To a Macallister Born

by Joan Elliott Pickart

  After reading one sentence, the image of the stranger who had stood in front of her house that morning superimposed itself over the words on the page.

  “Darn you,” she said, snapping the book closed. “Would you just go away and leave me alone?”

  She sighed and shook her head as she set the book next to her, then stared into the leaping flames of the fire.

  The anticipated, carefree day with Joey had been a disaster. Everywhere the two of them had gone, she found herself looking for that man, while at the same time registering excitement and fear.

  The stranger had haunted her through the seemingly endless hours of the day. And with the thoughts of him came the disturbing remembrance of the rush of heated desire that had suffused her when he’d smiled.

  “Oh-h-h, I’m driving myself crazy,” Jennifer said aloud, throwing up her hands.

  Okay, enough of this, she admonished herself. She was getting a grip right now. She’d analyze this bizarre behavior of hers, figure out why she was acting so unlike her norm, then be done with it.

  “Fine,” she said, tapping one fingertip against her chin. “Wait…a…minute. Of course. That’s it.”

  She was the victim of a series of events that had taken place in rapid succession.

  First, she’d attended the beautiful wedding of her dear friends, Ben and Megan, who were obviously deeply in love.

  While she had neither the intention nor the desire to remarry, the romantic event had no doubt poked a bit at her subconscious and emphasized the lack of a special man in her life—even though she didn’t want one…

  Second, she’d caught the wedding bouquet, and had been surrounded by people declaring over and over that she would soon fall in love and be the next bride.

  Third, Joey had expressed his sadness over not having a father, which had made her heart ache for her son.

  If one added up all those events that centered on romance, love, a husband, a daddy that Joey wouldn’t have to give back…well, it was no wonder she’d overreacted the very next time a handsome man directed a smile at her.

  Thank goodness, she’d figured it out. She felt so much better. It was amazing what a little inner dialogue could do to get a person squared away.

  With a decisive nod, Jennifer picked up the book, found her place on the marked page and began to read.

  Just before four o’clock the next afternoon, Jennifer entered Hamilton House, the hotel where she was manager of the dining room.

  The beautiful building had been completely restored by her childhood friend Brandon Hamilton, after he’d dropped out of the fast lane in New York and returned to his roots in Prescott.

  The large lobby was exquisite, transporting a person back to the turn of the 19th century. The Victorian furnishings, the original cabbage-rose carpeting, the gleaming piano by the front windows—everything was perfect.

  Along the far wall was a simulated old-fashioned, cobblestone street, complete with lampposts to light the way. Open-fronted specialty shops beckoned to be explored.

  One of the shops, Sleeping Beauty, offered feminine apparel and luscious bath accessories. The store was a smaller version of the one in Phoenix that was owned by Taylor Sinclair’s wife, Janice.

  Jennifer waved at Ryan, who was on duty behind the reception desk, then headed down the hallway that led to the dining room.

  For the next hour, Jennifer was busy as she checked the reservation book for the evening ahead, spoke with the dinner and pastry chefs, reviewed and approved an order the wine steward wished to place, and conferred with the manager of housekeeping regarding the condition of the high-quality, linen tablecloths and napkins that were used in the dining room.

  At five o’clock she was at her post behind the podium by the doors, ready to welcome the first guests arriving for dinner.

  The flow of patrons moving in and out kept her bustling back and forth as she sat the guests at their tables and presented them with oversize menus.

  A little after seven o’clock, Jennifer returned to the podium yet again, then smiled automatically as the doors to the dining room opened.

  And then she stopped breathing.

  Her smile disappeared, her eyes widened and her heart began to beat in a wild tattoo.

  It was him, she thought frantically. The man. He was now beyond magnificent, in a dark blue sport coat over a white shirt and blue tie, and gray slacks. But it was most definitely him.

  The stranger who had stood on the sidewalk in front of her house and might very well have decided on the best method to break in.

  The man who had smiled at her, causing a desire to swirl within her, and who had haunted her thoughts ever since.

  Dear heaven, what was he doing here? Had he followed her? Was she the reason he had studied her house? Was she being stalked by a raving lunatic?

  Jennifer looked quickly around the room. What should she do? Scream at the top of her lungs? Grab the receiver to the telephone on the podium and call Sheriff Montana?

  No, no, she had to calm down. She was surrounded by people, was safe…for the moment, at least. She’d just bluff her way through this until she could formulate a sensible plan.

  “Good evening,” she said to the man, unable to produce even the smallest smile. “May I help you?”

  Jack MacAllister walked slowly toward the podium, his gaze riveted on the woman who had spoken to him.

  It was her, he thought incredulously. The beautiful lady in the window of the intriguing Victorian house.

  The woman who had not been far from his mental vision ever since he’d seen her yesterday morning as he’d stood on the sidewalk in front of her home.

  She was even more lovely up close. Her eyes were green—incredibly green, and her hair was a silken tumble of strawberry-blond waves to just above her shoulders. Her features were delicate, her lips made for kissing. What he could see of the pale green dress she was wearing gave hint of lush breasts beneath the soft material.

  And for some unknown reason, she was staring at him as though she expected him to leap over the podium and strangle her with his bare hands.

  All he had done was walk into the dining room of the hotel, but, heaven only knew why, he was scaring this breathtaking feminine creature to death.

  He’d never caused that kind of reaction in a woman before.

  “Good evening,” he said, stopping in front of the podium and producing his best, hundred-watt smile. “I apologize if I startled you when I opened the doors.”

  “Startled me?” she said, more in the form of a squeak.

  “Well, yes—I mean, you look rather…fright-ened.”

  “Frightened?” She splayed one hand on her breasts. “Me?”

  “Look,” Jack said, frowning as he extended one hand toward her, “I don’t know what I did to—”

  She took a step backward. “Don’t come any closer. I might appear frightened, but I’m not. No, sir, not one little bit. I’m wise to you, mister. I have a great many friends in this town, including the sheriff, and you’ll never get away with it—not in a million years.”

  “Huh?”

  She glanced quickly around the room. “Just—just…” She flapped one hand at him. “Shuffle off to Buffalo. Get out of Dodge. Give up on whatever your diabolical scheme is before you end up in the clink.”

  “Huh?” Jack said again, totally confused.

  “Hey, there you are,” a deep voice said.

  “Brandon—” Jack and the woman said in unison.

  Brandon Hamilton strode to the podium. “Jennifer, I’d like you to meet Jack MacAllister, a good buddy of mine. Jack, this lovely lady and I have been friends since before we could walk and talk. This is Jennifer Mackane.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Mackane,” Jack said, grinning.

  Chapter Two

  Before Jennifer was forced to respond to Jack MacAllister’s greeting, the dining room doors once again opened.

  When she saw Brandon’s wife, Andrea, and his great-aun
ts, twin sisters Prudence and Charity, enter the room, she nearly flung herself at them for a group hug.

  “Hi,” she said weakly, then snatched up a pile of menus. “Your table is ready. Let’s go.” She shook her head slightly. “I mean, would you follow me, please?”

  Rushing from behind the podium, she bumped smack-dab into Jack, and the menus went flying in all directions.

  “Oh, I’m terribly sorry, Mr. MacAllister,” Jennifer said, not looking directly at him. “My, my, clumsy me. I’ll just pick these up and—Brandon, you have the corner table by the windows. I’ll be with you in just a second.”

  Jennifer squatted to collect the scattered menus, only to have Jack hunker down next to her and retrieve two of them.

  “I’ll give you a hand,” he said.

  Jennifer’s head snapped up, and she found herself only inches from Jack. He was looking directly at her, a small smile on his lips.

  Chocolate fudge sauce, she thought. That was the color of Jack MacAllister’s eyes. Delicious, chocolate fudge sauce. Good grief, he was handsome—so ruggedly male, as though his features had been chiseled from rough stone.

  There were tiny lines by his eyes, and she guessed he was maybe thirty-five or thirty-six. His hair was thick, an auburn shade reminding her of a glossy Irish setter.

  His nose was straight, his jaw square, his lips masculine but soft, as though waiting for a kiss….

  Jennifer, get a grip, she ordered herself, averting her eyes from Jack’s. There was that heat again, that damnable heat, swirling low within her, pulsing, causing a warm flush to stain her cheeks.

  Jennifer stood, clutching the menus to her chest. Jack rose and offered two more to her.

  “Thank you,” she said, nearly snatching them out of his hand. “Brandon, why are you still here? I thought you were going over to your table.”

  “We will, sweetie pie,” Aunt Charity said, “just as soon as we figure out what in the blue blazes is the matter with you.”

  “Yes, dear,” Aunt Prudence said. “You do seem a teeny bit flustered this evening. Is something wrong?”

  Jennifer looked at the elderly aunts. Although they were twins, their mirror image was the only similar thing about them.

  Aunt Prudence was wearing a sedate gray dress with a high neck and long sleeves. Aunt Charity was decked out in yards of royal blue taffeta, the dress reminiscent of a turn-of-the-19th-century dance hall costume.

  Andrea was standing next to tall, dark and handsome Brandon. Her maternity dress was peach, which accentuated her lovely, silky dark hair. She had an expression of concern on her pretty face.

  “I’m fine,” Jennifer said, producing a passable smile. “I just overreacted to something I shouldn’t have overreacted to, that’s all. My imagination got the better of me and…I’m fine now.”

  “Hold it,” Jack said, snapping his fingers. “The lightbulb just went on over my head. You saw me on the sidewalk in front of your house yesterday morning. Staring at your home. Casing the place, one might think. Am I getting this straight? Then I showed up here, and that scared the bejesus out of you. Right?”

  Jennifer lifted her chin. “That’s correct, Mr. MacAllister. Your behavior unsettled me. I apologize for…” She frowned. “No, I don’t. I had just cause to question your intentions.”

  “You betcha,” Aunt Charity said. “There was a stranger gawking at your house, for mercy’s sake. That would shake up any single, unmarried, unattached, not-even-dating-anyone woman who has a little boy to protect.”

  “Thank you for sharing, Aunt Charity,” Jack said, smiling at her.

  “Just stating the facts, hotshot,” Aunt Charity said, obviously pleased with herself.

  Jennifer closed her eyes for a moment and squeezed the bridge of her nose as she drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then she raised her head and forced a smile into place.

  “Welcome to the dining room of Hamilton House,” she said, looking at a spot above the assembled group. “May I show you to your table?”

  Jack chuckled. “Why certainly, Ms. Mackane. Do lead on.”

  “Call her Jennifer,” Aunt Charity said. “She’s a member of our family, and so are you now, Jack. Jennifer, call Jack…Jack.”

  “That’s Jack MacAllister,” he said, grinning at Jennifer. “Not Jack the Ripper.”

  “Mmm,” she said, glaring at him.

  Jennifer marched across the room to the designated table. When the others joined her, she shoved the stack of menus at Brandon, who grabbed them before they fell to the floor again.

  “Enjoy your dinner,” Jennifer said, then hurried away.

  Everyone settled into their chairs, and Brandon passed out the menus.

  “MacAllister,” Brandon said, laughing, “you’ve only been in town a couple of days and you’ve already caused trouble. New York City is probably celebrating your permanent departure, and the citizens of Ventura, California, are shaking in their shorts.”

  “Hey, I’m innocent,” Jack said. “All I was doing was admiring a dynamite example of historical architecture—which is badly in need of some tender lovin’ care, by the way. I didn’t intend to shake up the lovely Jennifer. She sure has a temper to go along with that red hair of hers.”

  “She’s a handful, all right,” Aunt Charity said, peering at her menu. “Has been ever since she was a little girl. It would take a very special man to be a match for our Jennifer.”

  “And a father for Joey,” Aunt Prudence said.

  “I assume Jennifer is divorced,” Jack said.

  “No, dear,” Aunt Prudence said. “She’s a widow. Her Joe was killed in a construction accident a week before Joey was born. Jennifer returned to Prescott to raise her son. Her parents relocated to Phoenix shortly thereafter due to Jennifer’s mother having severe arthritis. Jennifer is living in their family home.”

  “It’s a lovely house,” Andrea said, “but it’s an awful lot for Jennifer to keep up, I’m afraid.”

  “I see,” Jack said slowly. “How old is Joey?”

  “Five,” Aunt Charity said. “He’s cute as a button. Looks just like his mama.”

  Jack frowned. “That’s a good many years to mourn a man, no matter how great he might have been. Aren’t there any eligible bachelors in this town?”

  “Oodles,” Aunt Charity said. “Jennifer seems determined never to remarry. Heaven knows, we’ve done our darndest to fix her up with the cream of the crop around here.” She paused. “Maybe we should leap into action again, Pru. After all, Jennifer did catch Megan’s bouquet at the wedding.”

  “Indeed, she did,” Pru said, smiling.

  “Oh, man, here we go again,” Brandon said, chuckling. “Poor Jennifer.”

  “Sounds to me like the lady knows her own mind,” Jack said. “She likes being single. End of story. The same holds true of me. All the matchmaking in the world wouldn’t get me to change my stand on the issue. I’m a bachelor and intend to remain one.”

  “Wanna bet, big boy?” Aunt Charity said, leaning toward him.

  “You’d better shut up, MacAllister,” Brandon said, shaking his head. “Aunt Charity and Aunt Pru are pros at this matchmaking bit. I was a confirmed bachelor, too, remember?”

  “And so was Ben,” Andrea said, smiling. “As well as Taylor.”

  “Yep,” Brandon said, nodding. “And now we’re all married. Don’t get too mouthy on the issue, Jack. You never know what the future holds.”

  “I know what it holds for me on the subject of marriage,” Jack said. “It ain’t gonna happen.”

  “Yes, dear,” Aunt Pru said, patting his hand. “We hear you.”

  “Ah, how the mighty will fall,” Andrea said, smiling. “You did tell us the fascinating tale of the baby bet business that took place within the MacAllister clan, Jack. Your cousin, Forrest, was the reigning champion for eons—then kaboom, he was dethroned, so to speak.”

  “Yep,” Brandon said. “That’s how the story went. The same could hold true for the remaining elig
ible males in a bachelor bet. Look at how many of us have taken the fall.” He glanced quickly at Andrea. “And very happily so, my sweet.”

  “Nice save, Hamilton,” Andrea said, laughing.

  “I’ll be pleased to take your money in a bachelor bet, Brandon.” Jack leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “So would my younger brother, Richard, I imagine. My sister is single, too, if you want to add bachelorettes to the soup.”

  “I want a piece of this action,” Aunt Charity said, rubbing her hands together.

  “I do believe,” Andrea said thoughtfully, “that our new sheriff, Cable Montana, would be in the camp with you and your brother, Jack.”

  “The numbers grow,” Jack said, nodding. “There are simply men in this world who have no intention of marrying…ever.”

  “I know,” Brandon said, grinning at Jack. “I was one of them.”

  Jack flattened his hands on the table and leaned toward Brandon.

  “The difference between us, buddy,” Jack said, “is that I’ll never change my stand on the issue.”

  “Yes, dear,” Aunt Prudence said, smiling sweetly. “So you said.”

  Jack chuckled, sat back again and shook his head.

  “You’re all smiling like Cheshire cats,” he said. “You obviously believe I’m full of hot air. Oh, easy pickings, that’s what you are. Money in my pocket. How long before I can collect this bachelor bet? Do I have to be a hundred and two and still single before you pay up?”

  “We’ll work out the details of that part of the bachelor bet later, big boy,” Aunt Charity said. “Here comes our waitress. Let’s eat. I’m starving to death while I’m sitting here.”

  “So are we,” Andrea said, patting her protruding stomach. “Baby Hamilton is doing gymnastics to let me know she’s hungry.”

  “She? She?” Brandon said, raising his eyebrows. “Have you finally accepted the fact that I’m right? That we’re having a girl? A daughter?”

  “Sure, she has,” Jack said. “I told you that when Forrest finally lost the baby bet, the baton was passed to the daddy-to-be. The fathers have been right every time since. If you say it’s a girl, Brandon, then it’s a girl. Your wife is a smart lady, and realized that the baby bet has proven itself. You’re having a girl.”