Claiming The Cowboy's Heart. Brenda Harlen

attempting to schedule the final inspections—and trying to fill unexpected vacancies in his staff.

      If Macy Clayton had responded to the original posting, he might have hired her rather than Andrew and not been feeling so panicked right now. Of course, he was making this assumption on the basis of her résumé and his sister’s recommendation without even having met the woman. So while he agreed that she seemed to have all the necessary qualifications for the job, he was going to reserve judgment.

      Then she walked in—and his body stirred with a purely sexual awareness he hadn’t experienced in a long while. And in that first moment, even before the introductions, he knew there was no way he could hire her. He also knew that he had to at least go through the motions of the interview.

      When she accepted his proffered hand, he felt a jolt straight through his middle as their palms joined. Her skin was soft but her grasp was firm, and he caught a flicker of something that might have been a mixture of surprise and awareness in her espresso-colored eyes when they met his. Her hair was also dark, with highlights of gold and copper, and tied away from her face in the messy-bun style made famous by the Duchess of Sussex before she was royalty.

      He guessed Macy’s height at around five feet five inches, though her heeled boots added a couple of inches to that number, and her build was on the slender side, but with distinctly feminine curves. The long coat she wore in deference to the season had been unbuttoned to reveal a slim-fitting black skirt that fell just below her knees and a matching single-breasted jacket over a bright blue shell.

      “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Clayton.” He resisted the temptation to brush his thumb over the pulse point at her wrist to see if it was racing; instead, he let his hand drop away.

      “Likewise,” she said.

      “Can I take your coat for you?”

      “No need.” She shrugged it off her shoulders and draped it over the back of the chair before perching on the edge of the seat. “I have to tell you, I was skeptical when I’d heard that the old Stagecoach Hotel was being renovated and reopened, but based on what I’ve seen so far, you’ve really done a wonderful job with this place.”

      “Most of the major renovations were done by the previous owner—I just hired the right people to pick up where he left off,” Liam admitted.

      “Well, the actual coach at the back of the lobby is a nice touch,” she noted.

      “I thought so, too,” he said. A simple idea that had been a lot more complicated to execute, as the antique carriage had to be taken apart to get it through the doorway and then reassembled inside.

      “You’re planning to open in three weeks?” she prompted.

      He nodded. “Valentine’s Day.”

      Her smile was warm and natural. Friendly. He imagined she’d make the guests feel welcome—which was, of course, what he wanted, but didn’t alleviate his other concerns.

      Sexual harassment in the workplace was a serious issue, and Liam had been raised to be respectful of all women. Still, he suspected it would be a mistake to hire a woman who, upon their first meeting, made him think all kinds of inappropriately tempting thoughts.

      “Your résumé shows that you spent the last four years working at the Courtland Hotel in Las Vegas,” he noted, forcing himself to refocus on the matter at hand.

      “That’s correct.”

      “So why did you leave Las Vegas and move to Haven?”

      “I moved back to Haven,” she clarified. “I grew up in this town and my parents still live here and—” Her words stopped abruptly, as if she’d caught herself saying more than she wanted to.

      “And?” he prompted.

      She offered another easy smile and a quick shrug. “And I was ready to come home.”

      It seemed like a reasonable response, but he doubted it was what she’d initially intended to say.

      He looked at her résumé again, skimming through the pages that attested to a wealth and breadth of experience. She’d worked a lot of different jobs on her way up to her most recent position as assistant to the manager of the Courtland Hotel & Casino in Las Vegas: she’d served drinks in a hotel casino, worked as a hostess in the restaurant and even done a stint cleaning rooms.

      “Your experience is impressive,” he told her.

      “Thank you.”

      “But why do you want to work here?”

      “Because there are no openings at the Dusty Boots Motel.”

      His brows lifted. “Is that a joke?”

      The corners of her mouth tipped up at the corners. “Yes, Mr. Gilmore.”

      “Liam,” he said.

      “I’m not sure it’s appropriate to call my boss by his given name.”

      “I’m not your boss,” he pointed out.

      “Yet,” she clarified, and smiled again.

      Before he could reply to that, he heard a rustling sound in the playpen behind him, followed by a tiny, plaintive voice asking for, “Ma-ma?”

      Macy leaned forward in her seat, looking past him to the little girl who’d pulled herself up into a standing position, holding onto the top rail.

      “Mama’s going to be back soon,” Liam promised. Hoped.

      “You have a beautiful daughter,” Macy said.

      “What? No,” he responded quickly. Firmly. “She’s not my daughter—she’s my niece.”

      “Then you have a beautiful niece,” she amended.

      He looked at the child in question and felt a familiar tug in the vicinity of his heart. “Yeah, she is kinda cute.”

      Tessa lifted her arms, a wordless request.

      Liam glanced at his watch and tried to remember if Kate had told him when she expected to be finished in court. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tessa’s arms drop back down and her lower lip thrust forward in a pout.

      He sighed and reached for her. “I’m conducting an interview here,” he said, as he settled his niece on his hip. “So let’s try to keep things professional, okay?”

      She responded by leaning forward and pressing her puckered lips to his cheek.

      “Not really a good start,” he noted dryly.

      But his potential innkeeper smiled, clearly charmed by the little girl.

      “And if your diaper needs changing, that’s going to have to wait until your mom gets back,” he warned his niece.

      “You don’t do diapers?” Macy guessed.

      “Not if I can help it. And Kate promised she’d be back from court before Tessa woke up so that I wouldn’t have to.”

      “Either Kate was delayed or Tessa woke up early—maybe because she was wet,” she suggested. “Did your sister leave a diaper bag?”

      “If you can call something that would likely be tagged ‘oversized’ by an airport luggage handler a bag,” he remarked, gesturing to the multipocketed behemoth.

      Macy reached for the bag and, after rifling through its contents, pulled out a change pad, clean diaper and package of wipes, which she set on the table in front of him.

      Still, Liam hesitated. “I’m sure she can wait until we’ve finished our interview.”

      “Maybe she can, but she shouldn’t have to be uncomfortable,” Macy said. “I can step out of the room, if you want privacy.”

      “Do you have much experience with babies and diapers?”

      The