Mcfarlane’s Perfect Bride
Christine Rimmer
Taming the Montana Millionaire
Teresa Southwick
Mcfarlane’s Perfect Bride
Christine Rimmer
Dear Reader,
One thing in life is certain: change. Times are a little tougher in Thunder Canyon, Montana lately. The boom created by the gold rush a few years ago is over. And Thunder Canyon Resort, which once gave Vail and Aspen a run for the money, is struggling to stay afloat.
Corporate shark and East Coast power player Connor McFarlane has been going through a few changes himself lately. He’s in town for the summer to get to know his estranged fifteen-year-old son and make amends with his sister, Melanie. There’s also a rumour he’s engineering a takeover of Thunder Canyon Resort.
Connor intends to meet his goals for this Montana summer and go. Until he meets schoolteacher Tori Jones. A recent bitter divorce has left him wanting nothing to do with love. And he never plans to marry again.
But Tori Jones is a very special woman—just possibly the perfect woman for him.
Happy reading, everyone.
Yours,
Christine Rimmer
About the Author
CHRISTINE RIMMER came to her profession the long way around. Before settling down to write about the magic of romance, she’d been everything from an actress to a sales clerk to a waitress. Now that she’s finally found work that suits her perfectly, she insists she never had a problem keeping a job—she was merely gaining “life experience” for her future as a novelist. Christine is grateful not only for the joy she finds in writing, but for what waits when the day’s work is through: a man she loves, who loves her right back, and the privilege of watching their children grow and change day to day. She lives with her family in Oklahoma. Visit Christine at www.christinerimmer.com.
For all you teachers out there.
The work you do is the most important work there is.
Chapter One
The doorbell rang just as Tori Jones set the snack tray on the breakfast nook table. “Help yourselves.” She gave her star student, Jerilyn Doolin, a fond smile and sent a nod in the direction of Jerilyn’s new friend, CJ. “There’s juice in the fridge.”
Jerilyn pushed her chair back. “Thanks, Ms. Jones.”
The doorbell chimed again. “I’ll just see who that is.” Tori hurried to answer.
She’d made it halfway through her great room to the small foyer when the pounding started. Hard. On the door. The bell rang again, twice, fast. Followed by more pounding. Alarm jangled through her at the loud, frantic sounds. Was there a fire?
“All right, all right. I’m coming, I’m coming …” She yanked the door wide on a tall, hot-looking guy in designer jeans and high-dollar boots.
Before she could get out a yes-may-I-help-you, the guy growled, “That’s my son’s skateboard.” With a stabbing motion of his index finger, he pointed. Tori peered around the door frame at the skateboard that Jerilyn’s friend had left propped against the porch wall. “Do you have my son here?” the stranger demanded.
Have him? Like she’d kidnapped the boy or something? Tori felt her temper rise.
She tamped it down by reminding herself that the angry man in front of her was probably scared to death. And then she spotted the gorgeous, gas-guzzling SUV parked at the curb. Had he been driving up one street and down another looking for a sign of his lost child? Thunder Canyon, Montana, wasn’t a big city. But the streets would have to seem endless to a man frantically searching for his missing kid.
“I asked you a question.” The man raked his fingers back through thick, expertly cut auburn hair.
Tori schooled her voice to a calmness she didn’t feel. “Is your son’s name CJ?”
“That’s right.” The man seemed on the verge of grabbing her and shaking her until she produced the boy. “Is he here? “
“Yes, he is. He’s—” With a startled cry, she jumped back as the guy barged into her house.
“Where?” He snarled the word at her. “Take me to him. Now.”
“Wait a minute. You can’t—”
Oh, but he could. He was already past her, striding boldly into her great room, shouting, “CJ, damn it! CJ!”
Jerilyn and CJ appeared from the kitchen, both wide-eyed. But as soon as CJ caught sight of the furious man, he put on a scowl. “Sheesh, Dad. Chill.”
“What is the matter with you?” Mr. Hotshot stopped where he was and started lecturing his son. “I had no clue where you had gotten off to. You know you are not to leave the house without telling Gerda where you’re going.”
CJ’s face flamed. He stared down at the hardwood floor, his shaggy hair falling forward to cover his red cheeks. “Come on, Dad,” he muttered. “I was only—”
“And what about your phone? You promised me you wouldn’t go off without your phone.”
“Like it even works in the canyon.” The boy was still talking to the floor.
“Speak up,” his father demanded. “I can’t hear you.”
CJ, who had seemed a normal, reasonably friendly teenager before his dad showed up, clamped his mouth shut now. He refused to even look at his father.
Tori realized she’d been standing there speechless for too long. She needed to calm the father down and diffuse the considerable tension. “Listen, why don’t we all go into the kitchen and—”
“No, thanks.” CJ’s dad cut her off with an absent wave of his hand. “We’re going. Come on, CJ. Now.” He turned for the door. The boy followed him out, head low, feet dragging.
Tori longed to stop them, to get them to speak civilly to each other, at least, before they took off. But she knew that was only her inner schoolteacher talking. In the end, she had no right to interfere. CJ seemed embarrassed by his dad, but not the least afraid of him. And she couldn’t see herself getting between father and son unless there was real cause. Overbearing rudeness just wouldn’t cut it as a reason to intervene.
Trailing after his dad, the boy went out into the June sunshine, pulling the door shut behind him. Tori and Jerilyn hardly moved until they heard the engine of that pricey SUV start up outside and drive away.
Jerilyn
