legends: The McCabes series from Harlequin Western Romance:
The Texas Cowboy’s Baby Rescue
The Texas Cowboy’s Triplets
www.Harlequin.com
The Texas Cowboy’s Quadruplets
by Cathy Gillen Thacker
Chapter One
“So,” the way-too-handsome Chase McCabe drawled in a low, sexy voice, “the boot is finally on the other foot.”
Mitzy Martin stared at the indomitable CEO standing on the other side of her front door, looking more rancher than businessman, in nice-fitting jeans, boots and tan Western shirt. Ignoring the sudden skittering of her heart, she heaved a dramatic sigh meant to convey just how unwelcome he was. “What’s your point, cowboy?” she demanded impatiently.
Mischief gleaming in his smoky-blue eyes, Chase poked the brim of his hat back and looked her up and down in a way that made her insides flutter all the more. “Just that you’ve been a social worker for Laramie County
Department of Children and Family Services for whatten years now?”
Electricity sparked between them with all the danger and unpredictability of a downed power line. “Eleven,” Mitzy corrected, doing her best to ignore the impressive amount of testosterone and take-charge attitude he exuded beneath his amiable demeanor.
And it had been slightly less than that since she had abruptly ended their engagement
“And in all that time, my guess is, very few people have been happy to see you coming up their front walk. Now you seem to be feeling the very same disinclination,” he continued with an ornery grin, angling a thumb at the center of his masculine chest, “seeing me at your door.”
Leave him to point out the almost unbearable irony in that! Mitzy drew a breath, ignoring the considerable physical awareness that never failed to materialize between them. No matter how vigilantly she worked to avoid him.
She remained in the portal, blocking his entrance. And gave him a long level look that let him know he was not going to get to herno matter how hard he tried. Even if his square jaw and chiseled features, thick, short sandy-brown hair and incredibly buff physique were permanently imprinted on her brain. “There’s a difference, Chase.” She smiled sweetly, tipping her head up to accommodate his six-foot-three-inch frame. “When people get to know me and realize I’m there to help, they usually become quite warm and friendly.”
“Well, what do you know!” He surveyed her pleasantly in return. “That’s exactly what I hope will happen between you and me. Now that we’re older and wiser, that is.”
Twins Bridgett and Bess Monroe, there to assist with her two-month-old quadruplets, appeared behind her. “Hey, Chase.” Bridgett grinned.
“Here to talk business, I bet?” Bess added, a matchmaker’s gleam in her eye.
He nodded, ornery as ever. “I am.”
Mitzy glared. She and Chase had crashed and burned once—spectacularly. There was no way she was doing it again. She folded her arms in front of her militantly. “Well, I’m not.”
He stepped closer, deliberately invading her personal space, inundating her with his wildly intoxicating masculine scent. “Mitzy, come on. You’ve been ducking my calls and messages for weeks now.”
So what? She gave him her most unwelcoming glance. “I know it’s hard for a carefree bachelor like you to understand, but I’ve been ‘a little busy’ since giving birth to four boys.”
He shrugged right back, meeting her word for cavalier word. “Word around town is you’ve had plenty of volunteer help. Plus the high-end nannies your mother sent from Dallas.”
Mitzy groaned and clapped a hand across her forehead. “Don’t remind me,” she muttered miserably.
The sympathy on his face matched his low, commiserating tone. “Didn’t work out?”
“No,” she bit out, “they didn’t.” Mostly because they had been even more ostentatious—and intrusive—than her mom. Telling her how things should be, instead of asking her how she wanted them to be. “Just like this lobbying effort on your part won’t work, either.”
“I know you’d rather not do business with me, Mitzy,” he said, even more gently. “But at least hear me out.”
Silence fell between them, as fragile as the still-shattered pieces of her heart. He rocked forward on his toes and lowered his face to hers. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think it were crucial.”
Mitzy caught her breath at the unexpected reminder of what it had been like to kiss him. Or how much the reckless side of her wanted to do so again.
Just to see
“You could use a break,” Bess pointed out.
Bridgett, who’d recently found her own happily-ever-after with Chase’s older brother, Cullen, agreed. “And you may as well get this talk over with. If—” she paused heavily “—that’s all it is.”
That’s all it could be, Mitzy told herself bluntly. Since there was no way she was opening up her heart to this impossibly sexy cowboy CEO again. “Fine.” She ducked inside long enough to grab a fleece to ward off the chill of the November afternoon and hurried back outside. “You’ve got five minutes, Chase, and that is all!”
Five minutes wasn’t much, but it was better than what he’d had in a very long time. Plus, he had promised her late father he’d take care of Mitzy, and her quadruplets, whether she wanted him to or not.
Chase followed Mitzy to the end of the porch on her Craftsman-style home, taking a moment to survey the recent changes in her. The birth of her four sons had given her five-nine body a new voluptuousness. Her thick medium brown hair was still threaded with honey-gold strands, but she’d cut it since he last saw her in town a month ago, and now it just brushed the tops of her shoulders. Her fair skin was lit with the inner glow she’d had since she was pregnant, her delicate features just as elegant as ever, and her lips soft and full and enticingly bare.
Which meant she still favored plain balm over lipstick. A fact he had always liked
She bypassed the chain-hung swing and settled instead on a wicker chair. Acutely aware of how hard this was going to be for her to hear, he removed his hat, set it aside and took the seat kitty-corner from her.
Resisting the urge to take her small hand in his, he leaned toward her, hands knotted between his spread knees. Looked her in the eye and got straight to the point. “Word on the street is that Martin Custom Saddle is in big trouble financially.”
Anger flared between them, even as her long-lashed aquamarine eyes widened in surprise. “I think—as CEO—that I would know if that was the case.”
She certainly should have, Chase thought reprovingly. “Have you been there recently?”
Mitzy straightened. “I’ve been in touch with Buck Phillips—the chief operating officer—at least once a week.”
Chase focused on the pretty pink color flooding her face. Matter-of-factly, he ascertained, “But you haven’t actually been to the facility where the saddles are made.”
She ignored his question. Stood, walked a short distance away, then swung back to face him. “What’s your point, Chase?”
He hated to be the bad guy. In this situation, he had no choice. Gently, but firmly, he said, “You can’t simultaneously run MCS—at least not the way your late father would have wished—and be Laramie County’s best social worker. And all the while care for four infants all by your lonesome to boot. No one could.”
Mitzy stalked toward him. “I’m not trying to do all that. I’m on maternity leave from the Department of Family and Child Services for the next ten months. Maybe longer. I haven’t decided yet.” Ignoring the seat close to him, she perched on the porch railing. “And Buck Phillips is running the business side at the saddle company, same as always.”
Noting the way the dark denim hugged her slender thighs, and the swell of her breasts beneath the snug-fitting black fleece top, he rose and ambled toward her. “Are you sure about that?”
“Someone would have told me if there were issues. Financially, or otherwise.”
Unless they were trying to protect her.
Her lower lip slid out in a sexy pout. “The employees there are not just personally invested in the success of the company, they’re like family to me and each other.”
With effort, Chase ignored the urge to kiss her. “It takes more than good intentions to run a company, Mitzy,” he said quietly.
She tilted her chin at him, a myriad of emotions running riot in her pretty eyes. “You don’t think I have it in me?”
He came closer and perched beside her. Bracing his hands on the rail on either side of him, he murmured, “Your father had a passion for saddle making.”
“I know that.”
He knew this would hurt. Still, it had to be said. “And you don’t.”
She gasped, indignant. Hands balled into fists at her sides, she bounded to her feet and swung on him once again. “I don’t need to h
ave that same passion. All I need to do is keep everything exactly the way it was when he was alive, and honor him by carrying on his legacy. And we—the company and all its employees—will be fine!”
Taking charge of a business was a lot more complicated than that. Clearly, though, she wasn’t ready to hear that.
Help my daughter make it through the holidays, Gus Martin had said. The first, after my death, will be the most difficult.
And with Thanksgiving almost upon them
Chase could see Mitzy was struggling. Even if she wouldn’t admit it. He tried again, even more gently this time. “The point is, darlin’, I’m interested in doing that, too.”
Abruptly, Mitzy looked like she wanted to deck him. “Like you did when you worked for my dad? Before he was forced to fire you?”
Of course she would bring up the business crisis that had precipitated the end of their engagement. Their breakup had ripped him up inside. Chase shrugged regretfully. “I admit, I was overly ambitious.”
An even rosier hue flooded her high, sculpted cheeks. “You insulted him and everything he stood for with your plans to turn his artistry into a mass-manufacturing business.”
Chase squinted. “I’m not sure your dad saw it that way.”
You’re meant for bigger things, Chase. You’ll never be happy herewas what Gus had said, when he’d cut him loose.
And Mitzy’s father had been right.
Then.
Chase had since had time to reevaluate and reconfigure his earlier career plan to something much more laudable and practical. But, sensing Mitzy was in no mood to hear that now, if ever, he slowly rolled to his feet. “Regardless of the way I left MCS, I learned a lot from your dad when I worked for him, Mitzy. I also built my own company, McCabe Leather Goods.”
Her expression both contemptuous and resentful, she scoffed, “Yes, I know. It’s the premier provider in the entire Southwest of all sorts of leather products. Everything from boots to saddles to leather interiors on pickup trucks and automobiles. And you did it by buying up lots of little entities and folding them into the one bearing your name!”
Six Weeks to Catch a Cowboy Page 22