that?” Cody asked.
“You hit a ball with a mallet through little hoops.”
The idea of hitting balls clearly intrigued Cody, though he stubbornly held his ground.
“I’ll let you watch a movie while your sisters nap.”
“Which movie?” Won over at last, Cody reluctantly followed Nora and his sisters toward the kitchen.
“What one’s your favorite?”
“My Little Pony,” Marisa squealed with glee and skipped ahead.
“No.” Cody slapped his forehead in very adult frustration. “Not that one again.”
The remainder of their conversation was cut off when they disappeared around the corner. Owen was thinking he could learn a lot from Nora when Molly suddenly entered the room. Good thing he was alone. That way, no one witnessed his jaw going slack at the sight of her.
She looked amazing. Not that she hadn’t been pretty in her jeans and T-shirt. But the pale knit dress she wore and the way her soft, wavy hair framed her face elevated her appeal to a whole new level. She was, quite simply, lovely, and Owen felt his heartstrings stir.
Granted, Molly had a few funny idiosyncrasies. Like the way she flitted around the room, obsessing over the placement of coasters or holding her splayed fingers above her head to test the airflow from the AC ducts. Funny, but also amusing and sort of endearing. He could only assume those former husbands of hers were idiots for letting her go.
“Easy does it,” he muttered under his breath. He was here to restore his faltering relationship with his children. Not find his next romantic interest.
Must be Sweetheart Ranch. There was something about a place where love abounded. Hard to steel oneself against the effects.
“Thanks for your help earlier.”
Owen gave a start. Where had Molly come from? Last he’d seen, she’d been straightening pictures that didn’t need straightening and refanning the precisely fanned napkins.
“My pleasure,” he said, trying not to stare.
“And thanks for coming this afternoon. People will enjoy meeting you.”
“Do I look minister-y enough? I wasn’t sure what to wear. Marisa picked this.” He tugged on the hem of his leather vest, a recent gift from his mother. The brand for his brothers’ ranch was burned on the front. “Not sure I should rely on the opinion of a three-year-old.”
“Three-and-a-half,” Molly corrected him. “She was quite adamant about that when we were wiping down the folding chairs.”
“Six months is important when you’re her age.”
“She’s cute. All your kids are.”
“Thanks, but I can’t take the credit. Any good genes they got came from their mother.”
Molly studied him at length, long enough for him to feel the effects. “I think they take after you.”
“Is that a compliment?”
She didn’t answer, fussing with an imaginary wrinkle on her dress.
Owen suppressed a chuckle. She liked him. Liked his looks, anyway.
“Having planned two of your own weddings must come in handy for being in a wedding coordinator.” He admitted to himself that he was fishing for information.
Molly took the bait. “I’ve never been married.”
“No?”
“I was engaged twice and, as Nora mentioned, I did the planning.”
But had broken off the engagements, evidently. “What happened, can I ask?”
She drew in a breath. “No offense, Owen, but I have no desire to share details with you about our pasts.”
“No offense taken.” He agreed the timing was bad and shifted gears. “This house is incredible.”
Molly visibly relaxed. “It was built in the late 1800s by my great-great-grandparents. They came to Arizona from back east and were one of the original families to settle in the Mustang Valley.”
“You have deep roots here.”
“Very deep. Growing up, Bridget and I spent every summer with our grandparents. They owned the local inn and put us to work as soon as we were big enough to push a laundry cart and kept us working part-time all through high school and college.”
“Nothing like learning the business from a young age.” Owen could boast a similar experience. He’d come from a rodeo family going back three generations. “Where’d you work before coming here?”
“For a couple different big hotel chains.”
“Which ones? I’ve stayed in a lot of hotels.”
“I like working for a family business much better. It’s hard but the rewards are worth it.”
She’d purposefully avoided answering his question. Owen was curious why but didn’t press her.
“There’s a lot to be said for being your own boss. Can’t say the idea hasn’t occurred to me.” He’d spent a few interesting hours researching.
“What kind of business appeals to you?” Molly asked.
“Retail. Sales. Something along those lines.”
“Because that’s where your talent lies.”
He winked. “One of them.”
She glanced away, sending a very clear message. She didn’t welcome his flirting.
Owen curbed his impulses. Being friendly was part of what had made him a top-earning salesman, but he’d gone one step too far with Molly.
“I tend to talk a lot,” he confessed. “But I’m also a good listener. Two traits that might come in handy while covering for Uncle Homer.”
“People do love to talk about their weddings.”
The sound of the front door opening alerted them to the arrival of guests. Molly went instantly into hostess mode, rushing to the foyer to greet them and take their coats. Escorting them to the parlor, she pointed out the refreshments and introduced them to Owen, using his uncle as an ice breaker.
Here, he was in his element and easily launched into polite conversation. An hour into the open house, he was recruited to talk to the TV reporter. Having done interviews during his rodeo days, he was comfortable in front of a camera as well. During all the mingling and schmoozing, he kept an eye on Molly, watching her as she gracefully moved from person to person. No one went without beverages or hors d’oeuvres if she could help it. Judging by the many compliments he overheard, the open house was a huge success.
He
