Rodeo Rancher
Mary Sullivan
A FAMILY HOUSEWARMINGVisitors are rare at widower Michael Moreno’s Rodeo, Montana, ranch. When Samantha Read and her two sons turn up, seeking shelter in a snowstorm, his kids are ecstatic. Michael is less enthusiastic. Sammy’s sophisticated city vibe seems out of place in his country home. But even he can’t deny that the bubbly beauty lights up the whole house.Though Sammy doesn’t know much about ranching, she recognizes an aching heart when she sees one. Michael and his kids could use some cheer and she’s determined to make the most of their time together. But as the heat between Sammy and Michael threatens to melt the snow, Sammy wonders if Michael’s heart could be thawing as well…
A FAMILY HOUSEWARMING
Visitors are rare at widower Michael Moreno’s Rodeo, Montana, ranch. When Samantha Read and her two sons turn up, seeking shelter in a snowstorm, his kids are ecstatic. Michael is less enthusiastic. Sammy’s sophisticated city vibe seems out of place in his country home. But even he can’t deny that the bubbly beauty lights up the whole house.
Though Sammy doesn’t know much about ranching, she recognizes an aching heart when she sees one. Michael and his kids could use some cheer, and she’s determined to make the most of their time together. But as the heat between Sammy and Michael threatens to melt the snow, Sammy wonders if Michael’s heart could be thawing, as well...
“You going to quit talking anytime soon?” Michael grumbled.
Sammy caught her breath and stared at him.
Michael hadn’t meant to sound harsh. He was making a joke. He might not want her here, but he didn’t willingly hurt others. He was about to open his mouth to apologize when she burst into laughter.
“Travis says that exact same thing to me all the time. He says I’m long on air and short on content.”
Her smile, like the heavens bursting forth with a hundred Jacob’s ladders, turned his guts to pudding.
Careful that he didn’t touch her, he sidled past, feeling her heat nonetheless. Strange that he hadn’t noticed that he’d missed the scent of a woman.
He didn’t even know her. She was a stranger and yet she was turning him inside out.
It was going to be a long night.
Dear Reader (#ulink_50ed9a87-9885-5d38-a842-066246f119e1),
Welcome to my second Harlequin Western Romance, Rodeo Rancher! What a wonderful opportunity to have free rein to write about cowboys, ranchers, children and babies, my favorite topics, to my heart’s content!
I am intrigued by how much we show of ourselves to the world, but even more by how much we hide. Samantha Read is a beautiful, fun, loving woman who hides her insecurities behind chatter and busyness. Michael Moreno, on the other hand, keeps an ironclad fist clenched around his heart since the death of his wife two years ago. How can he possibly open himself to more heartache by ever loving again?
He dishes out his affections to his young children...and that’s all. From now on he will live a lonely, but safe life...until Sammy and her two boys come along to steal his heart. Sammy is determined to give Michael’s children the pure unadulterated fun they deserve. When she learns they didn’t celebrate Christmas, her favorite holiday, she gives them a Merry Christmas-in-February Day. They love it! To Michael’s horror and delight, so does he. In turn, salt-of-the-earth Michael offers Sammy a rock-solid steadiness she’s never known in her life.
I hope you enjoy this, my second Western Romance, which I loved writing. These characters are near and dear to my heart.
I’m thrilled when readers contact me! You can reach me through my website, marysullivanbooks.com (http://marysullivanbooks.com).
Best wishes,
Mary Sullivan
RODEO RANCHER
Mary Sullivan
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
MARY SULLIVAN has a fondness for cowboys, even though she was raised as a city girl! She’s had many careers, including working as a darkroom printer, which she loved, and photographing knitting books and folk CD covers. She has also worked as a caterer, but her favorite and smartest career choice was to become an author. Her passion is writing romance novels.
Her other passions include music and puzzles of any kind, but she especially loves cryptic crosswords and jigsaw puzzles. She is a walker. In the winter, she will gladly walk four to five miles to her favorite chocolate shop for the pleasure of sipping a cup of hot chocolate after a cold walk.
She loves to hear from readers and can be reached through her website at marysullivanbooks.com (http://marysullivanbooks.com), or via her Facebook author page, Facebook.com/marysullivanauthor (http://Facebook.com/marysullivanauthor).
To my lovely daughter who inspires me every day, and who makes me a better person.
Contents
Cover (#ue33048fa-797e-5671-9698-b2e0fd42d9ab)
Back Cover Text (#uddce438a-8b3e-5628-a607-7bc12ae5a81b)
Introduction (#u23e828ea-1140-5e95-a2b1-9a0d6675bc04)
Dear Reader (#ulink_293c2c52-b402-57c9-97b9-8eb482403a23)
Title Page (#u0cb46dd6-efe8-55b9-a192-8926212adc35)
About the Author (#ue3f14fef-749a-504f-87b4-e497641a1dab)
Dedication (#u12445176-2951-5268-9a92-f1fa8f2992e5)
Chapter One (#ulink_aabdc505-65cb-59a7-97a1-f299f402d843)
Chapter Two (#ulink_7d432bab-565f-5647-b467-7926cc1abc51)
Chapter Three (#ulink_5b738fc4-1902-5e70-91a7-833bce44a8d2)
Chapter Four (#ulink_0be9ef93-7bcf-5d41-8c10-dd08bc48ff4e)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ulink_9673d83b-c257-5286-ac0f-849ec5f0790c)
The pounding on the front door of Michael Moreno’s ranch house cut through the shrieking howl of a snowstorm that had paralyzed Montana.
“Who do you think it is, Dad?” His son, Mick, didn’t scare easily, but they’d all startled at the knock. Michael squeezed his arm to reassure him as the family sat together in the living room.
They spent most of their days alone. Guests were rare.
Michael frowned. “No idea. Someone in trouble, I guess.” No one he could think of would venture out today.
He didn’t worry about trouble. Why would he?
Nothing much bad happened in Rodeo, Montana. He lived in as safe a place as he could want for his children.
Michael shifted his daughter, Lily, from his lap and plopped her onto the sofa beside Mick. “You two stay put.”
“Kiss, Daddy.” Lily had taken to wanting kisses before he left the house, or even just a room.
He touched her soft cheek with his lips and dropped the book he’d been reading to them onto the littered coffee table.
In the hallway, he pulled open the heavy oak door. The noise of the wind increased tenfold, blasting him with frigid air, shocking after the warmth of the living room.
He stared at the very last thing he expected—a woman and two kids covered head-to-toe in snow.
Snow blew onto his veranda, even as deep as it was, adding an exclamation point to the first question that popped into his head. What on earth were they doing out in this storm?
“Oh, thank goodness,” the woman said, stepping into the house before he invited her in, crowding him.
He stepped back.
Her bright red nose peeked out from a snow-covered pink scarf swathing her face. The kids, too, had bright red noses, and a blob of snot ran onto the little one’s scarf.
“Bad day to be out,” he said, his voice rife with accusation. What kind of woman took her children out in this? If she wanted to endanger herself, fine, but her kids? No.
Considering there’d been weather warnings everywhere for days, there were no excuses.
“The car broke down just up the road.” She didn’t seem to notice his critical tone. “I remembered seeing this light when we drove past. When I saw it I said, ‘Wouldn’t it be nice to be in there all toasty and warm right now?’ Didn’t I, boys? Then the car just went kaput suddenly, and we had to trudge all the way back. I was afraid there’d be no one here, but I figured where there’s light there will be people, right? Someone had to be home.” She prattled on, ushering her children inside, still without waiting for an invitation. The kids stopped just inside the door. “Then where would the boys and I be?”
Probably dead by morning, Michael thought, but he didn’t say it. No sense frightening those two young boys. At least, he thought the woman had said they were boys. It was hard to keep track of her ramblings, and their scarves hid their faces.
“It’s absolutely frigid out there,” she went on. “When we left San Francisco, it was 50 degrees. Now this. Are storms always this bad in Montana? I can’t stop shivering.”
“No wonder,” Michael said. Seemed she didn’t have the sense God gave most creatures. At least the children were decked out in snowsuits, but she wore a fashionable coat and light pants. No snowsuit. No snow pants. Flimsy fashionable boots, too—useless against a Montana snowstorm. “You aren’t dressed for the weather.”
She glanced down at herself. “No, I guess I’m not, am I?” Her gaiety lit up the gray corners of his house. Far as he could tell, she didn’t take offense to his criticism. Strange woman. “But we were driving. We were safe in the car. I thought, ‘Why would I need a snowsuit?’ I bought them for the boys because they’ll be playing outside once we get settled into our new home, but I won’t be, will I? Playing outside, that is.”
She shook herself, sending snow flying.
“Boys,” she said. “Come in properly, will you? We need to get this door closed so we don’t lose all of this man’s lovely heat.”
This man’s lovely heat? Say what?
“I thought we were going to end up as human Popsicles. Oh, it’s lovely in here. Mmm. Your house is so warm,” she blathered on.
He’d never really understood the meaning of the word blather. He got it now.
“It’s like an oasis in the desert,” she said. “I mean, a port in the storm. Oh, you know what I mean.”
She could probably teach courses in chattering. College level.
“Boys, move along so the nice man can close the door.”
“Mom,” the older boy said, “he didn’t invite us inside. You just walked in without waiting.”
The woman’s bright blue eyes widened. That was saying something. They were already big to start with. “You’re right, Jason. I did just walk in. You don’t mind, do you?” she asked Michael, but went on before he could respond. “Of course you don’t mind. We’re strangers stranded in a storm. I heard people in Montana are welcoming. We can’t go anywhere else right now, can we? But don’t worry. We’re nice people. I’ve taught my boys to pick up after themselves. They even put down the toilet seat when they’re finished.”
She noticed his children’s toys cluttering the hallway. “Your wife will be pleased with them.”
Your wife. Lillian. The kick to his gut left Michael reeling. It was always bad, but at this time of year, it was—
His mind slammed shut. He couldn’t think about it. Two years might be a long time to other people, but to him it felt like only yesterday that she’d...left.
He couldn’t even say the word.
Died. She died, Moreno.
The littlest boy coughed.
Michael glanced at them still standing in the open doorway, noses getting redder by the second. “Come in,” he said, impressed with their manners even if their mother didn’t have any.
Once they were all the way inside, he closed the door, shutting out the violence of the storm.
“See?” the woman said. “I told you we’d be all right. Travis wouldn’t have moved anywhere that wasn’t safe for us. We are in Montana, right? The GPS on my phone stopped working yesterday. We’re supposed to reach Rodeo tonight. I guess that’s not going to happen.”
“Rodeo? If you came here from San Francisco, you drove right past it. You didn’t see the turnoff?”
She shook her head. Her shoulders seemed to slump. “We were so close.” Looking around the hallway, she seemed a little lost. “The storm’s huge. I barely managed to make it this far.”
“This ranch is on the far side of Rodeo, about ten miles out.” Hang on—she’d mentioned Travis. “Do you mean Travis Read? The new guy in town?”
She perked right up. “Yes! Do you know my brother?”
Michael had heard of him, only good stuff. Salt of the earth. Good addition to the town. Hardworking and quiet. Not at all like this ditzy woman.
Before he could respond, he got caught up in watching her unwind her scarf. She took off her wool hat and Michael stopped breathing.
She was that beautiful. Hair like spun gold. Eyes as blue as photographs he’d seen of the sea around Greece. Flawless, tanned skin.
Any man would lose his senses.
Not him, though. He was immune. He didn’t think about women these days. Didn’t pay them much attention. He had other things on his mind, like surviving each day.
Michael felt her older son watching him, probably gauging his reaction. At maybe nine or ten years old, and mature enough to understand the way men checked out his mom, the boy watched Michael with a knowing look. He’d seen it all before, a shame in one so young, but no wonder. What a woman.
The wind screeched. Something thumped against the side of the house. As he’d noted a few moments ago, Michael had other things on his mind, like how to get through the coming night...and what he was supposed to do with the family stranded on his doorstep.
His unexpected company might be stuck here for days. This beautiful woman might be in his house for a while.
Images of Lillian flashed through his mind, with her average looks, but more beautiful to him than any model or movie star.
The woman had been prattling again, but he’d missed every word.
She stopped and stared at the wall behind him. “Is that—is that a wagon wheel? On the wall?”
“Yeah. I’m a rancher.” You got a problem with that? he wanted to add, but good manners held him back. He amended the thought and asked, “You okay with it?”
“Yes, of course,” she said too quickly. “What’s that?” She pointed to the antique wood hand plane on the table in the front hallway.
Michael loved old tools, the ones men had used to craft and shape wood before power tools were invented. He loved the way they felt in his hand.
“It’s a plane,” he said.
The smaller of the boys, four or five at a guess, stepped close to the table and touched it with one finger. “That’s not a plane, mister. Where’s its wings?”
Michael smiled. Cute kid. “Not that kind of plane.”
The boy sneezed, stirring the dust on the table.
Michael frowned. There’d been a time when his tools would have been spotless.
The woman patted her pockets and started rummaging through the bag she carried. She looked up at him, kind of helplessly. “I don’t believe I have a tissue.”
“I got it.” Michael had wiped more noses in the past two winters than he cared to count.
He took a clean handkerchief from his pocket, wrapped his fingers around the back of the boy’s head and cleaned his nose.
“Hey!” The boy tried to pull away and pointed toward the living room.
Used to children resisting handkerchiefs, Michael finished the job.
The kid struggled to peer around his legs. “There’s kids here!”
Michael turned. Mick and Lily stood in the doorway, Mick holding his little sister’s hand. Their curiosity must have kicked in when they heard all the voices.
“You can take off your coats and things in the back room.” Michael bent to help the younger boy when he struggled with his zipper. “We’ll make introductions when you’re done.”
To Mick, he said, “Show them where to put their things, then bring them to the living room.”
To the boys, he said, “Take off your boots here and carry them through.”
The little one sat down and took off his boots, nearly hauling his socks off with them.
The woman bent over to pull up his socks, but teetered on her fancy high-heeled boots.
Again Michael said, “I got it,” and squatted to pull the boy’s socks back up. They were too big for him. Must be his older brother’s.
Mick led the boys to the back of the house. When the small one ran out of one of his socks, Lily picked it up and chased after him.
While the woman—he really should get her name soon—studied her surroundings, Michael studied her. Her tight-fitting leather jacket outlined a fairly perfect body. Long legs fit snugly into her jeans. He thought they might be what they called skinny jeans, because there wasn’t much that was generous about the fit.
Women around here didn’t dress like that.
A slight frown furrowed her brow.
Michael followed her gaze and found himself eyeing his home critically. Sure, he’d decorated with the tools of his trade, like the wagon wheel, but he found it homey.
All of it was real, used at one time or another over the years. Not a speck of it had been bought from a store.
This woman, with her fancy clothes, obviously found it wanting. She probably thought he was some kind of hick.
Well, he was, wasn’t he?
He’d lived on this ranch just outside Rodeo, Montana, for every one of his forty years. He was a country boy through and through.
Too bad if that made him deficient in her eyes. He was who he was. A rancher. A cowboy. A man who loved horses, cattle, the land and, above all, his children.
Worse than her judgment of his decor was the unspoken criticism of his housekeeping skills.
Bewildered, he saw his home clearly for the first time in a long while. Toys and books and some of the children’s clothes littered every surface, including the carpet.
When had it gotten so bad? He used to be on top of the chores, but lately he was barely keeping up.
He scarcely managed to keep body and soul together, let alone tidying up and dusting.
Besides, he was dog-tired when he fell into bed every night. He’d been up since four thirty this morning and had put in a good three hours of work before this woman even opened her eyes.
She glanced at the carpet that obviously needed vacuuming. On the side tables, his ranching magazines hadn’t even had a chance to get dog-eared, still waiting for his attention months after they’d been delivered.
On the windowsills, plants languished, every leaf caked in a layer of dust, watered only when he remembered to do it every couple of weeks.
She didn’t say anything, but he felt her censure. Or maybe not. Maybe it was his own guilt.
Good manners compelled him to rise above his resentment.
“Give me your jacket. I’ll hang it up.”
She shrugged out of it, revealing a cardigan not even close to warm enough for the weather.
He usually associated that button-up style with old women, but there wasn’t a darned thing old about her.
He kept his eyes firmly on her face and not on her spectacular—
God Almighty. His unwanted response to her beauty angered him. He lashed out with, “Leather won’t keep a person warm in this weather.”
At his hard tone, she shot him an indignant look. “It’s pleather.”
Huh? What the hell was pleather?
“I would never wear leather. Those poor animals.”
Oh, Lord, a hippie-dippie animal lover.
“Do you eat meat?” he asked, working off a hunch.
“Nope.”
“Figures,” he murmured, and hung up her jacket on a hook to dry.
He was a rancher. He raised cattle. He ate meat. He used cattle hide in his clothing and his furniture. As long as the animal was being butchered for food, they might as well use as much of the carcass as possible.
He used glue, too, and gelatin, and whatever else was useful.
Still shivering, the woman stepped closer to the fireplace to warm her hands.
Yep. She had a fine figure, a tiny waist with shapely hips. A perfect body to match her perfect face.
Lillian could never have won a beauty pageant, but she had possessed a plain, simple beauty of her own. She wore sensible clothes in snowstorms and thought their home was comfortable and welcoming.
The visitor turned to face him, presenting her back to the fire. She held out her hand. “I’m Samantha Read.”
Her long-fingered, slim hand, the fingertips still almost frozen, had a soft palm. Her grip, though, was surprisingly strong. Decisive, even. He’d assumed it would be as feminine as she looked and as flighty as she talked.
“Michael Moreno.”
“Have you met my brother, Travis?” she asked.
“No, ma’am, I haven’t had the opportunity.”
She laughed, a cheerful tinkle. Tinkle? Where had that ridiculous word come from?
“Ma’am makes me sound ancient.” Her smile knocked him off-kilter. “It’s Samantha, or Sammy, whichever you prefer.”
What he would prefer was that the distraction, the sheer breathtaking magnificence of her, not be in his home, and that surprised him. He wasn’t easily swayed.
He kept his wide size-eleven feet firmly planted on the ground. Big feet for a man only five ten, but then all of him was wide—shoulders, chest, hands. Not to mention, a good head on his shoulders.
His unusual coffee table caught her eye. “Is that a door?”
“Yes, ma’am. Solid oak. My daddy found it on the side of the road where someone was renovating a house. Folks didn’t know what they were throwing away.” He was proud of his father’s ingenuity. “He scraped off about ten coats of paint. Sanded for hours. Did the whole thing by hand. Gave it to me as a wedding present.”
“Hmmm, interesting,” was her only response.
Obviously his furniture didn’t meet her high standards any more than his wall decorations did.
He’d held his rage in check throughout Lillian’s struggle with cancer and her subsequent death two years ago. He’d held back his anger that his children would grow up motherless. He’d survived hell, and now this woman waltzed into his home and dared to disapprove.
He lashed out. “What were you doing on the road in this kind of weather? A rational person would get to the nearest motel and hunker down for the duration. You like putting your kids at risk?”
For a few moments, she stared at him with those big blue eyes. For a moment, he was afraid she’d cry.
Her expression changed, hardening, and she slowly put her hands on her hips. Her full lips thinned.
“I do everything in my power to keep my children safe.”
He took satisfaction in her anger. If he had to be uncomfortable because of anger and disapproval, why shouldn’t she?
She had a perfect face and a perfect body; she had probably also led the perfect life. They’d come from San Francisco. She should have stayed in sunny California if she didn’t know how to handle Montana weather.
“Safe? Including driving them into a blizzard in a vehicle that wasn’t trustworthy?”
She gasped. “It is trustworthy. It’s brand-new! I don’t know why it stopped. Maybe it’s a lemon.”
“Those kids,” he said, pointing in the direction of the back of the house, “depend on you to—”
“Dad?” Mick said behind him, cutting him off. “Are you okay?”
Michael stilled at his son’s anxious tone. All four children crowded the entrance to the living room. Mick and Lily stared at him. No wonder. He didn’t yell. He didn’t fight, especially not with strangers.
He’d done a stellar job of holding in his emotions since Lillian’s death, but here this woman—Samantha—was breaking through his barriers just by being beautiful.
He wasn’t even attracted to her, not really, but he knew she was attractive. A fine distinction, yeah, but he was hanging on to it with both hands.
Since when did looks ever matter to him? Especially enough to anger him?
Since his life had been turned upside down when he was barely fifteen. Ancient history. So why was it rearing its ugly head now?
Whatever the cause, he shouldn’t have let the children hear him criticize her.
He cracked his knuckles. “Sorry,” he murmured, knowing it was inadequate. He didn’t have much more to offer.
He glanced at the kids and realized only Mick was watching him. Lily was gaping at Samantha with openmouthed amazement.
And why not?
They didn’t often have visitors and rarely women, except for Karen, who was nothing like this woman with her skinny pants and pleather jacket.
Lily still stared. At only four years old, Lily barely remembered her mother. He kept a photograph of Lillian beside his daughter’s bed to remind her.
He guessed Lily would miss her mother’s touch most and, as much as he held and cuddled Lily all the time to try to fill that void, he could never be Lillian.
The walls crowded in on him. His breathing became shallow enough to concern him. He wasn’t up to this fathering and mothering of them, of being both parents to them 24/7.
Samantha Read made him feel every single deficiency he tried to ignore.
He wished to holy hell she hadn’t shown up on his doorstep.
Chapter Two (#ulink_57d11e1f-ef39-58ed-b2c6-a65aea524f3e)
Samantha watched Michael come to grips with his emotions. She had to do the same with her own.
He didn’t talk much, but when he did, he packed a punch.
Her hands shook. How dare he? How dare he criticize the way she raised her children?
Since the day Jason had been born nine years ago, her life had been all about him. Then another gift, Colt, had come along five years ago and she’d doubled her efforts.
This man didn’t want them here.
Probably because of her talking. She knew she talked too much, but couldn’t control herself when she was nervous.
And she had been so nervous when they’d been caught in the storm.
Maybe that’s why his disdain hit hard.
Had she put her sons at risk? She didn’t know about snowstorms. She had little experience with this kind of weather.
“I didn’t know the storm was going to be so bad.” She glanced out the window, baffled by the savagery on the other side of the glass. “I’ve never been in a snowstorm before. I had no idea what to expect.”
Compelled to be honest, she added, “I should have stopped sooner, but we were so close to Rodeo. I thought we could make it to Travis’s house. I didn’t really know where else to stop once the storm started. I didn’t see a motel.”
“It got bad really fast, mister,” Jason said.
Jason. Her defender. She wished he didn’t have to take on that role. She’d told him many times not to, but still he looked out for her.
“It was just a few flakes of snow and we liked it.” Jason looked nervous taking on the big stern man, but he swallowed and continued. “Colt’s never seen snow in his whole entire life. Then, all of sudden, we couldn’t see anything except too much snow.”
“I was scared,” Colt piped up.
The man’s expression softened. He unbent enough to tell Jason and Colt, “I bet you were. I would have been, too.”
Ever the peacemaker, Jason said, “Don’t blame my mom. It came out of nowhere. She was brave.”
The man straightened and looked at her with a trace of chagrin.
Good. He should be ashamed. He was lucky she wasn’t one to hold a grudge.
Maybe she shouldn’t let him off the hook too quickly. She had the suspicion he felt worse that her children had heard him than he did about criticizing her in the first place.
He could fault her all he wanted. She didn’t care. She knew she was a damned fine mother.
She loved her children.
What was his problem, anyway?
He watched her steadily with eyes that were deep brown, almost black, and inscrutable.
Defiantly, she gave the same kind of direct scrutiny right back.
Not much taller than her own five eight, he made up for any lack of height with an impressively broad chest and developed biceps and thighs. Dark chocolate hair curled over his collar, matching his eyes.
She might have found him attractive if he didn’t grind his hard jaw, as though softness and compromise were dirty words.
Good God, just what she needed. She’d been exposed to enough inflexible men in her line of work. She’d left all of that behind. She didn’t need it here in Rodeo.
She glanced at her boys. They would make the best new start here that she could manage, even if it killed her. Her boys deserved no less.
In a month, she would start work at her new job in town and would work her butt off to be independent from everyone, even her brother.
She glanced back at the hard-edged rancher.
Maybe they shouldn’t have stopped here.
Dumb thought. They’d had no choice. If she hadn’t stopped, her children would have been dead by morning. This had been the only light visible through the storm.
Sammy would never admit it to the boys, but she’d been terrified.
Everyone stared at her. No one seemed to know what to do next.
The silence stretched, unnerving her. Her antsy inner neurotic raised her unwelcome head, just like clockwork. Sammy rushed to fill the space and stillness of the room...as she always did.
“Well, hey, you. What are your names?” She leaned forward to inspect the two cute little darlings, especially the girl, who stared at her as if she had two heads. You’d think she’d never seen a woman before.
Sammy loved children. Adored them.
“I’m Mick,” the boy said, his voice too loud in the quiet room. Was he overcompensating like her with her silly chatter? She guessed him to be about Colt’s age. He pointed to his sister, who peeked around him. “She’s Lily.”
Lily was maybe three or four. A beautiful child, her mass of unruly hair, dark chocolate like her father’s but shot through with red highlights, overwhelmed her delicate heart-shaped face.
“I’m so happy to meet you both. You’ve met my boys.”
To Michael, who watched her as though she were an exotic and not-too-welcome bird, she said, “My older son is Jason, and this little troublemaker is Colt.”
“Mo-om,” Colt complained, but smiled as she’d known he would.
“Is it real?” Lily asked.
Sammy returned her attention to the girl. “Is what real?”
“Your hair,” she whispered, clutching a doll to her chest by its mass of tangled hair.
Sammy laughed and squatted on her heels, beckoning to her. “You tell me. Does it feel real?”
Lily approached shyly and patted Sammy’s hair, then jerked her hand away as though stung.
“What? Is it bad? I’ll bet it’s a real mess. We’ve been on the road for days.” She was babbling again because Michael stared a hole through her. Cripes, she was just trying to make his daughter comfortable.
“It’s soft.” Lily put a couple of fingers into her mouth and spoke around them. “Pretty.”
“You think so? Winter static is not a woman’s friend.” She fingered the neckline of her sweater. “Watch this!”
Pulling the neck of her sweater up over the side of her head, she rubbed her hair with it.
She heard the rancher gasp. Oh, dear. What had she done wrong now? It was all good fun.
When she pulled her sweater back down, her hair stood on end on that side of her head. Her blond, almost white, hair was fine. Unless she used a lot of product, it tended to be wayward. In this dry Montana cold, it just wanted to float everywhere.
She hadn’t bothered styling it lately. They were on the road driving to Travis’s. Who on earth did she need to impress with perfect hair and makeup? No one.
In Vegas, she’d had to dress to the nines to impress her boss and his clientele. Not here.
Lily dissolved into the sweetest bundle of giggles, and Sammy laughed with her.
“Not so pretty now, is it?”
“No!” the child shouted, her straight little baby teeth gleaming.
She ran to her father, dragging her doll by the hair, and raised her arms to be picked up. He lifted her as though she weighed a couple of ounces. Lily whispered in his ear.
“Good, honey,” he murmured back.
Whatever she’d said mellowed him. A bit. Sammy liked the way he held his daughter.
“We need to get you settled in.” He glanced out the window. “You won’t be going anywhere for a while.”
“Dad, where are they going to sleep?” Mick asked.
His father sighed and seemed to weigh options.
“We have a spare bedroom,” he said, “Trouble is I’ve been using it to store junk and overflow. Sometimes, the kids play in there to keep the living room clear of toys.”
Samantha waited, not sure where this was going. Did he want them all to sleep on the sofa? That would be fine.
After coming to a decision, he said, “How about all of you take my bedroom? It has a king-size bed, so there’s room for everyone.”
Sammy had to be sure she was putting out this family as little as possible. Jason had been right to call her to task for barging into the house without invitation. She had an impulsive nature she seemed to spend most of her life curbing.
“I couldn’t possibly put you out of your room.” She cast her gaze about wildly. “How about if the boys share the sofa and I can camp out on the floor?”
“No. The three of you will take my bedroom.”
“But where will you sleep?”
“There’s a spare bed in Lily’s room.”
Lily popped her fingers out of her mouth. “Daddy, no! You snore.”
“It’s not that bad.”
Lily nodded so hard her hair flopped about. “Is bad, Daddy.”
He chewed on his lip. “I guess I could put all of you in Mick’s room and he could bunk with me in mine.”
“No, Dad!” Mick yelled. “Sometimes I can hear you even from my room. I won’t be able to sleep!”
His cheeks turned red. “If I wake you up, I’ll come out here to the sofa.”
“Da-a-ad. No.” Mick looked miserable.
Clearly frustrated, Michael said, “Back to the original plan. You’ll all take my bed. I’ll sleep on the sofa.”
“I can’t let you sleep on the sofa while I take your bed.” It just didn’t sit right with Samantha.
“You sure like to argue.”
“I do not!”
A smile kicked up the corners of his lips. Okay, so maybe he had a sense of humor.
“Thank you,” she conceded. “We would appreciate it.”
The girl whispered something in her father’s ear.
“Lily wants to know,” he said, “if she can show you her bedroom.”
Samantha felt herself light up like a birthday cake. She loved her boys fiercely, but she had always wanted a little girl. “I’d love that.”
In Lily’s room, Sammy managed to keep her distance from Michael. Despite his rough-edged, stoic manner, she found him attractive.
Of all of the men who’d made passes at her in hotels, motels and gas stations on the drive out here, why did she have to feel a frisson of desire for this grumpy old man?
Old was maybe unfair. He wasn’t much over forty, but he seemed older, as though he’d started to give up.
The mauve bedroom had twin beds, both covered with duvets in shades of pink and ivory. Someone had decorated the girl’s room with love. Only one of the beds was made, and it was covered with piles of clothing.
“It’s all clean,” the rancher said when he noticed her studying the clothes. “I leave it there after it’s washed for Lily to pull out what she wants.”
He sounded defensive. Maybe he thought she was judging him.
Samantha had noted how messy the place was. Maybe she was judging. If so, she needed to back off. She didn’t know a thing about this man’s life.
There didn’t seem to be a woman here. Where was Lily’s mother? He hadn’t said anything when she’d mentioned his wife, but the man had not looked happy.
Something had happened.
None of your business, Sammy. Keep your concerns and your opinions to yourself.
If his wife wasn’t here, Samantha suspected the guy was probably run off his feet managing this ranch and taking care of two children.
As a way to thank him for letting them stay, she said, “I can put it all away if Lily will show me where it belongs.”
He frowned at her use of the word belongs, as though she’d been criticizing him. She hadn’t, but she could see how she might have appeared to. She was going to have to walk on eggshells with him.
“Here.” Lily patted the unmade bed against the near wall. “I sleep here.”
“Thank you, Lily. I figured you did. You would drown—” she gestured to the clothing “—in this stuff.”
She tickled Lily’s tummy and the child giggled. Lily turned to her father and wrapped her arms around his leg. So shy. Maybe she wasn’t used to getting a lot of attention.
Lily lifted the scruffy doll by the hair and said, “This is Puff.” She hugged her close.
Puff was an untidy, poor-looking doll, but Samantha oohed and aahed over her.
Michael smiled, but it looked grim. Samantha couldn’t get a grip on who he was.
“Boys,” she said, “go get your knapsacks and take them to Michael’s room.”
He gestured down the hallway. “Back here.”
Jason and Colt returned with their knapsacks and dropped them where Mick told them.
“This is Dad’s bed,” Mick said a little too loudly. He looked like a small version of his father, with adorable dark eyes framed with long lashes and brown hair curling over his collar and onto his forehead.
The boys tossed their bags onto the bed without concern. For them, a bed was a bed was a bed. For Samantha, it was different. This was the rancher’s bed. She didn’t know him, probably wouldn’t be here long, and yet the intimacy of using his bed felt strange.
When he said, “I’ll get fresh sheets,” she breathed a sigh. Yes. That would make her feel better, help cut through this surreal sense of intimacy.
“Come see my room,” Mick yelled to the boys and they ran out.
“Mick,” Michael started, but the boys were already gone. “Sorry. Mick doesn’t moderate his voice level very well.”
“He yells a lot,” Lily said.
She followed her father to a cupboard down the hallway. They returned with clean sheets, pillowcases and pillows.
Samantha helped Michael strip the bed even though he told her not to. She needed to help. Now that she was here, she realized how much she was putting him out.
Michael shook the clean fitted sheet over the bed just as Lily threw herself onto the mattress. It fluttered down on top of her.
“Lily—” he started, but Samantha cut him off with a smile and wave of her hand.
She smoothed the sheet over the girl and said, “Mr. Moreno, I appreciate that you’re letting us use your bed, but we can’t possibly sleep here. There’s a terrible lump!”
A tiny giggle emerged from beneath the sheet.
“Help! It moves,” Samantha squealed. “Your bed has a moving bump!”
Lily giggled a bit more.
“It’s a beautiful big bed,” Samantha went on, “but I’ll squish this wriggling bump flat if I lie on top of it.”
Lily giggled loudly now.
Samantha laughed and looked up at Michael to share the joke, only to see a look of pain cross his face.
What was he thinking? What had Samantha set in motion with her joke?
She didn’t like sadness, hated what it brought up in her. She couldn’t get away from it quickly enough.
Grasping at any distraction, she picked up Lily and set her on the floor. “We’d better get this bed made.”
She and Michael finished making the bed and lined the headboard with three pillows.
Michael carried his pillow and an extra quilt to the sofa in the living room.
Samantha dropped her purse onto the bed. It was all she’d brought in with her. Her suitcase had been too heavy to drag through the snow.
She joined the boys in Mick’s room. He had bunk beds and a spare single bed across the room. It was a lot of sleeping space.
“This is a great room for having sleepovers. Do you do it often?”
She felt Michael’s presence behind her in the doorway.
Mick looked past her toward his dad. He wrinkled his small brow. Another lock of hair fell onto his forehead. “Dad, have I had friends for sleepovers?”
“No.” The single word was as curt as his tone, effectively cutting off the conversation.
What had she been thinking? Mick was still small, quite young for sleepovers. She kept making mistakes here left, right and center. Though why else would he have so many beds in his room?
Michael reached for something on the blue bedside table. “C’mere, Mick. You forgot again.”
“Aw, Dad, do I hafta?”
“What do you think?”
Mick pouted but stood still while his father fitted what looked like hearing aids into his ears.
“How’s the level? Good?”
Mick nodded and said, “You guys want to see the playroom?”
They all ran out of the room with little Lily trailing behind, still dragging her unfortunate doll by the hair.
Sammy stared after them.
Once she was alone in the room with Michael, the silence stretched. Strange, she could usually talk to anyone, but this taciturn man intimidated her with his silence.
She rushed to fill it. “How old are your children?”
“Mick is five and Lily’s four. Yours?”
“Jason is nine.” He nodded as though he’d already figured that out. “Colt is five.”
Silence fell.
“Mick has hearing issues?”
“Yeah. It’s why he yells. He forgets to put his aids in every morning unless I remind him. He doesn’t like them. He’s just being stubborn, I think.”
She nodded.
The silence between them stretched. Sammy’s inner neurotic raised her head again. No. Nope. Not saying anything this time. When she rushed to fill the void, she ended up saying the most inane things. People tended to take her less seriously than they should because of it.
Words clogged her throat, begging to be released.
“Why do the rooms have so many beds if they don’t have friends over?”
“We—I thought maybe they’d want to someday. It just hasn’t happened yet.”
We? He and the children’s mother?
She tried to gloss over the awkwardness of the moment. “Maybe after they start school.”
“Maybe,” Michael said, and changed the subject.
“We’d better take a look at the food situation,” he said.
Oh, yes, food. “We’re putting you out a lot, aren’t we? I’ll make sure the boys don’t eat too much.”
He waved a hand. “I have plenty of food in the freezer.”
“Why?” she blurted before realizing it was an impertinent question. She tended to shop for fresh food every day.
“This is the third bad storm in two months. Meteorologists predicted a bad winter this year, and they were right. I like to be prepared.”
He left the room and headed for the kitchen. She followed, interested in what he might have. She’d sensed his disapproval of her vegetarianism.
“Earlier in the week when I heard we were likely to be snowed in again, I put in an extra supply of stores. Wasn’t expecting company, though.”
Her hackles rose. “I’m sorry. If I could have stopped at a motel I would have.”
“I’m not complaining about that,” he said, as though there were other things he wanted to protest.
Like what?
He opened the refrigerator. “Come here and check everything out. What will your boys eat?”
“Anything.”
He looked at her skeptically. “Really?”
“Just about.” She studied the contents of the fridge’s shelves lined with ground beef, chicken and steaks. “You’ve got a lot of meat.”
She opened the crisper to find only root vegetables. Not a single salad green in sight.
“No greens?”
“Nope.” He sounded defiant. “I don’t eat ’em and the kids don’t want ’em.”
A loud bang at the back of the house startled her. Michael rushed down the hallway and opened a sturdy-looking exterior door. The storm door was banging against the wall of the house.
Michael latched it firmly and closed the door again. The gust of frigid air that had rushed in like an invader brought home to Samantha just how lucky she and the boys were to have found this refuge.
Grumpy guy or not, Michael had taken in three extra people who would need to be fed. It would behoove her to keep a generous heart and an open mind.
Mick stepped out of the bedroom where the children played. “Sorry, Dad, I guess I didn’t hook it properly when I came in this morning.”
Michael rubbed his son’s hair. “It’s all right. No harm done.”
When he returned to the kitchen, Samantha said, “Thank you.”
He pulled up short and looked behind him. Maybe he thought she was talking about closing the back door?
“I mean for taking us in,” she clarified. “For letting us stay here when you don’t want us here.”
When he opened his mouth to protest, she said, “It’s okay. I understand. We’re strangers. We’re an unexpected burden. When this is all over, I’ll make it up to you.”
She didn’t have a clue how. What on earth did she have to offer a man who seemed to have everything while she would spend the next few years fighting for control of her own life?
Chapter Three (#ulink_c6ad2e08-3254-527a-92b1-77e2d12c10f0)
Michael felt a distinct unease wash through him, a sense of shame that she knew he didn’t want her here.
He’d been raised to be hospitable, to share whatever he could. Had he become such a loner that he no longer knew how to extend a helping hand to someone in need?
Well, if he had, so what?
The naked truth was that he didn’t like strangers in his home.
He needed his solitude and his isolation. He didn’t want this violation of the safe distance he’d established between himself and everyone else.
He wasn’t mean-spirited or stingy. He was just hurting and his pain was nobody else’s business.
He couldn’t say that, though, could he?
Even as rusty as he was with etiquette, he knew he couldn’t just come right out and say, “I wish your car had never broken down near my home.”
He would do whatever he had to do to make them comfortable for the night, and then he would wish them well and go back to his quiet, unadorned life.
The lights he’d turned on earlier to dispel the gloom flickered.
The woman—Samantha—glanced around nervously. He’d rather just think of her as the woman. Giving her a name was too dangerous in the forced intimacy of the storm.
He would think of her as Samantha because he had to, but never the more familiar Sammy she’d offered.
“Does the power go out when it storms like this?” she asked.
“Usually. I’ve got systems in place. I have a generator that’ll kick in if we lose power, but I’ll use it conservatively.”
She tilted her head. “Why?”
“It runs on diesel, and we’ve been put on rations because of the last two storms. Gas stations were overwhelmed yesterday with everyone getting ready for this one to hit today.”
“There isn’t enough diesel around?”
“The county’s been cleaned out this winter. It’s been a bad one. Hence, the rationing.”
Samantha looked nervous. “What happens when it runs out completely? What if your generator stops working?”
“We go back to the way things used to be done. I have firewood. If the furnace cuts out, the house will stay warm for a while. Once it cools down, we can all bunk in the living room on air mattresses with quilts. We can cook with camping equipment. We’re good.”
He didn’t usually talk so much—he’d just made a speech, for God’s sake—but she seemed to need reassurance.
She relaxed fractionally. “Would you mind if I use your phone? Mine stopped working a while ago. Travis thinks we’re arriving tomorrow. I was pushing hard to get here today to surprise him. I need to let him know we’re close but safe.”
“Sure.” He pointed into the living room. “At the far end of the couch.”
He left the room while she made her call.
* * *
SAMANTHA DIALED TRAVIS’S NUMBER. When he answered, an out-of-proportion rush of relief left her dizzy. She hadn’t realized how much she needed to see her brother.
“Sammy!” he said, and his voice was so familiar and so dear her eyes filled with tears. After all, they had only each other. Their parents were gone and they didn’t have anyone else, not even the usual aunts, uncles and cousins.
“Where are you?” Travis asked. He sounded concerned.
“I made a mistake and missed the turnoff for Rodeo.”
“When?”
“About an hour ago.”
“What? You’re out in this weather?”
Cripes. Was she the only one who didn’t know snowstorms got this bad? She and Travis had been raised in southern Arizona, and she’d lived in Nevada for years and then California for the past year. She’d seen snow a handful of times in her life, but never a storm.
“I’m not out in it now,” she replied. “The car broke down.”
“But you just bought it before you left.”
“I know.”
“You didn’t buy used, did you?”
“No! It’s brand-spanking-new. I don’t know what happened. It just stopped running and the boys and I were stuck.”
“Stuck? Are you still in the car?” His voice had risen.
“No. We walked to a rancher’s house.”
“Whose house? What rancher?” Her older brother was fiercely protective of her and her sons.
“Michael Moreno.”
“Hold on.” She heard Travis talking to someone else. A second later he came back on the phone. “Okay. Apparently Michael’s a good guy.”
“That’s my impression.” A good guy, even if he was grumpy.
Travis sounded calmer, as though whoever he’d just spoken to had done a good job of reassuring him. “You can trust him.”
She sort of, kind of already did, even though he was obviously not at all happy to have them. Her instincts about people were pretty good.
“We’re going to stay here tonight,” she said.
“At least for tonight. This storm system is massive.”
“I had no idea. I usually check the forecast on my phone, but it’s been acting up.” Unease raced through her. Now that she’d heard Travis’s voice, all she wanted was to be with him. “Honestly, Travis, I didn’t know what I was heading into.”
She cupped the phone and her mouth with her hand so Michael wouldn’t hear her. “I was so scared, Travis. I will never drive in a snowstorm again.”
“This is a bad one. You and the boys stay put until this whole thing passes and I can come get you, okay?”
“Okay.” She exhaled. She would be able to relax soon. All of the trouble of the past two years would be over once they made it to Travis’s house. “Who’s there with you? Your new girlfriend?”
“Rachel. Yeah. I can’t wait for you two to meet. I love her, Sammy. She’s the one.”
“Oh, Travis. I’m so happy for you.” She was. Truly. “I’ve wanted this for a long time.”
It was just strange for Travis to have someone. Not just a girlfriend, but the one. He’d never talked about love before though he’d had plenty of girlfriends, even that phony Vivian he’d been so infatuated with. Thank God that hadn’t lasted.
But who was this Rachel? How had he fallen so hard so quickly? What was she like? Could Sammy trust her to love Travis as much as he deserved to be loved?
“I’m going to marry her, Sammy.”
Samantha choked. When she stopped coughing, she whispered, “Marry?”
“Yep.” Her brother had never sounded more certain.
“I’m happy for you, bro.” She was, but a tiny part of her knew that this changed everything.
She bit her lip. “Where will you live? In the house?”
“Yes, with her two children.”
Rachel had children? “But—” She’d thought the house would be a home for her and the boys.
“It will all work out, Sammy. We’ll make it work. You’re going to love Rachel and her girls,” Travis said, and his calm confidence soothed her even while she still worried. How on earth was it all supposed to work?
Sammy and her boys would never again have her brother’s undivided love and attention.
Well, wasn’t that the point you were going to make when you arrived at the house he bought for you? Weren’t you determined to pay him every cent he paid for that house, even if it took years?
Weren’t you the one who was going to finally fight for independence from every single man, even your brother?
Her father and her ex-husband had let her down. Depending on men sucked. Only Travis had been trustworthy.
“I love you, bro.”
“And I love you, sis. Tell the boys I love them, too.”
“I will. Bye.” She hated to hang up, hated to wait another day or two before seeing him, before moving to a happier home than this one seemed to be. But the house she was moving to with Travis would soon contain another woman and two more children.
She just didn’t know what to think.
Everything was topsy-turvy. Her ex had taught her some hard lessons about life. She would find a way to be independent, for her own sake and her sons’.
If the house didn’t work out, she would find some other place to live. After all, she was a hard worker and had a job to start next month.
Turning away, she found Michael watching her. “Is everything okay?” he asked. “Did you get through?”
She smiled. “Yes. It was good to talk to him. Thank you.”
“How long has it been since you’ve seen him?”
“Close to six months.” She rubbed her hands on her thighs and shivered.
He frowned. “I didn’t ask. Did your clothes get wet in the snow?”
“My pants are really damp.”
“Follow me.” He led her into his bedroom. “I’m a lot wider than you, but we can find something.”
He handed her a pair of gray sweatpants. “You can cinch these with the string at the waist. If that’s not enough, I’ll find you a belt.”
He also gave her a sweatshirt, which was faded but soft. “Layer this over your sweater to keep warm.”
Michael left the room. The pants were snug in the hips, but big in the waist. She managed to tie the string tightly enough to hold them up. She put on the sweatshirt and immediately felt warmer.
In the bathroom, she hung her pants over the shower stall to dry.
She joined him in the kitchen. “Thanks. That feels a lot better.” She stepped close to the counter. “We should probably start cooking, right?”
* * *
DAMN. SAMANTHA LOOKED good in his clothes. They weren’t the least bit feminine, but she made them so...and that was a problem.
Michael turned away from her to open the fridge door, resisting even the faintest hint of awareness.
“We do need to cook,” he finally said in answer to her question. Lighten up, Moreno.
He might not be able to control the situation, but he could control his reaction to it. “It’s better to have the food cooked before we lose power. It’ll keep longer than raw.”
“What’s all the meat for?”
“Chicken soup and meat loaf. The kids like both.”
“My boys would like that, too.”
So they weren’t vegetarians like her? Strange.
He got the proteins out of the fridge.
“That’s a lot of ground beef,” she said.
“I was going to make a couple of loaves. I’m not much of a cook, but I can handle the basics.”
“Would you mind if I check your cupboards to see what else there is?”
He spread one arm wide. “Have at it.”
He stood back, leaned against the doorjamb and crossed his arms while he waited.
He didn’t like having her in his kitchen, but maybe she could come up with more ideas to feed six people with his supplies.
She dived into the task, surprising him with what excited her. A tin of black beans nearly sent her into raptures. He almost smiled.
“You have spaghetti and canned tomato sauce. Your spices look old, but we can try to jazz it up a bit. How about one meat loaf and a pot of Bolognese?”
“We’re having bologna?” Mick asked. He stood behind Michael with the other children.
Samantha spun around. “Bolognese. Basically, beef sauce for spaghetti.”
Why didn’t she just say so? Awkward and unsophisticated beside her with her fancy words for meat sauce, he bristled.
“We’re hungry,” Mick said.
“You keep checking out the food,” Michael told Samantha. “I’ll make snacks.” He gave them cheese strings and granola bars.
“They need a fruit or veggie with that.”
He knew how to feed children, for God’s sake. He had two of them. The woman didn’t seem to notice that she’d butted in. She insisted they have apple slices spread with peanut butter. Health freak.
Not a bad idea, though. They carried their snacks to Mick’s bedroom.
She rummaged through his cupboards again.
“Barley!” she squealed.
“You get excited about strange things,” he said.
“I can use it to make a vegetarian soup for myself.”
He cocked his head. “You said your sons eat anything. Aren’t they vegetarians, too?”
“No. I’ve told them my philosophy, but they can eat what they want and make their own choices when they’re old enough. They eat all of my food, but if anyone offers meat, they eat that, too.”
Hell of a way to go about it. He taught his children his values and he expected them to follow. He didn’t give them choices.
He shrugged and moved on. No skin off his nose if she was a screwball parent.
“What are you comfortable making?” he asked.
“I love cooking soups. Do you want to make the meat loaf with half the ground beef and brown the rest for the spaghetti sauce?”
“Suits me fine.”
While he focused on the meat, she started pulling out every vegetable in his crisper—cabbage, carrots and celery.
“Do you have potatoes?”
“I’ll get them. How many do you want?”
“As many as you have.”
“I’ve got ten pounds.”
While she digested that, she chewed her bottom lip. “An entire bag?”
“Close to it.”
“There are six of us. Should we use half of them to make mashed potatoes to go with the meat loaf and bake the rest?”
“Yeah. We can always eat them cold tomorrow if need be.”
He stored the bag at the top of the stairs to the basement. He retrieved it and also snagged a rutabaga and a bag of onions.
He returned to the kitchen and came up short. It was strange to see a woman there and even stranger that he had to pass close to her to get to his own counter.
Careful not to touch her, he sidled past, feeling her heat nonetheless.
It was going to be a long night.
She asked, “Are you sure you’ll have enough food? We’re three extra mouths.”
Without a word, he opened the freezer door. Loaves of bread filled half of the space, with plenty of meat crowding the other.
“Living this far from town, I’m always prepared.”
“Hey!” she declared, reaching in as though she’d found a treasure. “Look at all of this spinach. Awesome! You said the kids didn’t eat greens.”
“For some weird reason, Mick likes the frozen stuff, so I keep plenty on hand.”
“May I use it?”
“Of course.”
They worked side by side for an eternity, or so it seemed to Michael. Every time he had to pass her to get into the fridge, or to retrieve a pot from a low cupboard, he held his breath.
She was almost as tall as him, maybe only a couple of inches shorter. He wasn’t used to that. Lillian had been a little bit of a thing.
The first time they brushed arms, he just about jumped out of his skin.
He wasn’t the skittish type, not usually. He might not be attracted to this woman, despite her beauty, but he also wasn’t used to having a woman in his kitchen. Other than Lillian’s friend Karen, that is, who came around more often than he liked under the guise of helping him with the children.
Things were getting complicated there. All Michael felt for Karen was a small level of affection. He’d known for a while now that she was expecting more from him than he wanted to give.
She’d been good to him, and he felt nothing other than gratitude. It made him feel ashamed...and guilty.
Samantha brushed past him again. He glanced her way sharply, but she wasn’t doing it on purpose. The working area of the kitchen was just too damn small for two people who didn’t know each other.
The harvest table took up pretty much all of the room, but at least there would be plenty of space to seat everyone at dinnertime.
Earlier, when she’d pulled her sweater up over her hair for Lily’s benefit, she’d revealed a trim waist and perfectly tanned tight flesh. His libido had performed a tap dance worthy of Gene Kelly.
It had been two and a half years since he’d been with a woman. Once Lillian had become too weak for intimacy, all he’d done was hold her.
Maybe sometime in the two years since her death he should have slept with a woman. But who? This was a small town. Everyone knew everyone else and all of their business.
He suspected the town might already think he and Karen were having relations, even though he’d been careful to set boundaries there.
Did his physical discomfort matter? In the space of a silly heartbeat, Samantha had won over his daughter. That had been clear when Lily had whispered, for his ears only after that trick with her hair, “I like her, Daddy.”
That was good enough for him, even if he did find her ditzy and too beautiful.
She puzzled him. Without a speck of self-consciousness, she’d messed up her own hair, just to break the ice with Lily.
In his experience, beautiful women cared too much about their appearances. His mother had. So had his baby sister.
Michael strengthened his defenses and set his confusion aside. The power could go out at any time and there was a lot to do.
Between the two of them, they managed to make the meat loaf and put together one pot of chicken soup and another of spaghetti sauce.
Samantha had made a small pot of barley soup for herself and had used the steak to make a larger one of beef and barley.
Michael had also boiled and mashed potatoes—more potatoes than he’d seen in one place since he was a child with his mom, dad and Angela around.
“Oh,” Samantha breathed, breaking into his thoughts of the past. Good thing. He didn’t want to go there.
“I just had a thought,” she said.
“What?”
“If the power goes out and we have to conserve diesel, how will we heat this up? How will we cook the pasta?”
“Camping equipment on the fireplace. I have a kerosene camp stove I can use on the back porch as well as a barbecue I can cook just about anything on.”
Samantha looked curious and engaged, as though the details truly interested her. “How about if I make things easier by boiling the spaghetti now and mixing it with the sauce? Then we can reheat in one pot.”
Opening the door of the refrigerator, she said, “I saw some Monterey Jack in here. I can add cheese to the pot to make it tasty.”
“Sure. Lily will like that. She loves that cheese.”
She stopped what she was doing and became pensive. Seemed out of character for the woman. “Oh. It’s Lily’s cheese. Okay, let’s leave it for her.”
She put it back into the fridge almost reverently.
“She won’t mind if you use it,” Michael insisted.
Her smile looked a little sad. “I’d like it to be hers.”
Weird. What was wrong with the woman? Lily wasn’t going to die if she couldn’t have a piece of cheese.
She seemed adamant, so Michael reached past her for the cheese, calling, “Lily, come here.”
Samantha’s perfume floated around him like a soft cloud. He held his breath, grabbed the cheese and backed away from her.
Lily ran into the kitchen, cheeks flushed.
“What, Daddy? Hurry. I have to play.”
“Your Monterey Jack cheese. You okay if we use it in some spaghetti sauce or should we leave it for you to eat?”
“S’ghetti sauce!” She turned and ran to the back of the house.
“You have permission. Use it,” he ordered, dropping it into Samantha’s hands.
“Okay.”
“You like children? Especially girls?”
Her lips twisted, her smile rueful. “Oh, I do. I really do. I wish I’d had one. Don’t get me wrong,” she rushed on. “I love my boys to heaven and back. I wouldn’t trade them for anything. They are my heart. I do like little girls, though. I guess I just relate to them.”
What had that sadness been about with the cheese and Lily? Somehow he didn’t think she would have reacted in the same way had it been Mick’s cheese.
He didn’t want that kind of curiosity about her. The less he knew about the woman, the better.
Samantha started to chatter about everything and nothing and he wondered what the heck was going on. Something had made her nervous.
When she paused for a breath of air, he said, “You going to quit talking any time soon?”
She caught her breath and stared at him.
He hadn’t meant to sound harsh. It was meant to be a joke. He might not want her here, but he didn’t willingly hurt others. He was about to open his mouth to apologize when she burst out laughing.
“Travis says that exact same thing to me all the time. He says I’m long on air and short on content.”
Her smile, like sunshine bursting through heavy clouds, turned his guts to pudding.
Chapter Four (#ulink_bea02d87-5b5a-5d18-8d0f-3e836b237a0c)
Abruptly, Michael turned away, jittery and resisting this woman with all his might.
He didn’t even know Samantha. She was a stranger and yet she was turning him inside out.
“I need to put that living room together. Who knows how much more time we have? Better to do it now than when we lose power. With the strength of this storm, we’ll lose it for sure.” Now he was the one babbling.
“Put the room together? What do you mean?”
“I’ll blow up air mattresses and haul out all of our quilts and extra bedding. We might be sleeping in front of the fire tonight.”
“May I ask you to do something first? Or I can do it.”
She was doing enough already. Her industriousness surprised him.
Why? What had he expected? That because she was beautiful, she’d be spoiled and temperamental? Well, yeah. That had been his experience.
He stopped and turned to face her.
“What is it?” he asked, wary.
“Can you vacuum before you put all of that on the floor?”
So she didn’t like his housekeeping. Michael stiffened. Tough.
Samantha placed slim fingers on his forearm. At her soft touch, he stiffened further and she dropped her hand.
“I don’t mean to criticize. It’s just that Jason has asthma. He’s growing out of it, but it still affects him. I don’t want to risk an attack when we’re stuck so far out here.”
Out here in the back of beyond, she means, he thought bitterly.
She must have guessed what he was thinking because she clarified, “In this storm it would take forever to get him to the hospital. It’s terrifying when he can’t breathe.”
“Fair enough.” He dropped what he was doing and got out the vacuum cleaner. Where a child’s health was concerned, he didn’t take chances.
In the living room, he started to pick up all of the children’s toys, but she interrupted him.
“Can we do something else first?”
He stilled, wary again. “What?”
“Follow me.”
Going into Lily’s room, she picked up an empty laundry basket.
“Children,” she hollered like a drill sergeant, startling him. The woman had a healthy set of lungs. “We need you in the living room.”
They ran after her. In front of the fireplace, she plopped the basket onto the floor.
“You see all of these toys, books and clothes?”
They nodded.
“They all—every single last one—are going into this basket. Who do you think is going to pick them up?”
Colt emitted a long-suffering sigh. Michael watched Samantha bite her cheek so she wouldn’t laugh. Her kids knew her well.
“Us?” Colt asked.
“Yep,” she affirmed. “But there will be a reward.”
She turned to Michael.
“Do you have any cookies?”
He nodded. “A box of Oreos.”
Samantha clapped her hands. “Good! When you’re finished picking up everything, Michael will carry the basket to the back room and you’ll each get a couple of cookies.”
The kids jumped to the task.
Michael turned to her with one brow raised. “Bribery?”
“Works every time.” She grinned and returned to the kitchen.
All right. Again, fair. She’d gotten the kids to clean the room to allow him to vacuum for her boy.
Michael carried the full basket to the playroom, returned with another basket that they also filled, and gave the children their cookies.
He went back to the living room to vacuum.
While he did that, another new scent emanated from the kitchen. It smelled like biscuits baking in the oven. His stomach grumbled.
Samantha made a couple of dozen biscuits that came out as light and airy as any Michael had ever tasted, including Vy’s at the Summertime Diner in town, and that was really saying something.
For dinner, she insisted that they have a second vegetable with the meat loaf along with potatoes. She heated frozen corn in the microwave. She also added some to her bean-and-barley soup.
Michael called the children to the table.
“This is a huge table,” she said, running her hand along the oak grain.
“It’s a farm kitchen. Used to be the ranch hands ate in here with us.”
“Ranch hands? Where are they?”
“Slow time of year. Any who wanted to were allowed to go home for a month of holidays. The rest opted to ride out the storm in town. Violet at the Summertime Diner will find a way to cook meals even without power. They’ll be a lot tastier than mine.” His laugh sounded rusty.
Lily and Mick took their usual spots at the table. Michael directed Jason and Colt to the other seats on either side of the table and offered Samantha the one at the other end.
“You have your choice of food.” He outlined the menu for the kids.
“Can I have a little bit of everything?” Jason asked. “I want meat loaf, but I really like Mom’s soups.”
“In this house, you can have whatever you want and as much of it as you can shovel into your faces.”
The younger children giggled. Jason took him seriously.
It turned out Samantha’s children ate a lot.
She seemed embarrassed by it. Maybe because of his less-than-gracious welcome when they arrived? He didn’t like that their appetites bothered her, but at least she didn’t stop them from eating.
After dinner, they got out his air mattresses and inflated them. Jason manned the electric pump while Michael carted in wood and lined the walls beside the fireplace.
He sent Samantha to the linen closet for sheets and plenty of blankets. She made up the two double air mattresses into beds and added extra blankets to Michael’s quilt on the sofa just in case.
Michael built up a fire so there would be warm ashes in the grate if the power went out overnight.
Jason followed him to the basement to retrieve his camping equipment. He was a good kid, helpful and uncomplaining. Samantha had done all right with him.
They carried up his old pots and pans. Battered, they’d seen a lot of campfires and had stood in during power outages many times over the years.
He took out his battery-operated emergency lamps.
Fascinated by all of it, Jason asked question after question about how things were done around the house during a snowstorm.
“What about your animals? You have cows and horses, right?”
“The horses and some of my cattle are safe in my barn and stable. The rest are in pens around the property. I went out first thing this morning and gave them plenty of food and water to get them through the night.”
Arms loaded, they mounted the stairs to the main floor. Michael closed and locked the door behind him to keep the younger children out. “In the morning, if weather permits, I’ll go out and take care of them.”
Excitement lit Jason’s face. “Can I come?” he blurted, and then looked contrite. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have invited myself. It’s just that I like animals.”
“You can come,” Michael said quietly. The kid’s interest should be honored.
“Thanks.” The boy’s smile lit up his intelligent face. Michael guessed there was a lot going on under Jason’s polite exterior, more than met the eye. He needed a chance to grow and develop in his own ways.
Shortly after eight, Samantha sat on the sofa and rummaged in her big bag for something.
Lily, in Michael’s arms, wriggled to be put down and went over to her. Apparently, the ice had really and truly been broken with that hair trick, because Lily leaned against Samantha’s thigh to look inside. “Want to see what I’m carrying, do you?”
Samantha dumped the contents onto a sofa cushion. “There you go. I have everything in here but the kitchen sink.”
At that moment, the phone rang.
Michael answered. “Hello?”
“Michael. You’re there.” It was Karen Enright and she sounded anxious.
Michael bit back a sigh. Karen had been Lillian’s best friend. After Lillian’s death, Karen had become proprietorial where Michael was concerned. Her boundless earnest concern for him and his children smothered him. He’d never given her one iota of encouragement.
“I’ve been worried.” Her breathless voice irritated him.
The only woman he’d ever loved was dead. He wasn’t about to start loving someone else. Karen should understand that.
He’d loved Lillian from the first moment he’d met her in high school. It had deepened when they’d begun dating at sixteen.
Lightning had struck him once. It wasn’t likely to strike him a second time.
“How are you and the children?” she asked. “Would you like me to come over and help take care of them?”
Her deep earnestness chafed him.
“In this weather? For God’s sake, Karen, stay put.” Honestly, he just wanted her to stop. “Like I said earlier, the kids and I will be fine.”
“But what if the power goes out?”
“We’ll do what we’ve always done. We’ll get by. Do not come over. It would be a fool’s errand.”
Suddenly, the phone went dead and the lights went out.
They’d lost their power, just as he’d thought they would.
The living room had been plunged into darkness, save for the fire he’d been feeding before the phone rang.
Damned cordless phone. He should have stuck with his old landline.
Lily patted his leg. “Daddy? Okay?”
“Yep. We’re good.”
“We’ve got systems,” Mick said. “See, Lily? Right, Dad?” In the light of the fire, he pointed to the logs and the camping equipment.
“We’ll be fine,” Michael said. “In the morning, I’ll start up the generator. We won’t need it for the night. Might as well head to bed.” Reluctant to give in to the intimacy of sleeping in the same room with strangers, he thought the bedrooms might stay warm enough until morning. He led the way down the hall with one of the lamps and tucked in his daughter and kissed his son.
Samantha did the same with her two boys and then they were alone in the hallway.
Her fingers twisted nervously.
He stuck his hands into his pockets and raised his shoulders, not sure what to do with her. It was only nine o’clock and too early for bed.
“You want a coffee or something?” he asked. “We can boil the water over the fire.”
“Too much caffeine. Do you have herbal tea?”
“Think so.”
They wandered to the kitchen. The urge to keep his distance from her was stronger now that the house was hushed and felt even more intimate.
She started to chatter again. He did his best to block it out. He couldn’t.
“You don’t have to do that,” he said.
She stilled. “Do what?”
“Fill the silence.”
For a moment she went deeply silent. He wondered whether he’d been too blunt. Again.
She didn’t laugh this time. “It’s a habit of mine.”
“I noticed.” He smiled to soften things in case he really had hurt her feelings.
He found the herbal tea in the cupboard, Lillian’s chamomile. Toward the end it was the only thing that would settle her stomach.
Lost in memories, he didn’t realize he was staring at the box, immobile until a light touch warmed his arm.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” He sighed. “It was my wife’s tea.”
“Is she—? Did she—?”
“She’s gone.” He hated uttering the word dead. Every time he did, it made it real all over again.
Samantha didn’t ask questions, but said, “You don’t have to give me her tea.”
But he did. Lillian had been generous to everyone. She would have liked nothing better than to sit down with Samantha and talk about their kids or anything under the sun that caught her fancy.
She would have wanted Samantha to enjoy what was left of the tea now.
“Let me make you a cup. I want to.”
She nodded and stepped away.
They settled in the living room, her on the sofa and Michael keeping his distance in the armchair.
He didn’t know what to say.
Apparently, neither did she.
She wasn’t rushing to fill the void even though her fingers moved constantly. Why was she so nervous? Sure, he was a stranger, but he thought he’d shown he was trustworthy. He wasn’t going to jump her. Maybe if he told her the truth about Lillian, she wouldn’t be afraid to be alone with him.
“My wife didn’t leave us,” he blurted. “She died.”
She gasped. “I’m sorry for your loss.” She looked it. “It must be hard for you and the children.”
The unspoken question hung in the air until he answered it. “Cancer.”
“So...not sudden.”
“No. Might have been better if it had been.” Okay, enough. He couldn’t talk about it. It hurt. He didn’t often haul out his intestines without anesthesia and put them on display.
A log popped on the fire and she startled.
“The boys’ father?” he asked to change the subject. “Is he around?”
“We’re divorced. Last I heard, he was in the Himalayas somewhere.”
He raised his brows, but she didn’t expand.
Her expressive face had gone blank. Was she angry? Sad? Glad?
“How could he leave his children behind?” He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but anger had surged through him. Lillian hadn’t had a choice, but if she had, she would have stayed. It sounded like Sammy’s husband had run out on her. He would be angry. He would seethe.
“That’s a good question,” she answered. “I’ve wondered that many times.” Yes. There was the anger.
“Must be hard on the boys.” He echoed her earlier sentiment, because it was true. All of this was difficult enough for the two of them as adults, but what were children equipped to handle?
“Yes, it has been hard. Jason felt abandoned when his dad left. He’s my little protector. He thinks he needs to be the man of the family. I wish he could relax and just have fun like Colt does.”
Michael nodded. He’d already noticed Jason’s love for his mother. The boy had stood up to him, a big strapping adult, to defend her from implied criticism.
Gutsy kid.
“He wants to come out with me in the morning to see the animals. I said yes. That okay with you?”
She seemed to ponder the implications...a man alone with her child. She must have sensed his honesty.
She nodded. “It’s hard, isn’t it? Trying to keep our children safe?”
“Yeah. It is.” And he didn’t always get it right. Some people in town thought he kept his children too isolated, but how could he not?
What if something happened to one of them? It was his job to make sure they reached adulthood unscathed. He hadn’t been able to save Lillian, but he could save his children.
* * *
SAMANTHA AWOKE IN the middle of the night to tapping on her forehead.
For a minute, she thought there was a drip from the ceiling, but the tapping was dry.
A hand!
She startled awake and took in a lungful of air, ready to scream. No! Not here. Not in rural Montana where she and her sons were supposed to be safe.
Prepared to protect her children, she opened her eyes.
The person hovering over her in the darkness was tiny. A child.
Sammy’s disorientation cleared and she remembered where she was.
Her breath whooshed out of her. She glanced to her right. Both of her boys slept soundly. Who was patting her hair?
She mumbled, “What is it?”
“I’m cold,” Lily whispered not an inch from Sammy’s face.
Oh! Michael’s little girl.
Sammy realized she was cold, too. The house had lost its heat pretty quickly. No wonder. The storm still raged outside.
Good thing Michael had lent her his sweat suit. She’d be chilled without the fleece.
Without further thought, she said, “Climb in. We’ll cuddle together. Okay?”
Samantha snuggled Lily and spooned around her, while Colt poked his elbow into Sammy’s back. Jason slept soundly on his brother’s far side. Thank goodness for Michael’s huge bed.
Lily backed right up against her. Sammy pulled the blankets up snugly around all of them. She wrapped her arms around the child.
“Better? Warm enough?”
“Warm.” Lily sighed and dozed off right away.
Her sweet little weight against Samantha melted a path to Sammy’s heart.
“I always wanted a little girl,” she murmured, and yawned.
Despite her exhaustion, sleep didn’t come easily. She touched each of her boys, relieved to feel their healthy, slightly sweaty heat. It took a while for her heart to stop racing.
She didn’t want to, but she thought about Manny d’Onofrio and his associates.
In his letter from jail, her former employer had promised he’d called off his men. He’d written that he no longer sought revenge against her for sending him to prison. In his words, I found God and I want peace. I won’t bother you no more for ratting me out.
God, didn’t that sound like a bad movie script? But it had been all too real for Sammy, starting with getting a job in Manny’s Las Vegas casino as part of his accounting team and ending with her testifying against him for embezzling funds from his partners.
He’d vowed revenge, but she believed he’d changed. In his letter, he’d sounded sincere. Who would have thought?
But sometimes, late at night, she worried. Nightfall brought terror.
It was over. It was all finally over. Why couldn’t she stop jumping at every late-night sound?
Travis had bought the house here for her and the boys as a sanctuary, away from crooks and city crimes. Hence, her trip in a snowstorm to Rodeo.
She’d gone back to her own name, dropping her married name, and had given it to her boys, too, and no one was supposed to know where she was. Manny’s letter had reached her through their lawyers. He couldn’t find her, but Travis’s former girlfriend, Vivian, had tracked him here.
Vivian used to work for Manny.
Manny might guess she would follow Travis here, but he’d sworn he wouldn’t bother her again. Even so, she’d decided to leave the sanctuary they’d found after Las Vegas, in California, and follow Travis to the house he’d bought for her.
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