together on the far end of the large deck was indeed her former flame and his wife. His arm was wrapped around her waist and her head rested against his shoulder.
“They seem happy together,” Mitzi grudgingly admitted. “What’s the point here? Are you implying I’m the one who’s difficult?”
“I’m saying,” Kate’s tone remained low and even, “that you’ve dated all sorts of men. You simply haven’t found the right one.”
“That’s why I made a list,” Mitzi confided, pleased with herself for taking this proactive step. “Wrote down all the qualities I want in a husband.”
Kate didn’t appear surprised. She probably recalled the lists Mitzi had made all through residency. Lists of manners she needed to master so as to not embarrass herself in public. Lists of things she needed to learn about everything from wine to art.
“What kept Keenan McGregor off the list?”
Mitzi took another sip of champagne. The qualities that she’d listed had been well thought out and valid. Yet, somehow, the thought of saying them aloud made her uneasy.
She reminded herself she hadn’t gotten to where she was in life by caring what other people thought.
“Successful.” Mitzi met Kate’s gaze. “I want a man who’s achieved a certain measure of success by the time he’s reached his thirties. While I admit Keenan is good-looking and charming, he’s certainly not, by anyone’s measure, a success.”
“You’re wrong.”
Mitzi whirled.
Betsy Harcourt, Keenan’s sister, stood so close it was obvious that while Mitzi had kept her voice deliberately low, the woman had heard every word.
Mitzi flinched. “I didn’t mean for you—”
“Don’t.” With a finger pointed directly at Mitzi, Betsy spoke, her voice snapping like a whip. “Don’t say another word.”
Stunned, Mitzi obeyed. This was a side to the sweet and docile paralegal she’d never seen. The sprinkle of freckles across Betsy’s nose now stood like angry pennies against the pallor of her skin.
“You’re wrong about Keenan. Dead wrong. My brother is a success. Perhaps he doesn’t have a shiny red sports car or a big house in Spring Gulch, but he’s successful in the ways that matter.” Betsy’s eyes flashed a warning when Mitzi started to open her mouth.
“Keenan raised me when he was only a kid himself. Never did he make me feel like a burden. He went to prison to protect me. Gave up his freedom for me.” Betsy brought her clenched fist to her chest. “If you can’t see that Keenan is a special guy, then I’m telling you...stay away from him. He deserves only good things—and good people—in his life.”
Tears welled in Betsy’s blue eyes. Before they could fall, the brunette blinked them back and straightened her shoulders. She shifted her focus to Kate, who stood slack-jawed at Mitzi’s side. “Mary Karen needs to speak with you.”
“I’ll be right in,” Kate responded when she finally found her voice, but Betsy had already spun on her heel and was headed inside.
Sighing, Mitzi bit her lip. “That was awful.”
Kate nodded. “I’m afraid it’s only going to get more so, at least for you.”
Mitzi cocked her head.
“The man you were just told to steer clear of is going to be the one trimming out your new home.”
Chapter Three
Keenan glanced around the family room of the gracious home in the Spring Gulch subdivision of Jackson Hole. At just over 2,100 square feet, Mitzi’s home might not be as large as some, but the spacious interior and the stone and brick exterior was appealing and surprisingly cozy.
After spending the morning raising rafters on a house in the mountains, he was sent by Joel to help Bill on Mitzi’s home. It was the first Keenan had seen of the place. “It’s a beauty.”
“Turning out nice.” Balding and somewhere in his fifties, the foreman reminded Keenan of an accountant.
Buckling on the tool belt Joel had lent him, Keenan studied the French doors leading to a vaulted screened porch. Though he thought the house was still an awful lot of space for one person, he admired the efficiency of the floor plan. “For some reason I thought Mitzi, er, Dr. Sanchez, had a condo.”
“She bought a place in Teton Village about a year ago. She didn’t like it.” Bill shrugged. “Being an orthopedic surgeon, the lady has money to burn.”
Money to burn.
Keenan wondered what that would be like. Right now he’d be satisfied with enough cash to last until his next paycheck.
“Does she come around much?” He kept his tone casual.
“Every couple of days she drives up in that little red BMW M6.” Bill sanded a piece