Unmasking The Maverick. Teresa Southwick

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СКАЧАТЬ “Unless you ask all of your customers to dinner. Then you’re flirting with a negative cash flow.”

      “Understood,” Brendan told her. “But that’s not what I meant. I don’t want to make long-term plans.”

      “How’s that?” she asked.

      “Because I’m only here temporarily.”

      “Why?” she asked. “You have somewhere better to be?”

      That’s what he was here to figure out.

      * * *

      No matter how many times she reminded herself that Brendan wasn’t staying permanently, Fiona couldn’t tamp down her excitement to see him. Telling herself this wasn’t a date didn’t help, either. For some reason it was how he was taking payment for fixing the tractor.

      And that was where her thought process went off the rails. He wouldn’t accept money but wanted to take her to dinner. Maybe he wanted more than that, but she didn’t think so. If that didn’t go to a girl’s head, she was the Queen of England. The logical conclusion was that he wanted to see her. Alone. Without family.

      And she was stoked.

      She’d even bought a new dress—a hunter green, long-sleeved knit that minimized her curves even as it hugged them. A contradiction that paralleled the coming social occasion she refused to call a date. The dress’s hem teased the top of her new low-heeled, knee-high black leather boots. They were a splurge, but when she got paid for her latest article, her budget would be just fine. Tonight it was important to look like a woman, not a ranch hand.

      She checked out her appearance in the full-length, free-standing mirror in her bedroom, the one she used to share with Fallon and Brenna. There were times, like now, when she missed her sisters being around to tell her whether or not the neckline of this dress was too plain and begged for jewelry. If her hair was too curly, too straight or just right. Did her newly perfected smoky eye make her look like a hooker?

      Brenna would always flop on the bed and give her two cents. You look too prudish. Lower the neckline, shorten the skirt. Show more skin. A little cleavage couldn’t hurt.

      Fiona turned from side to side, studying the way the soft material clung to her breasts. “Make him wonder about what he can’t see,” she told her reflection.

      The first time they met she’d looked like a pig wrestler. Yesterday she’d had time to brush her hair and put on some tinted sunscreen along with sheer lip gloss. Tonight she was going for something between demure and dynamite. Just to show him she could. If only her sisters were here to confirm that she’d pulled it off.

      Fiona glanced at the clock beside her bed and her heart skipped a beat. He would be here soon. There was still time to tone it down if her mother thought she’d gone too far.

      Grabbing her heavy wool shawl and black clutch purse, she headed downstairs, where Maureen O’Reilly was fixing dinner. The kitchen was a big, open room with lots of counter space, a farm sink and a big round oak table with eight chairs. Years ago, when all of them had been under one roof, they’d totaled seven.

      Now, Fallon and Brenna were happily married and sharing living space with their respective husbands. Her older brothers, Ronan and Keegan, had bachelor quarters here on the ranch where they worked. The two showed no sign of settling down and it worked for them. Her mother was thrilled to have them close by.

      Maureen was checking something in the oven, then straightened and turned when she heard Fiona’s footsteps on the wood floor. “Hey, sweetie. You look beautiful. That emergency shopping trip yesterday afternoon really paid off.”

      Fiona looked down at the slightly flared skirt and smoothed her palms over her hips. Unlike Fallon and Brenna, their mother might sugarcoat her opinion.

      “You don’t think it’s too—”

      “It’s not too anything.” She set pot holders on the counter beside the pot simmering on the stove. “Not too dressy, just casual enough.”

      That had been the challenge since Fiona didn’t know where they were going to dinner. “Really?”

      “Yes.”

      The back door opened and in walked her tall, handsome, brown-haired, blue-eyed brothers. Women were drawn to them like dieters to donuts. And both stopped dead in their tracks when they saw her.

      Ronan, the oldest, whistled. “Look at you. Got a hot date?”

      Brendan was hot, but this wasn’t technically a date. “I’m going out.”

      “With who?” Keegan asked.

      “No one you know,” she hedged.

      “How do you know who we know?” her oldest brother challenged her.

      Instead of answering, Fiona blew out a breath and met her mother’s gaze. “Why are they here?”

      “It’s pot roast night,” Keegan said, as if that explained why these two, who often fended for themselves, had shown up for dinner.

      “So what?” She knew she sounded like a ten-year-old, but it couldn’t be helped. The knuckleheads would not help get her to a Zen place before Brendan showed up. In fact, they’d do just the opposite. “Mom could fix pheasant under glass and the two of you couldn’t be counted on to put in an appearance.”

      “Are we unreliable?” Ronan asked his mother.

      “Yes.”

      He walked over and affectionately slid his arm across her shoulders. “Am I still your favorite?”

      “I do not have favorites where my children are concerned. I can, however, confirm that you are still the oldest of five.”

      “And Fiona is the oldest girl.” There was a teasing gleam in Keegan’s eyes that women seemed to find adorable, if Rust Creek Falls gossip was anything to go by. “She’s the only one of my sisters still here for dinner. Oh, wait, she’s wearing a dress. The world has gone crazy.”

      “I’ve changed my mind—” she started to say before Keegan interrupted her.

      “Along with your tomboy look.”

      “It’s official,” she said. “Brenna isn’t the dramatic one. You are.”

      “I’m Irish.” Keegan grinned. He was awfully cute when he did that. “Drama is a badge of honor.”

      “And so is being good with words,” Ronan pointed out. “Which you are, sis. You’ve verbally danced around the question of who you are going out with. Now, fess up. Who did you put on a pretty new dress for tonight?”

      “What are you? The fashion police? You don’t know that it’s new.” Since when did he get hit with the observant stick?

      “You’re deflecting again,” he countered. “This could be serious.”

      “Or, to say it a different way,” Keegan chimed in, “what poor, unsuspecting guy are you trying to snag?”

      “That’s СКАЧАТЬ