as she turned to answer someone who’d asked her something, he noted a seriously lush fanny—yeah, her ad would get hits. He wondered if she knew what Ty had done on her behalf with the dating ad and pulled off his hat, telling himself he’d just introduce himself and go.
This was no place for him.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for Mackenzie Hawthorne. My name’s Justin Morant. Ty Spurlock sent me by.”
“I’m Mackenzie.”
Her voice was as pretty as she was. Justin swallowed. “Ty said you might need some help around here.”
Pink lips smiled at him; brown eyes sparkled. He drew back a little, astonished by how darling she was smiling at him like that. Like he was some kind of hero who’d just rolled up on his white steed.
And, damn, he was driving a white truck.
Which was kind of funny if you appreciated irony, and, right now, he felt like he was living it.
Sudden baby wails caught his attention, and hers, too.
“Come on in,” she said. “You’ll have to excuse me for just a moment. But make yourself at home in the kitchen. There’s tea on the counter, and Mrs. Harper’s put together a lovely chicken salad. After I feed the babies, we can talk about what kind of work you’re looking for. Mrs. Harper will love to pull your life story from you while you eat.”
She made fast introductions and then the tiny brunette disappeared, allowing him a better look at that full seat. Blue jeans accentuated the curves, and he figured she was so nicely full-figured because she’d just had a baby.
Damn Ty for pulling this prank on him. His buddy was probably laughing his fool ass off right about now, knowing how Justin felt about settling down and family ties in general. Justin was a loner, at least in spirit. He had lots of friends on the circuit, and he was from a huge family. He had three brothers, all as independent as he was, except for J.T., who liked to stay close to the family and the neighborhood he’d grown up in.
Justin was going to continue to ride alone.
Mrs. Harper smiled at him as he took a barstool at the wide kitchen island. “Welcome, Justin.”
“Thank you,” he replied, not about to let himself feel welcome. He needed to get out of there as fast as possible. The place was a honey trap of food and good intentions. Another baby wail joined the first, and Justin’s ears perked up. Two? Maybe she was babysitting. He looked at Mrs. Harper, worried.
Mrs. Harper laughed. “Yes, she probably does need a hand,” she said, misunderstanding the question on his face. “Run on in there and help her out for a second, and I’ll serve up a lunch for you that’ll take the edge off any hunger pangs you’ve got.” She pulled a fragrant pie from the oven—an apple pie, he guessed—and his stomach rumbled.
Okay, he could go check on the little mother for the price of lunch. But then he was heading out, with a “Sorry—this job doesn’t fit the description of my talents,” or something equally polite.
He was going to kick Ty’s butt hard, over the phone, which wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying as doing it in person. He’d driven a day out of his way to apply for what he’d thought might be bona fide employment.
He walked into the den, guided by the baby cries. Mackenzie glanced at him from the sofa. “Don’t be scared—they’ll calm down in a moment,” she said, but he was anyway, unable to stop staring at the four white bassinets, three babies tucked into them like pink-wrapped sausages working free of their casings. Mackenzie held a fourth writhing baby close to her chest, and Justin realized she was nursing.
Holy crap. She had four babies. He backed up a step, belatedly removed his hat. “I’m not scared. I’m something else, but I’m not sure I can identify the emotion.” He looked at the three squalling babies, clearly deciding they all wanted their mother’s attention at once. “What can I do?”
He hoped she’d say nothing, but instead she pointed him to a bottle. “If you’re sincerely asking, Holly’s next in line.”
Holly? He glanced back at the baskets. Tiny nameplates adorned the bassinets, which for some reason reminded him of the carved beds of the seven dwarves. Only Mackenzie was no Snow White under an evil spell, and he was certainly no handsome prince.
But the lady did need help; that much was clear. She was in over her head by any reasonable metric, whether it was the ranch (which she probably would lose, if he were a betting man) or these tiny babies (which would require an army of assistants that he figured she couldn’t afford—again, no hard bet for a man who liked betting on sure things). This would only take an hour, he figured, and an hour he certainly did have, damn his torn PCL.
Justin studied the nameplates to make certain he picked up the right baby. Holly, Hope, Haven and Heather. All chosen, no doubt, to go with the Hanging H of the ranch, which was sort of a hopeless exercise because they’d all get married one day and their last names would change. To Thomas or Smith or whatever. Then he remembered that Mackenzie’s last name was Hawthorne, and she must not have ever changed her name when she got married.
If she’d been married.
Gingerly he picked up Holly, who had a pretty annoyed wail going, grabbed one of the bottles off a wooden tray and slipped it into her mouth. Oh, yeah, that was exactly what she wanted—food—and what he wanted—golden silence.
“Thank you,” Mackenzie said. “They all decide they want to eat at once, every time.”
He sank onto a sofa, carefully holding the baby. “My brothers and I were the same. It lasted through our teens and drove our parents nuts.” He glanced at the other two babies, who were now occupying themselves with listening to the adult voices in the room. “I guess these are all yours.”
She smiled, and he noticed she had very shapely lips. He avoided staring at the blanket at her breast, not wanting to catch an accidental glimpse of something he shouldn’t see. He was a gentleman, even if he found himself at the moment feeling like a fish out of water.
“They’re all mine.” She smiled proudly at her children. “We’re still working out some things, but the girls are coming along nicely now. They have a little better routine, and the health issues are more manageable.”
He turned his gaze back to Holly so the doubt wouldn’t show on his face. The overgrown paddocks, the sagging gutters and the chipping paint stayed on his mind. These four children—was the father totally useless? Did he not care about the state of his property? Or these four sweet-faced babies? Not to mention the sexy mother of his children.
“Their father is in Alaska,” she said, somehow reading his thoughts. “Working on an oil rig. And when he’s not working, he’s otherwise engaged. We don’t hear from him,” she said. “Not before the divorce or after. I’d been on a drug to help me get pregnant, and he was unpleasantly surprised by the results.” She put a now-content baby into the empty basket marked “Heather,” diapered her, kissed her and picked up Hope. “This one was born with lung issues, but we’re slowly getting past that. And Holly has struggled with being underweight, but time has been the healer for that, too.” She smiled at Justin, and he saw how beautiful she was, especially when her face lit up as she talked about her children. “So tell me what kind of work you do, and we’ll see if our needs match.”
