Harlequin American Romance November 2014 Box Set: The SEAL's Holiday Babies\The Texan's Christmas\Cowboy for Hire\The Cowboy's Christmas Gift (37 page)

Finn had every intention of giving her a flippant answer, but there was something in her eyes, something that had him skidding to a grinding halt and reassessing not just his answer, but a hell of a lot of other things, as well. Things that had nothing to do with tools and construction.

The woman on the stool before him probably had no idea that she had the kind of eyes that seemed to peer into a man's soul while making him reevaluate everything that had happened in his life up to this singular moment in time.

A beat went by before he realized that she was still waiting for him to respond.

“Yes,” he answered quietly, his eyes on hers. He found he couldn't look away even if he wanted to—which he didn't. “You do,” he added in the same quiet tone.

Despite the surrounding din, his voice managed to undulate along her skin and lodge itself directly beneath it.

It took Connie more than a full second to come to, then another full second to find her voice and another one after that to realize that her mouth and throat had gone bone-dry. If she said more than a couple of words, they could come out in a comical croak, thereby negating whatever serious, or semiserious thing she was about to say.

Taking the drink that was on the bar before her, she emptied the glass in an effort to restore her voice to its initial working order. Tears suddenly gathered in her eyes as flames coasted through her veins. She'd forgotten her glass contained whiskey, not something less potent.

“Good,” she managed to say without the word sticking to the roof of her mouth. Taking a breath, she willed herself to be steady and then completed her sentence. Nothing could interfere with work. She wouldn't allow it to. “Because I have just the position for you.”

Most likely not the same position I have in mind for you.

The thought, materializing out of nowhere, took Finn completely by surprise. He was extremely grateful that the words hadn't come out of his mouth. It wasn't his intention to embarrass either himself or the young woman.

But he found that he was having trouble banishing the thought out of his head. The image seemed to be all but burned into his brain. An image that was suddenly making him feel exceedingly warm.

Finn focused on the hotel she had been talking about. This represented the first move toward progress that had been made in Forever in quite some time.

“What kind of a position?” he asked her out loud, rubbing perhaps a bit too hard at a spot on the bar's counter.

“Is there someplace we can talk?” she asked him.

Finn thought of the room that was just above the saloon. Initially, their uncle Patrick had lived there when he'd owned and operated
Murphy's.
On his passing, it had been just an extra room that all three of them had sporadically availed themselves of if the occasion warranted it. Currently, however, Brett's fiancée was staying there, but only when she wasn't working—or staying with Brett at the ranch. The clinic was still open, which meant that the room would be empty.

But Finn didn't feel comfortable just commandeering it—besides, Brett would undoubtedly have his head if he found out.

The next moment, Finn felt he had come up with a viable alternative. “Have you had dinner yet?” he asked the woman.

“No.” She had been so worked up about this project, so eager to get it going, that she had completely forgotten about eating.

“Then I know just the place we can talk. Brett,” Finn called, turning toward his brother. “I'm taking my break now.”

Motivated by his interest in anything that had an effect on the town, Brett had discreetly listened in on the conversation between Finn and this woman. He appeared mildly amused at his brother's choice of words. “You planning on being back in fifteen minutes?”

“A couple of breaks, then—plus my dinner break,” Finn added for good measure.

“You already took that, don't you remember?” Brett deadpanned.

“Then my breakfast break,” Finn shot back, exasperated.

Brett inclined his head. “That should work,” he told Finn. “Just don't forget to come back,” he called after his brother as Finn made his way around the bar.

Escorting the woman through the throng of patrons, most of whom were now keenly interested in what this newcomer to their town had to offer, Finn waved a hand over his head. This signified to Brett that he had heard him and was going to comply—eventually.

“Where are we going?” Connie asked once they made it through the front door.

“To dinner,” Finn repeated.

“And that would be—?”

Finn grinned. “At Miss Joan's,” he answered.

“Miss Joan's?” she repeated. The name meant nothing to her.

“The diner,” Finn prompted. “It's the only restaurant in town.”

For now,
Connie corrected silently. Plans for the hotel included a restaurant on the premises.

But for the time being, she thought it best to keep that to herself.

Chapter Four

Since she had already ascertained that it was the only so-called restaurant in town, Connie had initially intended on checking the diner out after she left
Murphy's.
But seeing the cowboy who had, she admitted—although strictly to herself—taken her breath away—both because of his craftsmanship
and
his physique—she'd temporarily lost sight of the plan she'd laid out for herself to round out her first day in Forever.

The bartending cowboy opened the door for her and she stepped into the diner. Connie scanned the area, only to discover that everyone in the diner was looking right back at her.

Before taking another step, she unconsciously squared her shoulders.

Inside the brash, confident young woman who faced down all sorts of obstacles, beat the heart of a shy, young girl, the one whose father had always made her feel, through his words and through his actions, that she wasn't good enough. That she couldn't seem to measure up to the standards he had set down before her.

Even though he had told her, time and again, that she was a source of constant disappointment to him, Calvin Carmichael had insisted that, from the relatively young age of fourteen, his only daughter replace her late mother and act as a hostess at the parties that he threw for his business associates.

It was while acting as hostess at those very same parties that she developed her polish and her poise—at least on the surface. Only her father knew how to chip away at that veneer to get to the frightened little girl who existed just beneath that carefully crafted surface.

To be fair, her father had been just as demanding of her brother, Conrad. But Conrad had been far more rebellious than she ever was. He absolutely refused to be bullied and left home for parts unknown the moment that he turned eighteen.

She would have given
anything
to go with him, but she was only fourteen at the time, and Conrad had enough to do, looking after himself. He couldn't take on the burden of being responsible for a child, as well.

At least that was what she had told herself when he'd left without her.

So Connie resigned herself to remaining in her father's world, desperately treading water, determined to survive as best she could. Not only surviving, but vowing to one day make her father realize how wrong he'd been about her all along. It was the one thing that had kept her going all this time.

The
only
thing.

Was it her imagination, or were the occupants of the diner looking at her as if she were some sort of an unknown entity?

She inclined her head in her companion's direction, lowering her voice to a whisper. “You weren't kidding about not many tourists passing through this town. These people really aren't used to seeing strangers walking their streets, are they?”

Finn's mouth curved ever so slightly. “Forever's not exactly on the beaten path to anywhere,” he pointed out. Although, even if Forever was a regular bustling hotbed of activity, he could see this woman still turning heads wherever she went.

“That's becoming pretty clear,” Connie whispered to him.

“Been wondering when you'd finally step in here,” the thin, older woman with the somewhat overly vibrant red hair said as she sidled up to the couple to greet them. “What'll it be for you and your friend here, Finn?” she asked, nodding her head toward the other woman. “Table or counter?”

Connie was about to answer “Counter,” but the man the hostess had referred to as “Finn” answered the question first.

“Table.”

The woman nodded. “Table it is. You're in luck. We've got one table left right over here.” So saying, the redhead led them over to a table near the kitchen. There was only one problem, as Connie saw it. There was a man still sitting at it.

Connie regarded the other woman. “But it's occupied,” she protested. Did the woman think they were going to join the man?

The woman appeared unfazed. “Hal here finished his dinner,” she explained, indicating the table's lone occupant. “He's just a might slow in getting to his feet, aren't you, Hal?” she said, giving her customer exactly ten seconds of her attention. Then she looked around for the closest waitress and summoned her. “Dora.” She beckoned the young blonde over. “Clear the table for Finn and his friend, please.” She offered the couple just a hint of a smile. “I'll be back to get your orders in a few minutes. Sit, take a load off,” she encouraged, patting Connie on the shoulder. And then she added, “Relax,” and turned the single word into a strict command.

Dora was quick to pick up and clear away the empty dinner plate from the table. Within two minutes, Dora retreated, and Connie realized that she and the cowboy were left alone with their menus.

Connie was only mildly interested in glancing over the menu and that was purely out of a curiosity about the locals' eating preferences. As always, eating, for Connie, took a backseat to orientation.

She decided to begin with the very basics. Names. Specially, his name. “That woman, the one with the red hair, she called you Finn.”

“That's because she knows my name,” he replied simply. Finn had a question of his own to ask her. “But I don't know yours.”

“I didn't tell you?” The omission on her part surprised her. She'd gotten so caught up in getting her operation set up and hopefully rolling soon in this tiny postage-stamp-size town that common, everyday details had slipped her mind.

“You didn't tell me,” Finn confirmed, then added with yet another, even more appealing hint of a smile, “I'm not old enough to be forgetful yet.”

Not by a long shot,
Connie caught herself thinking. Just for a moment, she got lost in the man's warm, incredibly inviting smile.

Get back on track, Con. Drooling over the employees isn't going to get this project done—and it just might mess everything all up.

One way or another, she'd been lobbying her father for a chance to show her stuff for a while. Now that she finally had it, she was
not
about to allow something as unpredictable as hormones betray her.

“My name is Constance Carmichael,” she told him, putting out her hand.

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Carmichael.” Her hand felt soft, almost delicate in his, he couldn't help thinking. His hand all but swallowed hers up. “I'm Finn Murphy.”

“Like the bar?” she asked, trying to fit two more pieces together.

“Like the bar,” he confirmed.

“My father's Calvin Carmichael,” Connie added.

She was accustomed to seeing instant recognition whenever she mentioned her father's name. The second she did, a light would come into people's eyes.

There was no such light in the bartending cowboy's eyes. It prompted her to say, “He founded Carmichael Construction Corporation.”

Still nothing.

Finn lifted his broad shoulders in a self-deprecating shrug and apologized. “Sorry, 'fraid it doesn't ring a bell for me.”

That was when it hit her. “I guess it wouldn't,” Connie said. “The corporation only erects buildings in the larger cities.” The moment she said it, she knew she had made a tactical mistake. The man sitting across the table from her might take her words to be insulting. “I mean—”

Finn raised his hand to stop whatever she might be about to say. “Forever
is
small,” he assured her. “And that leads me to my question for you.”

Her eyes never left his. “Go ahead.”

Having given him the green light, Connie braced herself for whatever was going to be coming her way. Something told her that Finn was one of the key players she would need to solidly win over and keep on her side if she hoped to not only get this project underway, but completed, as well.

“If your dad's company just builds things in big cities, then what are you doing scouting around someplace like Forever?” It didn't make any sense to him. He loved the place, but there wasn't anything exceptional about Forever to make outsiders suddenly sit up and take notice.

It's personal,
Connie thought, silently answering him.

Granted, the man was pretty close to what one of her friends would have termed
drop-dead gorgeous,
but she didn't know a single thing about him other than he was good with his hands and could tend bar, so trusting him with any part of her actual life story would have been beyond foolish, beyond reckless and definitely stupid.

Connie searched around for something neutral to say that would satisfy Finn's curiosity. And then she came up with the perfect response.

“He's branching out,” she told him, then fell back on what had always been a sure-fire tactic: flattery. “Besides, there's a lot of potential in little towns like yours.”

Though he wasn't quite sold, Finn quietly listened to what this stunningly attractive woman had to say. For now, he'd allow her to think he'd accepted her flimsy explanation. Since she was obviously sticking around, he figured that eventually, he'd find out just what part of what she had said was the truth.

Miss Joan picked that moment to all but materialize out of nowhere, a well-worn pad held poised in her hand. “So, you two ready to order yet?” she asked them.

Finn had barely glanced at the menu, but then, he didn't really have to. His favorite meal was a permanent fixture on the second page.

“I am,” he told Miss Joan, “but I don't think that Ms. Carmichael's had a chance to look at the menu just yet.”

Rather than go with the excuse that Finn had just provided her with, Connie placed her menu on top of his and told the woman, “I'll just have whatever he's having.”

“How do you know it's any good?” Finn challenged, mildly surprised by her choice. “Or that you'll like it?”

“I'm a quick judge of character, and you wouldn't order anything that was too filling, or bad for you. You told your brother that you were coming back to work the rest of your shift. That means that you can't be too full or you'll get drowsy,” she concluded. “Besides, I'm not very fussy.”

Miss Joan smiled in approval, then nodded toward her as she said to Finn, “This one's smart. Might want to keep her hanging around for a bit. Okay, boy,” Miss Joan said, shifting gears when she saw the slight change of color in Finn's complexion, “what'll it be?”

Finn placed his order, asking for a no-frills burger and a small order of home fries, along with some iced coffee. Miss Joan duly noted his order, then murmured, “Times two,” before she glanced over toward Finn's companion. She waited for the young woman to change her mind.

She didn't.

About to leave, Miss Joan turned abruptly and looked at Finn's tablemate. “Ms. Carmichael,” she repeated thoughtfully.

“Yes?” Connie considered the older woman, not quite knowing what to expect.

The light of recognition came into Miss Joan's sharp, amber eyes. “Your daddy wouldn't be Calvin C. Carmichael now, would he?”

“You know my father?”

She would have expected the bartender and the people around his age to know who her father was. Since he apparently didn't, she felt it was a given that someone around this woman's age—someone she assumed had been born here and most likely would die here—would have never even
heard
of her father.

“Mostly by reputation,” Miss Joan admitted. She thought back for a moment. “Although I did meet the man once a long time ago. He was just starting out then,” she recalled. And then her smile broadened. “He was a pistol, all right. Confident as all get-out, wasn't about to let anything or anyone stop him.” Miss Joan nodded to herself as more facts came back to her. “He was bound and determined to build himself an empire. From what I hear now and again, he did pretty much that.”

Rather than wait for any sort of a comment or a confirmation from Finn's companion, Miss Joan asked another question, a fond smile curving her mouth. “How's your mother doing?”

“She died a little over twelve years ago,” Connie answered without missing a single beat, without indicating that the unexpected reference to her mother felt as if she had just been shot point-blank in her chest. Twelve years, and the wound was still fresh.

Usually, she had some sort of an inkling, a forewarning that the conversation was going to turn toward a question about or a reference to her mother. In that case, Connie was able to properly brace herself for the sharp slash of pain that always accompanied any mention of her mother. But this had been like a shot in the dark, catching her completely off guard and totally unprepared and unprotected.

Sympathy flowed through Miss Joan and instantly transformed and softened the woman's features.

“Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that, dear.” She placed a comforting hand on the younger woman's shoulder. “As I recall, she was a lovely, lovely woman. A real lady,” she added with genuine feeling. Dropping her hand, Miss Joan began to withdraw. “I'll get that order for you now,” she promised as she took her leave.

The woman sitting opposite him appeared to be trying very hard to shut down, Finn thought. He was more than familiar with that sort of reflexive action, building up high walls so that any pain attached to the loss was minimized—or as diminished as it could be, given the circumstances.

“I'm sorry about that,” Finn said to her the moment they were alone again. “Miss Joan doesn't mean to come on as if she's prying. Most of the time, she just has a knack for getting to the heart of things,” he told her gently.

“Nothing to apologize for,” Connie answered, shaking off both his words and the feeling the older woman's question had generated. “The woman—Miss Joan, is it?” she asked. When Finn nodded, Connie went on. “Miss Joan was just making idle conversation.”

Her mouth curved just a little as she allowed herself a bittersweet moment to remember. But remembering details, at times, was becoming harder and harder to do.