was framed by the picture window but apparently looking at the structure of the house rather than through the plate glass into the interior, so he obviously had no idea he was being watched. And Jenna couldn’t help watching—studying him, actually.
Slacks, a button-down shirt and a sports coat didn’t hide the fact that the man was all broad shoulders, taut torso, narrow hips and long legs.
And above the broad shoulders?
There was no question that he was Chase Mackey’s brother because the similarities were marked, particularly in the sexy dent in the center of his chin. But beyond that, Ian Kincaid’s features took Chase’s and refined them.
The lines of his face were more sharply defined, more angular. His jaw was chiseled. His nose was slightly longish but perfectly shaped. His lips had a hint more fullness to the lower than to the upper. His golden-brown, sun-kissed hair had the same waviness that Chase Mackey’s had, but was cut shorter and neater all over. And his eyes …
Oh, those eyes!
Chase Mackey’s were sky blue.
Ian Kincaid’s were a more ethereal, almost translucent blue—like the sky reflected off a frozen pond.
“Wow …” Jenna heard herself say again as the full impact of those good looks sank in.
Meg laughed. “Uhh … Nurse Bowen? Should I throw cold water on you?”
“No … Right. He’s the enemy,” Jenna said to yank herself out of her reverie.
“Well, no, he isn’t the devil or the enemy—he’s a great guy—”
“Who could take over my dad’s farm and turn it into a football training facility.”
“You said you were coming to grips with that.”
“I’m trying to.” But she didn’t need to be going gaga over the guy.
And yet, there she was, still staring at the man.
“Why don’t we go out and I’ll introduce you?” Meg suggested.
And why was concern for how she looked the first thing that flashed through Jenna’s mind? Why should she care if her long, brown hair was still neatly in its ponytail or if the mascara had stayed on her brownish-green eyes? Why should she care that she had on baggy jeans and a too-big sweatshirt?
She shouldn’t.
But she did.
“I’m a mess,” she said, as if that were answer enough to Meg’s suggestion.
“No, you’re not. You look fine.”
But somehow fine was not good enough when she thought of meeting the man who still had her staring.
“Come on,” Meg urged. “Tia and Abby love him—”
“Abby knows him?”
“Well, sure. Even though you haven’t met him, he’s been around the showroom visiting his brother when I’ve babysat Abby.”
Despite the fact that Meg babysat Abby whenever Jenna worked, and Ian Kincaid stayed in the above-the-garage apartment whenever he visited, Jenna hadn’t met him.
“Tia and Abby both have the cutest little crushes on him,” Meg continued. “Tia draws him scribbly pictures and bats her eyes at him and follows him around like a puppy dog if she can. And Abby holds out her arms for him to carry her the minute she sees him. She calls him Un, and out of the blue, she’ll hug him and kiss him—it’s so funny.”
So his looks knocked the socks off little girls as well as big ones, Jenna thought. But what she said was, “Abby likes him?”
“She really does. And he’s good with her, too. And with Tia. I know you don’t like the idea that he wants the farm for something other than farming, but he really isn’t a bad guy. You should meet him.”
It didn’t seem as if she was going to have a choice.
The Realtor glanced through the picture window and waved at Jenna and Meg. She said something to Ian Kincaid that made him look inside, too, and the two of them went to the front door and poked their heads in after an obligatory knock.
“Hi! I’m just showing Mr. Kincaid a few things he had questions about,” Marsha Pinkell called. “Do you mind if we come in?”
The answer to that was yes, but that wasn’t what Jenna said. She could hardly refuse access to the Realtor she’d listed the farm with, so she said, “It’s okay, come in.”
They did just that as Jenna and Meg got up from the floor, so they could come face-to-face with Ian Kincaid.
“Hi, Ian,” Meg greeted the man warmly.
“Hi, Meg,” he answered with equal warmth and familiarity. “Logan said I might bump into you over here—I guess he was right.”
“This is Jenna,” Meg said. “Jenna Bowen. My best friend and Abby’s aunt-slash-new-mom.”
“And the owner of this place now—I know the name,” Ian Kincaid added. “I also know that your father passed away not long ago. I’m sorry for your loss,” he said, his eyes going from Meg to Jenna.
“Thank you,” Jenna said perfunctorily, trying not to get too drawn into the not-at-all-cold gaze of those ice-blue eyes. They seemed to hone in on her. Again she wished for less baggy clothes, and that she’d done something different with her hair today.
“Marsha has also told me that—in honor of your dad—you’re trying to hold tight to the contingent that this place continue as a working farm,” he said.
“That’s right,” Jenna confirmed, seeing no reason to beat around the bush. “And I know that that isn’t what you want to do with the place. That your father brought an NFL expansion football team to Montana and he wants to build a training center here.”
“The Montana Monarchs,” Ian Kincaid said the team’s name as if she might not know it. “You’re right on all counts. My father is Morgan Kincaid; he finally has his dream of owning an NFL team, and we need a training facility. We’ll meet the asking price on the property without haggling if you’ll just back off on that farm contingency.”
“I won’t. Not for any price. I realize if the place goes to auction, whoever buys it can do what they want with it. But as long as I still have the option, I’m holding to the contingency.” Even if he was talking to her amiably, respectfully, pleasantly and as if they were on the same level when, in fact, she also knew that he was a bigwig in his former-football-star father’s massive corporation and one of the heirs to a fortune, while she was merely a small-town nurse in debt.
“What if we sweeten the deal by, say, five thousand?” he said then.
“Doesn’t that fall under the heading of haggling?” She goaded him just slightly.
To his credit, he smiled. A brilliant smile that exposed perfect white teeth and drew wonderful
