McFarlane's Perfect Bride / Taming the Montana Millionaire: McFarlane's Perfect Bride

“Ahem. What is it?”

“I’m spending the summer here in Thunder Canyon and so is CJ. End of discussion.”

“You’re very stubborn. You don’t get that from me.”

Connor almost laughed. It would have been a sound with zero humor in it. “I have to go now, Dad. See you next week.” Connor disconnected the call before his father could start issuing more orders.

And then he just stood there, in the study of his rented house, staring blindly out the window at the snowcapped peak of Thunder Mountain in the distance. There had been a time, not that long ago, when he and his dad saw eye to eye on just about every issue.

But now, whenever he talked to Donovan, he hung up wanting to put his fist through a wall. Donovan just didn’t get it. Times were changing and a man either swam with the tide or drowned.

Sometimes Connor thought he was a survivor, that he really was changing, working his way toward a better life for himself and the son he’d neglected for too long.

And sometimes he knew he was kidding himself, that he was actually drowning, going under for the third time and still telling himself he had both feet firmly planted on solid ground.

Chapter Three

“Roses.” The schoolteacher looked up at him through those amazing hazel eyes. “You actually brought flowers.”

He blinked. “What? That’s bad?”

“No, of course not. It’s lovely.”

He handed them over.

“Thank you.” She said it softly. She seemed to mean it. “I should put them in water, huh?”

“Good idea.”

She stepped back from the doorway. “Come on in.”

So he followed her, admiring the view of her trim backside in a slim-fitting red dress as she led the way through a comfortable-looking great room, back to an open kitchen with turquoise-blue walls and old-fashioned counters of white ceramic tile.

She opened a cupboard by the sink and pointed at the top shelf. “See that square vase? Could you reach it for me?”

He got it down and she filled it with water and put the roses in it, tugging at them this way and that until she had them arranged to her satisfaction. “So pretty …”

He completely agreed, though it wasn’t precisely the flowers he was looking at.

She slanted him a look. “Want a drink? I have a variety of organic juices. And I think I have an old bottle of vodka around here somewhere … a screwdriver. I could make you one of those.” She looked so pleased with herself, he almost said yes, just to stand in her turquoise kitchen and watch her bustling around, mixing the drink for him.

Then again … “I’m not really a screwdriver kind of guy.”

“Well, okay.” She carried the vase over to the breakfast nook and put it in the center of the table. “Ta-da. Looks beautiful.”

“Yes, it does.”

“You ready?”

“After you.”

Tori loved the Gallatin Room. She’d only been there a few times, once before on a date and also for a couple of parties. It was the best restaurant at the resort—really, in all of Thunder Canyon—and had a beautiful view of tall, majestic evergreens and the top of Thunder Mountain. It also had a massive stone fireplace, one that wasn’t quite as large as the one in the main lobby. But impressive, nonetheless.

The host led them to a really good table, by the fireplace, with a view of the mountain and the spectacular sky, shot now with orange and gold as the sun set. A waiter came to take their drink orders. Connor ordered Scotch, the really good kind that was older than Tori. She asked for a glass of white wine.

The drinks appeared instantly. They sat and sipped and watched the sunset.

She said what she was thinking. “I love this restaurant.”

His dark eyes made a quick scan of the beautiful room. “It’s slow for a Friday evening, don’t you think?”

She shrugged. “I guess.”

“The Scotch is perfect. And the service so far is excellent. It’ll be interesting to see how good the food is. As a rule, it’s the first thing to slip.”

“Uh, slip?”

He sipped his Scotch slowly. “When traffic declines.”

She knew what he meant, but still she teased, “Traffic?”

He set down his glass and regarded her lazily. “When business slows down.”

She stared at his fingers, which were still wrapped around the crystal glass. They were very nice fingers. Long. Lean. Strong-looking. “Hotelier to the core, huh?”

He didn’t deny it. On the contrary, he gave her a rueful smile as he turned his crystal glass and stared down at the amber liquid inside. “I think it’s in the blood. My father would certainly say it is.”

She suddenly craved total honesty—no matter how unwise. “Your sister says your father’s overbearing. And that he’ll never change.”

“Melanie’s become way too frank in the past couple of years.”

“I really like frankness in a person. I also heard you’re in town to buy out this resort, after which you’ll change everything around and fire half the staff.”

“Who said that?” His voice was flat.

“It doesn’t matter. Is it true?”

“Don’t believe every rumor you hear.” He studied her—a long, considering look.

“You’re not going to answer my question, are you?” She sipped her wine again, set the glass down. “Never mind. I think you are in town to buy this resort. Feel free to tell me I’m wrong.”

He staunchly refused to confirm or deny her suspicions. “I’m here to spend time getting to know my sister and her family. And above all, for my son. I’ve neglected CJ for much too long. I’m hoping it’s not too late to heal the breach between us.”

She believed he was telling the truth about his son. “It’s not too late,” she said softly. “It’s never too late.”

Those dark eyes went soft—but only for a split second. And then they were cool and watchful again. “You’re an optimist.”

“And proud of it.” She picked up the leather-bound menu and set it back down without opening it. “It matters, Connor. That you care about your son, that you show him you care. And I admire you for figuring out that you need to spend time with him, no matter how long it took you to realize that.”