In Love with Her Boss. Christie Ridgway

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      CHRISTIE RIDGWAY

      Native Californian Christie Ridgway started reading and writing romances in middle school. It wasn’t until she was the wife of her college sweetheart and the mother of two small sons that she submitted her work for publication. Many contemporary romances later, she is happiest when telling her stories despite the splash of kids in the pool, the mass of cups and plates in the kitchen and the many commitments she makes in the world beyond her desk.

      Besides loving the men in her life and her dream-come-true job, she continues her longtime love affair with reading and is never without a stack of books. You can find out more about Christie at her website, www.christieridgway.com.

      For Barbara Freethy, a great listener.

       Thanks.

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter One

      The calendar read December twenty-fourth, but Lori Hanson wanted to forget all about Christmas. She wanted to forget a lot of things, truth to tell, which was why she was impatient to begin her workout at the state-of-the-art facility located at Whitehorn High School in Whitehorn, Montana. Standing in the small entry area, she clutched her gym bag in one hand and used the other to dig in her coat pocket for her membership card.

      Card located, she stepped up to the desk, ignoring the Christmas carols piping cheerfully through the speakers, the red-and-green tinsel draped along the counter, the fuzzy Santa hat perched on the head of the high-school boy who was there to check her in. His winning smile was impossible to avoid, though. “Merry Christmas,” he said.

      “You, too,” Lori murmured, hoping her Scrooge mood didn’t show. But Christmas was for families, something she didn’t have in Whitehorn…not yet.

      The boy took her card and wrote her name down in a ledger book. “New member?” he asked.

      “Yes, I sure am.” She’d only been in Whitehorn a week, but she’d joined the gym the day after finding her small apartment and hours after she’d gone shopping for a winter-in-Montana wardrobe and groceries. To Lori, working out had become a necessity on a par with shelter, clothing and food.

      “Texas?” the high-schooler asked as he handed back her card.

      Lori frowned. “Texas?”

      “Your accent.” The boy grinned. “My mom loves to watch those Dallas reruns.”

      “Oh. No. I’m from South Carolina.” But she was never going back there. She couldn’t.

      “South Carolina.” His forehead scrunched in thought, he leaned back in his chair. “Capital city, Columbia, population approximately 4 million, major economic features are textile manufacturing, tourism and agriculture.”

      At Lori’s clear surprise, he grinned again. “County geography champ last year.”

      This time Lori had to grin back, because his big, open smile was that cute. When she was in high school she would certainly have fallen in love with a boy like this one. Then her smile faded. Those years were long gone, though, and when she had fallen in love it was with a man who had kept his true nature hidden. She shoved her card back in her pocket and turned toward the women’s locker room.

      The boy wasn’t through with her, though. “Winter in Montana’s going to be a shock,” he advised.

      She sent him a half-smile over her shoulder, but kept on walking. She’d been shocked before. She had come to Montana in winter to get away from all that. To make a new start.

      The locker room was deserted. Probably most women were completing their last-minute Christmas shopping or putting the finishing touches on a big family meal. Lori stifled a sharp pang of loneliness and focused instead on shedding her heavy outer clothing and exchanging her winter boots for her running shoes. The sooner she started running, the sooner she could forget her troubles.

      The weight room was nearly empty too, but on its other side there was a basketball game in progress on one of the courts surrounding the indoor running track. She paused, out of long habit cautiously surveying the men at play.

      Though they were the right age, somewhere in their thirties, none of them had the lean, almost slight build of the man she was constantly on watch for. Thank God.

      Relaxing, she continued watching for a minute. Goodness, the males grew big in Montana. The players on the court were all over six feet tall—one of them probably six and a half feet!—with heavy shoulders and broad chests to match.

      In various examples of ragged workout wear, they sweated and grunted and thundered up and down the court, trading good-natured insults. Lori finally moved her gaze from them and walked onto the gray-surfaced track. Eager to begin, she had to force herself to stretch before running. Shoulders, hamstrings, calves: she methodically warmed them up.

      A harsh shout from the basketball court caused her to flinch—raised voices still did that to her—but she made herself complete her final stretches. Then, only then, did she allow herself to start running.

      Aaaah. It was almost a physical sigh that rippled through her mind as she began. A year ago, when she’d taken up running, it had merely been a part of an overall conditioning routine that she’d used to get control over her life. Self-defense classes, some weight training, the running, they were ways to gain confidence.

      But the running had gained her something else, too. A runner’s high. The zone, as she described it to herself. It was a place where the past couldn’t find her and where she could calmly escape her present worries as well.

      Even now, the murals painted on the walls of the gym began to blur. They were beautiful scenes of Montana, wildflowers, snow on the Crazy Mountains, elk on rugged plains, but as her pace increased their colors