Читать онлайн книгу «Colorado Christmas» автора C.C. Coburn

Colorado Christmas
C.C. Coburn
Judge Becky McBride has recently landed in the small town of Spruce Lake, Colorado, with her son, Nicolas, and she doesn't want to stay there long.The former big-city lawyer sees this six-month gig as her ticket to a courtroom in Denver. She can't wait to leave the town and its eccentric residents–especially the handsome and irrepressible Will O'Malley. Will loves skiing, dogs, his hometown–and Becky. She might not trust him or his intentions, but he's fallen hard for her and nine-year-old Nick.Not only that, her son's just as crazy about him. Now Will has to convince Becky that she feels exactly the same way. And Christmas is the best time to do it!




“I have a question, Judge McBride.”
“Yes, Mr. O’Malley?”
“Would you have dinner with me tonight?”
Becky blinked. Surely she hadn’t heard him correctly. “Excuse me?” she said, and tried to ignore the warm flush climbing up her chest.
“I asked if you’d go out with me tonight.”
The court audience leaned forward, eagerly anticipating her response.
Will O’Malley was, without a doubt, the best-looking defendant who’d ever stood before her. The fact that he’d pleaded guilty straight up—rather than offer a host of excuses—impressed her. But he was a defendant and strictly off-limits.
Furious that her body was telling her one thing, while her brain told her another, Becky answered him more harshly than she’d intended. “No, Mr. O’Malley, I won’t,” she said and slammed down her gavel. “Get out of my court!”
Dear Reader,
This is my debut novel for Harlequin American Romance. I loved creating this “opposites attract” story about an unconventional hero, Will O’Malley, who is hauled into court by his law-abiding brother. Will takes one look at the judge and decides he’s going to marry her. So begins his tale of winning straitlaced judge Becky McBride’s love.
Will’s story started many years earlier when I was writing his brother Matt’s romance. I learned that Sheriff Matt had brothers—four of them—and the one who was most insistent about having his story told was Will. But Will’s story wasn’t so easy to create. He was an unconventional hero who needed a lot of taming! I detail his journey to winning Becky’s heart—and this book’s journey to publication—in a research paper that you can read, if you wish, on my Web site, www.cccoburn.com. I hope it will help provide a guide to unpublished authors.
As you can see from the cover, Colorado Christmas is part of THE O’MALLEY MEN miniseries, so watch for Will’s other brothers’ stories of finding love in the mountain town of Spruce Lake.
Happy reading! Healthy lives! And a Merry Christmas to all!
Love,
C.C. Coburn

Colorado Christmas
C.C. Coburn





ABOUT THE AUTHOR
C.C. Coburn married the first man who asked her and hasn’t regretted a day since—well, not many of them! She grew up in Australia’s outback, moved to its sun-drenched Pacific coast, then traveled the world. A keen skier, she discovered Colorado’s majestic Rocky Mountains and now divides her time between Australia and Colorado. Home will always be Australia, where she lives with her husband, three grown children, a Labrador and three cats—but her heart and soul are also firmly planted in Colorado. When she isn’t writing or skiing, C.C. loves to sculpt, paint, surf and play with her Lab. She loves hearing from readers. You can visit her at www.cccoburn.com.

Acknowledgments
I would like to thank the members of Romance Writers of Australia; my wonderful critique partner, Kelly Hunter; the members of my local Romance Writers Support group: Helen Bianchin, Noela Cowell, Louise Cusack, Helen Lacey and Lesley Millar and my Masters in Writing cohort: Sandra Barletta, Lisa Barry, Marilyn Carey, Louise Ousby, Melynda Genrich and our supervisor, Dr. Glen Thomas.
I received invaluable insights into law enforcement in Colorado and offer my heartfelt thanks to Summit County Judge Ed Casias and Captain Erik Bourgerie and Deputy Ron Hochmuth of the Summit County Sheriff’s Office—who gave me a most interesting tour of the County jail—and Craig Simson of Keystone Ski Patrol for his help with avalanche rescue.
I would especially like to thank my editor, Paula Eykelhof, to whom I (badly) pitched this story, but who managed to see its potential and supported me through two long years to publication. I value our friendship forged through this journey and am deeply indebted to her faith in me.
My children, Catherine, Holly and Jock, without whom this book would have been finished many years earlier.
And last, my husband and best friend, Keith, who has always been my greatest supporter and fan, even though he’s never read a word I’ve written.

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
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Epilogue

Chapter One
Will O’Malley stomped the snow from his boots before entering the courthouse in Spruce Lake, Colorado.
His brother Matt collared him as he stepped inside. “Where the hell have you been?”
Will grinned at his arresting officer, unfazed by his angry demand. “Delivering flowers for Mrs. C.”
Matt could be such a stuffed shirt sometimes—so could his other three brothers—but Matt was the one who worried most about what people thought of the O’Malleys. To make amends, he caught Matt in a bear hug. “Thanks for coming along to support me, buddy.”
Matt shrugged him off, saying through clenched teeth, “I’m not here to support you. I’m here to make sure you don’t get in any more trouble.” He led the way into the courtroom, then spun around. “You’re aware that I might run for county sheriff, aren’t you? Your antics last night won’t help my chances.”
Will doubted the residents of Peaks County thought any less of Matt or the rest of the O’Malleys after last night, considering most of the courtroom audience—Will noted with pleasure—were with him at the time. “Sure. In fact, I’ll be your campaign manager.”
“Over my dead body,” Matt growled as Will stepped up to the podium and turned toward the bench.
Wow! was his first reaction as he studied the judge. Her dark red hair was pulled back in a severe style that went with her suit and gavel. A few tendrils had worked themselves loose, softening her face and contrasting with her otherwise flawless presentation. She looked serious in a strangely attractive way and would probably send him to the slammer, if she could guess his thoughts. She looked up, trained her green eyes on Will and he felt something hit him deep in his gut.
Every year at their wedding anniversary party, Mac O’Malley told the story of how he vowed he’d marry their mother, Sarah, the moment he laid eyes on her. Until now, Will had believed that was just Irish blarney.
Convinced he was gazing at the woman he’d marry and needing to share his feelings with Matt, he murmured, “I’m going to marry that woman someday.”

JUDGE REBECCA MCBRIDE had finished her previous case concerning a pig called Louella who’d run amok in a dress boutique. Feeling as though she was caught up in reruns of Green Acres, she wondered yet again, Why on earth did I take this job?
Steeling herself, she glanced up, ready to face the next bizarre case. Her eyes locked with the defendant’s and her heart rate kicked up several notches.
Who knew this town of four ski mountains, three sets of traffic lights, 2,597 residents and one extremely naughty pig had some attractions, after all?
“Shut up!” Deputy O’Malley hissed.
Becky peered over the top of her glasses. “Were you speaking to me?”
“No, Judge. I was speaking to my—” he glared at the defendant “—brother.”
That would explain the striking similarity. However, Deputy O’Malley was, as always, dressed immaculately, while his brother wore faded blue jeans, tan cowboy boots and a chambray shirt that stretched across broad shoulders. His neatly pressed shirt was at odds with his too-long black hair.
“The defendant is my younger brother, Judge. Any resemblance ends with our appearance,” the deputy said.
She clasped her hands in front of her, steepled her thumbs and gave the defendant her most intimidating stare. “Mr. O’Malley, you’ve been charged with damaging demolition equipment belonging to the Mountain Resorts Development Company. How do you plead?”
“Guilty, Your Honor.”
His admission surprised her. So did her own response to his deep-dimpled smile. It went clear up to his dark brown eyes and did inexplicable things to her insides.
She took a deep, calming breath before saying, “Why did you vandalize the vehicles?”
“The company has bought an entire block at the north end of Main Street. They want to demolish the existing buildings in order to erect an eight-story condominium complex and shopping mall,” he explained.
“Those buildings are derelict. I should think a shopping mall and housing—given the town’s shortage—would rejuvenate the area,” Becky pointed out.
“Granted. But they’re fine examples of Colorado Victorian architecture. Although many haven’t been occupied since the gold mines closed back in ’49, with sensitive renovation they could be restored to their former glory.”
Becky admired his passion, if not his grasp on reality. In her opinion, some of the buildings would blow over in a good breeze. “As they aren’t part of the protected Victorian district, the owners can do what they like with them.”
“If you’ll pardon the expression, Your Honor, certain aspects of the town’s planning stink. There’s been no public input into this development. The mayor’s on the board of the development company and there’s something very wrong with that picture. If we don’t take a stand now, Spruce Lake could wind up full of concrete condos and shopping malls. Once those buildings are demolished, we won’t be able to get them back. Our town’s unique heritage should be preserved and I’m prepared to do anything to ensure that.”
Despite his casual appearance, Becky conceded he was both articulate and public-spirited. “Your passion is admirable if a little misguided, sir. You vandalized private property and you’ll have to be punished for it.”
“Your Honor? If I could speak in my brother’s favor.”
Becky inclined her head.
The deputy scowled at his brother. “Will tends to be impetuous. Sometimes his enthusiasm gets in the way of his good intentions.”
The court audience murmured their assent.
“In spite of how irresponsibly he acted last night, Will’s a fine person…This was his first offence and, ah, he’s extremely kind to animals, children and the elderly.”
“Deputy O’Malley, that’s enough.” Becky was losing her patience. She consulted the documents, then returned her attention to Will. “It states here that you entered private property and let the air out of the demolition vehicles’ tires.”
He grinned, as though enormously pleased with his achievement. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Why?” she asked, and reached for a glass of water to cover the hoarseness in her voice. Surely he wasn’t trying to flirt with her?
“The development company moved in their equipment, although the contract for sale hasn’t closed yet. To prevent them from demolishing anything, a number of concerned citizens formed a human chain around the buildings while I flattened all the tires.”
When the audience cheered, Becky surmised most of them were probably part of that “human chain.”
She banged her gavel and ordered, “Silence!” Fixing him with her sternest glare, she said, “You also painted unflattering messages on their vehicles.”
The audience laughed and several wolf-whistled. “Way to go, boy,” Frank Farquar yelled, and Louella gave a snort of agreement.
Becky swore she could see steam rising from Matt O’Malley’s ears. “What’s that blasted pig still doing here?” she hissed at the bailiff.
“Louella is your next case. She ate the giant pumpkin Frank’s cousin Hank was raising for the county fair.”
Becky glanced at her list and groaned. She’d skimmed over the wretched pig’s name when perusing her caseload and failed to notice that Louella—listed as Ms. L. Farquar—was appearing on another offence. She fought the urge to put her forehead on the bench and bang it. Instead, she made a note to her clerk that pigs were not to be listed as defendants in her court—only their owners! That done, she made another note to check if the county ordinances covered reasons for disposing of pesky pigs. Louella was Public Nuisance Number One. That pig is going to end up bacon if she doesn’t start behaving herself, she decided. Louella had the exasperating habit of causing an enormous amount of damage wherever she waddled. Any normal person would leave his pig at home, rather than taking it shopping, but Frank Farquar treated Louella like an overindulged child.
She closed her eyes and uttered a silent oath. If I can put up with this hick town for six months, I’ll have a better chance of being posted to a court in Denver—or anywhere that isn’t Spruce Lake. Provided I don’t end up going crazy first!
She’d rashly accepted her first judicial appointment after having worked in a Denver law firm for several years. When she’d failed to make partner for the third time—the job being given yet again to a male associate—Becky resigned and applied for the vacancy in Peaks County, viewing the six-month posting as a stepping-stone to a position in a metropolitan court. In the four weeks she’d been in Spruce Lake—standing in for Judge Emily Stevens while she took maternity leave—Becky had earned a reputation as a straight talker who meted out justice with a dose of blunt advice on how to stay out of her court in future. Not that any of them seem to take it, she thought, surveying the full courtroom. She couldn’t wait to get back to the city—any city—where people weren’t permitted to bring their pigs to court.
“May I say something, Your Honor?”
“Do you really think that’s wise?”
Will O’Malley smiled again and Becky clenched her fists in an effort to get control of herself—and the court. Failure to do so meant this case could come back to haunt her forever. “What?” she snapped.
“I used a water-based paint, so it shouldn’t be too difficult to clean up.”
The man was incorrigible. How could he possibly be related to Matt O’Malley? “That’s very gratifying to hear because you’re going to scrub every one of those vehicles so clean, they’ll look like they just came from the showroom.”
The deputy coughed politely. “What?” she demanded.
“They did just come from the showroom, Judge.”
Becky could feel a monumental headache brewing. Maybe she should adjourn court for the rest of the day. Better still, go on permanent sick leave—preferably until her term in Spruce Lake was up. She took off her glasses and frowned at the defendant. “Don’t you have any respect for other people’s property?”
He managed to look indignant. “Of course I do. It’s the reason I didn’t use spray paint. I was trying to make a point and get publicity for our cause.”
“Vandalizing expensive equipment does not make for good publicity. There are more effective ways to get your point across without breaking the law. Since you feel so strongly, why not approach the company about buying back the buildings?”
“I’ve considered that, Judge, but I don’t have the financial resources.”
Obviously, he wouldn’t. The guy might be dazzlingly good-looking, but he was a dreamer. Like so many troublemakers, Will O’Malley was full of high ideals and no real substance to back them up. Pity. Because there was something about this particular troublemaker that troubled her libido. After rubbing the bridge of her nose, she put her glasses back on and said, “You’re to clean up the equipment you’ve vandalized within the next forty-eight hours. I’m also assigning you community service. Do you have a job?”
He shifted his feet and, for the first time since entering her courtroom, his bravado seemed to desert him.
She removed her glasses again. “Mr. O’Malley?”

WILL WISHED SHE’D PUT her glasses back on. She was too darned pretty to be a judge and he was having difficulty concentrating.
His former career had been guaranteed to have women the world over flirting outrageously with him. He was sure that the judge, like any warm-blooded woman, would be impressed. But he didn’t want to talk about it. Not since the avalanche.
“Ah, I’m between jobs at the moment, Your Honor,” he said, ignoring Matt’s groan of resignation.
“In that case, what skills do you have that might be of use to the community?” She put her glasses back on and picked up a pen as though ready to take copious notes on his potential skills.
Will had a college degree but no truly useful skills. Until today, that hadn’t bothered him. Until today, he hadn’t met a woman he wanted to impress as much as the new judge.
“What was your most recent job?” she prompted.
“Tell her!” Matt said under his breath.
There was nothing else for it; he’d have to come clean. “I was a ski-movie actor,” he said, squirming with embarrassment. The movies were short on dialogue—long on action and death-defying stunts. Strange how he’d only come to realize that in the past couple of months.
The judge paused in her note-taking and glanced up at him.
“You’re a ski-movie actor?” Her tone told him exactly what she thought of that.
“Yes, ma’am. Although it’s more stunt work than acting,” he said, trying to downplay the glamour image associated with acting. Stunt work sounded as though he had a genuine career. He named some box-office successes. “Perhaps you’ve heard of Vertical Slide? Extreme Dreams? Aspen Altitude?”
The judge blinked. Guess not. Although it was tremendously lucrative, he wouldn’t be going back to the movies. He’d traveled for ten years doing what he loved most—skiing the world’s extreme terrain—but an avalanche had nearly claimed his life during shooting in the Andes two months ago. He’d been caught in dozens of avalanches before and, tragically, had friends die in them, but this time he’d come too close to death. Trapped and slowly suffocating while he awaited rescue, he’d reflected on his life and how pointless his career really was. Sure, the viewers enjoyed the action and probably the scenery, too, but the lifestyle was shallow, based on thrill-seeking, looking cool and never putting down roots. What had he really achieved that was worthwhile? What had he given back to his community? What would his epitaph say?
“I’ve retired from that line of work,” he murmured.
“So you have a lot of time on your hands?”
Will winced. He wasn’t used to sitting still. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Then what are you good at that could be utilized by the local community?” she asked, sounding exasperated.
“Skiing, meeting women and ironing.”
Will ignored Matt’s glare. It was true—he enjoyed ironing. He’d gotten up to more than his share of mischief as a kid and his mom’s punishment of choice was to make him do the ironing for their family of seven. In the process, he’d become an expert. Even Matt was impressed by his skill with an iron. He’d offer Matt several hours of free ironing to make up for the embarrassment he’d caused him over the protest.
“Maybe I could work at the information kiosk on Main Street?” he suggested. “I know a lot about the town.”

“IRONING?” BECKY SAID, deliberately ignoring his suggestion regarding the information kiosk. She suspected he thought working there would be an excellent way of meeting women. The notion of a defendant—particularly this one—spending his community service flirting annoyed her. What annoyed her even more was her ridiculous, bordering-on-jealous contemplation of him flirting with other women.
“Ahh…Judge? I don’t think that’s a good idea—”
“Deputy O’Malley!” she snapped. “Please do not interrupt me.” Returning her attention to the defendant, she fixed him with a glare that brooked no argument. “In addition to cleaning the development company’s vehicles, you’ll complete fifty hours of community service.
“As you apparently enjoy the company of senior citizens and have no real qualifications, you can do the ironing and shovel snow at the Twilight Years Retirement Home. You have one month to complete your assigned service. Is that clear?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Becky wished he’d stop calling her that, especially in that lazy drawl of his. It woke long-buried desires. She’d been so busy with her career and raising her young son—the result of her short-lived marriage—that sex and romance simply weren’t on her agenda. Yet from the moment Will O’Malley had looked up at her and smiled, she’d felt a bolt of sexual awareness she hadn’t experienced in a very long time—if ever.
She checked his details. He was thirty-two—four years younger than she was. Definitely not what Becky wanted in her life—a younger man, especially one who was irresponsible and had no respect for authority or the law. A charming rogue was not the answer to her sexual frustration. Not that she was aware she had any until he’d walked into her courtroom. She needed to get him out of there, fast. “If there’s nothing further—”
“Well, I do have a question…”
“Yes, Mr. O’Malley?”
“Would you have dinner with me tonight?”
Becky blinked. Surely she hadn’t heard him correctly. “Excuse me?” she said, and tried to ignore the warm flush climbing up her chest.
“I asked if you’d go out with me tonight.”
The court audience leaned forward, eagerly anticipating her response.
Will O’Malley was without doubt the best-looking defendant who’d ever stood before her. The fact that he’d pleaded guilty straight up—rather than offer a host of excuses—impressed her. But he was a defendant and strictly off-limits.
Furious that her body was telling her one thing, while her brain told her another, Becky answered him more harshly than she’d intended. “No, Mr. O’Malley, I won’t,” she said and slammed down her gavel. “Get out of my court!”

Chapter Two
“That went better than I expected,” Will said as he and Matt walked outside into the crisp winter morning.
Snow had fallen overnight, turning the town into a perfect Christmas card scene. Skiers trudged along the sidewalks, headed for the slopes, while sightseers gazed into shop fronts, admiring the Christmas displays. Carols sounded merrily from the tourist office. The holidays were only a couple of weeks away—Will’s favorite time of year.
Matt sighed. “Define better than you expected. You’ve been assigned fifty hours of community service and had the judge very publicly turn you down for a date. Doesn’t anything ever get you down?”
Will shrugged. “Nothing I can think of at the moment—apart from losing those old buildings.” He couldn’t tell Matt about the avalanche and the nightmares. Not yet.
“Don’t you feel humiliated?”
“Nope. I deserved the punishment and I’ll enjoy spending time at the old folks’ home. Lots of interesting characters there. As for the delectable judge, she’ll come around.”
Matt rubbed his chin. “I’m not so sure. She keeps to herself.” He paused. “And don’t you dare even think of pursuing her and then take off on another one of your crazy adventures, leaving the rest of us to pick up the pieces.”
Will opened his mouth to answer the accusations but, as usual, Matt hadn’t finished telling him off. “And what the hell was all that, ‘I’m going to marry that woman someday,’ nonsense?”
Will grinned and said, “Bashert.”
Matt’s eyes narrowed. His voice dripping with mock sarcasm, he said, “You spent two weeks skiing in Israel last winter and now you speak fluent Hebrew?”
“Actually, it’s Yiddish. And I’m far from fluent. Bashert is the instant recognition of one’s soul mate.”
“I’m aware of what it is! It happened for me with Sally,” Matt said testily, referring to the deep and instant love he’d felt for his wife. But a drunk driver had killed Sally two years earlier. She was seven months pregnant at the time.
“And Dad with Mom,” Will said, trying to distract Matt from grieving over Sally. He wasn’t comfortable with deep emotion. “Seems like bashert’s an O’Malley tradition.”
“Not where Luke’s concerned.”
Their oldest brother’s ex-wife, Tory, had made Luke’s life a living hell. Although he’d been divorced for a couple of years now, Luke was still a grouch.
“True. But I’m positive about the judge.”
Matt raised a sardonic eyebrow. “Really? You haven’t checked out her other assets. For all you know, hidden behind that bench might be three hairy legs and a pointed tail.”
Will grinned at his brother’s rare attempt at levity. “You’ve been reading too many of those kiddie fantasy novels to young Sash.” Sasha was one of their much-adored nieces and Luke’s oldest daughter.
“Speaking of children, the judge has one of her own.”
“She’s married?” Will felt sick to his stomach.
Matt placed a hand on his shoulder. “Relax. She’s divorced. But I’m sure the thought of having to compete with another child—” Matt emphasized the word “—for the judge’s attention, should be enough to quench your fires.”
Ignoring the jibe, he said, “A kid? How d’you know?”
“Because I listen to people.”
“So you’ve had the opportunity to chat with the object of my affections?”
“I have.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“Is she as immune to your charms as she’s trying to be to mine?”
“I think you could confidently say she’s completely immune to your charms.”
“On the contrary. I think she’s intrigued.”
“Yeah. Right. Face it, buddy, Judge McBride is way too disciplined for someone as unruly as you. Still, stranger things have happened—especially in Spruce Lake.” He glanced at his watch. “I have to go back to work, but before I do, I’ve got to ask—this protest movement you’re getting together…who’s heading it up?”
Will puffed out his chest. “Me, of course. And we’ve called it Save Our Buildings or SOB, ’cause it’d be a crying shame to lose them.”
Matt shook his head. “Trust you to come up with such an absurd acronym. Can I be blunt with you?”
“Fire away.”
“There seems to be a groundswell of support for your crazy idea—”
Will threw up his hands. “It is not crazy!”
“Okay…let’s call it well-meaning but totally irrational.”
Will nodded. “That’s much better.” He enjoyed sparring with Matt.
“What I’m trying to get across to you is that this protest—if you can get enough support for it—has the potential of becoming huge, and if you walk away without following through, you’re going to disappoint a lot of people. No, more than that, you’re going to hurt them because they believe in you.”
“I told you I’m here to stay. Why do you doubt me?”
“Because I know your past record! And when it finally gets through your thick skull that the judge isn’t interested, you’ll head off to the ends of the earth on another harebrained adventure.”
Will was about to repeat that he was here to stay, but Matt was on a roll.
“You breeze into town, stopping for a few days, before you fly off to make yet another movie in some far-off location,” Matt ranted. “You’ve never shown any interest in sticking with anything worthwhile. Why change now?”
Although his tirade stung, Matt was right. Not so long ago, Will wouldn’t have been ready to hear it, or to agree with Matt. But his brush with death had changed Will’s view of the world and his place in it. The avalanche had made him realize the carefree days of his extended youth were over. Did he really want to spend his life flying around the world, engaging in increasingly more daring stunts, living out of a suitcase? The answer was a resounding no.
He’d come home—to the certain safety of Spruce Lake—determined to settle in his hometown. Unfortunately, he hadn’t figured out how he’d make a living here. The judge had underlined something he already knew: Apart from being able to ski near-vertical cliffs, he didn’t have any real skills. And therefore no alternative career prospects.
However, discovering that the old buildings were threatened with demolition had confirmed Spruce Lake was an intrinsic part of him and saving them was a cause worth fighting for. “I won’t have our town’s heritage destroyed by a bunch of shiny Tonka toys!” he declared.
“That’s what you say now. Next week might be a different story.”
Will gritted his teeth. “I said I’m here to stay.”
“Fine.” Matt’s curled lip told Will he doubted his convictions. “If you’re as determined as you claim to be, I’ll do whatever I can. And if you’re so hell-bent on dating the judge, then let me talk to her on your behalf. I’ll tell her you’re a generally well-behaved citizen who’s temporarily taken leave of his senses. She’d believe it coming from me. She might even let you date her, then.”
She probably would, but that’d be cheating. His big brother couldn’t help sticking up for him. Protecting him—protecting anyone—came naturally to Matt.
“Thanks for the offer, but I want to win her over myself. She’s already intrigued. Soon, she won’t be able to resist me, you’ll see.”
“And you figured this out in your brief yet humiliating encounter this morning?” Matt shook his head. “Your overconfidence astounds me, Will. And the protest, what about that? And your job? The one you pretended you don’t have? What was that about, saying you’re ‘between jobs’? And speaking of your job, you’ve been here nearly two weeks. It’s winter in case you hadn’t noticed. Prime ski-movie shooting season.”
Will disregarded Matt’s sarcasm. “Like I said in court, I quit the movies.” He held up his hands to allay Matt’s questions as to why. “SOB will keep me busy.” When he saw Matt about to argue, he said, “I’m not going to suddenly take off, okay?”
Matt leaned against his vehicle. “Do you have a plan—apart from continuing to vandalize the development company’s property?”
“I do.”
“And?”
Pleased by Matt’s interest, he said, “I’m holding a fundraising barbecue.”
Matt’s raised eyebrows told Will what he thought of that. “And plan B would be?”
“There is no plan B! What’s wrong with plan A?”
Matt indicated the snow-covered street. “It’s winter. No one has barbecues in the middle of winter.”
“All the more reason to have one. People hankering for barbecue will come from all over.”
“And where do you plan to hold this event? Close off Main Street like they do during the summer barbecue festival? You’ll need a permit and we both know how much you hate dealing with bureaucracy.”
“Don’t need one if we hold it at the ranch.”
Matt rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right. Running it by Luke will be harder than getting a permit from the town. Good luck with that.” He pushed away from his vehicle. “Do you want a ride somewhere?”
“Thanks, but I need to stretch my legs and get some fresh air. Then I’ll walk over to the Twilight Years and start my community service.”
Matt clapped him on the shoulder. “Good idea. I can’t fault your work ethic, buddy, but I wish you were a bit more conventional.”
Will raised his hands in jest. “Then I’d be like you.”
Matt let the mild insult go as he shook Will’s hand, then climbed into his vehicle and lowered the window. “I just had a thought.”
“You, Matt O’Malley, had a spontaneous moment?”
Matt started his car. “Okay, if you’re going to be insulting, I’ll go.”
Will reached in and switched off the ignition. “Sorry, couldn’t stop myself.” He leaned on the door frame and said, “Shoot.”
“You know that ranch land you bought ten years back?”
“Yup.”
“I think you’ll find it’s appreciated considerably in value.”
Will was lost. “Meaning?”
“Meaning that if you’re serious about saving those buildings, then get the land valued. You might be able to sell it and raise enough to buy the buildings from the development company yourself.”
“You’re joking.”
“Have you ever known me to joke?”
Good point. “But this is crazy. I paid peanuts for it.”
“Times have changed. You might be surprised by what it’s worth.”
“Nice idea. But I’m keeping the land as a wildlife corridor. Where would the elk graze and the bears collect berries to get them through the winter and the lynx hunt if I sold it? I couldn’t have some rancher fencing it off, grazing cows and horses and shooting anything that eats the grass—or the livestock.”
“You know as well as I do it’s too small to be a viable ranch, but in the past couple of years they’ve started developing ranchettes for people who want to be near a town but also want the luxury of extra land. That valley is the prettiest around and people would pay a premium to live there.”
Ranchettes? Will shuddered. “Even if I could raise the money to buy the buildings—provided the development company would consider selling them—I’d have the problem of a bunch of disgruntled elk and bears.” He ignored Matt’s sardonic look and explained, “I couldn’t live with myself if I sold it to someone to carve up into tiny plots. Sorry, Matt, but it doesn’t work for me.”
“Five- to ten-acre lots aren’t tiny. You’re never going to graze that land. You’re allergic to horses, remember?”
At the reminder of his allergy, Will sneezed, then scratched his shoulder. “Speaking of allergies, can I stay with you for a while?” Will suspected Luke had put him in the apartment above the stables on purpose, hoping he’d move on—preferably to another country. The smell of hay and horses had him sneezing for at least an hour every morning, and Luke kept hinting that if Will wasn’t doing any useful work around the ranch, he should leave.
“I’d rather have my teeth pulled without benefit of anesthetic than share living quarters with you ever again,” Matt said.
“There’s no need to get personal. I’ve grown up since the last time we lived together.”
“Not enough to let you move in,” he muttered.
True, he’d pulled a few shots in his past, and Matt had a very long memory. Unfortunately, there was a shortage of rental accommodation in town—especially with the holidays just around the corner. His land had a burned-out farmhouse that wasn’t habitable. Pitching a tent and living in it during winter wasn’t feasible. Come spring, he intended to start work on a cabin, but until then he was pretty much homeless. And car-less. He’d have to do something about that, too. Building the cabin would prove to his family and the town that Will O’Malley had grown up and was going to stick around and become a contributing member of the community. “Selling my land isn’t an option.”
Matt shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He started up the car. “Take care, Will. If you need anything, you know where to find me. In the meantime, keep out of trouble, okay?”
After waving Matt off, Will headed down the street, his mind filled with plans: saving the buildings, getting Matt elected sheriff, designing a log cabin, locating happy homes for old Miss P.’s dogs, finding a job that didn’t involve going anywhere near the mountain—or horses, buying a car, completing his community service without burning down the old folks’ home, talking Luke into holding the fundraiser at the ranch, and most importantly, getting the judge to have dinner with him.

Chapter Three
Two days later, and no closer to a solution regarding either his career future or how he could save the buildings, Will was strolling along Main Street, admiring the Christmas displays, when a car pulled up beside him. Louella’s piggy snout hung out the window, sniffing the chilled air.
Frank Farquar plucked an enormous cigar from his mouth and asked, “Off to help out at the old folks’ home again?”
Frank’s Aztec Red 1959 Cadillac Series 62 complete with tail fins of extraordinary proportions was a legend of a car. From the front of its shiny chrome double grille to the rear rocket-inspired, double bullet-head taillights, the Caddy was Frank’s pride and joy. Frank owned the rock quarry ten miles past the south end of town but, miraculously, not a speck of dust ever marred the Caddy’s paintwork. Will hadn’t yet got around to buying himself a vehicle. A car like Frank’s was one to be proud of—impractical but impressive.
He ducked to look in the front window and got a wet kiss from Louella. “Yup. Going that way, Mr. F.?”
“For you, boy, I’d drive all the way to Denver. Hop in.”
Respecting Louella’s pride of place up front, Will got into the backseat. “Nice outfit, Lou,” he remarked, referring to her snappy tartan vest and scarf, and got a snort of appreciation in return. He figured Frank’s dressing up Louella had something to do with the fact that he was a bachelor who’d never had the chance to raise kids of his own. Given how eccentric Frank was, Will wasn’t surprised he’d never married, in spite of his reported wealth.
“I see you cleaned up them demolition vehicles,” Frank said around the cigar he chewed but never lit.
“With a lot of help from the local Boy Scout troop.” Will was grateful to them. Cleaning off the water-based paint in the subfreezing temperature hadn’t been easy. The kids were selling Christmas trees in their lot across the street and came over to offer their services in exchange for his autograph and some photos with him.
“Has the judge come to her senses about dating you, boy?”
“Not yet, Mr. F., but I’m optimistic.”
“That you are. Never met anyone more optimistic than you. Even Lou—” he slapped his pig’s back with affection “—can get a bit down in the mouth at times, but I don’t think I ever seen you not smilin’.”
Will would be celebrating his thirty-second birthday next month, yet people still saw him as a boy. It had never bothered him before, but now it didn’t sit so well. His old school buddies were all married; most had kids. That guaranteed weekends spent mowing lawns and taking kids to Little League, neighborhood barbecues and friendly softball matches stretching into the summer evenings. And nights curled up beside a woman who loved you. In truth, most of his old friends had found a contentment that had always eluded Will.
He and Frank were a lot alike—lonely bachelors—although Will hadn’t yet resorted to driving around with a farm animal in his front seat for company. The town’s population numbered over two thousand, but the pool of eligible men the judge might date—if she ever dated—was small. Provided his brother Adam didn’t move back anytime soon. The career-oriented judge was sure to be impressed by a dedicated, overmuscled firefighter.
Will put that unwelcome thought out of his mind and concentrated on Frank. He and Mrs. Carmichael, the florist, had been high school sweethearts. She’d gone off to college in Denver and eventually married and settled there. Widowed many years later, she’d come home to Spruce Lake and opened a florist shop. But the former sweethearts had barely spoken to each other since her return.
“Here we are, boy.” Frank jolted Will from his musings as they pulled up outside the Twilight Years.
Frank turned in his seat and held out a wad of money.
“What’s this for?”
“The Save Our Buildings fund,” Frank said. “I had this in my mattress. I was figurin’ maybe we could raise money for the town to buy back the old buildings. Like the judge suggested.”
Will was touched. “Thanks, Mr. F., but I doubt there’s enough money in the whole town to do that.” His hastily devised plan during the protest was simply to raise funds to fight the development company in court and convince them to rethink their demolition of the buildings.
“You’d be surprised how much money there is in this town,” Frank was saying. “Folks just don’t have nothin’ worthwhile to spend it on.” He proffered the wad of cash again.
Will held up his hands. “Ah, I appreciate the offer, but I don’t feel comfortable walking around with all that money. Let’s open an account down at the bank, okay?”
Frank considered his words, then nodded. “Good idea.”
A thought occurred to Will. “Mrs. C. has a donation tin on her shop counter, but this is way too much to leave in there. As SOB treasurer, I know she’d be over the moon with a donation like this. You should be a cosignatory on the account with her.”
“I doubt Edna would want to sign anything with me. We don’t exactly get along. In fact, you could say she hates me.”
Poor Frank, he had it bad, Will surmised, observing his trembling lip. “I’m sure if you worked together on the campaign, she’d see a side of you that will please her beyond measure.”
“You think?”
Will climbed out of the Caddy. “I’m sure she’ll appreciate your generous donation to our cause,” he said, giving Louella’s head a scratch.
He was positive that Mrs. C. would appreciate the donation. He wasn’t so certain she’d forgive Frank for whatever wrong he’d committed forty years earlier.

LATER THAT AFTERNOON, Will was walking old Miss Patterson’s five dogs, who were a real handful. Planning moves on the development company, how to sweet-talk Luke into holding a barbecue at the ranch and walking a pack of dogs didn’t mix.
Miss Patterson had never married, nor had children of her own, but she was well-loved around town. The dogs were her life and Will always enjoyed visiting with the cheerful octogenarian and her “boys” whenever he was home. She not only made the world’s best chocolate chip cookies and was an accomplished watercolor artist, but possessed a vast knowledge of the Spruce Lake area and its history.
During the protest, as she’d bravely faced the demolition vehicles charging toward her, she’d asked Will if he could help her find good homes for the dogs. At the time, he feared it was because Miss Patterson thought she was going to be run down and killed. But she’d explained that the dogs were getting to be too much for her and wanted them adopted into loving homes.
“Whoa there, boys,” he warned as the dogs dragged him along Main Street. Dermott the Irish setter, Dugald the Scottish terrier and Henri the toy poodle were attached by their leashes to his left hand. Edward, the Old English sheepdog and Charles the bull terrier’s leashes were clasped firmly in his right. No wonder Miss P. needed a hip replacement, Will mused. The dogs were nearly tearing his arms out of their sockets and his feet were planted so firmly in the snow he was practically skiing behind them.
The toot of a car’s horn had all of them pricking up their ears. When they spotted Louella sailing past with her snout stuck out the window of Frank Farquar’s Caddy, they took off after her. Five dogs and a man became a blur in the shop windows as they shot along Main Street in pursuit of Louella, squealing her approval out the window.
“Shut up, Louella, you idiot pig!” Will yelled as he yanked on the leashes with all his might, while pedestrians scattered like snowflakes before them. His command had little or no effect on Charles who continued racing down the street, dragging Edward and Will.
Frank turned at the corner of Main and Jefferson, the Caddy fishtailing on the slippery street. Now the car was out of sight, Dermott forgot about Louella and slowed to a trot, while Dugald spotted a fire hydrant to relieve himself on. Henri, exhausted from the effort of keeping up with the much larger dogs, dropped to his stomach. Edward flopped down, too. His considerable weight had the effect of bringing everyone else to a standstill, although the forward motion of Will’s body took a moment to catch up.
Trying to avoid treading on tiny Henri, Will leaped into the air, twisted sideways, collected a potted Christmas tree complete with decorations, then fell backward over Edward. His head hit the snow-covered sidewalk with such force he saw stars. He lay on his back staring up at the sky through the Christmas tree branches, with Edward breathing Old English sheepdoggie breath on his face.

JUDGE BECKY MCBRIDE witnessed all this from the courthouse steps.
After a long day, exacerbated by Louella getting up to further mischief, she’d escaped the courtroom madhouse only to find more animals misbehaving outside.
Will O’Malley saw her and scrambled to his feet. “Afternoon, Your Honor,” he said and attempted to unwind himself from the mass of dogs, their leads and, she noted curiously, a bedraggled Christmas tree laced with silver tinsel. Finally free of the leashes, he gave a couple of commands to the dogs and they walked with their heads held high toward her.
Fond of Scotties, she bent to pat the Scottish terrier. They seemed to have hardy, courageous temperaments. The other dogs nuzzled her hand eagerly. Becky laughed, delighted by their antics.
“Hello! Aren’t you gorgeous?” she told the dogs and scratched behind their ears, but the Scottie was the most insistent about getting her attention.
“That’s Dugald,” Will O’Malley told her. “He’s very bossy and a good watchdog. This is Edward—” he indicated the Old English sheepdog “—he’s a lazy lump and eats too much, but he makes a nice footrest in front of the fire on cold nights. Dermott’s the setter. He’s got no brains whatsoever, but he loves children. Charles needs psychotherapy—” he pointed to the bull terrier “—because he’s in love with Louella Farquar. And Henri’s convinced he’s related to Louis XVI and doesn’t much care for walks.”
“He’s wearing fur-lined booties and a fur doggie coat,” she said. “The question is why?”
“Seriously, he thinks he’s related to royalty—hence, the fur coat. Fake fur,” he pointed out. “And the booties are to protect his dear little feet from the cold.”
Becky was charmed by his genuine affection for the animals. “Why are you walking so many dogs? Have you started a dog-walking business since we last met?” She bent to pet the dogs again.
“Nope. Although your suggestion has merit. Would you date me if I had a dog-walking business?” he asked.
Becky stood, ready to make her departure. “No.”
“I’m going to keep asking, you know that, don’t you?”
“And I’m going to keep saying no, regardless of what sort of business you have, Mr. O’Malley. Good day.” She turned to leave.
“They belong to Miss Patterson up on Lincoln Street,” he said, stalling her. “She’s getting too frail to handle them all herself.”
Becky turned back, realizing she hadn’t discovered why he was walking so many dogs.
“She could probably cope with Henri. But she’ll have to give the others away and it’s going to break her heart. These dogs are her children. Imagine how that would tear you up, having to give away a child of yours, let alone four of them.”
Becky didn’t want to consider how desolate she’d feel about losing Nicolas. In truth, she was relieved Graham had rejected their son when they’d received his diagnosis. It meant he’d never show up on her doorstep demanding custody or even visitation rights.
“We had a long talk about the boys’ futures and Miss P.’s asked me to inquire around for good homes. Would you be interested in adopting Dugald, by any chance?”
She bent to pet the Scottie again. Nicolas begged her for a puppy on a weekly basis. He’d hinted it would be the perfect Christmas present. Becky didn’t have room in her life for a dog, so that particular Christmas wish would remain unfulfilled.
She shook her head, but she was touched by Will O’Malley’s caring attitude. His brother had testified he was kind to old people and animals, and it was obviously the truth. She’d sensed in court that there was more to the man than his misconduct would indicate. And to his credit, she’d seen him scrubbing the demolition vehicles the very evening she’d handed down her punishment. A group of Boy Scouts were helping him and seemed to be enjoying themselves and his company. Thankfully, he’d been so engrossed in his task, he hadn’t noticed her passing by. Earlier, she’d seen him standing outside the supermarket entrance, dressed as Santa and ringing a bell, collecting money for a local charity. She couldn’t fault his community spirit.
She glanced up from the dogs to find him appraising her openly. “What are you looking at?”
“You. You’re gorgeous.”
Becky felt herself blush to the roots of her hair. No man had ever paid her such a bold compliment. “No, I’m not.”
“Oh, yes, you are,” he insisted. “Come out with me tonight?”
There was no way she was going anywhere with Will O’Malley, no matter how good-looking or how kind to animals and the elderly he was. And no matter how many roses he sent her.
Becky had been delighted by the first delivery. Then she’d read the card and discovered who’d sent them.
The certain knowledge that encouraging him would be disastrous for her career advancement made it easy to reject his overtures. Will O’Malley was Trouble.
She was about to turn down his invitation, when the dogs started to walk around them—in opposite directions. They strained against their leashes, forcing Becky against Will O’Malley’s body and tightening his arms around her.
“Oh!” she cried as their bodies touched intimately from chest to knee, courtesy of the dogs.
“This is nice,” he murmured and bent to kiss her. Startled, Becky turned her head to the side to avoid letting their mouths make contact. Then wished she hadn’t. The feel of his warm lips brushing her cheek had her wanting more. But this was madness. She leaned away from him as best she could. “Mr. O’Malley! Get your hands off me.”
“We’re not in court anymore, darlin’,” he drawled in a tone that was guaranteed to make any woman weak in the knees—her included. “So why don’t you call me Will?”
She pushed against his chest. “How about if I don’t? Now, get your hands off me,” she repeated in a low growl.
He looked pointedly at where her hands lay against his chest. “Seems like you’re the one who’s got her hands all over me. Mine are only around you because of the dogs.”
She glanced down to see that her fingers had curled into his shirtfront as though seeking greater contact.
“Oh!” She pulled them back abruptly.
“Don’t be frightened. I was enjoying myself, and judging by the flush on your pretty cheeks and that tiny pulse throbbing in your neck—” he grinned with mischievous intent and gazed into her eyes “—I do believe you were enjoying yourself, too.”
She was lost in the depths of his eyes. Chocolate-brown eyes…He was too smooth for words. Too dangerous, too damned attractive. She needed to take control. Control was what she thrived on. It gave meaning to her life—helped her cope in any situation.
Forcing strength back into her legs, she stood up to her full height. “Why…you arrogant…pest! How dare you assume such a thing. Now, get the dogs unraveled and let me go. I have a reputation to uphold. I can’t be seen being manhandled in the street by a…a delinquent.”
“So quit your job and come live with me. Then I can manhandle you all you want,” he said, as if her concerns about her reputation didn’t matter one iota to him.
Her cheeks burned with anger.
“Because that’s what you really want, isn’t it, darlin’? You want me to hold you…and touch you…and kiss every inch of your beautiful body….”
She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. A moment ago, she’d wanted to throttle him. But in all honesty, what he was suggesting was exactly what she wanted him to do. Hadn’t she dreamed of it every night since she’d met him?
She gave herself a mental shake. What was she thinking? Letting him touch her, kiss her…A flutter of anticipation filled her at the notion of being seduced by Will O’Malley. He’d probably prove a very thorough—and satisfying—lover.
But he wasn’t for her. Absolutely not! As an official of the law, she had to maintain her reputation. It was part of the reason she’d become a judge. Judges were highly respected members of society, and she wanted respect more than anything in her life.
The humiliation of attending court with her father, holding him up because he was so drunk, was deeply imprinted in her psyche. Becky had been fifteen, vulnerable, angry and confused. But when she’d seen the judge sitting behind his bench and being called “Your Honor” by everyone present, Becky knew the career she wanted to pursue—a career that commanded respect. She’d hated being the outcast at school, the new girl wearing thrift-shop clothes because the family moved from town to town and was too destitute, because of her father’s gambling and drinking, to afford anything new. Tears sprang to her eyes at the memory.

HER TEARS SHOCKED WILL. Surely she didn’t feel threatened by his playful advances? He gave the dogs a sharp command and they unwound themselves and their prisoners. The judge took a step back and glanced at the crowd gathering on the sidewalk, and then at him. Her face was almost redder than her hair.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Her chin came up. “You didn’t scare me, Mr. O’Malley. I’m not frightened of anything. Least of all you.” She turned on her heel and stalked off down the sidewalk.
He gazed at her retreating back. She might have claimed nothing scared her, but Will was damned sure she was afraid of something.

ALTHOUGH SHE’D MARCHED off after their humiliating encounter, Becky’s legs weren’t as steady as she would’ve liked. The trip down unhappy-memory lane had rattled her, and she’d let down her guard. “Damn!” she said and swiped at her cheeks, hoping no one would notice the tears that refused to stop welling in her eyes.
She turned down her street, head low as she avoided other pedestrians. She’d felt like a complete spectacle there in the middle of Main Street being held by Will O’Malley for the entire world to see!
Nicolas wasn’t home—he was still at the hydrotherapy pool doing a session with his physical therapist. For once, she was home alone and could indulge in a bit of self-pity.
After lighting the fire, she poured a glass of pinot noir and curled up in a corner of the sofa, tucking her legs underneath her. The room was pleasantly furnished. She’d brought a few decorative pieces with her, but the quaint Victorian house was fully furnished. That meant Becky was able to rent out her renovated loft apartment in Denver for the six months they’d be in Spruce Lake. She’d bought it with part of her divorce settlement. The rest she’d invested in Nicolas’s college fund, although she’d have to dip into that to pay for the exclusive school for gifted children he’d be entering next fall when they returned to Denver.
The wine’s warmth seeped through her, calming her nerves. The sooner she got out of this town, where everyone knew everyone else—and their business!—the better. Whatever had possessed her to accept the job here?
The spectators today had brought back unwanted memories from her past. The only memories Becky cherished from that long-ago time were of spending every spare moment at Ben Solomon’s office learning about the law. The kindly lawyer had taken her under his wing and helped her apply for a scholarship to attend college and then law school on the East Coast—far away from her family. Sadly, Ben hadn’t lived to see her graduate.
Her first job was with a prestigious Atlanta law firm where she’d met Graham Marcus, one of the firm’s high-flying partners. Urbane and charming, he had a wide circle of friends. They’d worked on several cases together, dated occasionally and a few months later he’d asked her to marry him.
Flattered and desperate to have a family of her own, she’d agreed without seriously examining whether she loved him—or if, indeed, he really loved her. Marry in haste, repent at leisure. The proverb’s words had come back to haunt her.
Three months after their wedding, Becky was pregnant. Dreaming that at last she’d have the family life she craved—she failed to notice something amiss in their marriage. When she discovered Graham had a mistress, the betrayal was so devastating she’d nearly miscarried. Graham begged her forgiveness. He put their unborn son’s name on the waiting list for the same exclusive schools he’d attended and became the doting expectant father. But soon after Nicolas’s birth, it was apparent that all was not quite right with the baby. When they received the diagnosis that Nicolas suffered from cerebral palsy and might never walk, Graham’s interest in their son evaporated and he demanded Becky put him into permanent care.
Bewildered that he could instantly turn from loving their son to despising him, she’d packed her bags and left with Nicolas, determined her dear little boy would know only unconditional love and support.
She’d filed for divorce and custody of Nicolas—Graham contested neither—and she’d had no contact with her ex-husband since.
Another man had let her down. She swore that would never happen again. She’d been a fool to forgive Graham his affair. She would never forgive him for rejecting their son.
And she had no intention of opening her heart to pain ever again.
Becky sipped her wine, allowing its warm glow to spread through her. But the warmth reminded her of Will O’Malley and how good his arms had felt around her. How safe she’d felt in his embrace. I need to get out of this town, because he makes me yearn for things I can’t have.
She sipped more of the wine and thought, Now, there’s a man who’d head for the hills if he knew I had a physically challenged child.

Chapter Four
“Have you heard anything from your ladylove yet, dear?” Mrs. Carmichael asked as Will cleaned up after repainting her shop.
He dried the paintbrushes and stored them. “Nope,” he said. “But she’ll come around.”
He’d been doing odd jobs at the florist’s for the past few days in between fulfilling his community service obligations at the Twilight Years Home. In payment, Mrs. C. sent him off to the courthouse with a dozen red roses every day. But instead of being shown into the judge’s chambers, he’d had to leave them with the receptionist at the front desk. So far, he hadn’t received any acknowledgment of either the flowers or the notes requesting a date that he’d hidden among the blooms.
“Maybe the judge doesn’t like roses?” she suggested. “I could do some lovely spring bouquets.”
Will picked up a cloth and wiped down the counter in front of him. “You’re sweet, Mrs. C. One of Spruce Lake’s living treasures.”
She flapped a hand at him good-naturedly. “Get on with you, Will O’Malley. Like your dear papa, you’ve inherited the Irish blarney.”
“Nope, it’s true. Cross my heart.” He did so, then bent to kiss her goodbye. “Toodle loo, Mrs. C. I’m off to see the mayor and walk Miss P.’s boys. And don’t forget to call me if you need anything. Otherwise, I’ll have to put you into the Twilight Years.” He shook his finger at her.
“You’re so insolent,” she said with a laugh. “I always thought your mama was way too lenient with you. Good luck with the mayor. And don’t forget, you’re welcome to move into my upstairs apartment anytime, dear.”
“Thanks, Mrs. C. I’m so done with Luke whining I’m underfoot at the ranch.” He’d told her about the details of his latest conflicts with his oldest brother.
She shook her head, her voice full of compassion. “Ah, Luke. Like you, he has a heart of gold. Being the oldest of you boys, he takes on a lot of responsibility.”
Luke was on the wrong side of thirty-five. Hardly a boy.
“He needs a wife to help him with the ranch and those dear little girls of his.”
Considering Luke’s unhappy marital history, Will didn’t have much faith in his brother’s taste in wives. He’d been cranky since the day he said, “I do.” Since it was a shotgun wedding, Will could understand Luke’s foul mood. Tory had set a trap for Luke that he couldn’t see through at the time. However, the doomed marriage did produce three sweet little girls.
The shop’s doorbell rang and in stepped Frank Farquar with Louella at his heels, sporting a pink tutu. Mrs. C. sucked in her breath.
“Edna.” Frank removed his best black ten-gallon hat. It was Frank’s prosperous rancher look. To Will’s knowledge, the only time Frank had been anywhere near a cow was when he was barbecuing beef.
Will scratched Louella behind the ear, then busied himself with restacking some shelves out of Mrs. C.’s reach, figuring he should stay for a bit longer. After all, Frank might need his moral support.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Farquar?” she asked.
“I’d like a bunch of your most expensive flowers for someone very special.”
Will was taken aback. Frank Farquar had a ladylove? Judging by the look on Mrs. C.’s face, that particular bit of gossip hadn’t made its way down to her part of Main Street. Yet.
Yesterday, as he’d put up new shelves for her, Mrs. C. had related their story. She’d had such hopes for her and Frank all those years ago, yet he’d been too busy making a success of his rock quarry to get around to proposing marriage. She’d wondered how different her life would have been. Would they have had the children she’d so desperately wanted and been unable to have with her husband, Jeb Carmichael?
She expelled a sigh as though she’d been thinking the same thing as Will.
“You work too hard, Edna.”
She bristled. “I do not. And I’ll thank you to mind your own business.” She plucked a bunch of pink-and-white Oriental lilies, ripe with perfume, from a bucket of water. “These are my most expensive blooms.”
Lilies were Mrs. C.’s favorite and she always kept them in her store, saying their exotic scent cheered her, even on the bleakest days. It surprised Will that she’d recommended them for another woman.
Frank shrugged. “I dunno. Do you like ’em, Edna?”
“What’s it matter what I think?” she snapped, then seemed to rein in her temper. “Of course I do. They’re beautiful flowers. However, if you’d prefer roses, I can order some for you. Will has cleaned me out of roses this week.”
Frank turned to Will. “I wondered where all those flowers at the courthouse came from. They from you, boy?”
“They sure are. Not that it’s doing me much good. Yet.”
“You’re positive she’ll like ’em?” Frank looked at Mrs. C. again.
“Of course she will! I’m a florist, and I know my business!”
Will detected an undercurrent of jealousy in her tone. This could be promising—if only Frank hadn’t turned his attention to another woman.
“I’ll take ’em.”
“I haven’t told you how much they are.”
“I don’t care. She’s worth it.”
Frank winked at Will. Mrs. C. saw it and fumed. In fact, Will noted, she was so mad, she doubled the price.
“That’ll be eighty dollars. Would you like a card to go with them?”
Frank slapped two fifties on the counter, saying, “Keep the change, and yes, I’ll take a card.”
He chose a pen and started writing in the card. Mrs. C. tapped her foot. Will grinned at her. She glared back at him. A strategic retreat right about now would be a good idea, but Will couldn’t drag himself away. Instead, he climbed the stepladder and pretended to wipe down a top shelf.
“There.” Frank placed the card in the bouquet and stood back as if to admire his handiwork.
“If there’s nothing else I can help you with, then you’ll be going,” Mrs. C. said in dismissal.
“Not so fast,” Frank said, handing over the flowers.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
“Read the card.”
Scowling, she opened it and read aloud. “‘Dearest Edna, Roses are red, violets are blue. My heart is so lonely, lonely for you.’”
Will’s heart soared. But Mrs. C. looked as though she didn’t know whether to laugh or be sick.
The sight of Louella munching on one of the buckets of brilliantly colored gerberas brought her back to the present. “Oh, you naughty pig!” she cried, picking up a broom to chase Louella off. Louella spotted her and squealed, charging toward the protection of Frank’s legs. Unfortunately, she knocked over several flower-filled buckets and crashed into Will’s ladder in her haste to escape.
The doorbell rang, announcing another customer, as Will tumbled off the ladder and landed on top of Louella who squealed even louder and rushed out the back of the shop. She headed into Mrs. Carmichael’s living quarters, leaving a trail of wet trotter prints in her wake and Will lying half-dazed in a flower-strewn pool of water.
“You and your blasted pig, Frank Farquar! You should both be locked up,” Mrs. C. declared as Will felt himself all over for injuries. “Now look what she’s done. Get her out of my home!”
“I can’t understand this. I told her to be on her best behavior. Maybe she’s jealous?” Frank muttered and went in pursuit of Louella.
The jealous comment only served to make Edna Carmichael madder. She picked up a vase and threw it at him. It hit the wall and smashed.
Will dragged his attention from the commotion at the back of the shop to the customer who’d entered through the front door.
The judge was standing there, her expression contemptuous as she stared at the scene of devastation.
Will scrambled to his feet. “I’m afraid you’ve caught me at a bad time.”
“I wasn’t coming to see you, Mr. O’Malley, but since you’re here, I can deliver my message in person.”
“I’m all ears.” He offered one of his deep-dimpled grins, knowing from experience that women would forgive him anything if he smiled at them. Except maybe this particular woman…
The judge was unmoved by his overture. “Thank you for the flowers. Please don’t send me any more,” she said, then turned on her heel and left the store.
Will was puzzled. Why wouldn’t a woman want flowers? His dad had wooed his mom with flowers. His mom had apparently been as difficult to date as the judge, but his dad had persisted. Three months later, they were married, and now, nearly forty years on, they were still blissfully in love. If persistence had worked for his father, Will was sure it could work for him. However, he couldn’t keep presuming on Mrs. C.’s generosity. He needed to find a real job—a paying job—one the judge would respect.
“I’ll pay for any damage,” Frank said as he walked into the front of the shop with Louella in tow, a sullen expression on her face and her tutu torn to shreds.
“Just. Get. Out!” Mrs. C. yelled, picking up the lilies and hurling them at Frank. “And take these with you!” Mumbling under her breath, she went to survey the damage to her home.
Will glanced from Frank to Mrs. C.’s apartment doorway and then back again at Frank.
Frank shook his head. “I guess I left my run on Edna’s affections too late.”
Will didn’t want to point out the obvious—he was around forty years too late. Still, where there was life, there was hope. “Let me talk to her. I think your romantic gesture was a mite too overwhelming for a woman of Mrs. C.’s, ah, independence.” He was going to say age, but thought better of it. If Frank was feeling his oats, then Will didn’t want to go reminding either of them they were getting old.
“You’d do that for me, boy?” Frank pulled a cigar from his pocket, stuck it in his mouth and chewed on it.
“Where true love’s concerned, I’d walk to the ends of the earth. On hot coals.”
Frank nodded. “That you would, boy. That you would.” He shot another forlorn glance toward the rear of the shop. “You let me know if there’s anything I can do for you.”
Will slapped his shoulder. “No problem, Mr. F.” He hunkered down to talk to Louella. “Now, Lou, you’ve got to promise me you’ll behave yourself. You’ve gone and upset Mrs. C. and spoiled your daddy’s chances of a hot date tonight. Understand?”
The pig snorted and pushed her snout in Will’s face.
Will wiped his face with his sleeve and stood. “Can I suggest next time you come visiting, you leave Lou in the car?”
Frank frowned, as though that hadn’t occurred to him. “Excellent idea, boy. She was only jealous. Usually she’s a good girl.”
“Maybe she needs a four-legged companion,” he said, thinking a certain dog of Miss P.’s would be perfect.
“I ain’t gettin’ another pig. Lou doesn’t like other pigs. She gets real jealous and tears the place up. Much worse than this.” He started to tidy up.
“I’ll take care of that,” Will said. “Your best strategy right now is to get out of here. I’ll sweet-talk Mrs. C., sing your praises, and I’ll tell you when the coast is clear for another visit. Okay?”
Frank slowly contemplated his suggestion. No wonder a live wire like Edna Carmichael had slipped through the older man’s fingers all those years ago.
“If that’s what you figure, Lou and I’ll be gettin’ along.” He peeled off another two fifties and put them on the counter. “To pay for damages,” he explained, then shoved a wad of cash into the donation tin. “For the buildings. Maybe it’d be better if Edna opened that bank account herself.”
“To be fair and honest, it’ll need two signatories, and considering you’re our major donor so far, you should be one of them,” Will assured him, determined to get Frank and Mrs. C. back on friendlier terms. When he looked doubtful about agreeing to be a signatory, Will laid a comforting hand on the older man’s shoulder. “Let me talk to her. When she sees what a philanthropist you are, she’ll change her opinion of you.”
“A filla-what?”
“Philanthropist,” Will explained patiently. “It means an immensely generous person. Someone who’s public-spirited and charitable.”
Frank’s chest expanded with pride and he peeled off another wad of cash and stuck it in the tin. Large-denomination notes bulged out the top. Who knew owning a rock quarry was so profitable? Will decided the current trend of cladding new homes in local stone probably accounted for much of Frank’s fortune.
“I’m organizing a fundraising barbecue at the ranch for the weekend after next,” he said.
“It’s winter.”
“Exactly. Perfect time for a barbecue.” Will rubbed his stomach. “Man, I can taste that brisket right now.”
Frank was almost salivating. “Hey, great! D’you think your folks’ll mind?”
“Nah. You know how Mom loves entertaining. We can hold it in the machinery barn and have a dance afterward.” Will leaned toward Frank and whispered, “Maybe some slow dancing, Frank. I’m sure Mrs. C. would love to slow dance with you.”
The older man’s face lit up. “Anything you need, you call me.”
Will saw Frank and Louella out, picked up the donation tin and went through to Mrs. C.’s home at the rear of her shop to ask if he could move into her upstairs apartment that evening.
Meanwhile, he was late for walking Miss P.’s boys. He’d have to leave sweet-talking Mrs. C. on Frank’s behalf till later. Much later, because he needed to see the mayor before the close of business, then go out to the ranch and run his fundraising idea past his folks. He’d take his mom flowers.

WILL O’MALLEY! Becky fumed as she strode back to the courthouse. She’d popped out to see the florist to ask her to stop sending the flowers, but instead had found the man who’d been haunting her dreams sprawled on the floor covered in gerberas and with that blasted pig licking his grinning face! She was so furious she wanted to scream.
Why was it that everywhere she went in this town that man was there? And if she wasn’t running into him unexpectedly, she was being assailed by dozens of roses with handwritten cards signed “Your secret admirer.” As if she didn’t know who that was! She was tempted to throw them away, but that would be too wasteful. She simply couldn’t throw perfectly good flowers in the trash. No matter who’d sent them. So she’d filled the courthouse with them instead.
A small part of her enjoyed being wooed with flowers. It was a crying shame the man in question didn’t have a job she could respect.
In spite of his failings, something about Will O’Malley appealed to her on an elemental level and Becky was damned if she could figure out why.

Chapter Five
Will paid the mayor a visit. Garrett Henderson had never liked Will and made it clear what he thought of his campaign to save the buildings.
He didn’t rise to shake Will’s proffered hand and things went downhill from there. He placed his size-seven Italian leather shoes on his expensive desk, leaned back in his chair and said, “When are you leaving town?”
Will mused that, for someone so large, the mayor had very small feet. “I’m not.”
Mayor Henderson pulled his feet from the desk and leaned forward menacingly. “Yeah, you are.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re not gonna stay, O’Malley. Everyone around here knows you never finish anything.”
Will was unmoved. “Everyone?”
“Everyone who counts.”
Everyone being the owners of the development company…Will had done some research on the directors. None of them were registered as voters within the county or the town. Except the mayor. “Everyone who counts to me,” Will said, “is fully behind saving those buildings. I’ll stay as long as I’m needed. And then I might stay a bit longer. Maybe forever.”
The mayor put his feet back up on the desk, tapped his fingers together over the expanse of his belly and said, “I run this town, sonny. And don’t you forget it.”
“I think you’re forgetting you run this town along with the council. And you’ll only be doing it while you’re in office.”
“Which I will be for a very long time.”
“Elections are coming up next year. Maybe I’ll run against you.”
That had the mayor sitting up and dropping his feet back on the floor with a thud. “The hell you will!”
Will remained unmoved by the mayor’s threatening demeanor. “Keep giving your support to the development company and you’ll lose your job.”
“Not to you!”
Will shrugged and stood. He’d accomplished what he’d come for. He’d rattled the mayor, hinted he wasn’t invincible. Not that the man’s ego would concede that yet, but Will would let him sleep on it some. “Maybe. Or maybe to someone else. Come on out to the ranch next weekend and see how much support there is for saving those buildings.”
He gave the mayor a casual salute and stalked out, hoping the man would back down and he’d never have to run for his job.

AFTER THAT, WILL BORROWED Matt’s SUV, piled Miss P.’s dogs into it and took a ride out to the ranch.
While the dogs explored the house or relaxed on the comfortably worn furniture, Will told his parents about his plans for the fundraiser. Ever supportive, they made several helpful suggestions.
Luke was the fly in the ointment. He started off grumbling about too many people scaring his horses. Then he wanted to know where Will intended to put all the machinery from the barn he’d earmarked for dancing. “And where are you proposing to park all the cars?” Luke demanded. “Assuming anyone would be crazy enough to go to a barbecue in the middle of winter!”
For days, Will had rehearsed his answers to the various scenarios Luke would be likely to raise and object to. Knowing his brother well and practicing paid off when Luke finally relented—after Will promised that everything would be returned to its usual order the day after the barbecue.
Since his brother was in a receptive mood, Will broached the subject of Luke seeing his way clear to adopting Edward, claiming he’d be excellent for rounding up sheep.
“We don’t run sheep,” Luke said.
“Well, I know that! He’ll come in handy when you get some to keep him occupied.”
Luke rolled his eyes. “Wait a minute. You’re saying I should take this mutt off your hands—” he indicated Edward snoring at Will’s feet “—and in addition, I should buy some sheep to keep him company?”
“Only a couple hundred head. Just enough to make him feel useful. Edward would appreciate it.”
Luke shook his head. “What am I going to do with a brother like you?” he asked, grinning.
“Humor me?”
“I’ve been doing that all your life.” He reached down and scratched Edward behind the ears. The dog responded with a louder snore. “Give me a week or so to think on it. And if he gets up to any mischief, I’ll shoot him. Okay?”
“Yeah, sure,” Will agreed, knowing full well his brother couldn’t shoot straight and, within days, Luke’s daughters would have Edward sleeping on their beds. He’d been joking about Luke buying the sheep. He was sure if Edward ever saw a real sheep he’d run away in fright.
Back at Miss P.’s, he outlined his plans for the fundraiser and told her about his meeting with the mayor.
“Oh, he’s such a nasty man!” she said. “This town has done nothing but go downhill since he took office.” Her face wrinkled even more as she frowned, then her eyes lit up and she clapped her hands. “Oh, I’ve just had a wonderful idea!”
Will grinned. Miss P. might be pushing ninety, but she had more enthusiasm than most teenagers. “I’m all ears.”
She bustled out of the room and came back with a large art pad. She opened the pad and started to sketch.

BECKY’S FRUSTRATION OVER not finding a suitable caregiver for Nicolas during the upcoming holidays was evident when she dropped and broke three dishes as she cleaned up the kitchen after dinner.
All she wanted was someone to care for Nicolas in the afternoons, supervise his homework and make his dinner. Was that really asking too much? He might be in fifth grade but he was only eight, so too young to be left to his own devices. She was prepared to pay double the going rate, but so far none of the applicants were remotely suitable. Should she set her standards a little lower in order to get someone? Anyone?
“No!” she muttered as she opened the fridge and poured a small glass of wine to calm her nerves. Taking it to the living room, she curled up on the sofa. Nicolas deserved to have someone who cared about him—or at least knew how to care for a child. She’d devoted several lunch hours to interviewing candidates, and now she was getting desperate. The Christmas holiday was looming and Nicolas had told her tearfully that he didn’t want to go to the program organized by the town, saying the bullies from school went there, too.
She rubbed her forehead. The fact that Nicolas was being bullied at school preyed on her mind. Coming to a small town, she’d thought all of that would be behind them, but it had reared its ugly head on several occasions. She’d spoken to Nicolas’s teacher and the woman had reiterated that the school had a zero tolerance policy toward bullying and assured Becky she’d dealt with the perpetrator.
But Becky wasn’t so sure. Nicolas seemed withdrawn and his tearful outburst tonight over attending the town’s holiday program only worsened her fears that the bullying had continued. She’d tried to get him to talk about it, but he’d clammed up and gone to bed early. She’d have to make time to discuss it some more, but not when he was tired and overwrought.
She scanned the list of applicants she’d interviewed for the job. But reviewing the list caused her even more stress.
There were a number of questions she asked potential caregivers, to confirm that they were of the moral fiber and intellectual capacities she desired in her employees.
Frank Farquar’s great-niece, Ellie, was one of the applicants. But when questioned about the types of movies she enjoyed, the teen had recounted a list of the most frightening and diabolically violent movie titles Becky had ever heard of. Ellie was a definite nonstarter. So was the woman addicted to soap operas and another addicted to both caffeine and tranquilizers. Grandmotherly Virginia Smith had seemed promising, until Becky discovered she was illiterate. The kindly woman had difficulty reading the simple list of duties Becky handed her. What hope did she have of helping Nicolas with his homework?
Many more interviews had taken up Becky’s precious spare time and she groaned at the memory of the ways each and every applicant had proved unsuitable.
She took a deep breath to try to relax, but the scent of roses filled her lungs.
Will O’Malley! She couldn’t seem to escape the man, even in her own home. And his name was on the register for tomorrow’s hearings….
She tucked her feet beneath her and sipped her wine. What would he be up to tomorrow? And would he have the audacity to ask her out again?

WILL AND MISS PATTERSON worked into the night designing a poster for SOB. Miss P. created a watercolor painting of the mountains, with the town and its Victorian buildings in the foreground. While the painting dried, she and Will shared a pizza at her kitchen table.
“You’re a very talented artist,” he said, indicating the beautiful paintings of town scenes hanging around her house. “I hope I’m going to score a Miss P. original when I marry the judge.”
Miss P. never sold her paintings, only gave them as gifts. They were a much-prized wedding present and many homes in the county had at least one Florence Patterson watercolor adorning their walls.
She patted his hand. “You can be sure of getting more than one, dear.” Tonight she was as animated as a kid with an exciting project. “I’m so happy you like the poster idea. I was wondering how I could contribute to the cause,” she said and bit into a slice of pizza. Her eyes widened. “My, this stuff is wonderful! I should eat it more often.”
He laughed. Miss P. was another of Spruce Lake’s living treasures. “You don’t think being part of a human chain was enough of a contribution?”
She waved her hands dismissively. “Anyone can be part of a human chain, but not everyone can paint. I don’t know why I didn’t suggest this before.” She frowned. “Do you think people would mind hanging the posters in their stores?”
Will covered her wrinkled hand. “I can’t imagine anyone would object. The poster is lovely and so reminiscent of the town.”
When the paint had dried, she’d written Save Our Buildings at the bottom of the poster.
It was nearly midnight when the task was finished.
“Now, I know you’ve got a court hearing in the morning, dear,” she said. “So you run along and get some sleep and I’ll go to the print shop first thing and have them copy this. By the time court opens, the town will be plastered with them!”
Will chuckled at her enthusiasm. “Don’t forget, Mrs. C. has plenty of funds to pay for printing costs. Do you want me to come by and help put them up?”
“No, dear, you have enough on your plate with the hearing tomor—Oh! I mean, today,” she corrected herself after checking her clock. “My neighbors have been wanting to help, so I’ll send them all out with posters to the businesses on Main Street and beyond.”
Will whistled as he strolled home and mused that it was people like Miss P. who made living in Spruce Lake special.
Exhausted, he tumbled into bed and dreamed of the house he’d build on his land. In his dream, Judge Becky was standing in the doorway, welcoming him home….

Chapter Six
Court seemed to drag on forever the next morning until at last Will O’Malley’s name was called. A pleasant warmth suffused Becky when she glanced up to find him standing in front of her.
Devastating, was the only word that could describe how he looked and his effect on her peace of mind. He’d trimmed his hair and was wearing…a tie. A neatly pressed navy-blue shirt molded to his broad chest and muscled arms. The dark shirt accentuated his tanned face. Becky swallowed. He looked…magnificent. And masculine. And unbelievably sexy. If Will O’Malley asked her out now, she wasn’t sure of her resolve to turn him down.
She’d spent a good part of the night remembering how wonderful his arms had felt around her. And then been preoccupied thinking of those strong arms at breakfast and had burned the toast—twice.
Get a grip! she lectured herself sternly. This guy is a rogue and a heartbreaker and you don’t want that.

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