Her Favorite Maverick Read online

  He laughed. “They’re used to his wild ideas and schemes. Mostly, we all told him to knock it off, that we could find our own brides when we were damn good and ready. But Dad won’t give up. He’s relentless when he’s got a plan and more often than not, he makes his plans come together, no matter how out-there they might seem at first.”

  What was he telling her, exactly? She shouldn’t even let herself try to figure out what he meant. But she did wonder.

  Would he be going out with the women Viv and Caroline introduced him to? Did he actually expect he would end up married to one of them? He certainly couldn’t mean her. She wasn’t marrying anyone, thank you very much. And Max had made it more than clear that he didn’t want Logan getting too close with the single mom from Falls Mountain Accounting.

  Not that Logan seemed like the kind of guy who did things his father’s way. And the simple fact that he was here, sitting across from her over this perfect meal he’d arranged, well, that said something, didn’t it? He really did seem to like her and her little girl, too.

  And what about those amazing kisses they’d shared—the ones she probably shouldn’t have let happen? Was he going to go from kissing her so thrillingly to taking some other girl out next Friday night?

  He gazed across the table at her, those superfine blue eyes full of humor—and other things, sexy things she also wasn’t going to think about.

  She held out her wineglass and he filled it again. “So, tell me about your life in Seattle.”

  He said he’d gone to the University of Washington and teamed up with college friends to start investing in real estate. The business had grown. He’d scored big with some large commercial properties. “I loved it,” he said. “There’s always something going on in Seattle. The nightlife is great and the work kept me interested. But I missed the wide-open spaces, I guess you could say.”

  “Any serious relationships?” she asked. Because why not? She wanted to know. And after her TMI crying jag at the ranch the other day, she figured she deserved to hear at least a little about his past loves.

  “None,” he said.

  She laughed. “Did you really have to go into so much detail?”

  He lifted one hard shoulder in a half shrug. “Okay, I’ve dated exclusively a few times. But I’ve never been married or engaged, never even lived with a woman.”

  She turned her wineglass slowly by the stem. “So, you’re a player?”

  “Smile when you say that.”

  She raised the wine to her lips and savored its rich taste of earth and dark cherries. “Looks like Viv and Caroline will have their work cut out for them with you.”

  He gazed at her way too steadily. The look in his eyes caused a warm shiver to slide over her skin. “There’s only one girl I’m interested in and I think you know that. I want to be with you, Sarah, and I’m hoping that you’ll realize you like being with me, too.”

  She did realize it. She realized the hell out of it and that didn’t ease her mind one bit—and what was she doing right now?

  Exactly what she shouldn’t be doing, staring at his mouth. Staring at those lips of his and remembering the delicious pleasure of his kiss.

  Blinking, she refocused. Somehow, this meal seemed to be turning into a seduction. She couldn’t allow that.

  But the food was so good and the man across from her so very charming. Plus, as usual, she was exhausted. The delicious wine seemed to be going straight to her head, making her body feel loose and easy, giving everything a sort of hazy glow.

  He asked her about the brushstrokes of different-colored paint on the wall next to the dining-room hutch and in the kitchen and the hallway and the baby’s room, too.

  She explained that she had plans to paint the cottage, to make it bright and cheery and really hers. “Unfortunately,” she admitted with a resigned sigh, “painting my new place is low priority right now. Too many other things come first.”

  “Like?”

  “Making a living and taking care of my baby. I’ve got a million things to do if I ever get a free minute. Starting with sleeping. That would be a thrill.”

  When their plates were empty, Logan granted her a slow smile full of sexy devilment. “Ready for dessert?”

  He insisted on serving her. It was chocolate semifreddo, essentially a frozen mousse. And it was amazing. She ate it slowly, savoring every bite, trying to keep her moans of sheer delight to a minimum.

  When she was done, Logan pushed back his chair. “I’ll clean up and put everything out on the porch, all ready for Mia and Dan to pick up in the morning.” He came to her side of the table and held out a hand to her.

  She stared at that offered hand, a shiver of awareness warming her skin to have him so close. “Oh, no,” she said.

  “Oh, no what?”

  She shifted her gaze up, into his waiting eyes. Really, she felt so good, easy and lazy with the wine and the wonderful food—and what was it she’d been about to say? She blinked and remembered. “You sit back down. I’ll do it.”

  “Give me your hand.” When she hesitated, he took it anyway and pulled her to her feet.

  “Logan, seriously,” she protested. “You provided this amazing dinner. The least I can do is clear the table.”

  “Uh-uh.” He took her by the shoulders and turned her around. “Start walking.”

  “No, really, I—”

  “Straight ahead.” He guided her to the living room sofa, turned her around a second time and then gently pushed her down. “Relax. I’ve got this.” He seemed determined.

  And she was relaxed—more than relaxed. She felt downright lazy. “Go ahead.” She waved him away. “Do all the work.”

  He bent close and pressed his lips to her forehead. “I will.”

  She watched him stride back to the table, admiring the width of his shoulders and his truly stellar behind. Really, did he have to be so good-looking both coming and going?

  “Not fair,” she muttered as her eyelids kept trying to droop shut and her body sagged against the armrest. She grabbed the throw pillow and stuck it under her head.

  What could it hurt to shut her eyes? Not for long, of course. Just for a minute...

  Chapter Four

  Twenty minutes later, Logan had the table cleared, the leftovers transferred to plastic containers and stored in the fridge and everything else stacked and waiting on the front porch, ready for pickup the next day.

  By then, Sarah was completely conked out on the sofa, looking so cute, with her head on a pillow, her lips softly parted, her feet still on the floor.

  She stirred when he knelt to slide off her shoes. “Wha...? Logan?”

  “Shh,” he soothed her. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “Close your eyes.”

  “Hmm...” And she drifted back to dreamland again. He eased her feet up onto the cushions, settled the sofa blanket over her and placed a chaste kiss at her temple.

  Should he grab his jacket and let himself quietly out the door?

  Probably.

  But what fun was that?

  He took the easy chair across from the sofa, hooked one booted foot across the other knee and settled in to watch her sleeping.

  What was it about her? he asked himself for the umpteenth time. He liked her. Too much? Maybe. But she had grit. He admired that. She was beautiful and smart with a wry sense of humor. And every time he kissed her, he wanted more.

  More of the taste of those sweet lips of hers. More of her laughter and more of her sighs. More of all of her.

  It surprised him, his own patience in this never-quite-happening seduction of her that he’d been knocking himself out to orchestrate—so far to minimal success.

  There was just something about her. She gave him...feelings, which was emo and weird for him. But good. Somehow, it didn’t bother him at all, having feelings for Sarah. She was so indep
endent and determined, but so womanly, too. She tried to be tough, but she had a tender heart. He could sit here across from her in the easy chair all night, watching her sleep, wanting to sketch her.

  Logan had always been good at drawing things. Give him a tablet full of paper and a pen or a pencil and he could spend hours doodling pictures of trees, houses, horses—you name it.

  Early on, he’d discovered that women loved a cowboy with a little artistic talent. In high school and later, at UW, he would carry a sketchpad wherever he went. If he saw a woman he admired, he would draw a picture of her, which would get her attention and also bring other women flocking around him. If guys ribbed him about being an artsy-fartsy type, he would just shrug and say it worked great with the girls.

  Nobody needed to know it went deeper. Drawing pictures of the things and the people around him focused him somehow, brought him a sense of peace within himself.

  And he’d just happened to notice that Sarah had a small desk tucked into a corner of her kitchen. Would she be pissed at him if he looked in there for some paper and a pencil?

  He got up to check and found just what he was looking for: a large spiral-bound notebook of unlined white paper. She also had several #2 pencils in the pen drawer, all of them sharpened to perfect points. No surprise there. He could have guessed that Sarah was a woman who kept her pencils sharp. He took two, just in case he broke the lead on one.

  Back in the easy chair, he got down to it, quickly sketching his favorite accountant as she snoozed on the couch. He finished a first attempt of her, head-to-toe, her hands tucked under her chin on the pillow, the bottom half of her covered in the brown-and-white couch blanket that looked good with her hair and that silky shirt she was wearing. He could almost wish he had colored pencils or pastels to capture the colors of her, too.

  He’d just started on a close-up of her face when whiny sounds erupted from the baby monitor on the hutch in the dining alcove.

  “Ahduh. Unh. Ga?” Sophia was awake and if he didn’t do something, Sarah would be, too.

  Pencil and notebook still in hand, he scooped up the monitor as he passed it.

  The door to the baby’s room was shut. He pushed it open. Enough light bled in from the living room for him to see that she’d kicked off her blanket and grabbed hold of her own toes.

  “Maaa?” She’d turned her head to look at him through the slats of her crib.

  Laughing a little at the sight of her with her little hands clutching her feet, he switched on the table lamp and shut the door to mute the noises she was making.

  “Duh,” she said. “Uh?”

  He dropped the pencil and notebook by the lamp, turned off the monitor and put it down on top of the pad.

  Sophia let go of her feet and fisted her hands. She made a sound that was more of a cry than a nonsense word.

  He went to her and scooped her up. “Hey. Hey, it’s okay.”

  Her lower lip was quivering. And then she did start to cry. She smelled like a dirty diaper, which was probably the problem. It couldn’t be that complicated to clean her up, could it?

  The dresser a few feet from the crib had a pad on top and shelves above with stacks of diapers and wipes.

  He could do this.

  Sophia chewed on her hand and looked at him through big, blue tear-wet eyes.

  “It’s okay. We got this,” he promised her as he laid her down on the pad with its soft cotton cover printed with ladybugs and smiling green caterpillars.

  Actually, it wasn’t that difficult. Everything he needed was right there within reach. Sophia whimpered softly up at him as he worked, watching his every move as though she couldn’t quite trust him to know what he was doing.

  He couldn’t blame her for having her doubts. His experience with babies was nil. When Hunter’s little girl, Wren, was born, Logan had been busy making his mark in Seattle real estate. Yeah, he’d gone home to Texas maybe twice while his niece was still a baby. He’d done the classic uncle things—shaking a rattle over her crib, holding her while someone snapped a picture. That was it. Diaper changing never once came into play.

  But he managed it with Sophia well enough. By the time he got her back into her pajamas, she’d stopped fussing.

  He took her in his arms. “What’d I tell you? Stick with me, kid. Ready to go back to bed now?”

  “Unh.” Her lip started quivering all over again.

  Sixty seconds later, she was making soft bleating sounds—not a full-out cry, but he had zero doubt she would get there if he didn’t figure out what she needed very soon. He paced the small room, patting her back, trying to soothe her.

  Maybe she was hungry.

  He hated to open the door. Her cries were bound to wake Sarah—which would be good, wouldn’t it?

  Hell, yeah. Sarah would know what to do.

  But she’d been sleeping so peacefully when he left her. And she really could use a little rest. He didn’t want to disturb her unless there was no other choice.

  Advice from an expert. That was what he needed. Wren’s mom had died shortly after her birth, leaving Hunter to raise his daughter on his own. Hunter had been a hands-on kind of dad.

  As Logan paced the floor and did his best to soothe the baby, he dug his phone from his pocket and attempted to text his brother, which turned out to be a losing game with Sophia squirming in his arms.

  He gave in and punched the call button.

  Hunter answered on the first ring. “Logan. What?” By then, Sophia was steadily fussing. “Is that a baby? What are you doing with a baby?”

  Logan continued to pace the floor and pat the baby as he briefly explained that Sarah was sleeping and he didn’t want Sophia to wake her.

  “Sarah. Sarah Turner, you mean? The woman you hired to set up the ranch accounts?”

  “Right.”

  “You’ve got a thing going on with the accountant? Fast work, big brother.”

  “Hunter, focus. I need some help here. I changed Sophia’s diaper, but she’s still not settling down.”

  “You, of all people. Falling for the bean-counting single mom.” Hunter chuckled.

  “Think you’re pretty funny, huh? The baby’s crying and I need some help here.”

  Hunter got serious. “She could be sleepy.”

  “She was sleeping. She woke up.”

  “Uh, right. How old is she, exactly?”

  “Who? Sarah?”

  “The baby.”

  “Five months?”

  “What? You’re not sure?”

  “I’m sure enough. Five months.”

  “Okay, so I see three options to start. Is she flushed and feverish?”

  Sophia’s cheeks were pink, but that could be from fussing. He felt her little forehead. “I don’t think she has a fever.”

  “She’s probably hungry, then. Or maybe teething.” He said Logan should look in the freezer for a cold teething toy. As for something to eat, he should look for formula and follow the instructions on the packaging. “Or wait. Is Sarah nursing? I know zip about that. Wren was on formula from the first.”

  Was Sarah nursing? Logan didn’t know, and that really bugged him. A guy should know if the woman he couldn’t stop thinking about was nursing. Shouldn’t he? “I’ve never seen her nurse the baby. But bottles. I’ve seen her feed Sophia with those.”

  “Are you in the kitchen? If there’s formula, follow the directions on the packaging.” Hunter added, almost to himself, “Or then again...”

  Logan kept pacing, the phone tucked under his chin so he could use the hand that wasn’t supporting the baby to stroke her back and hold her steady as she squirmed. He really didn’t get what his brother was trying to tell him. “You’re saying that I shouldn’t look for formula, after all?”

  “No. I was just thinking you could look for baby food, too. Sarah might be introduci
ng her to solids at this point.”

  Sophia gave a loud cry that faded into a pained whine. She flopped her head down on Logan’s shoulder with a sad little sigh.

  “Logan? You okay?”

  “Not exactly. If I go in the kitchen, Sarah will probably hear her fussing and wake up. The whole point is for Sarah not to wake up.”

  “Then put the baby in her crib and go to the kitchen without her.”

  “She’s upset. I don’t want to leave her alone.”

  “Yeah, I know. It’s hard when they can’t tell you what’s bothering them. But I don’t know what more to suggest. You’ve already changed her diaper and she doesn’t have a fever. Your best bets are that she’s hungry or teething.”

  “Gotcha. Gotta go.”

  Hunter was wishing him luck as Logan ended the call. He dropped the phone on top of the notebook next to the baby monitor. Then he carried Sophia back to her crib.

  “I’m going to put you in your bed,” he explained, as if she could understand actual words. “And then I will run and see what I can find to make you feel better. I’ll be right back.” He peeled her off his shoulder and gently laid her in the crib.

  She let out a sharp cry and then a longer one, her little face scrunching up, her arms reaching for him.

  “Right back. Promise.” Before he could relent and pick her up again, he got out of there, shutting the door on Sophia’s unhappy cries.

  As he raced by the living room, he noted that at least Sarah was still dead to the world. He really hoped he wouldn’t end up having to wake her.

  In the kitchen, he found powdered formula and some jars of pureed baby food in the cupboard. There were also a couple of plastic baby toys in the freezer. He decided to try the frozen toy pretzel first. Grabbing it, he rushed back to the baby’s room, where Sophia was miserable, wailing now, her face scrunched up, beet red. He slid in and quickly shut the door behind him.

  She continued to cry and he felt terrible. If the teething toy didn’t work, he would have to get Sarah.

  “It’s okay. I’m here.” Her crying stopped when he picked her up, but then started in again. “Come on. Try this.” He touched the pretzel to her lips and a miracle happened. She took it in her mouth and even grabbed hold of it with her little hand.