The Cowboy's Twin Surprise

Who would contribute that kind of money to her fledgling catering business? Using her fingers, she expanded the screen to better read the name. Spencer Bohanan! No flipping way.

She was going to strangle him. No, wait. First she was going to give him a piece of her very angry mind, then strangle him. How dare he? This wasn’t the least bit funny. In fact, it was mean. A terrible, humorless, tasteless joke.

Not caring about Tia Maria or the new manager/nephew or even her job, she marched over to the table where Spence still sat with her sisters.

Shoving her phone in his face, she stated, “I’m not amused.”

He leaned back to put more than two inches between himself and the phone and read the screen. “Wow. That came through fast.”

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m contributing to your catering business.” He grinned. “Isn’t that the point of a crowd-funding campaign?”

Frankie paid no attention to her sisters, who watched slack-jawed as if witnessing an impending catastrophe. “You don’t have ten thousand dollars.”

“The donation wouldn’t have gone through if I didn’t.”

Wha... Wait. That was true. Frankie remembered reading the terms and conditions. All donations were guaranteed by credit card or an online payment system. Spence couldn’t have donated a single cent unless he actually had it—or a substantial limit on his credit card.

“I refuse to let you go into debt simply to prove a point,” she snapped.

“First off, I won’t go into debt. I have the money, and a fair amount more where that came from. Second, I’m not trying to prove a point. Unless I did.” He winked at her. “In that case—”

“You’re broke. You’re always broke.” It was another of the reasons Frankie hadn’t told him about the girls. He couldn’t afford the child support payments, and she hated the idea of a long, drawn-out court battle, only to have him default.

“I’ve had a run of good luck lately,” he said.

“You rob a bank?”

“Come on. Give me a little credit. How ’bout I tell you what’s been happening with me over dinner tonight?”

Frankie’s sisters were literally sitting on the edges of their seats.

“No.” Dinner sounded too much like a date. “I’ll bring some brisket and ribs to the park. The picnic area. You recall where it is?”

“I do.”

Something flashed in his eyes. A memory, perhaps. He had plenty to choose from involving the park and the picnic area and the two of them. What had possessed Frankie to suggest that as a meeting place?

Mel abruptly straightened. “I’ll watch the g—” She caught herself in the nick of time. “Feed the dogs. I’ll feed your dogs if Sam can’t.”

“Sam?” Spence’s eyes lit up. “The new sister? Mel and Ronnie mentioned that she’s living with you. I’d love hearing about her at dinner.” He was at it again, teasing her in order to get his way.

“We’re not having dinner,” she stated. “Consider the food a sample. If you’re going to be an investor in my company, you should taste the wares.”

Where had that come from? Frankie was clearly losing her mind.

She quickly jotted her down her phone number on a paper napkin and handed it to him.

“I can’t wait.” He scooted out of the booth.

She wasn’t fast enough, and he brushed up beside her. The electric shock, even from such fleeting contact, was intense. Frankie sucked in a sharp breath.

Tugging on the brim of his cowboy hat, he ambled over to the counter where, thank goodness, the other waitress served him his breakfast order.

She didn’t realize she was staring until Mel hitched a thumb at her. “Look at that, Ronnie. She’s still hung up on him.”

Frankie pivoted in time to see her younger sister nodding in agreement.

“For the record,” she muttered, “you two couldn’t be more wrong.”

Hurrying off, she went to properly introduce herself to the new manager. It was that or deal with Spence. At the moment, Tia Maria’s nephew seemed the lesser of two evils.

Chapter Two

“Feed the dogs?” Frankie rolled her eyes at Mel, who shrugged in reply.

“It was the best I could come up with spur of the moment.”

The two of them were in Frankie’s kitchen. Mel sat at the table while Frankie stood at the counter, packing the picnic dinner. Coleslaw? Seriously? Had she chosen that side dish simply because Spence liked her recipe?

She purposely included a small jar of bread-and-butter pickles in the cooler. Her favorite. Spence preferred kosher dills. She did, however, select the best pieces of barbecue beef. Only because she had a reputation to consider. And, were she honest with herself, an ego that knew no bounds when it came to her specialties.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get the manager job.” Mel tugged on the empty adjacent chair, bringing it closer and elevating her feet. “That’s just not right.”

“It’s her restaurant. Tia Maria can hire whomever she wants as manager.”

“But her nephew?” Mel snorted. “I heard he hasn’t worked in the food industry since college and then as a waiter in a pizza joint.”

News did travel fast in a small town. “He has a degree in business,” Frankie said.

“Not the same.”

“I didn’t have any experience when Tia Maria hired me.”

“You didn’t start out as manager, either. You worked your way up. The hard way, I might add.”

“There’s no point rehashing this. She gave the job to someone else. End of story. Seeing as I’m not prepared to quit, I’m staying.”

Mel looked contrite. “And here I am pouring salt in the wound.”

Frankie closed the lid on the remaining brisket and returned the storage container to the refrigerator. At the last second, she grabbed a triangle of leftover cherry pie. Adding that to the cooler, she checked the time.

“I’d better hurry.”

At the thought of seeing Spence again, her stomach twisted into a knot and sweat broke out on her brow. This was a crazy idea. Maybe she should call and cancel.

No. She had to find out why he was here, how long he intended to stay and if he’d by chance become father material in these past four years. Only then could she tell him about Paige and Sienna.

From the living room, she heard the girls playing animal hospital with their stuffed toys, a game inspired by their veterinarian aunt. Giggling and lively chatter assured Frankie that her daughters were getting along for a change.

“I appreciate you watching Paige and Sienna.”

“Are you kidding? I love babysitting. And it’s good practice.” Mel patted her protruding belly. “Besides, Aaron’s on duty until ten tonight.”

“You two set a date yet?”

Her cheeks colored. “Actually, we did.”

“When?” Frankie hurried over to give her sister a hug.

“The Saturday before Thanksgiving.”

“Why didn’t you say something? That’s only six weeks away. You can’t possibly pull off a wedding by then.”

“We’re having a small ceremony,” Mel assured her. “Family and close friends. Aaron already had the big shindig with his late wife. I wanted something different. Special and unique for us two.”

“I’ll cater the reception, of course.” Frankie paused. “You are having one?”

“Yes.” Mel laughed. “And I wouldn’t dream of having a reception without your food.”

“Let me know what else I can do to help.”

Frankie was already contemplating contacting her sisters and stepmom about throwing a bridal shower. They’d better hurry. Next up would be a baby shower. Mel and Aaron may be planning a small wedding, but with the local vet marrying the local deputy, half the town would probably want an invite to one shower or the other.

A ping sounded from the table, Frankie’s phone emitting another alert. She quickly snatched it and checked the screen. Not a donation notice from her crowd-funding campaign. Just a text from her other sister. She set the phone down.

“That’s Ronnie. She says practice will run late again tonight, and Sam won’t be home until ten or ten-thirty.

“She’s really working hard.”

Sam had turned professional barrel racer after graduating high school and had her heart set on winning a championship title. To accomplish that, she’d first need to qualify for the National Finals Rodeo in December. With Ronnie’s expert help, her chances were good.

“She’s determined to come back after this last run of bad luck.” Frankie tucked her phone into her purse, which was hanging from the back of a chair. “Two disqualifications in a row and a tenth place. She’s frustrated.”

“She’s also young,” Mel said. “If not this year, there’s always next.”

“Yeah. That’s what Ronnie said for ten straight years. She qualified I forget how many times, but never won.” It was their younger sister’s biggest regret.

Frankie set the cooler on the table. All that remained was to get herself ready.

“There’s leftover macaroni and cheese and fruit salad for the girls.” She wagged a finger at Mel. “No soda or sweets. I don’t care what you’re craving.”

It was Mel’s turn to roll her eyes. “I got this. Quit worrying.”

“I should be back long before their bedtime.”

“Don’t rush. You and Spence have a lot of catching up to do.”

Frankie wished her sister would quit smiling. “I’m going to change.”

In the bedroom, she took much too long choosing what shorts and top to wear. In the bathroom, she fussed with her hair and makeup.

What had Spence seen when he’d looked at her this morning? Frankie was no longer the thin young woman with long blond hair and an enviable complexion. Her figure had filled out a little after giving birth to her daughters, and she’d cut her hair, opting for a more trouble-free style. Her brown eyes were the same, but these days her skin’s glow came from a bottle of foundation.

Refusing to admit how nervous she was, she dwelled instead on Spence’s return. If she lived to be a hundred, she would never understand why her sisters had told him about her crowd-funding campaign. When Frankie demanded an explanation, Mel had said they were proud of her and wanted to brag. Besides, he’d asked if she was still catering. What were they supposed to say?

A short while later Frankie returned to the kitchen, as ready as she’d ever be. Mel pulled her head out of the open refrigerator and gave her a once-over.

“Nice.”

“I just threw on the first thing I grabbed.” True. After ripping a half-dozen other outfits from her closet, she’d ultimately settled on her original selection.

“Still planning on telling him about...” Mel tilted her head toward the living room, where the girls were now wrapping their stuffed toys with toilet paper bandages.

She sighed. “Not sure it’ll be tonight. But, yes. I just wish he was more reliable.”

Mel came away from the refrigerator with fixings for the girls’ dinner. “But he likes kids, right?”

“He used to, anyway. I always thought he’d make a good father. Except for not wanting to settle down.” Or get married. But that hadn’t stopped Frankie from falling in love. “Did he happen to say where he was working these days?”

“No, and we didn’t ask.”

Frankie was still grappling with his generous donation and claim to have plenty of money. Also, the fact that if she accepted his donation, she’d have to give him an ownership share of her company. Hopefully, he wouldn’t bring up the subject tonight, but give her another day at least to get a better idea of why he was here, how long he was staying and what his future plans were, if any.

She mentally recounted all the jobs he’d had that she knew about. Rodeoing—until he tore his shoulder and had to quit. Ranch hand. Horse trainer. Trail guide for a wilderness outfitter. He’d even done a stint one season at a Wild West theme park, driving a stagecoach. She’d long ago lost track of how many different states he’d resided in.

Last she’d heard, over a year ago, through a friend of a friend of a friend, he was in California, working at a racing quarter horse farm. Frankie couldn’t imagine what he was doing there. Handler? Groom? Certainly not a jockey. He had the horse skills, but at six foot two, he was far too big.

She doubted he’d changed his wandering ways. Why else would he have unexpectedly arrived in Mustang Valley, other than a quick pass through town on his latest adventure? He probably assumed she’d softened after all this time. Well, he was in for a surprise.

Before leaving, Frankie went into the living room, where she kissed the girls and extracted promises from them to be good for Auntie Mel. At the door, her sister patted her on the back as if she needed moral support, which, perhaps, she did.

“Call me if there’s a problem.” With a last goodbye, Frankie was gone.

During the short drive to the park in the center of town, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the next few hours were going to have a huge impact on her life, if only because Spence might be learning he was a father.

How would he react? Run far and fast? Angrily accuse her of lying to him and go after her for custody of the girls? Insinuate himself into their lives?

He had made that donation to her crowd-funding campaign. According to the stated terms, donations of a thousand dollars or more entitled the contributor to a share in her company—until, and if, she bought them out. With interest, of course. Ten thousand dollars would entitle Spence to a...she didn’t want to think about that.

Frankie arrived early. Typical. She was a bit obsessive-compulsive when it came to not making people wait, something she herself hated.

All six picnic tables were empty, though a few children played in the nearby playground under the supervision of their parents, and a young couple rode their horses along the designated equestrian trail. At dinnertime on a weekday evening, the park was bound to be empty.

By six, her and Spence’s agreed-upon time, she had various covered containers unpacked and arranged. At five minutes past six, she huffed and checked her watch again.

Her anger returned, overpowering her nervousness. She should have expected this. He didn’t know the meaning of punctual. Her glance constantly traveling to the parking area, she alternated between sitting, standing, pacing and gnashing her teeth.

Two vehicles arrived: one a compact car and the other a brand-new, fire-engine-red dually pickup with all the bells and whistles. She immediately dismissed the compact car as something Spence wouldn’t drive. Could the truck be his? It did seem a bit much. She’d never seen him drive anything that wasn’t destined for the junkyard.

Another ten minutes. That was the most she’d give him. If he didn’t show by then, she was leaving. When a lone, tall man wearing a cowboy hat emerged from the pickup, Frankie’s heart gave an abrupt leap. It was Spence. How in the world—

He came toward her, his stride easy and confident, his trademark sexy grin firmly in place. As he neared, he removed his sunglasses and slipped them into his front shirt pocket.

She’d worried earlier about how she looked to him. Older. Less attractive. A duller version of her younger self. What she should have worried about was how he looked to her. Good. As appealing as always. Lip-smacking gorgeous.

Frankie knew in that instant she hadn’t changed one bit and was in serious danger of falling under his spell again. She struggled to shore up her defenses. Except she didn’t have a chance before Spence reached her and swept her into a hug.

Not a rib-crushing, good-to-see-an-old-friend hug but the heady, twirl-in-a-circle, steal-your-breath-away kind.

What am I going to do now?

He set her down. Fortunately, he didn’t let go of her arm or she might have stumbled. He’d left her that disconcerted and that unsteady.

Pretending to have caught her sandal heel in a hole, she insisted, “I’m fine,” and tried to extract her arm from his grasp.

He held firm, his glance roving her face before moving lower. “Yes, you are.”

“Spence.” She tugged harder. When was he ever not pouring on the charm?

“Sorry I’m late.” He finally released her.

“What was it this time?” She couldn’t keep the irritation from her voice. He always had one excuse or another. Flat tire. Dead battery. Traffic. A buddy who just happened to drop by.

“I had to make a few calls. The transport driver encountered flooding in Texas. He’s going to be delayed a good half day.”

“What’s being transported?” She occupied herself with reorganizing the containers.

“I own two retired racing mares.”

“Racing mares?”

He peered over her shoulder at the spread she’d prepared, getting a little too close for Frankie’s comfort. As if set on automatic, her body responded before she could stop herself, softening and leaning ever so slightly into him.

“We should probably sit down,” he said, his breath tickling her neck. “A lot’s happened these past few years.”

Little did he know she could say the same thing.

* * *

IF IT WASN’T incredibly rude, Spence would have smacked his lips. “You could always cook, honey.”

“Don’t call me that. Please.”

Frankie had quickly regained her composure and eased away from him. He liked knowing he could still rattle her. What he didn’t like was the skittish look in her eyes. It was one thing for her to fight an attraction to him, another to be uneasy.

Popping the lids on various containers, she dealt paper plates as if they were cards from a deck. Next, she unwrapped the barbecue beef brisket he’d been dreaming about this entire past week, ever since deciding on returning to Mustang Valley.

All right, all right. Food wasn’t all he’d been dreaming of. Luck had been on his side when he stopped by the café this morning and found Frankie’s sisters there. He’d assumed she wouldn’t be glad to see him, not after the last time he’d left and she told him in no uncertain terms to delete her number from his phone contacts.

And he’d been right. After her initial shock wore off, she’d fired an entire arsenal of invisible daggers at him.

Her sisters, however, had been happy to make room for him in the booth. They’d always liked him. And he’d liked the entire Hartman clan, which had apparently grown by a long-lost half sister and a brand-new stepmother.

With very little prodding, Mel and Ronnie had opened up, telling Spence the most important details—Frankie wasn’t married and she wasn’t currently seeing anyone.

Music to his ears. Though how some guy had yet to put a ring on her finger baffled Spence. In his admittedly biased opinion, she was better looking now than ever. The short, chic hairstyle suited her, as did the stunning hourglass figure outlined by shorts and a snug top. Her brown eyes, when serious, had the power to captivate him, and make him laugh when twinkling with amusement.

She definitely wasn’t amused now. Really? Just because he was a few minutes late?

“Would you like a beer?” she asked, her hand disappearing into the cooler.

He shook his head, reminding himself to focus. He likely had one chance with Frankie and didn’t dare blow it.

“No, thanks. Lemonade’s great.”

“You’re refusing a beer?” She turned to him, an incredulous expression on her face.

“I don’t drink much anymore, except on special occasions.”

“Since when?” She narrowed her gaze.

“No DUIs or mornings I regret or nights I blacked out, if that’s what you’re thinking. I just cut back. Different lifestyle these days.”

She handed him the lemonade she’d already poured, then grabbed another cup. “I forgot to ask earlier. Where are you staying?”

“Eddie’s putting me up.”

“Did he ever move out of that old double-wide trailer?”

“Are you kidding?” Spence took a swig of lemonade, sweetened exactly to his liking, then another. “At least I have my own room. With a bed.” He’d spent many a night on a friend’s couch or floor, more than he cared to admit. “But I have to figure out what to do with my mares. The transport truck will be here tomorrow afternoon.”

“You shouldn’t have much trouble. Plenty of places in the area accept temporary boarders.”

Temporary? Was she fishing for information or insinuating he was leaving soon?

“Any suggestions?” he asked.

“Ronnie keeps her horses at Powell Ranch.”

She filled a plate with slices of brisket and one big, meaty rib. Handing it to him, she indicated he should sit and help himself to the sides and her homemade barbecue sauce. He noticed right away she’d made coleslaw. His favorite.

“I’ll check them out.”

Spence had been casually acquainted with the Powells at one time years ago. The family owned the largest public horse stables in the valley and had made a name for themselves breeding and training mustangs—some of them captured in the nearby McDowell Mountains.

“They have weekly rates,” Frankie said. “For short-term customers.”

Definitely insinuating, Spence thought. He should tell her of his plans, but decided to wait and see how their dinner progressed.

Frankie sat down across from him. “So, tell me about this different lifestyle of yours. And, if I’m not being too nosy, how you came into enough money that you can afford to invest ten thousand dollars in a start-up business.”

“The answer to both is the same.”

He’d much rather she sat beside him. Not going to happen, however. For a moment there, when he’d leaned close, he swore the old spark had flared between them. The next instant, she’d raised her guard.

On the drive here, Spence had worried that she’d agreed to meet with him only because of the money. Now, thanks to their mutual sparks, he knew that wasn’t the case. She cared for him. A little, anyway. Even after their long separation.

He indulged in a bite of brisket, instantly forgetting where he was and what he was doing. “This is good. No, fantastic.”

“It’s better warm and freshly carved.”

“Something to look forward to.” Swallowing, he flashed her a grin. “Next time.”

“You’re changing the subject.”

“Can’t help myself, honey. I mean Frankie,” he amended, before she could correct him. “This food is incredible. How is it you haven’t opened up your own restaurant?”

“You were saying.”

“Yes. Right. Different lifestyle.” He fortified himself with a heaping forkful of coleslaw. “Two years ago this spring, I took a job as assistant trainer for Cottonwood Farms. Have you heard of them?”

“Hmm. No.” She concentrated on her plate, delicately picking at her food. “But someone did say you were working with racing quarter horses.”

“Up until recently, Cottonwood Farms was a small player. Not anymore. The owner quite literally invested everything he had in a young colt named Han Dover Fist. The colt went on to be the top winning quarter horse last year, making his owners very rich.”

“We don’t hear much about horse racing of any kind in this part of the state.”

Spence figured as much. Mustang Valley was a cattle ranching community, its horses primarily working stock or those ridden for pleasure. Probably only a few people realized one of the better known quarter horse racetracks was a mere hundred miles away, outside Tucson. Spence did, and while not the reason he’d returned, it certainly was an added benefit. He’d be making a trip there in the near future.

Picking up the Fred Flintstone–sized rib Frankie had given him, he said, “I didn’t think I’d like training racehorses. It’s a lot different than cutting or calf roping. Turns out I’m pretty good.”

“That where you’re working now?” She dabbed at the corner of her mouth with a napkin. “Cottonwood Farms?”

Spence remembered what it was like to kiss those lovely, full lips, and the thrill that coursed through him when they parted beneath his. Clearing his throat and banishing distracting thoughts, he continued.

“I was up until a couple months ago.”

“Ah.”

He knitted his brows. “What does that mean?”

“Two years. That’s a pretty long time to stick with one job. For you.”