Her Kind of Hero - Cindy Kirk Page 0,44

and headed straight for the skirt.

“No, no, Bitty.” Mitzi grabbed the kitten and pulled her close, stroking the soft fur.

“There’s nothing wrong with spending time with Keenan,” she murmured to herself as Bitty looked up then raked her sandpaper tongue across the top of Mitzi’s hand. “I just have to keep myself from liking him too much.”

That shouldn’t be a problem. Most men she’d dated accused her of having ice in her veins. Of course, they usually didn’t hit her with that zinger until she’d broken it off. It was her practice that once she was ready to move on, to simply tell the guy. She would never understand the ones who kept calling, trying to get her to change her mind.

Ice in her veins? Though it seemed a trifle harsh, she could honestly admit there had never been a man she couldn’t walk away from and none whom she missed once he was gone.

Mitzi thought of Devin, a fellow medical-school student. When they’d started going out, she’d made it clear she wasn’t looking for anything serious. He seemed cool with the arrangement, but sometime during the year he apparently changed his mind.

When he’d professed his love and pulled out a diamond ring, she’d been struck dumb. Though she’d attempted to be gentle in her refusal, he’d become angry. Looking back, she accepted some of the fault for that...misunderstanding. She should have never let such long stretches go by without reminding Devin they were just friends. She certainly never should have let dating turn into an exclusive arrangement.

While she may have made it clear at the beginning of the relationship she only wanted to be friends, she hadn’t been vigilant during the course of their time together.

Mitzi wouldn’t make the same mistake with Keenan. She’d be alert for any signs that he might be getting the wrong idea about their “friendship.”

The doorbell rang and Mitzi scrambled to her feet. She took a moment to dress, tug on her boots and freshen her lipstick before sashaying to the front door to greet Keenan.

Keenan couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed so much. After a dinner of barbecued brisket with Kathy Randall’s peach pie for dessert, he and Mitzi gave in to pressure and agreed to a game of charades.

Keenan smiled. Bill and the other married guys he worked with were always teasing him about his “wild” single life. He could only imagine what they’d think if he told them he’d followed an evening of playing cards with a hot night of charades.

Hailey ran the game, which pitted girls against guys. Keenan, Tripp and Frank were on one team with Adrianna, Mitzi and Kathy on the other. The teams were evenly matched with each enjoying its share of success.

“We won!” Mitzi shrieked at Adrianna’s correct answer and pumped her fist in the air. Kathy and Adrianna exchanged high fives and shot smug smiles to the men.

Frank turned to his son, looking disgusted. “We should have gotten that last point. I don’t know how I could have made the clues any more obvious.”

Tripp shrugged. “Can’t win ’em all.”

But Keenan could tell Tripp was as upset by the loss as his father. It was easy to see where his friend had inherited his competitive streak.

Tripp helped his wife up from the sofa. While her pregnancy didn’t show, his friend had been overly solicitous all evening. “We’re going to call it a night. Adrianna and I have early appointments tomorrow.”

“Likewise.” Mitzi rose. “My schedule the next few days is murderous.”

Keenan helped Tripp and Frank rearrange the furniture that had been scooted together for the game. He kept his face impassive, wondering if Mitzi’s words had been for his benefit. Was that her way of telling him not to call, not to expect to see her for the next few days?

She needn’t have wasted her breath. Keenan had no intention of running after her. Even when he was a boy, he hadn’t chased girls. They’d come to him.

Or...they hadn’t.

Keenan had enjoyed the evening. The only downer was the loving way Tripp and Hailey interacted with their mother brought some not-so-fond memories of his own mother to the surface.

But he had gotten something of value from living in her household. Gloria had taught him—through words and example—that if he put his heart out there, it’d get stomped on. She’d stomped on his repeatedly until he smartened up and realized she didn’t care. Not about Betsy. Not about him.

It had been a valuable lesson. One he needed to