Kissing Mr. Right Read online

  ALSO BY MICHELLE MAJOR

  Still the One

  Her Accidental Engagement

  A Brevia Beginning

  A Kiss on Crimson Ranch

  A Second Chance at Crimson Ranch

  The Taming of Delany Fortune (The Fortunes of Texas: Cowboy Country)

  Suddenly a Father

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2015 Michelle Major

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Montlake Romance, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake Romance are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781503945524

  ISBN-10: 1503945529

  Cover design by Shasti O’Leary-Soudant

  To Lana and Annie, who believed in me and this book from the beginning. I wouldn’t be here without you. XO

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  EPILOGUE

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CHAPTER ONE

  Kendall Clark adjusted the rearview mirror as her Jeep idled at a red light before taking out her makeup bag and fixing the mess on her face. She tried and failed to muster some enthusiasm for reapplying eye shadow for the third time that day. All the things she’d given up for this job over the past three years flashed through her mind—a social life, boyfriends, most of her dignity.

  As a lifestyles reporter for Denver, Colorado’s News Channel 8, Kendall would do just about anything for on-air time. Her boss liked to remind her that she needed to pay her dues, which meant Kendall was given the stories no one else at the station wanted. A lot of her assignments involved animals. This morning she’d been shadowing one of the vets at the Denver zoo. Who knew a walrus with a cold could blow snot so far?

  She wished that being sneezed on by a three hundred pound walrus had been the most embarrassing moment of her career, but she’d been peed on, bitten, chased, and most humiliatingly, had her leg humped by an overzealous poodle—all with the camera rolling. Through each incident, she’d smiled and tried to look professional.

  She was popular with the viewers for the entertainment value she provided. But even as she entertained, Kendall’s goal was always to inform people. Her specialty was human interest stories, and there wasn’t much she’d refuse to do so that her pieces got the airtime they deserved.

  Lately Kendall’s boss wanted her to focus on stories that were more sensationalized than thought-provoking. All in the name of ratings, of course.

  But journalism was more than ratings to Kendall. It was about the people she covered, giving a voice to their stories and making a difference. She wanted to do her job well and finally make something of herself but wondered, not for the first time, if the sacrifices were worth the potential payoff.

  And besides, how much walrus snot could one person take?

  The zookeeper had handed her a roll of paper towels to clean the slime off her cheek and most of her makeup had peeled away with it. Stroking the mascara wand across her bottom lashes, she glanced up to see a ten-foot-tall billboard with her face plastered across it looming above her Jeep Cherokee. The caption, written in block letters across the sign, hit her like a ton of bricks.

  No. Flipping. Way.

  The mascara wand stabbed into the corner of her eye, and she blinked furiously against the sting as the applicator fell from her fingers, landing on her charcoal-gray silk skirt.

  At that moment, the red light changed to green. Her working eye focused on the traffic moving in front of her.

  Her muscles tensed and her foot slammed the gas pedal to the floor. An ugly crunch echoed as she crashed into the bumper of the large truck in front of her. Then there was silence.

  She sat motionless for several moments, her hands curled white-knuckled around the steering wheel.

  This is not happening. None of this is happening.

  Her heart pumped a frantic rhythm against her chest. Adrenaline hummed through her body, and a bead of perspiration rolled down the back of her neck, alerting her to the stifling warmth that already pervaded the interior of her SUV. Because the Jeep’s engine had stalled when her foot popped off the clutch, the air conditioner no longer blew puffs of cool air from the vents in the dash.

  A knock at the window jolted her back into reality.

  She turned to see a man peering in through the glass. His features were blurred by the sun’s reflection hitting the window, but she heard his muffled voice ask, “Are you ok?”

  She swiped a finger along the bottom of her profusely watering eye. Oh, God, she’d been in a car accident. She’d caused a car accident. Saying a silent prayer that no one in the truck had been injured, she unfastened her seat belt and opened the door of the Jeep.

  Horns blew and motors hummed along Colorado Boulevard. The loud churning of a diesel engine sounded as a bus sped by, blowing a hot gust of pollution into Kendall’s face.

  Hoping no one would recognize her, she stepped onto the asphalt in her high heels, and although her legs tingled, she was relatively steady on her feet. She closed her eyes and took another deep breath, ignoring the smell of engine exhaust.

  The heat of the April sun felt good against her face. The familiar warmth helped to steady her shaky nerves. She concentrated on the tickle of warm spring air against her cheek.

  Feeling calmer, she turned and found herself staring into the most beautiful pair of blue eyes she’d ever seen.

  She knew the man’s mouth was moving, but for the life of her, Kendall couldn’t have repeated what he was saying. His eyes mesmerized her, sucking away most of her brain cells in the process. Eyes that were the same clear blue as the cloudless sky that coated the Denver landscape most spring mornings.

  Since moving to Colorado, Kendall had been fascinated with the contrast between that vibrant color overhead and the massive peaks of the Rocky Mountains where sky met earth along the Front Range. It was like that with those eyes. The face that surrounded them was rugged and tanned, making the blue stand out even more.

  At the moment they were focused on her with a look of deep concern. She realized he was speaking and she still hadn’t responded. Two large hands waved in front of her face.

  She glanced up at her own oversize eyes staring down at her from the billboard and shuddered. In the photo, her eyes rolled heavenward and she was holding an umbrella above her head.

  Instead of raindrops, the billboard showed tiny figures of men pelting against the umbrella. The blurb that ran across the puffy cloud at the top of the sign read, “Tune in to find out why it’s raining men for News 8’s Kendall Clark.”

  She’d told her news director there was no way she’d participate in the silly ratings promotion. It was the first time she’d refused an
ything at work, and she should have guessed that her boss wouldn’t listen. The harder Kendall pushed to be given stories of substance, the more gimmicky her assignments became.

  To Kendall, that sentence meant the end of her dream of making a name for herself in the world of hard-hitting journalism. Yes, her stories to date were almost all ratings gimmicks. But she had bigger dreams, real aspirations to make use of the journalism degree she was still paying off.

  Her head hurt and she struggled to concentrate on the man with the beautiful eyes. What was he saying?

  “Are you ok?” he repeated, adding, “Should I call 911?”

  Finally his words registered. She shook her head. “I’m fine. What about the people in the truck?” She yelled to be heard over the noise from passing cars.

  “We’re ok.” He put his hand on her cheek and for a moment her knees went weak. “I’m not sure about you.”

  Oh, man, he was something. “With you here, I’m fine.” She jumped at the sound of a horn honking right next to her then clapped a hand over her mouth. Did she really say that out loud? “I mean, if you’re ok—if everyone is ok—I’m fine.”

  One side of his mouth kicked up, just the hint of a smile, and she had a feeling she was digging herself in deeper.

  They were standing just inside the far right lane of the street. A long line of cars waited behind her Jeep, turn signals blinking furiously as they tried to merge into the two unblocked lanes of the street.

  He gestured to their vehicles. “Let’s check the damage.”

  She followed him to the front of her Jeep, moaning softly when she saw the mangled bumper. It looked like it had suffered in the losing end of a fight with a large trash compactor. There was a deep dent in the center, with crumpled metal on either side.

  Shifting her eyes to the back of the truck, she was relieved to see little damage. Maybe a few splotches of red paint along the bumper, but that was the extent of it.

  There was just enough space between the two cars to squeeze through. She followed Blue Eyes onto the sidewalk, where they were less likely to be hit.

  He rested his hand on the corner of the truck’s back bumper and crouched down. “You got hung up on the trailer hitch.”

  His forest-green T-shirt stretched as he bent forward to examine the damage. Kendall’s mouth went dry at the sight of muscles bunching across the broad expanse of his back.

  Whoa, girl. She put the mental breaks on her rusty libido, which had picked a most inopportune time to come out of hibernation. Maybe she’d been more rattled by the accident than she first thought. She didn’t have this sort of physical reaction to men. Besides, her type wore tailored suits, not faded T-shirts, cargo pants, and dusty work boots.

  The passenger door of the truck opened, offering a welcome distraction. A tiny woman with a big halo of curly red hair hopped onto the pavement. Cell phone cradled between her head and shoulder, she strode to the back of the truck and bent forward. “Not much damage,” she said into the phone. “We shouldn’t be more than a half hour late.”

  Kendall didn’t realize it was possible for legs to look so good in cutoff jean shorts and heavy work boots. But the redhead’s did. Pocketing the cell phone, she turned to Kendall and did a double take. “Holy hell, what happened to your face?”

  Kendall’s gaze whipped toward the man straightening from under the Jeep. He frowned slightly. “Are you sure you’re all right? You seem a little out of it. Do you want to sit down?”

  While she appreciated his concern, the redhead’s words stuck. Something happened to her face? She’d have a difficult time on-air with a big goose egg on her forehead. She grabbed the Jeep’s side mirror and crouched in front of it.

  An enormous clump of mascara stuck gooey and black to the inside corner of her eye. More of the mascara caked to the skin underneath her lashes. It smeared along her cheek where she’d wiped away tears after poking herself. Next to the unmarred half of her face, the mascara-strewn portion looked awful. So much for her perfect image.

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  Blue Eyes cocked an eyebrow. “I did. You stared at me.”

  Kendall blushed as she thought of her reaction to him. Another reason she didn’t go for the hot, hunky type. Too distracting. She opened the car door and dug through her glove compartment for the small stash of wet wipes she kept there.

  Grabbing several from the container, she scrubbed at her face. The wipes felt cool against skin now heated from intense embarrassment. While she had been ogling Mr. Blue Eyes, he’d probably been wondering if she’d just come from her job as the main attraction in some circus freak show.

  She did her best to wipe away the mascara.

  “I’m sorry about the accident,” she told him. “I was late for work and was trying to save time by doing my makeup in the car.” She gestured to her face. “Obviously a big mistake.”

  “Obviously,” the redhead repeated. Kendall noticed that she wore no makeup. To be so lucky.

  The man reached out and took one of the crumpled wipes from her clenched fingers. Gently, he dabbed at a spot just above her left eyebrow. “You missed a little,” he said with a smile.

  A row of perfectly white teeth gleamed from behind that tawny skin and a small dimple winked at the corner of his mouth. Her breath caught. Get a grip, she told herself.

  He shoved the wipe into his pocket and glanced at the two cars. “It’s no big deal. Your Jeep got the worse end of it.”

  “The truck’s a beater,” the woman added, “but solid as a tank.” Her head cocked to one side as she studied Kendall. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

  She thought about the billboard towering above them. Don’t look up, she inwardly pleaded. “Maybe. I’m a reporter on Channel 8.”

  “Omigod, you’re Kendall Clark.” The redhead tipped her head back and let out a hoot of laughter, then smacked the driver of the truck in the ribs. “Ty, it’s Kendall Clark.”

  Kendall didn’t know how to take that outburst, but she thought she might be the butt end of an inside joke.

  “I know who she is,” the man told the redhead, his gaze never leaving Kendall. “You’ve had some interesting stories.”

  “That could be the understatement of the year.”

  “Like when the cat from the shelter bit you,” the woman interjected. “That sucker latched onto your hand for dear life.”

  Kendall grimaced. “I still have a scar. But it was adopted the next day. I guess people like a spunky animal.”

  “Spunky is good,” the man said. Kendall tried to ignore the warmth that spread through her at his tone.

  “Thanks for being so understanding about all this.” She held out her right hand as she glanced at the watch on her left wrist. “Oh, boy. I’m going to be lucky if I make the five thirty broadcast.” The billboard grinned down at her. If I don’t quit first, she added to herself. “Again, I’m sorry about the accident. Did you call the police?”

  He took her hand in his. His palm felt rough against her skin, but his grasp was surprisingly gentle. “I’m Tyler Bishop. And, no, I haven’t called yet.”

  The redhead groaned. “Just exchange numbers and be done with it, Ty. She needs to get to work, and we’re supposed to be at my mom’s by now.”

  Kendall saw a look pass between the two. They must be dating. She didn’t know why she was surprised or why it bothered her. They made a cute couple—all natural and outdoorsy looking.

  She offered a weak smile. “I really do need to get to the station. I’m sure my insurance will pay for the damage to your truck.” Too bad her rates would go up. She could barely afford the car payment now. Between her student loans, the money she sent to her parents each month, and the mortgage on her condo, there wasn’t much left.

  “The truck isn’t the problem. I use it for work and it gets banged up pretty regularly. But your Jeep’
s going to need some help with that bumper.” Tyler stepped closer to the cars again and examined the mangled front end of the Jeep. “Why don’t you try to start it?”

  She walked between the two cars and opened her driver’s-side door just enough to squeeze through. Her fingers closed around the keys still dangling from the ignition. To her relief, the engine turned over immediately and the Jeep hummed to life. She pressed down on the window lever. A warm gust of spring air blew into the interior of the car.

  Tyler nodded to her from the front of the car. His head dipped from sight for a few moments, then reappeared. He gave her a thumbs-up sign. Dusting his hands together, he approached her window, the redhead hot on his heels.

  “Sounds good. Nothing seems to be leaking. Just to be safe, I wouldn’t drive far until you take it into a shop.”

  “I’ll take it in first thing in the morning. What about your truck?”

  He shrugged. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Really, Mr. Bishop, I’d like to pay for the damage.”

  “Call me Ty. It’s not a big deal. I have a friend with a repair shop who will give me a good deal.”

  Kendall sighed. “Any chance . . . no, never mind. You don’t owe me anything. I can’t say I’m sorry enough.”

  Ty studied her for a moment. As if reading her thoughts, he said, “If you want, I’ll give you the repair shop address. Bring the Jeep by around ten tomorrow?” The redhead laughed again. Ty shook his head. “Ignore her. Probably bumped her head on the dash.”

  She looked over his shoulder to see the redhead arch her brows. Was she worried Kendall was going to make a move on her man? After her last dating fiasco, Kendall wasn’t looking for another relationship. Especially not with someone like Ty Bishop, no matter what her body said to the contrary. She should call her insurance company and let them take care of this.

  But if she could save money, it was worth a try. “You’re being so nice about this whole thing. I’d appreciate that.”

  He returned her smile. “It’s easy to be nice to someone so . . .” He paused, shook his head. “My turn for never mind. Do you have a pen and paper?”