The Husband List. Cindy Kirk
resisted the urge to sigh. Though normally there was nothing she liked better than talking about herself, she was reluctant to share too much. Knowledge was power, after all. And like her, she sensed Keenan preferred to hold those reins.
Yet no matter how many times she tried to switch the conversation to him, he kept redirecting it back to her.
“I returned to California for my residency,” she told him finally. “Kate and I met then, and we’ve been good friends ever since. She moved here and really liked it. When I finished my fellowship, there was an opening at Spring Gulch Orthopedics. They offered me the position, and here I am.”
Instead of grabbing another slice of pizza, Keenan kept his entire attention on her. “Do you still have family in California?”
“My mother.” Mitzi shifted in her seat, wishing the seats had more padding and Keenan would stop with the family questions. “A sister. Three nieces. What about you? I know your sister is here. What about your parents?”
A shadow passed over his face. “I don’t remember my old man. He cut out shortly after Betsy was born. I was five. Gloria—our mother—died in a car accident several years back.”
“I’m sorry to hear that—”
“She was drunk.” His voice turned flat, his eyes now shuttered. “Police estimate she was going close to seventy when she hit the tree. Almost took out a kid on a bike.”
Sympathy for the boy who’d grown up on his own washed over her even as the air filled with the bruised weight of the past.
“It’s tough. My father died when I was seven.” She surprised herself by revealing so much. But it felt right. “He was digging a trench when it caved in. He suffocated before they could get to him.”
His gaze never left her face. “Heck of a way to go.”
“Is there a good way?” Mitzi gave a careless shrug before pulling her hand from his and taking another slice of pizza.
They ate in companionable silence for several minutes. Mitzi found it odd she could be so relaxed in the company of a man she barely knew. Perhaps it was because she didn’t feel the need to be anything but herself with him.
“Ben Campbell and I were on the same Little League team in grade school,” Keenan said abruptly. “I heard the two of you dated for a while.”
Mitzi raised a brow. “Plugged into the Jackson Hole gossip line already, McGregor?”
A quick grin flashed. “Hey, I can’t help it if people want to catch me up to date.”
“Then you should also be aware Ben is now a happily married man with a wife he loves and a bouncing baby boy.”
“Wish it was you?”
“If I’d wanted it to be me, I’d have tried harder to make it work.”
“If it don’t come easy, best to let it go.”
“Aren’t you the philosophical one?”
His smile widened. “Just sayin’ if you have to work at it so hard, perhaps it’s not meant to be.”
“If I subscribed to that theory, I’d still be back in L.A., cleaning houses like my mother or tending bar like my sister.”
“Nothing wrong with honest labor,” Keenan said mildly.
“There’s also nothing wrong with having goals and trying to better yourself,” she said casually. It was all she could do not to snap back at him.
“Is this where you get up and start preaching that everyone can succeed if they just try hard enough?”
There was something behind that bland expression, something in the way he said the words that told Mitzi if she did preach that sermon, he’d be the first to get up and leave. She called on her inner control and forced calmness to her voice she didn’t feel. “You don’t agree?”
He shrugged. “Does it matter?”
Let it go. His opinion didn’t matter. She knew what she believed. Yet, she found herself saying, “Tell me.”
He did. She listened—and ate—as Keenan spoke of the people he’d met before he’d gone to prison: decent hardworking men and women trying to build a better life for themselves and their families.
“When you get down so low, it’s almost impossible to get out.”
“Yeah, it’s hard,” Mitzi insisted. “Sacrifices have to be made.”
“Did you work when you were in high school?”
“I worked my butt off. I cleaned houses. I scrubbed floors and toilets.” She wrinkled her nose. “While my mother encouraged me to study, she’d have been satisfied to have me cleaning full-time after graduation. I was the one who wanted more.”
“You were lucky,” he said.
“Hardly.” She gave a little laugh. “My bedroom in the new house is bigger than our entire apartment in L.A.”
“You had someone who kept a roof over your head, food on the table. Someone who encouraged you to study.”
“Yes, but—” Mitzi’s frustration began to churn like an approaching thunderstorm inside her. “I could have gone out and partied. Gotten knocked up at sixteen like my sister.”
“You made the most of the opportunities you were given.” Keenan’s tone seemed to gentle. “That’s commendable. I’m not taking anything away from you, Mitzi. I’m simply saying in many ways you were fortunate and had a leg up on a lot of other people. That’s all.”
Mitzi stared at him for a moment. He made a good point. She hadn’t had to take care of her sister, and her mother had done her best to provide for the family.
“You’re right.” Instead of picking up her pizza, Mitzi stabbed it with her fork. “But I got out of East L.A., left that lifestyle behind because of the choices I made.”
“Hey.” Keenan reached across the table, laid a hand across hers and gave it a squeeze. “You’re a success story. You have every right to be proud of what you’ve achieved.”
Some of her irritation slipped away at the admiration in those hazel eyes.
“Care if I join you while I wait for my pizza? I don’t want to interrupt.”
Jerking back her hand, Mitzi shifted her gaze.
Winston Ferris stood by the table, smiling down at them. From his hand-tailored suit, Hermès tie and black Hublot watch encircling his wrist Winn radiated an aura of wealth and privilege. And why not? He was a successful land developer and son of wealthy rancher Jim Ferris. Though there were some in town who decried his ethics, Mitzi admired his tenacity and focus.
“Please join us.” Mitzi moved over and made room for Winn on her side of the booth.
Keenan took another sip of cola and eyed Winn thoughtfully. But once Winn sat down, her dinner companion extended his hand.
“Keenan McGregor,” he said. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
Winn introduced himself before Mitzi could do it, then gazed thoughtfully at Keenan. “You’re Betsy Harcourt’s brother, the one who just got out of prison.”
Mitzi’s gaze shot to Keenan’s face but his expression remained bland.
“That’s right,” Keenan said easily. “And your father owns the Triple K.”
Surprise skittered across Winn’s face. “You know my father?”
“I know the spread,” Keenan clarified. “I used to do some work for the previous owner back in high school. Prime ranch land.”
“Dad is happy with it.” Looking perplexed,