Her Kind of Hero - Cindy Kirk

Chapter One

The home in the mountains, decorated for fall, now included a banner above the fireplace proclaiming Welcome Home, Keenan. Across the room, a large buffet table held generous portions of everything from brisket to wedges of key lime pie. Travis Fisher and his wife, Mary Karen, had pulled out all the stops for this welcome-home party. Or rather, a get-out-of-prison celebration.

Waiters in black pants and crisp white shirts circulated throughout the house holding silver trays with hors d’oeuvres and champagne.

Dr. Mitzi Sanchez turned down the dumplings and baby quiche then took a glass of wine from a passing waiter before stepping into a secluded alcove to study the scene before her. Since moving to Wyoming three years ago, she’d been to a lot of parties in Jackson Hole.

While it appeared most in attendance had come with someone, she’d arrived alone. Her last guy, an NFL football player, had been more of a fling. Even in a casual relationship she required monogamy, and that hadn’t been in Kelvin’s playbook.

Across the room she saw her associate, Dr. Benedict Campbell, and his wife, Poppy. Of all her relationships, he’d lasted the longest. While on paper they should have been perfect for each other, they’d argued constantly. After they broke up, he’d begun dating Poppy and was now a happily married man with an adorable baby boy.

She didn’t want a baby—not quite ready for that commitment—but she would like to be happily-with-someone. Mitzi heaved a sigh.

“That’s quite a sigh.”

She turned toward the sexy baritone and her heart stuttered. With hair the color of rich mahogany and hazel eyes that tended toward green, Mitzi found the man’s square jaw and strong features pleasing. He smelled of soap and a familiar warm male scent that made something tighten low in her abdomen.

“Hel-lo.” Mitzi widened her smile and let the word hum between them.

Because Keenan McGregor—the man they were welcoming home—had grown up in Jackson Hole, Travis had invited friends from his school years. Many of whom Mitzi had never met.

Still, Mitzi thought she knew every attractive man in Jackson Hole. “How did I miss seeing you?”

“You were too busy ogling the buffet table.”

“I was not—” she began, then stopped when a dimple flashed in his left cheek. The rat was teasing her.

“Actually I was checking out who was here.” She lowered her voice as she spoke, forcing him to lean close. Mitzi saw his eyes darken as he inhaled the sultry scent of her new perfume.

She took a sip of champagne. This party might be fun, after all. She batted her lashes then extended her hand. “Mitzi Sanchez.”

His hand closed around hers and she felt a jolt. She glanced up, stunned by her response. If he’d experienced the same sizzle it didn’t show.

“A pretty name for a lovely woman.”

Though it was a compliment any reasonably attractive woman would hear in a bar any night of the week, he offered it up with such sincerity, Mitzi felt herself smiling back. When his gaze slowly slid down her body, the earlier sizzle ignited into a full-out electrical fire.

Too fast, Mitzi told herself. Take a step back. They’d been words to live by and had kept her from making a few disastrous mistakes through the years.

Deliberately, she shifted her gaze to where their blonde hostess, Mary Karen, stood surrounded by friends, talking animatedly with both hands. Instead of her normal jeans and sweater, MK looked adorable in a royal blue sweater dress with a shawl neckline.

Mary Karen had told everyone the party would be casual. For this crowd that meant anything from jeans to fall dresses and heels. Though the hunk beside her looked mouthwateringly good in Wranglers and a wheat-colored sweater, Mitzi enjoyed dressing up almost as much as she liked changing her hair.

For tonight’s event, she’d chosen a corduroy skirt in camel and a crisp cotton shirt in pumpkin spice. Her hair, which changed color so much she couldn’t quite recall the original shade, was blond tonight with streaks the color of peanut butter. In a whimsical mood, she’d pulled the sides back and secured the strands with two of her favorite clips.

“You have bones in your hair.”

Feeling more in control, Mitzi turned back to him and gave a throaty laugh. “They’re femurs.”

“Why do you have femurs in your hair?”

“I’m an orthopedic surgeon,” Mitzi explained. “I found these hair clips at an eclectic little boutique in L.A. I pull them out for special occasions.”

He took a sip of the drink in his hand, which looked like water