Second Chance with the Billionaire

Dylan was an extrovert and a people person. He’d settled down a lot since marrying Mia and adopting little Cora. You might even call him a family man. But he still loved the Silver Dollar.

Conor couldn’t blame him. It was the kind of place where everybody knew your name. Locals and tourists alike were drawn to its atmosphere of camaraderie and fun. The music was good, the service above par and the burgers legendary.

Dylan made his way down to the end of the bar and stood in front of Conor, raising an eyebrow at the half-empty bottle of beer Conor had been nursing for the better part of an hour. “I’m losing money on you,” he said. “You’re not eating, you’re not drinking. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were in love.”

Conor finished off his beer and grimaced. “God forbid. Just because you’re all gaga over marital bliss doesn’t mean the rest of us have to follow suit. I’m perfectly happy as a single man. I like my freedom.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing.”

Dylan’s smug assurance was designed to get a rise out of Conor, but it didn’t work. Because deep down, Conor knew it was the truth. He’d seen his older brothers, one by one, succumb to Cupid’s mischief, and the reality of the situation was, they were all happier than Conor had ever seen them.

Liam and Zoe, Dylan and Mia, Aidan and Emma. Even Gavin, who was a hermit and a curmudgeon at times, had been tripped up by the gorgeous and bubbly Cass.

So, yeah...it was hard to overlook the self-satisfied arrogance of his siblings, who were getting laid on a nightly basis. They practically oozed testosterone and caveman triumph.

But what really got to Conor was the look in their eyes when they were with their wives. When they thought no one was watching. Those moments when the alpha males softened and Conor could see the wealth of love that bonded each man with his spouse. That kind of connection was rare and wonderful and Conor would be lying if he said he wasn’t the tiniest bit envious.

It wasn’t in the cards for Conor, though. The one female who had ever inspired such a depth of feeling in him had dealt him a rejection that was very personal. Ellie had disapproved of his love for courting danger. In spite of his attempt to be honest with her and to explain why skiing was so important to him, he’d lost her, anyway.

Ellie had wanted Conor to change who he was. She’d begged him to be more careful. And in the end, she had stood by his hospital bed with sorrow in her eyes and told him they didn’t have a future, because he loved the rush of adrenaline more than he cared about her.

* * *

Even then he had seen the truth in her words. As a child, he’d suffered from a respiratory ailment that kept him confined indoors. Once he finally outgrew the problem, he’d been determined to prove himself. He was driven to be the fastest and best at everything he did.

That blind determination to be number one had cost him.

Life was full of regrets. He should know. A man had to move forward or be forever cemented in the past. Personally and professionally, he’d had plenty of opportunities to learn that lesson the hard way.

Dylan handed him a menu. “Buy something. Flirt with someone. You’re giving the place a bad vibe.”

With a reluctant grin, Conor shook his head. “God forbid that you should let your brother hang out undisturbed. Bring me a Coke and a cheeseburger, damn it.”

Dylan nodded, his attention drawn to the two men arguing heatedly at table six. “That’s more like it.”

When Dylan strode away to break up the potentially violent situation, Conor watched the interaction with admiration. Somehow his brother managed to steer both men to the front door and outside without causing a fuss. The Silver Dollar didn’t tolerate brawls.

While Conor waited for his food, he flipped through messages on his cell phone and frowned, not really seeing any of them. What would happen if he simply showed up at Ellie’s front door and said hello? Would she look the same? Would he like her as much?

They hadn’t seen each other in thirteen years, or was it fourteen by now? She wouldn’t be sixteen anymore. So why did he still see her that way? It made no sense. All he was doing was torturing himself with one of those weird good-old-days memories that never held up under scrutiny.

Like the octogenarian who goes back to his childhood home only to find a strip mall where he used to play, Conor was keeping alive something that wasn’t even real. Memories were not bad things. As long as you realized that the only truth was the moment you were living right now.

His accident years ago had cost him a skiing career. And had erased any possibility of having Ellie Porter in his life. Those two facts were irrefutable.

And what about Kirby? Conor and Kirby had been closer than brothers. They had studied together and played sports together and dreamed dreams together. Both of them had had big plans for the future. But their bond had been broken by something as mundane as Kirby’s parents taking him to another hemisphere.

Could a friendship like that be resurrected? Only time would tell...but Conor hoped so.

He finished his meal and yawned despite the fact that it was not even ten o’clock yet. He’d been up at dawn. Had worked his ass off all day. He was the boss. He owned the Silver Mountain Ski Resort. But idle living had never suited him. Maeve Kavanagh had raised seven sons, mostly unassisted, and in spite of the Kavanagh fortune and the family’s influence and reach in the town of Silver Glen, she had drilled into her boys the value of hard work.

According to Conor’s mother, the size of a man’s bank balance was no excuse for laziness. Her boys heeded the message. Liam ran the Silver Beeches Lodge with his mother. Dylan owned and managed the Silver Dollar Saloon. Aidan was some kind of banking genius up in New York. Gavin’s baby was the Silver Eye, his cyber security operation.

On Conor’s twenty-third birthday, he had officially taken over the ski resort. The move seemed obvious since he had spent a large portion of his childhood and adolescence gliding down those slopes. At one time he had dreamed of medals and podiums and national anthems being played in his honor.

But life had a way of smacking you in the face occasionally. His plans had changed.

Conor had a good life. And a great family. He was a lucky man.

So why did he still think about Ellie Porter?

The two blondes at table six were giving him the eye. They were both cute and looked athletic. No doubt, exactly his type. But tonight he couldn’t summon up enough interest to play their game, even with a threesome in the realm of possibility. What in the hell was wrong with him?

“Conor?” He felt a hand on his shoulder.

Summoning a smile, he turned on his stool, prepared to make an excuse...to say he was leaving. But dark blue eyes stopped him in his tracks. “Ellie?”

She nodded, her expression guarded. “Yes. It’s me. I need to talk to you.”

* * *

Ellie found herself at a distinct disadvantage when Conor stood up. She had always been barely five foot five, and Conor Kavanagh was a long, tall drink of water, several inches over six feet. The pale gold highlights in his dark blond hair were the result of many hours spent outdoors. Women paid a lot of money to get that look in a salon.

He wore his hair shorter than he had as a kid. But it was still far too gorgeous for a guy. Not fair at all. The only thing that saved his face from being classically handsome was the silvery scar that ran up the side of his chin and along his jawline. When he was twelve, he’d fallen off the ski lift and cut his face open on a rock.

She and Kirby had been in the seat behind him and had watched in horror as the snow below turned red with Conor’s blood. But Conor had jumped up and waved at them, his typical devil-may-care attitude in full view. Even now, the memory made her queasy.

Conor had definitely grown into his looks.

His rangy frame was much the same as she remembered, though with more muscles, a few more pounds and a posture that said he was at ease in his own skin. The extra weight suited him. Back in high school he’d been on the thin side.

His passion for sports, skiing in particular, and his high-speed metabolism had made it difficult for him to take in enough calories. For Ellie, who had always battled her weight, his problem was one she would have gladly handled.

He stared at her without smiling, the expression in his gray eyes inscrutable. “I heard you and Kirby were back in town.”

She nodded, feeling vaguely guilty. Should she have called Conor instead of simply showing up? “Grandpa isn’t doing well. Kirby and I came home to look after him until my parents retire in nine months. They’ve opened their last clinic in Bolivia, so once it’s up and running to their satisfaction, they’ll move back to Silver Glen.”

“I see.”

Conor’s reticence bothered her. At one time, she and Kirby and Conor had been thick as thieves, their friendship unbreakable. But then her parents had done the unthinkable. They’d become medical missionaries and had moved their family to the jungles of South America to dispense health care to the people there.

“We missed you,” she said quietly. Even before the move, she and Conor had parted ways.

Conor shrugged. “Yeah. But it’s a hell of a long way from Silver Glen to Bolivia. It’s not surprising that we lost touch.”

She nodded. For several months emails had winged back and forth between Kirby and Conor. The occasional snail-mail letter. But in the end, she and Kirby had been too far removed from their old life to maintain that thread. And Ellie had been too hurt by Conor’s pigheadedness to write.

“We were furious, you know,” she said. “In the beginning. We begged my parents to let us stay here with Grandpa and enjoy our senior year.”