She couldn’t wait to take her horse out and ride her property.
Northern Lights restaurant had been opened just before Christmas by McKenna’s friend Laci Cavanaugh and her fiancé Bridger Duvall. It was the place to eat in Whitehorse. The fact that her date had chosen it gave McKenna hope.
She was instantly disappointed, though, when she was told by a young waitress she didn’t know that Laci wasn’t working tonight and that Bridger was swamped back in the kitchen.
“Are you dining alone?” the waitress asked.
She certainly hoped not. As she glanced around the restaurant, she spotted a lone male sitting off in one corner. He raised his head and got to his feet when he saw her.
He was the good-looking cowboy who’d bid against her at the auction earlier that day. Just her luck. And his.
“Small world, huh?” he said with an ironic smile.
This was her date? She remembered the way he’d tipped his hat to her when he quit bidding. She was pretty sure that had been anger she’d seen in his dark eyes.
“You look like you could use a drink. I know I could.” He motioned to the waitress before turning back to McKenna. “What’ll you have? Hell, you probably want champagne to celebrate, don’t you? Give us a bottle of your best.”
The waitress took off before McKenna could stop her. The last thing she wanted to do was have dinner with this man, let alone celebrate with him.
He held out his hand. “Flynn Garrett.”
His hand swallowed hers. “McKenna—”
“Bailey,” he finished for her. “Yeah, I know.” His smile broadened as he seemed to take her in. “The woman who bought herself a house and forty acres today. No hard feelings. You won fair and square. So let’s celebrate.”
He pulled out a chair for her and waited.
She tried to think of a good reason to break the date, but then the champagne arrived and she found herself taking a seat as the cork was popped and Flynn made a show of pouring them each a glass.
“To you, Miss Bailey,” he said, tapping his glass against hers.
His dark eyes never left hers as he took a sip. “Hmm, not bad,” he said, although she was almost positive he would have rather had another beer like the one he’d been nursing when she’d arrived.
She tried to relax. Blind dates were nerve-racking enough without her ending up having dinner with the man she’d outbid. A very handsome man, she might add.
“You’re a tough woman to beat at her own game,” he said, his gaze hard to read. She’d put her money on him still being angry. She’d bet he was the kind of man who didn’t like to lose.
“If it makes you feel any better, you drove the bid up so high I have very little money left for improvements.”
He appeared shocked. “You aren’t considering doing anything with that house?”
“Yes. Why?” She watched the way he nervously took a drink of his champagne. “What had you planned to do with it?”
“Burn it down.”
Now it was her turn to be shocked. “You aren’t serious.”
“I just wanted the land. The house is in such bad shape…” He frowned. “Sorry, I’m sure you don’t want to hear that.”
“It needs work, I’ll admit, but structurally—”
“You planning to do the work yourself?”
She bristled. “I’ll have you know I’m capable of doing just about anything I set my mind to.”
He nodded slowly, eyeing her with an intensity that made her a little nervous. “I bet you are.”
The waitress brought the menus and he disappeared behind his. McKenna told herself that he was still angry with her for outbidding him and that he wouldn’t have bid so high if he hadn’t wanted the house as well as the land. What he said about the condition of the house was just sour grapes.
“How are the steaks here?” he asked over the top of his menu. His eyes were almost black. “You look like a woman who could handle a steak.” He put down his menu as the waitress appeared and grinned at McKenna. “Am I wrong?”
She ordered a rib eye, rare, which made him chuckle. He ordered the largest T-bone the restaurant served, also rare.
“So tell me about McKenna Bailey,” he said, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the table, those dark eyes intent on her again.
“And bore you to tears?”
He shook his head. “There is nothing boring about you, and we both know it. Why Whitehorse? Come on, I really want to know.”
“I was born and raised here.”
His eyebrow shot up. “No kidding.”
“Well, that’s somewhat true,” she amended with a smile. “I was adopted when I was born. My adopted family lives in Old Town Whitehorse. That’s where I grew up.”
“You’re adopted?” That seemed to interest him.
“I didn’t find out until recently.”
“No one told you?”
She shook her head. “If you knew my adoptive mother, that would make sense to you. She said the moment she laid eyes on my sisters and me we were hers and nobody else’s, and that’s why she didn’t tell us. Lila Bailey Jackson is a very strong, determined woman.”
“Like her daughter.” He took a sip of his champagne, then frowned. “Lila Bailey Jackson?”
“She recently married Loren Jackson. It’s a long story, but apparently they were in love for years.”
“Jackson,” he repeated softly. “Like the sheriff?” He refilled her glass. She hadn’t realized she’d emptied it already. Nerves.
“The sheriff is Loren’s son and my sister Eve’s fiancé. It’s a small town,” she added with a laugh and realized she was starting to enjoy herself. And why shouldn’t she? She did have something to celebrate, and her date was just as handsome as Arlene had said.
She hadn’t dated all that much, too busy between school and a job working for a local veterinarian in Bozeman while she’d attended Montana State University. It felt good to be in the company of an attractive cowboy.
“So tell me about you.”
He shrugged. “Not much to tell. Raised on a ranch, like you.”
Had she told him she was raised on a ranch? She couldn’t remember.
“I’ve worked all over, wrangling and doing odd jobs. Once you turn thirty you can’t help but think about planting roots. Not too deep, though,” he quickly amended. “I like being a free spirit. When I leave here I’m thinking of going to South America. Like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. You know, they robbed a train up here right before they went to South America.”
Allegedly. But she didn’t tell him that. She knew Flynn Garrett’s type. He liked to think of himself as an outlaw. He’d used his looks to get him through life, always taking the path of least resistance. She’d dated a few boys like him in college. They were fun. At least for a while.
“So why did you bid on the old Harper place?” she asked and took a drink of her champagne. She might as well celebrate because she’d just bought herself a house and forty acres.
He shrugged in answer. “I like competition.”
She eyed him over the rim of her champagne glass. Yeah? But he wasn’t as good at losing as he was at pretending, she thought. The question was: