The Marrying Man Read Online Free
Author: Barbara Bretton
oven? It had nothing to do with the subject matter.
Jenny wouldn't have made that statement about Mr. right if she'd met McKendrick. The man had "loner" tattooed on his forehead in neon letters an inch high. The man might be gorgeous but he had all the warmth of a filing cabinet.
And the saddest green eyes...
She shook her head, trying to dispel the memory. That was just her over-active writer's imagination talking, twisting reality around until it was barely recognizable. Riley McKendrick had probably never known a lonely day in his entire misbegotten life. No doubt women threw themselves at his cowboy boots with mad, passionate abandon ever day of the week.
In fact, Cat had no doubt he was with one of his harem right now, lying back in bed while the tramp pranced around in some flimsy negligee straight out of a Victoria's Secret catalog.
A vision of her own flannel pajamas danced before her eyes and she sighed.
She was glad that she'd seen the last of Riley McKendrick. And with a little luck, sooner or later she'd stop thinking about him as well.
***
"Coffee, sir?"
Riley looked up at the waitress. Tall, willowy, glossy golden brown hair that caressed her shoulders. A face so perfect it made your head spin like too much icy vodka on a hot summer's night.
"Sir? Do you want more coffee?"
He blinked and a short woman with curly grey hair came into focus. "Thanks," he said, as she bent close to refill the cup.
"Anything else?"
He shook his head. "Just the check."
Make that a reality check . He'd spent the entire drive up to Danville trying not to think about the yellow flecks in Cat's soft blue eyes. He was determined not to think about the long, shapely legs left bare by her short black skirt. And there was no way in hell he was going to think about the fact that he'd driven all the way up to northern Connecticut to tell her he wasn't staying for dinner.
So why had he said yes in the first place?
It wasn't like he hadn't known exactly where Max was going with the questions about his Thanksgiving Day plans. But there had been something about the look in Cat's eyes that made it impossible. An invitation? A challenge, maybe? He wasn't sure. All he knew was that he felt the pull of something stronger than his misgivings.
It wasn't like him to be a sucker for sentiment, swayed by the look in a woman's eyes. For all he knew she could've been stifling a sneeze or thinking about rush hour traffic or trying to figure out if he was really a cowboy or just dressed like one.
Damn. Riley knew trouble when he saw it and Cat Zaslow had trouble written across her pretty forehead in capital letters.
He gulped down some coffee then glanced at the clock hanging over the cash register near the door. Three minutes to noon. According to the map Max had given him, he was 8.7 miles away from her house. He'd stop by, offer his apologies, then by twelve-fifteen be'd be back on the road to Boston where he'd spend the night with a woman who had as little interest in holidays and family celebrations as he had.
A woman who wasn't Cat.
He knew all about high maintenance types like Catherine O'Leary Zaslow. The kind who came with lots of expectations, not to mention children, pets, and a house with a white picket fence. Everything he'd gone out of his way to avoid since he packed and left Nevada behind a lifetime ago.
It wasn't that he didn't believe in all of those things. He did. At least he did for other people. He'd learned early on that the things the rest of the world took for granted weren't in the cards for him and he'd made his peace with it. You learned how to stand on your own real fast when you grew up bouncing from foster home to foster home.
He'd been on the wrong line when life handed out lucky breaks. All he'd had going for him was his size and he'd managed to parlay athletic ability into scholarships that had funded his education. Too bad there'd been nobody around to celebrate when his dreams began to come
Jenny wouldn't have made that statement about Mr. right if she'd met McKendrick. The man had "loner" tattooed on his forehead in neon letters an inch high. The man might be gorgeous but he had all the warmth of a filing cabinet.
And the saddest green eyes...
She shook her head, trying to dispel the memory. That was just her over-active writer's imagination talking, twisting reality around until it was barely recognizable. Riley McKendrick had probably never known a lonely day in his entire misbegotten life. No doubt women threw themselves at his cowboy boots with mad, passionate abandon ever day of the week.
In fact, Cat had no doubt he was with one of his harem right now, lying back in bed while the tramp pranced around in some flimsy negligee straight out of a Victoria's Secret catalog.
A vision of her own flannel pajamas danced before her eyes and she sighed.
She was glad that she'd seen the last of Riley McKendrick. And with a little luck, sooner or later she'd stop thinking about him as well.
***
"Coffee, sir?"
Riley looked up at the waitress. Tall, willowy, glossy golden brown hair that caressed her shoulders. A face so perfect it made your head spin like too much icy vodka on a hot summer's night.
"Sir? Do you want more coffee?"
He blinked and a short woman with curly grey hair came into focus. "Thanks," he said, as she bent close to refill the cup.
"Anything else?"
He shook his head. "Just the check."
Make that a reality check . He'd spent the entire drive up to Danville trying not to think about the yellow flecks in Cat's soft blue eyes. He was determined not to think about the long, shapely legs left bare by her short black skirt. And there was no way in hell he was going to think about the fact that he'd driven all the way up to northern Connecticut to tell her he wasn't staying for dinner.
So why had he said yes in the first place?
It wasn't like he hadn't known exactly where Max was going with the questions about his Thanksgiving Day plans. But there had been something about the look in Cat's eyes that made it impossible. An invitation? A challenge, maybe? He wasn't sure. All he knew was that he felt the pull of something stronger than his misgivings.
It wasn't like him to be a sucker for sentiment, swayed by the look in a woman's eyes. For all he knew she could've been stifling a sneeze or thinking about rush hour traffic or trying to figure out if he was really a cowboy or just dressed like one.
Damn. Riley knew trouble when he saw it and Cat Zaslow had trouble written across her pretty forehead in capital letters.
He gulped down some coffee then glanced at the clock hanging over the cash register near the door. Three minutes to noon. According to the map Max had given him, he was 8.7 miles away from her house. He'd stop by, offer his apologies, then by twelve-fifteen be'd be back on the road to Boston where he'd spend the night with a woman who had as little interest in holidays and family celebrations as he had.
A woman who wasn't Cat.
He knew all about high maintenance types like Catherine O'Leary Zaslow. The kind who came with lots of expectations, not to mention children, pets, and a house with a white picket fence. Everything he'd gone out of his way to avoid since he packed and left Nevada behind a lifetime ago.
It wasn't that he didn't believe in all of those things. He did. At least he did for other people. He'd learned early on that the things the rest of the world took for granted weren't in the cards for him and he'd made his peace with it. You learned how to stand on your own real fast when you grew up bouncing from foster home to foster home.
He'd been on the wrong line when life handed out lucky breaks. All he'd had going for him was his size and he'd managed to parlay athletic ability into scholarships that had funded his education. Too bad there'd been nobody around to celebrate when his dreams began to come
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