This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

That Dating Thing

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Contact Information: [email protected]

Cover Art by
R.J. Morris

The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

PO Box 708

Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

Publishing History

First Champagne Rose Edition, 2014

Digital ISBN 978-1-62830-014-7

Published in the United States of America

Praise for Mackenzie Crowne

“
THAT DATING THING
is a sweet and sexy contemporary romance that will leave your face frozen with a smile and your stomach churning with happiness by the time you are through with it.”

~Sizzling Hot Book Reviews

~*~

“
THAT DATING THING
is a fun romance, with some good conflict to make things interesting.”

~Storm Goddess Book Reviews & More

~*~

“I enjoyed every morsel of this story like one would a warm chocolate chip cookie.”

~Vonnie Davis, “Romance Writer”

~*~

“I think any romance lover would enjoy this story. It’s fun and sweet and all around enjoyable.”

~Books Etc.

Dedication

For my men,

Phil, Jared and Kevin,

who suffer through burnt meals, dirty laundry,

and blank looks as I visit with the voices in my head.

For my clan, who always support,

and my girls,

who sit on the deck and listen

to what the voices have to say.

Chapter One

“You look like you’ve been hit by a truck.”

A wince followed Elliott’s bark of laughter and scored a direct hit to Rylee’s guilt. Considering a truck
had
hit him, she didn’t see how he could laugh. She would have nightmares for a year.

“Sorry, big guy. I’m feeling guilty. That always pushes my smartass button.”

“I just broke a foot, Rylee.”

“A broken foot, concussion, bruised ribs and jaw, and a black eye.” Rylee ticked off the offences on her fingers. “And my fault. I know better than to lose concentration in the middle of a group lesson.”

“It’s hard to concentrate when you’re in shock.” He grimaced. “We could have picked a better time and place to tell you.”

True. The last thing Rylee expected when Sil and Elliott had rushed up to her was to learn they just got married. In the ensuing celebration, she forgot all about the multiple leashes she juggled. No small wonder she hadn’t lost control of all four dogs instead of just the one.

“You’re right.” She narrowed her eyes in accusation. “I don’t know why I put up with either of you.”

He chuckled in response and a smile teased her mouth.

Her gaze roamed over him, from the crisscross of snaps and buckles that formed the ugly black boot covering his broken foot, up his long legs, to his solid chest and wide shoulders. Regulation length, silver-gray hair capped his wide forehead over intelligent, bright blue eyes. One of those eyes was nearly swollen shut. The blade of his nose sported a wicked scrape and the right side of his face, down to his jaw, was twice its usual size.

In spite of the injuries, the military bearing that carried Colonel Elliott Reed through four decades as “one of the few and the proud” was evident. The man knew how to fill out a T-shirt, and his muscled arms looked as if they could chop through a cord of wood in record time. At sixty, he was still an impressive sight. Rylee understood why Sil blushed like a teenager ever since the colonel moved into River View condominiums six months earlier.

“It was an accident, Rylee.” Elliott attempted a roguish waggle of his thick brows, the affectation comically off-kilter due to the swelling. “Besides, having two beautiful women dote on me for the next couple of weeks is well worth a little discomfort.”

Rylee grinned. “You say that now. We’ll talk again in a couple of days. I’ve experienced your bride’s bedside manner.”

“A tough nurse, huh?”

“Does the name
Ratchet
ring any bells?”

His smile was smug, but so was Rylee’s. He’d learn the truth soon enough.

The door buzzer sounded and she spun on her heel. “Speak of the devil. She must have forgotten her key again. Brace yourself.”

Rylee laughed over her shoulder, passing into the foyer to open the door. The laugh froze on her lips and she blinked, swallowing an audible purr of feminine appreciation. The grainy newspaper photos of Elliott’s son had not done him justice.

All spit and polish, his conservative business suit didn’t disguise the powerful body it covered. Filling the doorway, those shoulders would look right at home encased in a numbered jersey, bumping up against other mountains of muscle huddled on a fifty-yard line. The face, however, belonged on one of Manhattan’s mega-billboards. Combined with the slash of sharp cheekbones, crisply cut lips, linear nose, square jaw, and piercing blue eyes, his short-cropped mane of thick, black hair was overkill. Cologne sales would soar.

He darted his eyes to the plaque on the door, as though double-checking the number, before snapping them back to Rylee. “I’m looking for my father, Colonel Reed.”

It’s about time.

Rylee bit back her retort before the words could escape. Sil claimed conflicts existed between father and son, long-term conflicts for which Elliott accepted full responsibility. Rylee, of all people, understood the concept of an imperfect parent, but geez. Even after everything he did to destroy her life and the lives of so many others, if a truck hit
her
father she wouldn’t wait three days to find out if he was okay.

Cooper Reed may be a seriously gorgeous, younger version of the colonel, but despite having never met him, his slow response alone dropped him three full points on her one-to-ten guy scale. One point for each day he hadn’t shown up. Staring up at him, she figured that put him at a solid…hmmm. How was she supposed to calculate when the starting point was off the chart?

You are so shallow, Rylee.
Oh, come on. Look at him!

“Is the colonel here, Miss …?”

“Rylee,” she chirped, ripped from her musings. “I mean Pierce.” She bit the tip of her tongue to keep from rolling her eyes. “I’m Rylee Pierce,” she managed finally. “Your father is in the living room.”

She left the doorway for him to follow, moving beyond the foyer into Elliott’s living room. Similar to her first floor unit, the entire back wall of the condo held windows that framed a panoramic view of Manhattan’s skyline across the river. As always, the sight brought a surge of pleasure. This view was the reason she chose River View, the smallest of the three buildings her grandmother left her, as her home. Elliott made his home here for the same reason.

Stretched out on the dark leather couch, Elliott turned his head at their approach. Delight warred with wariness when he spotted his son.

“Coop!” he called out. “I wasn’t expecting you, son.”

Rylee studied Coop’s reaction to his father, searching for the same delight on his handsome face. Instead, his eyes filled with alarm.

“What the hell happened to you?” He skirted the couch for a closer look.

“It’s nothing.” Elliott flicked a hand, dismissing the obvious wreckage to his face and body. “I had a little accident.”

“Don’t give me your tough-guy marine crap, Dad.” Coop crossed his arms and lifted a challenging brow. “You look like shit.”

Elliott winced and Rylee moved between them. “Keep your voice down,” she warned softly. “Can’t you see his head is hurting?”

Coop slid his gaze down her body, completing a slow survey on the way back up. A derisive snort flared his nostrils. He turned away, his lips twisting in a smirk, to eye Elliott with mocking regard.

“Progressed to robbing the cradle now, Colonel?”

“Excuse me?” Rylee gasped, forgetting Elliott’s hurting head.

He couldn’t mean what he was implying. The colonel was old enough to be her father, for heaven’s sake,
and
he just married her aunt!

“Cooper,” Elliott barked. He briefly squeezed his eyes shut, his voice much softer when he continued. “I know you feel justified in making that assumption, considering my behavior over the years, but you couldn’t be more wrong. Rylee is a friend.”

Apparently, Cooper Reed meant
exactly
what he implied. She ticked off several more points…down to a solid four
.

Straightening to her full five-foot-eight, she pinned him with a derisive stare. Elliott may excuse Coop’s assumption, an assumption resulting from those long-term conflicts, but Rylee wasn’t of the same mind. His insinuation wasn’t just ridiculous, it was insulting. As the only child of the infamous Peter Morris, she grew up fielding far worse. But in her experience, letting insults go unanswered left a person in the weaker position. She far preferred fighting fire with fire.

“A friend whose help wouldn’t have been necessary if Elliott’s
family
,” she aimed an accusatory finger at his chest, “hadn’t been too
busy
to bother with him until three days later.”

“Rylee,” Elliott spoke into the heated silence. “It’s not Coop’s fault. He didn’t know I was hurt.”

She dragged her gaze from the confrontational glitter in Coop’s eyes back to Elliott. “You said you called him from the hospital and left a message.”

“I did. However, I didn’t give him any details. I just asked him to call me back.”

“Which I have.” Coop shot her a dismissive glance before focusing on his father. “Several times. I was out of town on business until this morning. Since you haven’t returned any of my half-dozen calls, I came straight from the airport.”

“Sorry, son. My phone is probably still in the bag I brought home from the hospital. I’ve been a little out of sorts.”

“You still haven’t answered my question.” Coop lifted a brow. “What happened?”

“It’s my fault,” Rylee interrupted.

Two pairs of identical bright blue eyes pinned her like laser beams. She lifted her chin. The jury was still out on whether or not he was a jerk, but Elliott’s son wasn’t guilty of ignoring his father’s accident as she originally thought. Judging a situation without having all the facts was something people consistently did with her and she hated it. Yet she accused him of not caring when just the opposite seemed true. Guilt demanded she apologize.

“I told you, Rylee—”

“Zip it, big guy.” She faced Coop. “I owe you an apology. I had you pegged as an uncaring bastard. Since that appears untrue, all I can say is…my bad.” She shrugged. “I’ve been a little out of sorts myself lately and feeling guilty. Your dad tried to help me and ended up stepping in front of a delivery truck in the process.”

“You were hit by a truck?” Coop jerked his head in Elliott’s direction, eyebrows jumping nearly to his hairline.

“One of my students broke loose,” she added in a rush, drawing his attention back to her. “Your father dashed after Pippin when he ran into the street.”

“Pippin?”

“I’m a dog trainer,” she explained. “Pippin is one of my students. Unfortunately, he has a nose for trouble.” She smiled gratefully at Elliott. “Your father saved his life.”

“All this,” Coop lifted his chin toward Elliott’s swollen, scraped face. “For a dog?”

Major loss of the points he just regained. She frowned.

“He’s a cute little guy,” Elliott insisted and winked at her.

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