To A Macallister Born

“Hey, I’m innocent,” Jack said. “All I was doing was admiring a dynamite example of historical architecture—which is badly in need of some tender lovin’ care, by the way. I didn’t intend to shake up the lovely Jennifer. She sure has a temper to go along with that red hair of hers.”

“She’s a handful, all right,” Aunt Charity said, peering at her menu. “Has been ever since she was a little girl. It would take a very special man to be a match for our Jennifer.”

“And a father for Joey,” Aunt Prudence said.

“I assume Jennifer is divorced,” Jack said.

“No, dear,” Aunt Prudence said. “She’s a widow. Her Joe was killed in a construction accident a week before Joey was born. Jennifer returned to Prescott to raise her son. Her parents relocated to Phoenix shortly thereafter due to Jennifer’s mother having severe arthritis. Jennifer is living in their family home.”

“It’s a lovely house,” Andrea said, “but it’s an awful lot for Jennifer to keep up, I’m afraid.”

“I see,” Jack said slowly. “How old is Joey?”

“Five,” Aunt Charity said. “He’s cute as a button. Looks just like his mama.”

Jack frowned. “That’s a good many years to mourn a man, no matter how great he might have been. Aren’t there any eligible bachelors in this town?”

“Oodles,” Aunt Charity said. “Jennifer seems determined never to remarry. Heaven knows, we’ve done our darndest to fix her up with the cream of the crop around here.” She paused. “Maybe we should leap into action again, Pru. After all, Jennifer did catch Megan’s bouquet at the wedding.”

“Indeed, she did,” Pru said, smiling.

“Oh, man, here we go again,” Brandon said, chuckling. “Poor Jennifer.”

“Sounds to me like the lady knows her own mind,” Jack said. “She likes being single. End of story. The same holds true of me. All the matchmaking in the world wouldn’t get me to change my stand on the issue. I’m a bachelor and intend to remain one.”

“Wanna bet, big boy?” Aunt Charity said, leaning toward him.

“You’d better shut up, MacAllister,” Brandon said, shaking his head. “Aunt Charity and Aunt Pru are pros at this matchmaking bit. I was a confirmed bachelor, too, remember?”

“And so was Ben,” Andrea said, smiling. “As well as Taylor.”

“Yep,” Brandon said, nodding. “And now we’re all married. Don’t get too mouthy on the issue, Jack. You never know what the future holds.”

“I know what it holds for me on the subject of marriage,” Jack said. “It ain’t gonna happen.”

“Yes, dear,” Aunt Pru said, patting his hand. “We hear you.”

“Ah, how the mighty will fall,” Andrea said, smiling. “You did tell us the fascinating tale of the baby bet business that took place within the MacAllister clan, Jack. Your cousin, Forrest, was the reigning champion for eons—then kaboom, he was dethroned, so to speak.”

“Yep,” Brandon said. “That’s how the story went. The same could hold true for the remaining eligible males in a bachelor bet. Look at how many of us have taken the fall.” He glanced quickly at Andrea. “And very happily so, my sweet.”

“Nice save, Hamilton,” Andrea said, laughing.

“I’ll be pleased to take your money in a bachelor bet, Brandon.” Jack leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “So would my younger brother, Richard, I imagine. My sister is single, too, if you want to add bachelorettes to the soup.”

“I want a piece of this action,” Aunt Charity said, rubbing her hands together.

“I do believe,” Andrea said thoughtfully, “that our new sheriff, Cable Montana, would be in the camp with you and your brother, Jack.”

“The numbers grow,” Jack said, nodding. “There are simply men in this world who have no intention of marrying…ever.”

“I know,” Brandon said, grinning at Jack. “I was one of them.”

Jack flattened his hands on the table and leaned toward Brandon.

“The difference between us, buddy,” Jack said, “is that I’ll never change my stand on the issue.”

“Yes, dear,” Aunt Prudence said, smiling sweetly. “So you said.”

Jack chuckled, sat back again and shook his head.

“You’re all smiling like Cheshire cats,” he said. “You obviously believe I’m full of hot air. Oh, easy pickings, that’s what you are. Money in my pocket. How long before I can collect this bachelor bet? Do I have to be a hundred and two and still single before you pay up?”

“We’ll work out the details of that part of the bachelor bet later, big boy,” Aunt Charity said. “Here comes our waitress. Let’s eat. I’m starving to death while I’m sitting here.”

“So are we,” Andrea said, patting her protruding stomach. “Baby Hamilton is doing gymnastics to let me know she’s hungry.”

“She? She?” Brandon said, raising his eyebrows. “Have you finally accepted the fact that I’m right? That we’re having a girl? A daughter?”

“Sure, she has,” Jack said. “I told you that when Forrest finally lost the baby bet, the baton was passed to the daddy-to-be. The fathers have been right every time since. If you say it’s a girl, Brandon, then it’s a girl. Your wife is a smart lady, and realized that the baby bet has proven itself. You’re having a girl.”

“And smart person that I am,” Andrea said, “I’m putting my money on your falling in love and losing the bachelor bet, Jack.”

Over the next hour, Jennifer carried out her hostess duties by rote.

She was furious at herself. She’d behaved like an idiot in front of Brandon’s friend Jack MacAllister. Granted, she had just cause to have been frightened of Jack.

But then? Oh, good grief. Had she dismissed the incident as a misunderstanding, regained her composure and performed in a professional manner?

Oh, no, not her. She’d been caught up in a mish-mash of lingering anger, along with acute feminine awareness of Jack’s blatant masculinity. She’d turned into Ms. Fumble Fingers, dropping the menus, then added Shrew-of-the-Year to her titles while showing the group to their table.

Jennifer stepped behind the podium and stared at the reservation book, not really seeing the schedule of diners yet to arrive.

Even now, she thought, Jack MacAllister seemed to be somehow reaching out and touching her from way across the room. He was just so…there, and just so…male, and just so…

Heat feathered down her back, then wove into her to pulse low in her body. She shook her head in self-disgust, then looked at Jack from beneath her lashes.

Why? she wondered frantically. Why did that man have such a powerful and unsettling impact on her? He was just an ordinary man, for Pete’s sake.

Well, no, that wasn’t entirely true. She’d already conceded that Jack was an eleven on a scale of one to ten. He was so ruggedly handsome, so perfectly proportioned, and that thick, dark auburn hair of his was just begging to have feminine fingers sift through it.

And his eyes? Oh, those chocolate fudge sauce eyes mesmerized her and made it difficult to breathe.

Jennifer, stop it, she ordered herself, shifting her gaze back to the book. She was getting a grip—right now. All she had to do was bid Jack a pleasant goodbye as he left the dining room, and that would be that. She’d never see him again.

She frowned.

Wait a minute. Was he a guest at Hamilton House? If so, how long would he be staying in Prescott? Would he be popping into the dining room for dinner night after night? It stood to reason he’d be registered at his friend’s hotel, but for how many days?