The One You Want

Was this how she’d stolen the hearts of all her lovers?

He stiffened, hating the thought. Earlier, he’d convinced himself that West was right...that Kenna was just a sweet girl caught up in the falsity of rumor. He suspected, perhaps, that he hadn’t wanted to believe it, that he hadn’t wanted her to be just like her mother. But here she was, charming the uncharmable, stoking fires of a jealousy he’d never before experienced.

“Do you have a kid?” The question left him before he could stop it.

Her features shuttered, hiding all emotion. “Yes.”

Well, then. If one rumor was true...

“She’s six,” Kenna added. “But don’t strain yourself doing the math. I’ll just tell you. I got pregnant at sixteen and had her at seventeen.”

Something about her tone bothered him. He heard affection and love, sure, but also sorrow and pain. “Is the father—”

“Now, just hold on a sec, Mr. Michaelson.”

“Dane.” Her insistence on calling him Mr. Michaelson frustrated him.

A lot of things are frustrating me tonight.

“I’m not discussing that part of my life with you,” she said.

Fair enough. The fact that he’d even broached the topic stunned him. He, one of the most private people in existence, often refused to answer the simplest of questions about himself, and he always despised those who dared to ask, and yet here he stood, grilling Kenna about the most intimate details of her life. As if he had a right to know.

He should walk away from her. He’d done what he’d set out to do. He’d apologized. But he was loath to leave things so strained between them. They would be seeing each other again, after all.

Yeah. That’s why. Not for any other reason. “I heard you say you’re a student. What are you studying?”

Leery, as if she expected him to laugh, she softly admitted, “Elementary education.”

Admirable. “When do you finish?”

“Two years. I hope.”

“Why the late start?”

“My daughter.”

Reminded of the child, he frowned. “The girl whose father you refuse to name.”

She pushed out a heavy sigh. “We’re not going to get very far like this, so I retract what I said about not discussing that part of my life. What is it you really want to know? If her dad was married to someone else when she was conceived, as rumor claims? If I’m a husband-stealing whore?”

A muscle clenched in his jaw. His gaze slid down her body, noting again how the dress hugged each of her delicious curves. She had gorgeous legs any man would kill to have wrapped around him, with her hooker heels digging into his back.

“Are you?” he asked.

Her eyes narrowed, dark lashes fusing. While she had glowed with her amusement, she crackled savagely with her anger. What this girl felt, she really felt. Emotion affected her soul-deep.

“I was seventeen when I gave birth to Norrie. I was a kid myself. That’s all. But now I will never give you a chance to get to know who and what I have become,” she said. Up went her chin. Back went her shoulders. She pasted that fake smile on her face, one that definitely didn’t glow. “Would my past make me any less of a person with feelings capable of being hurt now?”

Hate myself. “No,” he said. “You’re not a whore. I had no right...Kenna, I—”

“Don’t bother. You heard the gossip and judged me guilty. That tells me all I need to know about your character. Goodbye, Mr. Michaelson.” She walked out of the library, and she never once looked back.

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_5edf4ce0-5cb6-54ec-b7aa-40f5011cb2c2)

THE NEXT DAY was business as usual for Kenna.

Though it was saturday, she’d risen early in the morning to read the lectures that had been posted for her online courses, and to complete as many of the upcoming homework assignments as possible. Now she was spending the afternoon with her greatest source of joy, Norrie, before her evening would be dedicated to her job at Two Farms.

She pushed Dane Michaelson and his cruel accusations to the back of her mind...as well as the memory of his hard body pressed against her long-neglected one as he’d led her away from the party, the heat of him pulsing around her, driving her mad, the scent of him—testosterone and what could be referred to only as manflesh—thrilling every fiber of her being. She didn’t allow herself to worry about his bad opinion of her. Really. She didn’t. Or wouldn’t.

Starting now.

She and Norrie walked to Strawberry Park, where Brook Lynn, who worked at Rhinestone Cowgirl every morning, making jewelry, was to meet them. It was late spring, the air cool and fragrant, the small hills and meadows covered with wild strawberries, one of God’s finest creations. The plants were spread low across the ground, remaining in small clusters. The flowers had five white petals and yellow centers, the leaves divided into three rounded leaflets with toothed edges.

The wild berries were smaller than ordinary strawberries, bright red and amazingly delicious. She should have been tired of the fruit, as many as she’d eaten throughout her life, but no. She was pretty sure she’d one day die of an overdose.

“Aunt Brook Lynn!” Norrie squealed, running to throw herself into the blonde’s open arms, her hair a red stream waving behind her. “Did you bring me one of your special necklaces? Huh, huh, did you?”

“Hey, baby girl. I sure did.” She handed Norrie a small box. Brook Lynn and her over-the-top designs were responsible for turning the jewelry store into one of the town’s biggest tourist attractions. Not that Edna Mills paid her appropriately.

After the little girl had oohed and aahed over the sparkling strawberry pendant that glistened with all the colors of a rainbow, she said, “Guess what? I promised my momma I wouldn’t talk to strangers, because they might want to touch my private places, and that would be bad. Oh, good! There’s Sara!” Norrie rushed to the swing set.

Kenna and Brook Lynn shared a smile. They’d both gotten used to Norrie’s inability to keep anything secret.

“Come on.” Kenna led Brook Lynn to a nearby bench. Along the way, her cell phone rang. She groaned when she spotted the familiar number. “It’s my mother. Probably calling to tell me everything I did wrong at the party.”

A look of yearning flashed over Brook Lynn’s face. The girl had lost both of her parents years ago, and would have welcomed a little parental nitpicking.

She kissed her friend’s cheek before she stepped away and answered. “Hello, Mother Dearest.”

“You know I hate when you call me that,” Roanne said on a sigh.

“I could encourage Norrie to call you Granny. Like that better?”

Roanne hmphed. “Listen, I want you to come to dinner tonight.”

“I can’t. I have to work.”

“But...won’t you cancel? For me?”

“I’m sorry, but no. I kinda like being paid.”

Roanne murmured under breath, her exasperation clear. “What about tomorrow night?”

Kenna’s one night off. She usually spent it with Norrie, cooking one of her daughter’s favorite meals. Always a toss-up between macaroni and cheese, grilled cheese sandwiches and cheese pizza. But deep down, Kenna was still a needy little girl, craving time with her own mother.

“All right,” she said. “Norrie and I will be there.”