THE CHISHOLM
BROTHERS:FRIENDS,
LOVERS…
HUSBANDS?

JANIS REAMS HUDSON

featuring
The Daddy Survey
The Other Brother
The Cowboy on Her Trail

www.millsandboon.co.uk

JANIS REAMS HUDSON

was born in California, grew up in Colorado, lived in Texas for a few years and now calls central Oklahoma home. She is the author of more than twenty-five novels, both contemporary and historical romances. Her books have appeared on bestseller lists and earned numerous awards, including the National Reader’s Choice Award and Reviewer’s Choice awards from Romantic Times. She is a three-time finalist for the coveted RITA® Award from Romance Writers of America and is a past president of RWA.

Table of Contents

Title Page
About the Author
The Daddy Survey
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
The Other Brother
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Epilogue
The Cowboy On Her Trail
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
Copyright

The Daddy Survey

Chapter One

When Sloan Chisholm pulled up across the street from the roadside café, thoughts of a chicken fried steak loomed paramount in his mind. He wanted a big one. Big enough to hang off the sides of the platter, with a whopping pile of mashed potatoes on the side, and both buried under at least an inch of thick, creamy-white gravy. He hadn’t had a chicken fry since a week ago Saturday, and he thought he might be suffering the early stages of withdrawal. It was time for a fix.

Before he got the chance to harden his arteries, however, he ran smack into something that would change his life forever: The Daddy Survey.

Actually, his life changed a couple of minutes before that, after he checked on the horse he was trailering and then crossed the street, stepped through the door of the café, and fell head over heels in love.

Sloan had managed to live thirty-five years without falling in love. Not really. Not bone-deep, gut-clenching, breath-stealing love. Those other two times didn’t count.

Funny, but even with all of his grandmother’s recent grumblings about wanting him and his two brothers to get married so she could spoil a batch of great-grandchildren, Sloan had never really expected his heart to take that slow, sweet slide into helpless delight. But he could feel it happening inside him now, and it stunned him. And even supposing that he had expected to fall in love, he sure never would have thought he’d be the type of man to fall for two females at once, but there was no help for it. There they stood, and he was a goner.

They were the most adorable creatures Sloan had ever seen. Both were blond, although one’s hair was a shade or two darker than the other’s. Both had blue eyes and enough similar facial features to have him guessing they were sisters, but one had dimples and the other didn’t. One wore glasses, one didn’t. One was taller than the other.

One was eight, the other about six.

“Good afternoon, sir.” The oldest of the two girls pushed her wire-rimmed glasses up on the bridge of her pert little nose. She hugged a stack of menus and a notebook to her chest, with the eraser end of a pencil sticking up out of the notebook’s wire spirals. Behind the lenses of her glasses, her sky-blue eyes studied him closely. “Smoking or non?”

“That’s nonsmoking,” the little one clarified.

The elder frowned at her. “He knows what non means.”

The younger merely flashed her dimples.

Before an argument could break out—not that one appeared imminent, but Sloan wasn’t taking any chances—he slapped a hand to his shirt pocket. It was just as empty of cigarettes as it had been for the past year and a half. And he was just as surprised by it now as when he’d first quit. “Non, please, ladies,” he offered with a sweep of his hat.

They led him to a booth next to the wide front window.

Sloan had dined in fancier establishments, but he’d also eaten in worse. This one ranked somewhere below average. The red vinyl of his seat bore a split from front to back wide enough to show the white stuffing inside. A few feet from his table the worn carpeting curled up where the seam connecting two pieces was coming apart, ready to trip some unsuspecting customer or waitress and trigger a lawsuit.

But the table was clean, and the staff, so far, was adorable.

An instant later, when the waitress approached with a plastic tumbler of ice water, Sloan got his second kick in the gut. She wasn’t beautiful, in the movie-star sense of the word, but she was so damn pretty she nearly took his breath away.

Dainty was the word that came to mind. Or maybe delicate. Not that either was a word Sloan had much experience with, considering he spent most of his time with cattle, horses and grown men who usually reeked of barnyard sweat. But the waitress was slightly built, and her short hair left her neck bare and looking vulnerable.

Even her eyes, the same pale yet vibrant blue as the little girls’, spoke of vulnerability.

The urge to protect her startled him. Sloan wanted, unreasonably, to take her in his arms and shield her, protect her from harm, from cold, from fear. And most of all, he realized when he saw the pale strip of skin where a ring had once been—but was no longer—on the fourth finger of her left hand, he wanted, desperately, to protect her from ever having to sleep alone again.

He wanted to protect her from guys like him.

Her smile was polite and friendly without being overly so. She placed the water before him. “I’ll give you a minute to look over the menu and decide what you want. Girls,” she said to the two little beauties, “you know you’re not supposed to bother the customers.”

“But, Mother—”

“They’re not bothering me,” Sloan claimed, interrupting whatever the oldest girl had been about to say. “In fact, I can’t remember when I’ve enjoyed prettier company.”

The youngest girl giggled and blushed; the older one smiled shyly.

“All right, but don’t make pests of yourselves,” their mother warned softly.

“Yes, ma’am,” they said in unison.

Sloan watched the waitress walk away, admiring the gentle sway of her hips and giving thanks for Levi Strauss and his denim tents that nobody wanted all those decades ago during the California gold rush.

“That’s our mommy,” the littlest girl said.

Sloan pulled his gaze back to the girls and smiled. “Yeah?”

“Uh-huh. Her name’s Emily. Emily Nelson. Do you think she’s pretty?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said with feeling. “I surely do.” Emily. Emily Nelson. “She’s every bit as pretty as the two of you.”

This was where he could logically say something stupid, like Your daddy is one lucky man. But that would be pumping the girls for information, and he couldn’t bring himself to sink that low. Besides, if their daddy was out of the picture, mentioning him could hurt these two little innocent angels.

So, instead, he smiled and asked if they would like to join him for lunch.

“Thank you, sir,” said the oldest one, all serious and grown-up, “but we’ve already eaten.”

“That’s too bad.” And he meant it. It would be a kick to sit across the table from them for half an hour or so. Especially considering that he usually spent his days staring at the south end of a northbound steer. “Maybe you could just keep me company while I eat?”

“Wellll…” The older girl stole a quick glance at her sister, then looked back at him. “We could do that, and maybe you’d like to take our survey while you wait for your order.”

“Survey, huh? What kind of survey?”

“Oops.” The little one nudged her sister. “Mommy’s coming.” Then, to him, “Do you know what you want to eat yet?”

Sloan tracked the waitress’s progress toward him like a starving man waiting for a feast. With a coffeepot in one hand and a pitcher of iced tea in the other, she moved like a dancer from table to table, filling a mug here, a tumbler there, with a smile, a question, a comment for each customer.

When Sloan caught himself wondering if she moved that gracefully, smiled that beautifully, while beneath a man in bed, he forced himself to look away.

Man alive, forget about protecting her. Who was going to protect him?

She came and stood beside his table. “Do you know what you want?”

Oh, boy, honey, he thought. That is one loaded question.

She must have seen something in his eyes, for she cleared her throat then blinked slowly down at her order pad and rephrased her question. “Are you ready to order?”

Without looking at the menu, Sloan kept his gaze on her face and ordered a chicken fried steak with all the trimmings.

Without looking up at him, she scribbled on her pad and said, “I’ll get that out to you as soon as it’s ready.”

She is so damn pretty, he thought again as she went to turn in his order.

“Sir?”

Sloan turned back to the girls. “Sloan,” he said. “Call me Sloan.”

“Okay.” The little one beamed. “I’m Libby and this is my sister, Janie. Do you wanna take our survey?”

“Why not? What kind of survey is it?”

“It’s a da—”

But Janie interrupted her younger sister. “We’re taking a survey of single men between the ages of twenty-one and sixty-five. Is that you?”

Hearing such grown-up language coming from such a young child made him want to smile. “Twenty-one and sixty-five, huh? That’s quite a range, but, yeah, I fit in there.”

“And you’re single?”

“Last time I checked.”

Janie frowned.

“Yes,” he clarified. “I’m single.”

Her face cleared.

“Oh, goody,” Libby said, grinning.

Janie cleared her throat. “Okay.” She pulled the spiral notebook from her small stack of menus and flipped it open. “On a scale of one to five, with one being not at all and five being very, very much, how well do you like little girls?”

Sloan grinned widely. “That’s easy. I’d have to give that one a five, if that’s as high as I can go.”

Libby giggled.

Janie marked his answer in her notebook, then looked at him out the corner of her eye. “On a scale of one to five, do you believe in spanking?”

Sloan’s eyes widened. “Of little girls? I’d have to give that a zero. Nobody should spank little girls.”

Both girls smiled hugely as Janie wrote down his answer.

“How much do you like liver and onions?” Janie asked.

“I’d have to give that a three.”

“How much do you like ice cream?”

“That’s a big five.”

Janie paused and studied him carefully, such a serious look in those bright blue eyes. Then she took a deep breath and plunged on. “Yes or no, does Santa Claus know where you live?”

Sloan lost all urge to laugh over their cute questions. It was becoming obvious that what Libby had been about to say earlier was that this was a daddy survey. These girls were surveying café customers in search of a new daddy. The very idea broke his heart. He wanted to grab them and pull them onto his lap and hold them close and promise them—

Promise them what? That he would be their daddy?

Whoa, pal. Getting a little ahead of yourself, aren’t you?

“Mr. Sloan?” Janie prodded.

“Oh, sorry. And it’s not Mr., it’s just Sloan.”

“Oh, no,” Libby said. “We have to call all grown-ups Mr. or Ms.”

“It’s a sign of respect,” Janie said.

“It’s a rule,” Libby added.

“Well,” Sloan said. “We wouldn’t want to break any rules, so I guess you can call me Mr. Sloan. Now, where were we?”

“Santa,” Libby told him.

“Oh, yeah. Well, sure. We’ve even got a chimney for him, and every year we put up a tree with lights and the works.”

Both girls let out a big breath and grinned at each other. Then Janie got back down to business.

“One to five again. How much do you like puppies?”

“Oh, I like puppies a whole lot.”

“Is that a five?” Janie asked.

“I’d have to say so. A definite five for puppies.”

“What about kittens?” Libby asked.

“That’s not on the survey,” Janie protested.

“Well, it should be.” Libby gave an emphatic nod, making her pale yellow curls bounce.

Janie frowned. “Okay, kittens. But it’s not fair, because the other men didn’t get to answer that one.”

“Maybe we can ask them if they come back in,” Libby offered.

Janie brightened. “Maybe we can.”

“So, kittens?” Sloan asked, his stomach tightening at the thought of their asking these questions of every stranger who came in. “Kittens are a definite five. We have lots of kittens at our ranch.”

Libby’s eyes widened. “You do?”

“You have a ranch?” Janie asked in awe. “With horses and cows and everything?”

“Sure do. With horses and cows and everything.” He pointed to his rig across the street. “See that pickup? It’s got the name of our ranch right there on the door.”

“Cherokee Rose,” Janie read.

“Cherokee?” Libby’s eyes nearly swallowed her face. “Are you a Indian?”

Janie frowned. “Not Indian, silly. Native American.”

“He is?” Libby breathed, staring at Sloan in awe. “You are?”

“Indian’s fine,” Sloan said. “And yes, I’m part Indian.”

Libby still stared at him wide-eyed. “Which part?”

Sloan couldn’t help it—he broke out laughing. He was saved from having to explain anything more to Libby by the approach of her mother with his order.

Emily Nelson heard the cowboy’s deep laughter long before she reached his table with his order. Whatever her daughters were saying to him, he was obviously enjoying himself.

He had a nice laugh. A nice face, too.

Well, maybe nice wasn’t the right word for those chiseled, coppery features, but attractive certainly fit. And compelling.

The thought startled her. She couldn’t remember the last time she had even bothered to notice how a man looked. The last man—the only man—she had ever looked at or noticed in her entire life was Michael.

The expected ache at the thought of him came, as she knew it would. But it was a poignant ache these days, not the stabbing, crippling agony it had once been. Two years since his death, and she could now think of Michael with as much love and gratitude for the years they’d had together as regret for his loss.

He had been the love of her life, and he’d given her these two precious daughters who liked to entertain strangers while she worked to earn the money to get the three of them to a promised job in Arkansas. If her car hadn’t broken down in the middle of nowhere she wouldn’t have had to take this job merely to get the car fixed. If she had to pay a baby-sitter for the girls, she would never earn enough to fix the car. She was grateful her boss was so tolerant as to let the girls stay in the café while she waited tables.

“Mommy, Mommy!” Libby practically jumped up and down beside the man’s table. Her voice carried clear across the dining room. “Mr. Sloan has a ranch with horses and kitties and everything and he’s part Indian and he thinks you’re real pretty.”

Oh, Lord, Emily thought as fire stung her cheeks. Please open a hole in the floor and let me fall in.

But, as was usually the case, no convenient hole appeared. She had no chance of falling out of sight. No chance that the man wouldn’t notice the heat flushing her cheeks.

He chuckled, and so did several other customers at nearby tables.

Emily’s face burned hotter.

“Ladies,” the man said. “I think we’ve embarrassed your mother.”

“Did we, Mommy?” Libby asked, fighting a giggle. “Did we embarrass you?”

Deciding there was no graceful way to ignore her youngest daughter’s comments, Emily rolled her eyes. “I’m usually embarrassed whenever you blab everything you know to the entire world.”

“Ah, Mommy.” Libby snickered. “But it was true. Wasn’t it, Mr. Sloan?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the man said as Emily set his plate down before him.

Emily hadn’t meant to look at him again, but the good-natured laughter in his voice drew her gaze.

“Every word of it.” And he winked. Not at her daughters, but at her.

Good grief. Did men still do that? Wink at women? It seemed more like something she would see on television rather than have it happen to her.

He’d winked. What was she supposed to do about it? Say thank-you? Scowl? Flutter her lashes?

What she felt like doing was joining her daughters in a decidedly childish giggle.

Good grief.

“That looks like manna from heaven,” the man said of the food on his plate.

Feeling like an idiot for standing there staring at him like a schoolgirl with her first big crush, Emily hurriedly set his cutlery down in front of him. “I’ll get you some more tea right away. Girls, run along now and let the man eat.”

“But, Mommy,” Libby cried.

“They’re fine,” the man said. “Really. If it’s all right with you, I’d like them to stay and keep me company.”

Pervert? Emily wondered, or nice man who liked children? Having no way of knowing, she opted for safety over the pleas of her daughters and a stranger. “That’s very nice of you,” she told him, “but they’ve bothered you long enough. Girls.” She gave them the  look, the one they knew not to argue with.

“Yes, ma’am,” Janie nudged Libby to let her out of the booth. “G’bye, Mr. Sloan.”

“G’bye, Mr. Sloan,” Libby echoed.

Emily nearly rolled her eyes again at their pitiful tone of voice.

“’Bye, girls,” the man answered back.

Emily followed the girls and shooed them onto the last two stools at the counter, where they would be out of everyone’s way. A minute later she was back at the man’s table refilling his iced tea.

Grateful for her promptness, Sloan smiled and thanked her. “Those are some great girls you’ve got. You must be proud of them.”

“Thank you,” she said with a slight smile. “I am. Can I get you anything else? Maybe a piece of apple pie for dessert? Baked fresh this morning.”

“No, thanks. I’m fine.”

She placed his ticket facedown on the table and left him to finish his meal. Sloan watched her walk away. She stopped at the counter and whispered something to her girls.

Her baby-sitter must be sick today, Sloan figured, so she’d had to bring the girls to work with her.

But the impression he’d gotten from the girls and their survey was that they hung out in the café a lot.

Raising kids alone was rough on anyone, man or woman. But when it was a woman doing the raising, and she looked as vulnerable and defenseless as a newborn kitten, it had to be more than rough. She couldn’t make much money in a place like this. There didn’t seem to be enough business for tips to be any good. Maybe she couldn’t afford a baby-sitter. Maybe the girls came to work with her every day.

Would a boss allow that?

Sloan shrugged and tackled his chicken fry. It was none of his business. Emily Nelson was not a damsel in distress, and he was not her white knight.

Not that there was anything wrong with someone who needed a helping hand now and then, man or woman. And helping out someone in need, well, that was every person’s responsibility, wasn’t it?

Just because he’d gone a little overboard and thought he’d fallen in love a couple of times with a couple of damsels in distress—well, one of them had been in genuine need. The other had played him like a fish on a line. Taken advantage of his generous nature.

Or, as his brothers insisted, she’d merely read the word sucker that they swore was tattooed across his forehead when it came to women.

He didn’t know why he had a thing for women in need, because if he took the time to envision himself with a wife, she would be a strong woman who could stand on her own beside him, not one who needed his help every time he turned around. Lord bless Connie Sue Walters. She should have cured him of helpless women, but, no, not him. A couple of years after that disaster, he’d fallen for someone new. Donna Daniels had only pretended to be helpless. She had turned out to be about as helpless as a she-bear. She’d had it in mind to convince him to sell his portion of the ranch and buy her a house in town so she could live in a manner to which she would like to have become accustomed.

No, sir, no more falling for the helpless act again, not for Sloan Chisholm.

It was a crying shame, he’d always thought, that he couldn’t have fallen for Melanie. Melanie Pruitt lived on the ranch next to theirs. If ever there was a woman strong enough and smart enough to stand beside a man and face whatever came, it had to be Mel. She could ride and rope with the best cowboys, yet when she cleaned up and put on a dress, man, oh, man, she could render the cockiest cowboy speechless. She was a looker, Mel was, and that was a fact.

If all that wasn’t enough to get Sloan’s attention, she had been in love with him and in hot pursuit since she was five years old.

Why he’d never been able to return those feelings, he didn’t know. But all he’d ever felt for Mel was a deep and abiding friendship. And now she was over him and thought of him as a friend. He had really missed out. He loved her, but as the little sister he’d never had, not the way a woman deserved to be loved.

Yes, sir, a crying shame that he always fell for the wrong ones.

That night as Emily tucked her daughters into the double bed next to hers in their motel room, Libby asked for the fifth time since supper, “You liked Mr. Sloan, didn’t you, Mommy?”

And for the fifth time since supper, Emily replied, “He seemed like a nice enough man.”

“But you like him, right?” Libby insisted.

Emily leaned down and kissed her youngest on the nose. “I don’t know him well enough to say. Now, close your eyes and go to sleep. Both of you,” she added with a smile for Janie.

“But, Mommy—”

Emily placed a finger over Libby’s tiny lips. “Sleep.”

Beneath her finger the tiny lips curved upward. “Okay. G’night, Mommy.”

Following the round of good-nights came the usual requests for drinks, then back to the bathroom a few minutes later, then another round of kisses and hugs and good-nights. The ritual took an average of thirty minutes each night, and this night was no different. But finally the girls were tucked in, eyes closed, breaths deep and even with sleep.

God, but they were beautiful. They might look like her, but they had so much of their father in them. Especially Libby, with her outgoing personality and total lack of fear. Janie was quieter, more studious and sober, but had Michael’s keen intelligence.

For the hundredth time Emily wondered if she was doing the right thing in taking them to Arkansas. It had seemed like her only choice two weeks ago when she’d made the decision to leave Colorado for a chance at a new job at the factory where her cousin worked in Fort Smith. After her job at the museum gift shop had been eliminated, Emily simply hadn’t been able to find work that paid enough to cover groceries, rent, day care and all the other things two growing young girls needed.

“Oh, Michael,” she whispered. “Am I doing the right thing?”

She often asked him questions, but he never answered. Leukemia had taken him two years ago. Her only answers these days were silence and doubt.

But she didn’t have time to feel sorry for herself. She had to earn enough money to pay for the repairs on her car. With grim determination, she pulled her checkbook and wallet from her purse and began adding up her meager assets.

Today’s tips had been decent, thanks in part to the man her daughters had been so enamored of. He’d been more than generous with the cash he’d left on his table.

A few more customers like him—and if her boss’s wife would come home so he would keep his lecherous hands to himself—and Emily might be able to get her car fixed in another week. Maybe.

Sloan spent the night at a ranch outside Wagon Mound, New Mexico. Jeb Cotter was so glad to have his mare back, and without that nasty habit of trying to bite her rider—which Caleb and Justin had worked out of her—and without having to drive back to Oklahoma to retrieve her, that he put Sloan up in the guest room of his home rather than the bunkhouse, where visiting cowboys usually stayed.

When Sloan crawled into bed that night and closed his eyes, he saw two adorable little girls and their delicate, pretty mother. He’d thought about them the better part of the afternoon as he trailered the mare the rest of the way to her home ranch. Thought about them, worried about them.

It was that worry that had him stopping back at that same café two days later on his way home. Ordinarily he would have taken a different route back to the Cherokee Rose; he liked to see new sights whenever he got the chance. But not this time.

They were none of his business, really, Emily Nelson and her daughters. He just wanted to look in, check up on them while he had the chance. After today he would never see them again, so what was the harm?

It was just past noon when he pulled up at the café that sat at the intersection of a state highway and a county road. This time he wasn’t pulling a horse trailer, so he could have parked in front of the café, except business seemed to be brisk. There were no empty spots. He parked across the street, where he’d parked two days earlier, next to the motel entrance.

When he entered the café a moment later the bell over the door jingled. There were no little girls there to greet him. No delicate, sexy waitress wending her way between the tables.

He felt enormously let down, which told him he had placed way too much importance on a chance encounter.

Just as he was telling himself that this was for the best, that he had no business coming here today in the first place, he heard his name.

“Mr. Sloan!”

He spotted her immediately. It was the little one, Libby. With a grin and a wave she jumped off the bar stool at the counter and dashed toward him. Janie followed, a bit more sedate than her little sister.

“Mr. Sloan,” Libby called again, rushing his way, curls bobbing, grin flashing. “You came ba—”

Sloan saw it all as if it happened in slow motion. The loose edge of carpet, where a seam had come undone, caught the toe of Libby’s small shoe and pitched her forward.

He cried out her name and lunged, but he knew he’d never reach her in time.

Libby pitched forward. She tried to catch herself by grabbing toward the table beside her, but all she managed to do was knock a customer’s iced tea into the man’s lap on her way down.

The customer, a fifty-something man in bib overalls, yelped in surprise.

But it was the sound of Libby’s tiny head hitting the floor that stopped Sloan’s heart. He dove for her just as she rolled and completed her somersault. Her feet whacked him in the face.

Sloan was much more concerned about the child than about the slight discomfort of a miniature sneaker or two in the eye. It took him a moment, as she was flailing around pretty good trying to right herself, but finally he had the child by the shoulders.

“Libby, are you all right?”

Big blue eyes looked up at him, wide with shock. “I fell down.”

“You sure did, sweetie. Does your head hurt?”

Her bottom lip quivered; her eyes filled. “N-no.”

“Are you sure, baby? You hit the floor pretty hard.”

She sniffed and rubbed the top of her head. “I’m okay, Mr. Sloan, honest.”

Sloan quickly felt her head, her arms and legs. Finding nothing broken, he let out a huge sigh of relief. It could have been worse. It could have been disastrous. But little Libby was lucky. He would be, too, he thought ruefully, if he didn’t end up with two black eyes. But as long as Libby was all right, he would gladly bear the bruises.

He was helping Libby to her feet and Janie was rushing up to check on her sister when the swinging door to the kitchen crashed open and banged against the wall. A short, balding man shaped like a barrel, with a dish towel tied around his ample waist, charged out from the kitchen a half second before the door swung shut again. He brandished a stainless-steel spatula in one beefy paw. “What in blue blazes is going on out here? What have those brats done now?”

At Sloan’s side, Libby whimpered.

Sloan felt steam bubble in his ears. He placed a hand on Libby’s shoulder and stepped in front of her. “She’s just fine. Thanks for asking.”

The man snarled.

“There’s no call to get ugly,” Sloan said. “It was just a little accident.”

“Who might you be?” the man demanded.

“I’m a friend of Libby’s. Who are you?”

The man narrowed his eyes. “I’m Howard Bisman. I own this place, and I’ll thank you to stay out of things.”

Sloan gave him a cold, hard smile. “And I’ll thank you to speak more kindly in front of the children.”

Emily had been in the office getting a new roll of quarters for the cash register when Howard had stormed out of the kitchen. She hadn’t heard the commotion in the dining room, but she’d heard the swinging door bounce off the wall, heard him bellowing about something.

Her first thought was of the girls. Howard was mad at her and might take it out on them. She rushed from the office.

“Those kids,” her boss was saying, “have been nothing but trouble since I hired their mother.”

At his words, Emily froze in midstride. Then she dashed forward. “What’s going on here?”

“Trouble, that’s what,” Howard snapped. “And it’s these brats of yours, as usual.”

Emily was normally the soul of politeness and calm. But nobody picked on her children. “Don’t you dare call them brats. Margaret hired me, and she said they were welcome here.”

“Well, my wife’s not here, and I want these kids out of here before they tear the whole damn place apart.”

“That’s not fair,” Emily said.

Sloan had to give her credit for her reasonable tone. If he opened his mouth again his words were bound to come out in a snarl.

“My girls have never caused any trouble.”

“They have now,” her boss growled. “I want them gone.”

Janie sidled up next to her mother.

Emily put an arm around her eldest daughter. “You know I can’t leave them alone at the motel.”

“Tough.”

Sloan had had enough. “Look, mister.”

“You stay out of this.”

“I won’t stay out of it.” In his socks, Sloan stood six feet tall. In his boots and hat, as he was now, he hit about six-five. He leaned down over the much shorter man, got right in his face and spoke quietly. “You’re upsetting the ladies.”

The shorter man took a step back. “This is none of your business.”

“Oh, but you’re wrong. Libby was coming to see me when she tripped over your torn carpet.”

“Libby fell?” Emily cried.

But Sloan was on a roll and didn’t answer. “How long has that loose edge been sticking up like that? I’m surprised somebody hasn’t sued you yet. Libby could have cracked her head open.”

“Libby?” Emily craned her neck to see around the two men arguing about her and her daughter as if neither were present. “Where is she?”

“I don’t need this kind of trouble,” Howard claimed, ignoring her question. “Emily, you take your brats and your mouthy friend and get out of here. You’re fired.”

The room was so quiet, you could have heard ice melt. Emily’s gasp of shock was the only sound.

Sloan felt the pressure of steam building inside his head. Any minute it was going to shoot out of his ears. “You can’t fire her, you little weasel, she quits.”

Emily shook off her shock. “Now wait a min—”

“Fine.” The balding man gave a single, sharp nod that made his cheeks jiggle. “She’s fired from the motel, too. I want her cleared out of there within the hour.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind Sloan knew he was going too far, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. “She’ll be out in half that time.”

Sloan spun on his heel and reached for Libby.

The child was not there. He turned again, looking, searching.

“Where’s Libby?” Emily demanded. “Is she all

right? You said she fell.” Sloan frowned. “She was right here a minute ago.” But now, he thought with alarm, she was gone.

Chapter Two

They looked everywhere. Beneath every table and chair, behind the counter, in the kitchen, even the men’s room. The search took less than four minutes. Libby was nowhere to be found.

Emily felt the panic rise up and swell in her throat. Her baby was missing. But that wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be.

They questioned every customer, but no one remembered seeing what Libby did, where she went, once Sloan and Howard had started arguing.

“What did I tell you?” Howard ranted. “Trouble. Nothing but trouble.”

Outside, the roar and rattle of a semi, the swish of its air brakes, sent a new fear stabbing at Emily’s heart. She whirled toward the door. “The highway!” What if Libby had decided to cross the highway? She was so tiny. Cars and trucks sped past the café at sixty miles an hour or faster. “Libby, dear God.”

Sloan heard Emily’s desperate whisper. “Would she go out there?”

“What?” Distracted, horrified by visions of Libby’s tiny body splattered across the blacktop, Emily turned toward the man who had quit her job for her. A small detail about which she couldn’t be bothered just then.

“The road,” Sloan said. “Would she try to cross it?”

Emily swallowed. “She knows she’s not allowed to, but we’re staying at the motel over there, so she might—” She was rambling. It was the fear. Neither of her children had ever gone missing before. She couldn’t just stand there and wring her hands, she had to do something.

She made a dash for the door. “Janie, you stay here.”

A hushed murmur spread throughout the dining room.

Sloan took command. He sent two men to the gas station across the corner, and another two to the garage west of the café. “Look everywhere,” he ordered them. “In every place a little girl can hide, inside and outside the buildings. Then come back here and tell Janie what you find. Okay, Janie?”

Her face pale, eyes so big behind her glasses that they threatened to swallow her face, Janie nodded. “Okay, Mr. Sloan. But where are you going?”

“I’m going to look around out back, just to be sure.” If Libby’s feelings were hurt because of that jackass Bisman, there was no telling where the poor kid might have gone.

* * *

Libby’s feelings were, indeed, hurt. She was crushed. But she wasn’t at the motel where her mother looked. She wanted to be, wanted to curl up in the bed she shared with her sister and pull the covers over her head. But she wasn’t allowed to cross the road without her mother.

Besides, she couldn’t go out the front door of the café without everybody hearing the bell over the door tinkle.

She didn’t want to sneak away, she wanted to have Mommy hold her and tell her everything would be all right. But Libby didn’t deserve to be held in Mommy’s arms. She’d been a brat—Mr. Bisman said so—and she’d gotten her mommy fired.

Libby knew what a brat was. After all, she wasn’t a baby anymore, she was six. In three months she’d be six and a half. Not a baby.

But she felt like a baby as she huddled up against the back side of the big trash bin behind the café and swiped tears from her cheeks.

It was Sloan who found her as he searched behind the café.

The sound of a sniff pulled him around the Dumpster, and there she sat, huddled in on herself, arms around her raised knees, head buried, shoulders heaving with each sob.

“Ah, sweetheart.” He knelt beside her, his heart breaking. “Don’t let that blowhard upset you.”

She sniffed and looked up at him through lashes clumped with tears. Her cheeks were soaked. “What’s a bo-hard?”

Unmindful of whatever substances might have missed the Dumpster and landed on the ground behind it, Sloan sat beside Libby and chuckled. “Blowhard. Well, it’s someone who talks just to hear himself run off at the mouth. Like a big gust of wind. Lots of noise, but in the end it’s nothing important.”

Libby sniffed again. “I got Mommy fired. We’re gonna be homeless now.”

Sloan slipped an arm around the child and hugged her to his side. “Ah, sweetheart, you’re not going to be homeless.”

She looked up at him like a puppy begging for table scraps. “Really?”

“Really. Now, come on. You got your mommy all worried about you, sneaking out like this. We better go find her and let her know you’re all right, don’t you think? She’s awful worried. You might have to tell her you’re sorry for scaring her so bad.”

Sniff. “Okay, Mr. Sloan.”

After failing to find any trace of Libby at the motel, Emily rushed back across the road. She burst through the café door just as Sloan led Libby in through the rear entrance. With a glad cry, Emily flew across the dining room and swept her baby up in her arms.

She was so relieved to have her daughter back safe and sound that it was several long moments before she realized that she was being rushed from the café, one daughter on her hip, the other at her side. Shock held her silent until they were halfway across the parking lot. There she came to a halt and stared at the man her daughters called Mr. Sloan.

“What have you done?” she managed, stunned.

“Found your missing daughter?”

“Yes.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “And for that I will be eternally grateful. But you told him I quit my job!”

“I’m sorry.” He took her by the arm and turned her again toward the road. “But you’re better off not working for that creep, anyway.”

“Better off?” At the edge of the parking lot she dug in her heels and pulled her arm free from his grasp. “Better off? With no job, no place to stay? I’d say you’ve put us out on the street, but look around! There is no street. There’s only a highway, and my car is dead.” She was starting to rant; fresh panic was taking over. “How am I better off?”

Libby sniffed and quieted. “I got us fired, Mommy.”

“No, honey, no, you didn’t get us fired.” Emily shifted Libby, still on her hip. As she kissed her daughter’s forehead, she shot a glare at the true culprit. “Mr. Sloan got us fired.”

The sudden bane of her existence raised a palm. “I said I was sorry. I screwed up, didn’t handle it well.”

Emily gave him a sickly smile. “Gee, that helps, mister. Thank you.” With her stomach in knots, she turned away and faced the road. What was she going to do? Where could they go? How would they get there?

If the girls weren’t with her, she would turn and scream at the man who had brought this latest disaster upon them. She would cuss and kick and maybe even punch him in the nose. But her girls were with her, and she didn’t want them to see their mother turn into a madwoman before their eyes.

It was just as well, because, in all honesty, she had to admit that she’d been expecting Howard to fire her for the past three days. Ever since his wife had gone to see her mother up in Denver and left him in charge. With Margaret away, fat, balding Howard, with his sweaty hands and sly eyes, liked to play. With his female employees.

None of them went along with him, as far as Emily could tell, but she had been taken completely by surprise at his unwanted advances. He had always seemed so nice to her. But, then, Margaret had always been around.

When he trapped Emily beside the cooler, her reaction had been less than polite. She hadn’t meant to give him a bloody nose. Not really. She’d never hit anyone before in her life. But when he had grabbed her breast and squeezed, she had simply reacted.

Frankly, she had been surprised he hadn’t fired her then and there.

Now he had; he’d merely used today’s accident as an excuse. She didn’t know what to do. Dear God, what could she do? She had enough money to get them to Fort Smith on the bus, but the route didn’t come through The Corner. She had no idea where she would have to go to get on, or how to get there if she did.

“Just how bad a spot are you in?” the man named Sloan asked.

Emily glared at him. “That’s none of your business.”

“I beg to differ, since I guess it’s partly my fault, at least according to you.”

“You helped, that’s for sure,” she muttered.

“Look,” he said, turning her to face him. “If it’s a job you need, maybe I can help.”

Emily turned away and started across the empty highway toward the motel. “Well, unless it’s within walking distance—” The only things within fifty miles were the café, the motel, the garage, the gas station. “—I’ll have to pass, thank you all the same.”

“What’s wrong with your car?”

Emily had hoped the man would get the message and take off, but no such luck. He flanked Janie and crossed the highway with them.

“I don’t know,” she said irritably. “Something about the oil not circulating through the engine. They say they have to take the whole engine out, but they won’t start until I have the money to pay for it. Which was why I was working at the café. I was working at the motel in exchange for a room for us.”

Sloan winced at the situation Emily and her daughters found themselves in. And he had cost her the job. Both jobs.

Well, okay. If he was the cause, he would have to be the solution. “Can you keep house?”

“I beg your pardon?” She passed the motel office and stopped at the door to room twelve.

“You know, cook, dust, vacuum, laundry. That sort of thing. Keep house.”

She gave a small chuckle that sounded sad to his ears. “I don’t know much else, but housekeeping I do know.”

“Then come to work for me at the ranch. We’ll tow your car behind us. My brother Caleb is the best mechanic in three counties, and he works cheap.”

Emily shook her head. “What kind of irresponsible mother would I be if I took my daughters and drove off with a total stranger?”

“Mommy?” Libby, still riding on Emily’s hip, poked her mother in the shoulder.

“In a minute, sweetie.”

“I can appreciate how you must feel,” the man said. “You barely know me from Adam.”

“Mommy,” Libby insisted. “Mommy, he’s not a stranger, he’s Mr. Sloan.”

Janie squeezed Emily’s hand. “Libby’s right, Mother, he’s Mr. Sloan, not a stranger.”

Emily swallowed rather than let out the scream of frustration that wanted to erupt from her throat. “Yes, honey, I know.”

“Look,” Sloan said. “Just wait here a minute. I’ll be right back.” He turned and headed back toward the road.

Emily opened the door to her room and took the girls inside. She didn’t have time to worry about Mr. Sloan or his housekeeping job, Lord knew where. Take her girls and ride off with a total stranger? What did he think she was, a gullible idiot? She would have to be criminally stupid to simply take his word for anything. She had to figure out what she was going to do. She couldn’t stay here any longer.

In the two minutes before the man named Sloan returned and knocked on the door, Emily came up with absolutely nothing. No job, no plan, no option other than to call her cousin Brenda in Fort Smith, but that was no option. Brenda didn’t have the money to lend her to get her car fixed.

The only thing Emily knew to do was find someone to take them to the nearest bus station. She had enough money to get the three of them to Fort Smith, but she would have to abandon her car. How would she get around in Fort Smith without a car? How would she ever afford a new one?

Now, here was the bane of her existence, at her door like a pesky encyclopedia salesman.

Come to think of it, since everything was on the Internet these days, she wasn’t sure they even had door-to-door encyclopedia salesmen anymore.

Lord, she must be losing it to let her mind wander into such trivial territory while a crisis loomed over her head.

She was homeless. She and her daughters had just joined the ranks of those lost souls who lived on the streets, forced to beg, or worse, for money.

“What are we going to do, Mother?” Janie asked.

Emily sighed. “I’m not sure, honey. I’m going to have to think about it for a few minutes.”

Libby sniffed. “Do we hafta pack our stuff now?”

Emily let Libby slide down her hip. “Not just yet.”

Then came the knock on their door announcing Mr. Sloan’s return. When Emily opened the door she noticed he now carried a briefcase. She eyed it with suspicion. “What’s that for?”

He stepped into the room and crossed to the small nightstand where the telephone sat. “It’s to show you, hopefully, that I’m a trustworthy person.” From the briefcase he pulled out a notebook computer and hooked it up to the phone line. After booting up, he logged on to the Internet and went to the Web site of a ranch called the Cherokee Rose.

“Do you know how to navigate around a site?” he asked.

She didn’t, but she didn’t particularly want to admit such a thing.

“I do,” Janie claimed. “We use the Web all the time in school. But where’s your mouse?”

“You use this,” he said. “It’s a touch pad. You just slide your finger over it to make the pointer move. Try it.”

Emily itched to try it herself, but she stood aside and let Janie do it. The girl moved through the information on the Web site with confidence.

It was interesting information.

Mr. Sloan was, according to the site, Sloan Chisholm, co-operator of the Cherokee Rose ranch in Central Oklahoma, along with his brothers Caleb and Justin. The owner of the ranch was their grandmother, Cherokee Rose Chisholm. They raised cattle and horses and did some horse training. They had a list a mile long of awards, prizes and honors for various ranching and livestock pursuits from organizations such as the American Quarter Horse Association and Oklahoma Cattlemen’s Association, among others.

Emily didn’t know anything about ranching or cattle or horses, but she couldn’t help but be impressed by the credentials listed.

“So how about it?” he asked.

Emily slowly sat on the edge of the bed. This man, this stranger was offering her something she couldn’t provide for herself and her daughters—a way out of their current predicament. A job keeping house for his family. All Emily had to do was trust him. Quite possibly with not only her life, but the lives of her daughters.

“It would be my grandmother you’d be working for.”

“Your grandmother?” Some of the tightness in her chest eased.

“She does too much, works too hard. And she hates housework. She’d much rather spend her days on horseback. But she loves kids, so she’ll be glad to see the girls. I don’t want you to worry about that. The job includes room and board.”

He was going too fast. Her head was starting to spin. She pushed herself to her feet, but when he named the salary, she sat back down, quickly.

It wasn’t an outrageous salary, but it was generous. She would never make that much waiting tables or changing motel sheets.

She wiped her damp palms on the legs of her jeans. “I’d only be able to work for as long as it took to get my car fixed.” She couldn’t believe she was even considering his offer.

He smiled. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll like us and decide to stay.”

If Emily’s return smile was on the nervous side, that was to be expected. “We’re on our way to Fort Smith, to a good job there, at the factory where my cousin works.”

He nodded as if in deep thought. “Okay, that’s fine. I assume your car’s at the garage across the road?”

“Yes. It’s parked in the back.” She wiped her palms again. “He wouldn’t work on it until I had the money to pay for the repairs.”

“Why don’t I go see about that while you ladies get packed?”

Emily didn’t remember giving him a definite answer, but within an hour she found herself in the front seat of Sloan Chisholm’s four-door pickup. Her daughters, deliriously excited, were in the back seat, their belongings were in the truck bed, and her car was trailing them courtesy of a tow bar attached to the hitch on the back bumper. The Corner disappeared behind them.

Before they had pulled away from the motel, Sloan had taken her into the motel office, where Sandra, Howard and Margaret’s thirty-seven-year-old daughter, worked. He’d given Sandra his driver’s license, tag and cell phone numbers and told her that if she didn’t hear from Emily that evening and again the next morning, she was to call the state police and report her missing.

That went a long way toward calming Emily’s nerves. Plus the fact that they were headed toward Amarillo. Once there she could always jump ship, so to speak, and take the bus.

And lose her car. Damn.

“I don’t blame you.”

Had she spoken aloud? Emily blinked and looked over at the man behind the wheel. “Pardon?”

“You’re having second thoughts. I don’t blame you. But I’m really a nice guy. You don’t have to worry.”

“You raise cattle, rescue damsels in distress and read minds?”

He laughed. “You got it.” He had a nice laugh. “You ever been on a ranch?”

“When we were kids, Michael’s cousin lived on a small ranch outside Pueblo.”

“Michael?”

Emily smiled sadly. “My husband.”

“What happened to him?”

She stared at the road before them. The dotted white line down the center of the two-lane blacktop threatened to hypnotize her. She kept her voice low so it wouldn’t carry to the girls in the back seat. “He died two years ago. Leukemia.”

“I’m sorry,” Sloan said. “That must have been rough on all of you.”

“Especially on him.” Emily gasped. “My God, I can’t believe I said that.”

“Why not? I’d have to assume it’s the truth.”

Emily flopped her hands in her lap. “It just sounded so… flippant. So disrespectful.”

“To me it just sounded honest.”

They fell silent, letting the hum of tires on pavement, the roar of the engine and the whispers and giggles of two little girls fill the cab.

Finally Sloan spoke again. “So how did you end up working for that creep back there, anyway?”

“I didn’t know he was a creep until these past few days that his wife has been away.”

“The café is a long way from Pueblo,” he said.

“Are you after my life story, Mr. Chisholm?”

“It’s Sloan, and I’m just trying to make conversation.”

“Then suppose you tell me what a rancher from Oklahoma was doing stopping in at that out-of-the-way place in New Mexico.” She would much rather hear about him than spout off the details of her life.

“Well, let’s see. Two days ago I stopped in for lunch on my way to return a horse to its owner.”

“And today?”

“Today I was on my way home again.”

Emily eyed him carefully. “And you just happened to get there in time for lunch again?”

He shrugged. “What can I say? It must have been fate.”

Emily didn’t know quite what to make of this man. “Why did you come back?”

“I liked the company, the service, and, much as I hate to admit it now that I’ve met the cook, I liked the food. I don’t suppose you can make a chicken

fried steak like that, can you?”

“Is cooking part of my job?”

“Yeah. Is that a problem?”

“For how many?”

“My grandmother, my two brothers and me. And you and the girls, of course.”

“You don’t have any, what would you call them, cowhands?”

“Sometimes, but they bring their lunch with them. They don’t live on the ranch. You didn’t answer my question.”

“What was the question?”

“The chicken fry?”

Emily laughed. “If you want your arteries hardened, I can accommodate you.”

“You,” he said with a smile, “are an angel.”

In the back seat Janie and Libby held hands, crossed their fingers and tried not to giggle too much. But holding back their excitement was next to impossible. They were going to Mr. Sloan’s ranch! Of all the men they had surveyed at the café, Mr. Sloan was by far the best daddy candidate ever, and both girls wanted a new daddy.

Libby had been four when their daddy died. She had two memories of him. The oldest was naturally the most vague, that of a strong, warm pair of arms lifting her high in the air until she squealed with delight. It seemed so wrong to her that the laughing strong man had one day become the pale, thin stranger in that scary hospital bed, but Mommy said it was Daddy, so it must have been true.

Libby’s only other memory of her father wasn’t really of him, but of her mother standing before a shiny metal, flower-covered casket next to a big hole in the ground. Mommy had been crying that day. Libby didn’t like to think of it because it made her sad.

She wanted a new daddy, one who could lift her in the air and make her squeal with delight again. One who could make Janie not be so serious all the time. One who could make her mommy smile and laugh the way Janie said she used to.

They made Amarillo by late afternoon. In the back seat the girls had been nodding off for the past hour. Sloan decided it was time to stop for the night. They would get a good meal, a comfortable night’s sleep, and make the Cherokee Rose by early the next afternoon. He found a clean-looking Best Western with a twenty-four-hour restaurant next door and ample room for him to park without having to unhitch the car from his bumper.

Sloan booked one room for Emily and her daughters, and another for himself. Once in his own room he immediately called home. Justin answered.

“I need a favor,” Sloan said.

“Hello to you, too,” Justin said. “Where are you?”

“Amarillo. I need you to do something.”

“So you’ll be home later tonight?”

“Uh, no. I’m staying here tonight.”

“You becoming a man of leisure? Since when do you get four hours from home and stop for the night when it’s not even dark yet?”

“Since I’ve got passengers.”

“Passengers? You’re bringing the mare back? What happened?”

Sloan heaved a sigh. Justin was hell to talk to on the phone. His mind was always on ten different things at once. It was easier to get his attention if you stood in front of him and got in his face.

“No,” Sloan told him, “it’s not the mare. She’s home where she belongs, as mannerly as a charm-school graduate, thanks to Caleb’s training. Now, are you paying attention?”

“Caleb’s training? What was I doing, standing around with my thumb up my—”

“All right, you helped. Now would you just listen, for once?”

“Okay,” Justin said with a laugh. “I’m listening.”

“I met this woman.”

“Hallelujah!”

“No, damn it, it’s not like that. She and her girls ended up in a tight spot and I’m just helping them out.”

“Ah,” Justin said.

“Ah? What do you mean by that?”

“Nothing,” Justin insisted a little too casually. “Nothing at all. It’s just you, playing white knight and rescuing another damsel in distress. I suppose she’s pretty.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Ha! I’m right, aren’t I? She’s— Wait a minute, did you say her girls?”

“Daughters. Two of them. Are you through jumping to conclusions? I need you to go to town this evening and pay Earline a visit.”

“Earline? What for? She was just here.”

“I want you to send her on a vacation. Her and Jeff. A paid vacation. Two, no, three weeks. They’ve been wanting to take their grandkids to Disney World. Now’s the time.”

Nothing but the echo of silence came over the phone line for a long minute. Then, “You want me to what?”

“You heard me. I promised Emily a job, and I told her Caleb would fix her car. She was really up against it, Justin. What else could I do?”

Justin asked slowly, “Do you know what you’re doing?”

“I’m just helping out a woman in need.”

“I was afraid you were going to say that.”

“O ye of little faith,” Sloan said. “Just because I’m helping her out doesn’t mean I’m going to fall for her. She’s only staying long enough to get her car fixed.”

Justin’s only response was a low hum of doubt.

In the room next to Sloan’s another phone conversation was taking place as Emily spoke first to Sandra back at the motel at The Corner to assure her that Sloan hadn’t murdered them all and dumped their bodies in a ditch, then to her cousin Brenda in Fort Smith.

“I didn’t have much of a choice,” she told Brenda.

“So you hopped into the car with a total stranger?” Brenda shrieked. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Probably.”

“There’s no probably to it.” Brenda’s voice raised another octave. If it got much higher, glass was going to shatter. “You’re not seriously going home with the man. Tell me you’re not that stupid.”

Emily sighed. “I thought in the morning I’d take a cab to the bus station. I’ve got enough money to get us to Fort Smith, but it means leaving my car. I don’t know how I’ll replace it.”

“Oh, Em. I don’t know what to tell you. You know I’d help if I could, but with this damn three-year drought, Tommy says we’re not going to have enough of a crop to make our balloon payment on the land this fall.”

“I know, Brenda. I don’t expect you to bail me out of this mess. Maybe I should take Sloan up on his job at the Cherokee Rose.”

“What’s the Cherokee Rose?”

“It’s his ranch in Oklahoma.”

“Hey, Tommy,” Brenda called to her husband. “You ever hear of a ranch in Oklahoma called the Cherokee Rose?”

There was a lot of mumbling in the background and a muffled squeaking sound as Brenda put her hand over the phone. Then Tommy came on the line.

“What’s this guy’s name?” he asked.

“Sloan,” Emily told him. “Sloan Chisholm.”

“Sloan Chisholm of the Cherokee Rose in Oklahoma.”

“That’s right.”

“You’re sure?”

“Well, I saw his driver’s license and his Web site, and Cherokee Rose is painted on the door of his pickup.”

“Honey,” Tommy said, “you couldn’t be in safer hands.”

Emily’s heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean?”

“Everybody who’s anybody in the horse or cattle business in five states or more has heard of the Chis-holms and the Cherokee Rose.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re good people. Their horses and cattle are always the best. Rose Chisholm is like a legend. There won’t be any funny business going on under her roof.”

“Straitlaced, is she?”

“No, I don’t mean that,” Tommy said. “It’s just that she’s a nice lady and everybody likes her, respects her, trusts her. If you ask me, you’d be better off working on the Cherokee Rose than staying in Amarillo to get your car fixed.”

Emily’s head reeled from all Tommy told her. She had pretty much made up her mind to abandon her car and take the bus to Fort Smith. She hadn’t wanted to, but it seemed to be the more prudent of her options.

Now, accompanying Sloan to his ranch, working there, didn’t seem so outrageous. Not outrageous at all, if she believed Tommy.

In the bed nearest the window, Janie lay curled against her little sister with her back to the room. She was supposed to be asleep, but her mother’s voice, as she spoke on the phone, had wakened her. Now Janie squeezed her eyes shut tight and crossed her fingers.

Please, Mother, please don’t take us to the bus. Please let us go with Mr. Sloan to his ranch.

Janie didn’t know if she had ever wanted anything so much in her entire life as she wanted this. Except for her daddy to get well. But that hadn’t happened. Her daddy had died. Nothing had been the same since. They needed a new daddy.

Not that Mother didn’t take good care of them. She took great care of them. They didn’t go hungry or barefoot, like poor little kids on TV. But when Mother laughed, which wasn’t often, her eyes didn’t mean it, not the way they used to.

Janie and Libby had surveyed every man who came into the café whom they thought might make a good daddy. Janie had learned about surveys at school, so she knew how to do it. But only one man had seemed right for them, and that was Mr. Sloan.

As her mother spoke with Cousin Brenda and Cousin Tommy, Janie squeezed her eyes even tighter and prayed as hard as she had ever prayed in her young life. Please let us go with Mr. Sloan. Please let us go with Mr. Sloan. Please let him be our new daddy, and let him be a good one and make Mother laugh again.

Chapter Three

Janie’s wish, at least the first part of it, came true the next morning as they loaded up into Mr. Sloan’s pickup and headed for Oklahoma and the Cherokee Rose. Her grin was so wide, it made her cheeks hurt, but she didn’t care. Libby’s was just as big.

“What are you two so happy about this morning?” Emily asked from the front seat.

The girls just giggled and said, “Nothing.”

Emily faced forward again and stared at the miles of Interstate 40 ahead of them. And worried. They seemed so eager to go with Sloan. She didn’t understand why. They had never taken to strangers much before.

Oh, sure, Libby didn’t really know a stranger. Everyone ate out of the palm of her tiny hand. Janie was more reserved, especially during these past two years since their father died. But it worried Emily that they seemed to be so eager to be with Sloan. They would only be at his ranch for as long as it took her to earn enough to get her car fixed. She didn’t want them getting too attached to the man.

She still wasn’t certain she’d made the right decision in coming with him, despite Tommy’s glowing recommendation. She wasn’t sure if she was sitting in the front seat of this Cherokee Rose pickup because Tommy said she should, or because, despite herself, she really wanted to be here.

A sobering thought. That she might want to take off with a stranger. Her? Ordinary Emily Nelson? Having an adventure?

Who would have thought it?

“You want to let me in on it?”

At the sound of Sloan’s voice Emily gave a start. “Pardon? Let you in on what?”

“On whatever is so amusing,” he said. “You’re smiling like you just heard a good joke.”

Emily chuckled. “The joke must be on me. I was just thinking how crazy this is, the three of us hopping into your pickup and taking off with you.”

“Hey, you’re safe with me.”

She looked over at him. “Now there’s the really crazy part. I actually believe you.”

They reached the turnoff to the Cherokee Rose at two o’clock that afternoon. Sloan had thought to be there by noon, but he hadn’t counted on how long it took for three females to get ready in the morning. By the time they’d had breakfast at the restaurant next to the motel, then loaded everyone up, it had been after nine.

But he wasn’t complaining, not when he looked at the three females in question. Every one of them adorable.

“Is the ranch named after your grandmother?” Emily asked, nodding toward the sign ahead that arched over the gravel road.

“Other way around,” he said.

“She was named after the ranch?”

“That’s right. She was born here.”

“Look,” Janie cried from the back seat. “Are those Cherokee Roses?” She was pointing at the sign.

Sloan pulled up before the sign and stopped. “That’s right,” he said.

Emily hadn’t paid much attention to anything other than the words on the sign. Now she looked more closely. On the left there appeared to be a clump of red rocks—actual, small rocks, not merely a picture or painting—shaped like roses. On the right, white roses were painted.

“Which ones are the Cherokee Roses?” she asked.

“All of them,” Sloan replied.

Janie leaned forward as far as her shoulder strap would let her. “The rocks are roses? Are they petrified?”

“Why would rocks be scared?” Libby wanted to know.

“Not scared,” Janie said. “Old. So old they turn into rocks.”

“Golly. Is that true, Mr. Sloan?”

Sloan couldn’t help but smile. These girls could come up with the darnedest things. “It’s true that petrified can mean old enough to turn into rocks, but that’s not where these rocks came from. These rocks came from tears.”

Janie frowned. “How can that be?”

Sloan glanced at her in his rearview mirror. “Did you ever hear of the Trail of Tears?”

The girls shook their heads, but Emily said, “I have, but I don’t remember much about it.”

“My grandmother can tell you all about it.” Sloan didn’t talk much about Nunna dual Tsuny, “The Trail Where They Cried.” His grandmother made her peace with that portion of the Cherokee past long ago. For the most part, so had Sloan. But his was a fragile peace. If he thought too much about the cheating and lies that sent his Cherokee ancestors walking more than a thousand miles from Georgia to what is now Oklahoma, he sometimes became swamped with anger and sadness. Not to mention irony, since half his ancestors made the walk, while the other half—the white half—essentially prodded them along every step of the way.

But he couldn’t leave the girls hanging, and the flowers and the rose rocks were things he could easily speak of. “A long time ago—”

“How long?” Janie wanted to know.

“Hmm. Well, let’s see. It was 1838, so that’s about a hundred and sixty-five years ago. That’s when seven clans of the Cherokee nation were forced to walk from Georgia all the way to Oklahoma.”

“Is that far?” Libby asked.

“It’s real far,” Sloan told her. “It took months to walk that far. It was a terrible trip.”

“It must have been horrible,” Emily said.

“And that’s putting it mildly,” Sloan said. “A lot of people died along the way. It’s said that the mothers of the tribe were so sad over losing their children, their families, their friends, that the chiefs prayed for something to make them happy and strong enough to care for the children who still lived. From that day on, everywhere a mother’s tear fell, a white rose bloomed.”

Janie’s eyes widened. “Truly?”

“Truly,” Sloan said. “It’s that white flower painted on the right end of the sign there. It’s called a Cherokee Rose, and it’s now the state flower of Georgia. It grows wild all along the trail the Cherokee walked.”

“Golly,” Libby whispered.

“But what about the rocks?” Janie asked. “You said they were Cherokee Roses.”

“I sure did. When the Cherokee finally made it to the end of the journey, right here in this part of Oklahoma, God decided to honor them for their courage. Whenever a drop of blood or a tear fell from a Cherokee, it turned into a small stone in the shape of a rose. So the red rose rocks are also called Cherokee Roses.”

“Golly,” Libby whispered again.

Sloan smiled. He put the pickup in gear and drove under the sign.

“But wait,” Emily said. “Are you sure your grandmother isn’t named Cherokee Rose? Is she named for the flower, or the rock?” Her lips twitched.

Sloan chuckled. “She looks as delicate as a flower, but she’s strong as a rock. But she’s not named for either. As I said earlier, she’s named for the ranch. She was born here.”

A few moments later they pulled up before a large white house with dark green shutters. Sloan’s description of his grandmother, Emily thought, had been accurate. The woman standing on the porch appeared as delicate as a rose. Until you looked into her dark brown eyes. Those eyes didn’t give away much about the woman. All Emily saw there was a mild curiosity, presumably for her and her daughters, and an inner strength that was more felt than seen.

Once again Emily questioned her decision to accept Sloan’s job offer. Cherokee Rose Chisholm might want help around the house, but would she want a stranger her grandson had dragged home? A stranger with two little girls who were bound to be underfoot more often than not?

Emily squared her shoulders. She would simply have to make certain that Cherokee Rose Chisholm found no cause to regret her grandson’s hiring of her as their housekeeper.

By the time she had helped the girls gather their toys and stuff them into the mesh bags they used to keep from scattering everything all over the car, Sloan had climbed out of the pickup and rounded the hood to open the door for her. When he held out his hand, she paused.

“Welcome to the Cherokee Rose,” he offered.

Emily summoned up a smile and what nerve she could. “Thank you.” She accepted his hand and stepped down from the pickup.

It had been a long, long time since a man had opened a door for her and extended a helping hand. The only times Michael had ever done so had been when they had both been dressed up for a special night out.

Not that Michael wasn’t a gentleman, because he was. But the two of them had grown up together, and he had known, always, that she was more than capable of opening her own door and getting herself in and out of a vehicle. She had made sure he’d known it, because, frankly, she didn’t care for all that hovering. She’d always secretly thought that men did that sort of thing to convince women they were helpless and incompetent without some big he-man to take care of them and open all those big, heavy, complicated doors.

She refrained from rolling her eyes at the thought. Such a gesture would be rude, when Sloan was only acting the gentleman.

Once she stood safely on the gravel driveway he opened the back door of the cab for the girls and made an elaborate flourish. “Ladies, may I help you from your carriage?”

Janie frowned. “Carriage?”

Behind her Libby giggled. She gave her sister a shove. “He’s playing make-believe, silly. He means the pickup.”

“I know that.”

“Come on,” Sloan urged. “Come meet my family.”

Two men had joined the woman on the porch and stood one on each side of her. These, Emily realized, must be Sloan’s brothers. She would have said that they dwarfed the woman they flanked; her head barely reached their shoulders. But their sheer size did nothing to diminish Cherokee Rose Chisholm’s presence. Delicate she may appear, but fragile she was not.

The four Chisholms had the same golden, coppery skin, dark brown eyes filled with intelligence, but Mrs. Chisholm’s nearly black hair was laced with gray. Not as much as one might expect on someone her age. Emily had caught a glimpse of Sloan’s driver’s license back at The Corner and knew he was thirty-five. That meant his grandmother had to be around seventy or older. She didn’t look it. The lines on her face were few, mostly around her eyes, and her bearing was that of a young woman.

Sloan ushered Janie and Libby up onto the porch. “Grandmother, meet Janie and Libby Nelson, and their mother,” he added, nodding for Emily to join them. “Emily, our new housekeeper.”

“Welcome to the Cherokee Rose,” his grandmother offered.

“Thank you, Mrs. Chisholm.” Emily extended her hand toward the woman.

“It’s Rose,” the woman said, shaking Emily’s hand. “And these two,” she added, indicating the two men beside her, “are my other grandsons. Caleb, and Justin, our baby.” Her lips quirked.

Justin gave a good-natured roll of his eyes.

Libby stepped up and tugged on his hand.

“Hi, there.” He squatted down to her level.

“They call me the baby, too,” she whispered loudly. “It’s okay, they don’t mean they really think you’re a baby, only that you’re the youngest.”

“Ah.” Justin grinned at her. “I guess we should let them get away with it, huh?” His whisper was no more quiet than hers. Everyone heard, everyone swallowed a chuckle.

“It makes them feel better,” Libby told him with a big smile.

“That does it.” Justin tweaked Libby’s nose. “I’m in love. I’m keepin’ her.”

“Now, hold on,” Sloan protested. “I saw her first. I saw all three of them first, so mind your manners, kid.”

Libby looked up at Sloan wide-eyed. “Does that mean you’re keeping us, Mr. Sloan?”

Emily ran her tongue across her teeth, wondering how Sloan was going to get himself out of this one. Libby could trap the most wary of creatures.

“Well, for a while, at least,” he told Libby. “And it means that this one,” he said, jabbing a thumb toward Justin, “is generally full of hot air. He likes to run off at the mouth, so don’t pay a lot of attention to him. He’s a great big flirt, that’s what he is.”

Before Justin could defend himself, Rose ushered Emily and the girls into the house. “You boys bring in the ladies’ luggage, now. No sense keeping them standing out here in the heat.”

It was a large house with airy rooms that looked comfortable and lived in. The living room was huge. Emily’s last apartment would almost fit within its spacious walls. At the near end three recliners and a sofa were arranged around a big-screen television. At the far end, in one corner, two wing chairs faced a rock fireplace, while a small office occupied the other corner. A desk, file cabinet and worktable, complete with computer, printer and fax machine, fit neatly beneath the staircase leading to the second floor.

Area rugs over a gleaming pine floor spoke of years of loving care. The room was not messy, but not intimidatingly neat, thank God, Emily thought.

Well, not messy if no one counted the pair of dirty socks beside one of the roomy recliners. Emily bit back a smile. She was going to feel comfortable here.

Rose shook her head at the socks and tsked. “Those boys.” But she made no move to pick up the socks. “Here’s your first household rule,” she said to Emily. “If a man wants his clothes washed, he has to put them in the hamper upstairs or the basket in front of the washer out on the utility porch himself. Socks left on the floor get left on the floor until someone gets tired of looking at them, or until the smell overcomes us. Then they get tossed in the trash. No warning, no second chance. Just tossed.”

Emily smiled. “Sounds like a good rule to me. Do many socks get tossed in the trash?”

“Now and then,” Rose said with a deadpan look. “But not lately. They may be planning to test you. Don’t fall for their tricks or they’ll have you waiting on them hand and foot. They’re not spoiled, but they’d like to be.”

“I see.” Emily smiled. “In other words, typical men.”

“Typical Chisholms, at least.”

Rose led her past the staircase that led to the second floor and said they would get to that later. “Tomorrow is soon enough. You’ll want to get settled in and freshened up.”

“Oh, but I don’t mind starting to work right away.”

“We’ll see,” was all Rose said. She led Emily and the girls through a huge kitchen with a long dining table surrounded by eight chairs. Off the kitchen, through the back door, was the utility porch. The washer and dryer sat to one side, a large chest-style freezer hugged one wall, with pegs and hooks for hats and jackets and such on the other, and at the far end there was a bathroom, complete with a large shower stall. There was a closet next to the bathroom and a long row of cabinets.

“This is where we wash up when we come in from working outdoors. That way we don’t have to traipse

dirt all over the house.”

“That should make my job easier,” Emily said.

“That was the idea when we built it, but I don’t know how much easier it makes things. Here,” she added pulling open a drawer, “you’ll find any tools you might need, although I doubt you’ll need any. And in the cabinet we keep things like lightbulbs, washers for faucets, entire faucets, light switches, that sort of thing.”

“You believe in being prepared,” Emily said.

Rose closed the drawer and said, “We’re more than a half hour from town. Sometimes it’s not convenient to drive that far to fix a leaky faucet.”

Back in the kitchen, Rose ushered Emily and the girls down a short hallway to a bedroom and bath. “Here’s where you’ll sleep. I hope you find everything you need.”

The room was just large enough to accommodate a double bed on one wall, a set of bunk beds opposite, with a chest of drawers between and a small closet across from it. Nothing fancy, but clean and neat and welcoming, with the nice surprise of a small television on top of the chest.

“Oh, yes, ma’am.” Emily’s smile stretched wide. “I’m sure we will. It looks perfect. Thank you.”

Rose hoped that smile meant well for the next week or two, or however long her eldest grandson meant for Emily and her daughters to stay. Sloan had never brought a woman to stay in the house before—not even under the guise of housekeeper.

Housekeeper, ha! That boy…

She wondered what he was up to. According to Justin, Emily Nelson had gotten herself into some kind of trouble and, by bringing her here to work until her car was fixed, Sloan was merely helping her out. But was there more to it than that? Her Sloan had a huge heart that was as soft as whipped cream. And no racehorse on the track ever wore a thicker set of blinders than did Sloan when it came to women.

But Rose would reserve judgment on this Emily Nelson. It was possible that the young woman was as sweet and sincere as she appeared to be. It would be a first for Sloan, to find a woman like that, even by accident. But it was possible.

And if Emily wasn’t what she seemed… well, Rose would hold her judgment and see what there was to see. Maybe the wariness she felt was uncalled for. Maybe this was the woman meant to ease her eldest grandson’s lonely heart.

Time, and a discreet eye, would tell.

It didn’t take long for Emily and the girls to settle into their new room after Sloan and his brothers brought their luggage. Afterward, Sloan took them on a tour of the area around the house. There was so much to see, the girls were wide-eyed and practically dancing with excitement.

The backyard was small and fenced, with a pair of oak trees near the house. Beside the yard a large fenced garden stretched out in neat rows including tomatoes, okra, squash, green beans, corn and watermelon.

“Have you ever grown vegetables?” Sloan asked her.

“For years, until Michael got sick. I miss it.”

“Well, miss it no more,” he said. “Grandmother will appreciate any help you can give her. Like I said, she’d rather be on horseback, and it’s kinda hard to pick beans from the saddle.”

“Yes, I think it would be,” Emily said, her tongue planted firmly in her cheek.

Sloan laughed. The more he was around Emily, the more he liked her. As long as it didn’t go beyond that, everything would be fine. After all, she was on her way to Fort Smith. She was only here until she could pay for repairs to her car.

He showed her and her daughters the old wooden swing hung from a cottonwood branch down by the creek fifty yards behind the house and got a kick out of the girls’ excitement.

While Sloan enjoyed the girls’ excitement, Emily did not. She eyed the steep banks of the creek, the five-foot drop to six inches of rock-strewn water, and firmed her mouth.

“You’re not to come down here without me,” she told her daughters.

“But, Mother,” Janie protested. “Why not?”

Sloan raised his eyebrows but refrained from speaking.

Smart man, Emily thought. “Because it’s dangerous,” she said to Janie. “You don’t come here without me. Either of you. Do you understand?”

“Can we play now?” Libby asked, looking longingly at the old swing.

“Maybe later this evening. But first we have to see what else Mr. Sloan has to show us, okay?”

“Will you show us the kittens?” Libby asked Sloan.

“Sure.” He pointed up in the cottonwood. “There’s two of them right there.”

Libby and Janie looked up and gasped. Two gangly, half-grown kittens, one calico, one tabby, peered down from their shared branch ten feet in the air.

“Oh,” the girls said in unison.

Libby jumped up and down and pointed. “Look at them! Look, Mommy, kitties!”

“Will they come down?” Janie craned her neck to watch the cats. “Here kitty, kitty.”

Her daughters’ excitement nearly broke Emily’s heart. She so wanted them to have pets, but since Michael’s death they’d been living in a small apartment, and she hadn’t thought it fair to a dog or cat to keep it cooped up indoors all the time, and she simply hadn’t had the heart or energy to care for even so much as a goldfish.

When they got settled in Fort Smith, she vowed, each of her daughters would have a pet.

“They’re a little skittish,” Sloan said in answer to Janie’s question. “They’re not really pets, they’re working cats.”

Libby scrunched up her face. “Huh?”

“What kind of work can kittens do?” Janie asked.

“They catch mice. That’s their job. Out here in the country like we are, we’d be overrun with mice and rats if it wasn’t for the cats.”

Emily was grateful that he didn’t give the girls too much time to think about the subject of mice and rats before he led them away from the kittens, the tree with its swing, and the creek that made Emily nervous.

“Come on,” he said. “I’ll show you the barn, where they live.”

On the way to the barn they passed a chicken house and three tool-and-equipment sheds. One shed, about the size of a two-car garage, had its double doors wide open. Her car sat inside, its grill facing out.

“Caleb will take a good look at it this evening after supper,” Sloan told her.

“Oh. I didn’t expect such quick service.”

“It won’t be that quick,” he warned. “He’ll only be able to work on it in the evenings.”

“You won’t hear me complain,” Emily said.

They turned away from the shed and headed for the huge barn, which appeared to be the center of things, with all the other buildings, including the house, spread out in a semicircle around it. Corrals angled out from either side. A handful of horses milled around in one, a half-dozen cows in the other. Janie and Libby stared wide-eyed at the huge animals. They were city girls and had never been up close and personal with anything larger than a big dog.

“Wow,” Janie whispered as they stopped at the fence holding the horses. “They’re so pretty.”

“They’re so big,” Libby said.

Sloan chuckled. “They sure are. You see this fence?” He propped one boot on the bottom rail of the corral fence.

“Yes, sir,” the girls said in unison.

“This fence works two ways. It keeps the horses in, and it keeps people out. You two have to promise me that you won’t even put your hand through the fence, not to mention any other part of your body.”

“He means we can’t go in there,” Janie said to Libby.

Libby made a face at her sister. “I know that.”

“That’s exactly what I mean. You can’t even climb onto the fence to get a closer look. Janie’s right, those are some of the prettiest horses you’ll ever see. But Libby’s right, too. They’re big. They could hurt you real, real bad without even meaning to. So you have to promise.”

“Yes, sir,” they said again.

“The same goes for the cattle in the other corral, only they’re not nearly as polite as the horses. They’re not pets, just big, ornery animals. You want to stay away from them, too. In fact, I want your word that you won’t climb the fences or go into the corrals even if they’re empty.”

“How come?”

Leave it to Libby, Emily thought. She would stay away from the animals because Sloan told her to; she was a good girl. But exploring an empty corral would seem like a perfectly logical thing to do in her adventurous little mind.

“Because he said so,” Emily told her.

“Oh.”

Sloan chuckled. “Actually, I have a good reason for saying so. You see those doors in the side of the barn?” He pointed to the row of openings that allowed the animals to come and go between the barn and the corral. “The corral might look empty, but if there are horses inside the barn where you can’t see them, they could come out and surprise you. It would surprise them, too, and you could get hurt before you could get back on the outside of the fence. So I’ll take your word, all right?”

“Yes, sir,” Libby said with as much enthusiasm as she might have if he’d told her she had to scrub the floor with the tip of her nose.

“Janie?” Emily prodded.

“Yes, sir,” she said. “I promise. We won’t go in the corrals, not ever, unless you say we can.”

“Good enough.”

Rose had said that the next day would be soon enough for Emily to start her duties, but Emily could not stand back and do nothing while the older woman put a meal on the table. She sent the girls to their room to watch television and pitched in to help in the kitchen.

“There’s no need to make them stay in their room,” Rose said. “They would probably much rather watch the big screen in the living room.”

“Oh, no,” Emily protested. “That’s for your family. They’re fine in the bedroom.”

“Nonsense. While they’re on this ranch, they’re family, too. Besides, the big-screen is hooked up to the satellite dish. The little one in the bedroom isn’t.”

Emily had not expected such generosity from an employer. It made her feel a little less of an outsider, and she appreciated it. The girls would get a real kick out of watching a big screen TV, and they would be more likely to find something appropriate to watch on satellite than regular television, particularly at this time of evening. “Thank you,” she said to Rose.

The girls took the news with excitement. Even steady, sober Janie grew animated when their favorite cartoon characters appeared before them in huge, brilliant color.

While the two girls stared in awe at the big screen, Emily followed Rose back to the kitchen.

The two women made a good team as they put together a huge pan of lasagna and got it in the oven. While it baked Rose pulled a bowl of green beans, which she said she had snapped earlier in the day, from the refrigerator. Emily took out the ingredients for a tossed salad.

“Oh, these are beautiful.” She palmed two large, ruby-red tomatoes. “Are they from your garden?”

“Yes.”

“And the green beans?”

“They’re ours. We’ve had a good year. Do you garden?”

“I used to. I miss it. I hope you won’t turn down my help out there.”

“Ha! You do as much out there as you want to and I won’t shed a tear. There’s a small garden shed behind the house. You’ll find everything you need there.”

Emily smiled. “Maybe after dinner I’ll go take a look, in the shed and the garden.”

Rose turned on the water at the sink and washed her hands. “If you’re half as eager to do housework as you are to garden, I’m going to like having you around.”

“Oh, I love to take care of a home. You tell me what you want done, and I’ll do it. If something’s not the way you like it, just say so and I’ll do my best to fix it.”

“Fair enough,” Rose said. “We’ll go over everything after we get the boys fed up.”

As if on cue, the outside door to the utility porch banged open and heavy boot steps thudded on the porch floor. A moment later the kitchen door swung open.

Emily turned and saw all three Chisholm brothers peering in from the porch. She had a smile for each of them, but her gaze lingered on Sloan. Perhaps because his seemed to linger on her.

“Wash up,” Rose told them. “Supper will be on the table in ten minutes.”

Sloan was used to seeing his grandmother in the kitchen at the end of the day. If he came in early enough, Earline would be there, too. Seeing two women doing the dance required to put food on the table shouldn’t surprise him.

But Earline was sixty-one and, Lord love her, looked like she’d been rode hard and put up wet a few times too many. She’d had a hard life, and it showed in the deep lines on her face.

Sloan was not used to stepping into his own kitchen and seeing a lovely young woman with a million-watt smile just for him, and eyes as blue as a clear summer sky. Kinda did something to a guy’s chest. Made it tight and loose at the same time. Made it swell.

“Hi.” Which was about all he could manage out of the confusion of pleasure in his brain.

But her smile widened. Just for him. “Hi.”

“Well, if this isn’t a sight for sore eyes.” A grinning Justin slapped his hat against his knee and maneuvered himself in front of Sloan. “Two beautiful women, waiting just for us.”

“Don’t be fooled by him,” Rose warned Emily. “If you’ll notice, he’s looking at the oven, wondering what’s in there.”

Justin placed a hand over his heart. “You wound me, Grandmother. Besides,” he added with a wink. “I know what’s in there. It’s lasagna. I can smell it. Oh, boy, I can’t wait. I’m starved.”

“Wash,” Rose ordered.

“Yes, ma’am.” Justin gave his grandmother a wink and turned away toward the porch bathroom.

“And take off those boots,” Rose added.

The door to the kitchen swung nearly shut. Boot steps clomped around on the porch, shuffled, then were replaced by the softer thud of stockinged feet.

As Sloan took his turn at the bootjack on the porch, he hoped his brothers weren’t experiencing the same fantasies that whirled through his mind. If they were, he just might have to kill them. He should probably kick his own butt for the images he was seeing, but it wasn’t as if he was deliberately imagining Emily greeting him in the kitchen wearing nothing more than an apron and a smile. The pictures more or less just popped into his head all on their own. What was a man to do?

Then again, he supposed if he swept her up in his arms and carried her to bed, which was what he was seeing himself do in his fantasy, she might just use that butcher knife on him.

He couldn’t say he would blame her. They hadn’t done more than shake hands—in fact, they hadn’t even had that much contact. And here he was imagining her giving herself willingly to him in the heat of passion.

Passion that was all in his mind.

Idiot.

An entirely different fantasy teased his mind a few minutes later, after he’d had his turn at the sink to wash up. When he crossed the kitchen and stepped into the living room, he was greeted by two blond-headed angels whose faces lit at the sight of him.

“Hi, Mr. Sloan!”

It struck him that a man would willingly die—or kill—to have his children look at him like that.

But they weren’t his children, these two beautiful babies. And the woman in the kitchen wasn’t his, either.

Hell, she wasn’t even wearing an apron. Just jeans and a knit top. If he had any sense, he’d be ashamed of himself for that sudden burst of lust that had hit him in the kitchen. She was a woman in a tough spot; he’d brought her here to help her out, not put the make on her.

Besides, he had a family. He had his brothers and his grandmother, he had this ranch. That was more than enough for any man. He was blessed.

If from time to time he wondered what it might be like to have a family of his own making, with a woman to stand beside him, children to raise and love, well, such a dream was normal, wasn’t it? And maybe someday it would be his.

But not this woman, not these children. They weren’t his. They were temporary, just on their way to the better life they had planned in Fort Smith.

“Did you come to watch TV with us?” Libby asked.

Time to change gears, Sloan told himself. He gave the girls a big smile, because they made him feel like smiling, despite the sudden hollow feeling in his gut.

“I came to tell you supper’s almost ready. Are your hands clean?”

Chapter Four

The next morning Emily started her new job in earnest. At exactly 6:30 a. m., the precise moment that all four Chisholms made their way to the kitchen, she put breakfast on the table. Scrambled eggs, a pile of sausage patties, hash browned potatoes, a giant stack of pancakes, a pitcher of orange juice, another of milk and a gallon of coffee.

Rose smiled. “I could get used to this.”

“Where are the girls?” Justin asked.

“Asleep,” Emily said. “It’s too early for them. I’ll fix them something later when they get up.”

The way everyone dug in to the food did Emily’s heart good. It had been a long time since she had cooked for anyone but herself and the girls. She liked seeing the fruits of her labor being so thoroughly enjoyed.

She did wonder, though, if something was wrong. Sloan seemed to be deliberately avoiding meeting her gaze.

Maybe he simply wasn’t a morning person. He didn’t seem to have much to say to anyone.

“Great breakfast,” Justin complimented.

“Thank you. Was it enough for everyone?” She couldn’t help but ask, since every bite and crumb and sip had disappeared in short order. “Do I need to make more tomorrow?”

“If you make more than this tomorrow,” Caleb, the quiet one, told her, “we’ll have to widen the doors just to get in and out of the house.”

“He doesn’t mean you should fix less,” Justin said hurriedly.

Sloan scooted his chair back from the table and cast her a quick glance, the first of the day. “This was just right.”

“You’re sure?” she asked. “I can take criticism, you know. But if I don’t know I’m doing something wrong, I can’t know what to change.”

Sloan looked surprised. “You haven’t done anything wrong. Like I said, this was just right.”

“Okay,” she said, still not certain. If there was nothing wrong with the breakfast she served, then why was he acting so strangely?

But then, she barely knew the man, she reminded herself. Maybe this silent, taciturn man was the real Sloan Chisholm. Or maybe he simply wasn’t a morning person, although he’d been cheerful enough the day before when they’d left Amarillo in his pickup.

She reminded herself that her job was not to discern this man’s moods, but to care for his home. She didn’t need his smiles and encouragement for that. Her instructions came from his grandmother. And Rose seemed more than satisfied with breakfast.

“Well, then,” Emily said as Rose and the men headed for the back door, “I’ll see you all at noon for lunch.”

Justin gave her a wink and put on his cowboy hat. “We won’t be late.”

The rest of Emily’s day seemed to fly by at breakneck speed. After getting the girls up and fed, she decided to start upstairs first. There were four bedrooms, three baths. They didn’t need as much attention as she thought they might. Someone had been keeping up with the cleaning. Still, there was more than enough for her to do.

The upstairs rooms spoke a great deal about the individuals who lived and slept in them. Rose’s room was lovely, with bold colors and lacy runners on the dresser and chest. Everything was as neat as a pin. Her bathroom was equally neat.

It appeared that Caleb and Justin shared the hall bath. It also appeared that someone tried to keep it neat and clean, but the other user wasn’t so particular. The tale was told in the bedrooms: Caleb’s was painfully neat, with nothing out of place. Justin’s, on the other hand, looked as if a tornado had swept through.

It was Sloan’s room that drew her attention, however. He had his own bathroom; it, along with his bedroom, fell somewhere in between Caleb’s neatness and Justin’s sloppiness. Sloan was not sloppy, not at all. But he was not uncomfortable leaving his razor and shaving cream beside the sink, or his towel hanging crookedly over the shower rod. An extra pair of boots and a pair of athletic shoes sat outside the closet, and three empty hangers lay on the dresser. All in all, not bad for a man, she thought. Neat, but lived-in.

She spent the morning changing sheets, gathering damp towels, scrubbing bathrooms, dusting, vacuuming. She lost count of the number of times she ran downstairs to change loads of laundry. And through it all, the girls “helped” her.

They helped her later that morning, too, when she put together a meatloaf for lunch. It only took her nearly twice as long to let them help her as it would have to do it herself, but to Emily, the time spent with them was worth any amount of extra work.

As with supper the night before, the girls were thrilled to join the family around the big table for lunch.

Sloan seemed genuinely glad to have them there. And he seemed more like the nice, fun man she had met in New Mexico. It was only after lunch, as he and his brothers and grandmother were leaving the house again, that Emily realized he hadn’t said a single word to her.

“What’s with you?” Justin asked.

Sloan would have ignored his youngest brother, but Justin, being Justin, got right in his face the minute they were in the barn, out of sight of the house. And his tone and his smile were just a little too casual to be real. Sloan knew he would regret asking, but failing to ask would get him nowhere.

“What are you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

Sloan was afraid he did.

“I’m talking about Emily. Yesterday you staked a claim on her and her girls right there on the front porch. Last night at supper, and again today, you barely even spoke to her or looked at her. What gives?”

Sloan wished he knew. “Nothing gives. You’re imagining things. I never staked a claim, as you put it.”

“No? Fine.” Justin grinned and settled his hat more firmly on his head. A sure sign he was getting ready to get in a good dig. “Then you won’t mind if I move in. She’s awfully pretty.”

Sloan wished he knew whether Justin was serious, or merely trying to get a rise out of him. Either way, what his little brother was suggesting was unacceptable. “No way,” he told Justin, shaking his head.

“Of course she’s pretty,” Justin protested. “With those big blue eyes, that slender neck, those legs that look a mile long, she’s the prettiest thing we’ve seen around here in a long time.”

Sloan was shaking his head again before Justin finished speaking. “You’ll get no argument out of me on that score. Of course she’s pretty.”

“Then what are you objecting to, big guy?”

“You, kid. What are we running here, a singles bar? She’s our housekeeper, for crying out loud. You can’t put the make on our housekeeper.”

“Earline’s our housekeeper—”

“Keep your voice down.” Sloan shot a look over his shoulder toward the house. Emily didn’t know they had a housekeeper; she thought she was it. He wasn’t going to have her finding out any different from his numbskull little brother.

“And I’m sure not wanting to put the make on Earline,” Justin continued. “Emily Nelson, now, is a different story.”

“You’ll show her the same respect you would Ear-line, or by God, I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” Justin taunted.

Taunted. He was pulling Sloan’s chain, and Sloan knew it. He just didn’t seem to be able to stop himself from reacting like a predictable idiot.

“The day when you can tell me what to do, big guy, is long gone.” Another taunt. This one a blatant dare. An invitation.

“Don’t count on it, kid.” They hadn’t had a decent wrestling match in months. Maybe pounding on Justin for a while would take his mind off wanting to do exactly what the kid had accused him of—stake his claim on Emily. Yeah, a nice little rumble was just what he needed. He always enjoyed taking the starch out of one brother or the other. Didn’t even mind much when it was him who ended up de-starched. It was the effort that counted. “You’re not too big yet for me to teach you some manners.”

“Oh ho!” Jason crowed.

Caleb stepped into the barn and chuckled. “Oh, goody. Can I watch?”

Sloan and Justin turned as one and spoke at the same time. “Butt out, yanasa.”

Yanasa was the Cherokee word for buffalo. They’d been calling Caleb that since childhood, because when he decided to get stubborn, he was about as movable as that big, hairy beast.

“What am I butting out of?”

“This one,” Justin said, sneering and jabbing a thumb toward Sloan, “doesn’t want the new housekeeper for himself—”

“Which would explain why he’s been ignoring her,” Caleb said.

Sloan snarled.

“But he seems to think I should keep my hands off, too,” Justin complained.

“You?” Caleb hooted. “What happened to that Harding gal in town? I thought you said you were in love. Or was that in lust?”

Justin made a face. “She dumped me. I’m heartbroken. I need a distraction.”

“There’s a nice little section of fence out along the highway that needs repair. That ought to be enough of a distraction, even for you,” Sloan said gruffly. “Emily’s off-limits. To all of us. She’s in a tight spot and we’re helping her out, that’s all. She’s got enough on her plate without having to worry about one of us coming on to her.”

“Ah.” Justin tucked his thumbs into his front pockets and rocked back on his boot heels like some drugstore cowboy.

“Ah, what?” Sloan snapped. This entire stupid conversation was playing havoc with his good humor.

“Ah,” Justin repeated. “As in, ah, I was right. You do want her for yourself.”

Sloan rolled his eyes. “Anybody ever tell you you have a one-track mind?”

“Who, me?”

“That girl in town probably thought so,” Caleb offered. “Bet that’s why she dumped him.”

“Go soak your head,” Justin grumbled.

“Go fix the fence,” Sloan said tersely. “Unless you’d rather wait until it falls, then spend the day chasing cattle up and down the highway.”

Justin’s face lit up like a kid who’d just been promised a treat. “You think they’d get out? Hot damn, that’d be fun, riding up and down the road, stopping traffic, chasing cows. A highway rodeo.”

Sloan and Caleb both groaned.

“Fix the damn fence.” This time, Sloan made it an order. As the oldest, and ranch manager, he got to do that now and then. Sometimes his brothers even did what he said.

An hour later Sloan was on his way to town to buy a fan belt for his grandmother’s Suburban, and he was feeling guilty as hell. Not about the fan belt, but about Emily. If both his brothers noticed that he’d been ignoring her during the few, short times the family had been together in the twenty-four hours Emily had been on the Cherokee Rose, then it stood to reason that Emily had noticed his behavior, too.

In fact, he was sure she had. That would explain the puzzled look he’d seen on her face the one time she’d caught him glancing over at her.

Well, hell. He’d probably gone and hurt her feelings. A tender little thing like Emily didn’t deserve that. He would have to make it up to her. Explain himself. Apologize.

But what was he supposed to give as an excuse?

“I couldn’t look at you because every time I did I had these really great fantasies….”

Nope. Wouldn’t do at all. She would either slap his face or lock herself in her room to get away from him.

Still, he was going to have to come up with something.

He slowed down to the speed zone at the edge of town. He had some time to think on it. He had a couple extra errands he could run while he was in town, then it was another forty-five minutes back to the ranch. Surely in that time he could figure out a way to explain himself and put her at ease.

Emily was finding tending the Chisholm house a true pleasure. It was a home to be proud of, a home for generations to be born, grow up, raise children of their own and grow old in, at ease in the knowledge that this home would stand the test of time. Love rang within these sturdy walls.

She and Michael had had a home filled with love. Oh, the fun they’d had when they were first married. The thrill as they were blessed with first one child, then another.

The heartache and devastation of Michael’s illness had tested their faith, their home. In the end, they had lost their home, sold to pay for medical bills. And still Michael had died.

Now here she was, trying to make her way to Fort Smith to build a new life for herself and her daughters. She waited for the black talons of terror to wrap themselves around her throat, the way they always did when fear of the future, doubts of her own abilities, seized her.

But the terror did not come. It was this house, she thought. There was too much love here. It wasn’t for her, but still, its warmth enfolded her and kept the terror at bay.

She checked the roast in the oven, determined that the first supper she served the Chisholms would be perfect. And if Sloan still refused to look at her, she would force herself to confront him and ask for an explanation. If she was doing something to displease him, she wanted to know. She might technically be working for his grandmother, but it was Sloan who had hired her and brought her here.

The roast looked and smelled wonderful. She had found it that morning in the big chest freezer on the utility porch. She assumed the dozens of packages of beef, all wrapped in white butcher paper and labeled by hand, were from Cherokee Rose cattle. They had enough meat in there to feed an army for a month.

But they were running low on other things, so she’d begun a list. After supper she would ask Rose about doing some shopping tomorrow.

She was going to be darned busy after supper, it seemed. Clean up the kitchen, confront Sloan, talk to Rose, and, before the sun went down, in the cool of the evening—if it ever got cool in the evenings in Oklahoma—she wanted to sink her hands into that rich, red soil in the garden. She was itching to play in the dirt. The girls could help her.

By the time the roast was ready to come out of the oven, she heard someone enter the utility porch. From all the stomping, it had to be one of the men. Rose might wear cowboy boots, but she had a quiet tread. Besides, she was already upstairs taking a shower.

Emily opened the oven just as someone came in from the porch. With an oven mitt on one hand and a thick pot holder in the other, she reached into the heat for the roasting pan.

“Here, I’ll get that.”

And before she could blink, she was pushed aside—gently, but definitely aside. She opened her mouth to protest, but by then it was too late. Sloan had taken her mitt and pad and was lifting the hot, heavy pan from the oven.

“This thing weighs more than you do. Where do you want it?”

Wary—this man rushing to her aid with such a thoughtful gesture was the same man who hadn’t spoken to her since he’d taken her and the girls on the tour yesterday afternoon—Emily motioned toward the stove top.

“There.” He set the pan down and smiled at her.

Emily’s heart lifted. He wasn’t upset with her, at least not anymore, if he had been. He had just gone out of his way to be nice to her. No way could he think she actually required help lifting a roast from the oven.

Her return smile was wide and genuine. “Thank you.”

He shrugged in an “Aw, shucks, ma’am” sort of way. “You might have burned yourself, or dropped it and splattered hot juice all over your…” His gaze trailed down past the hem of her shorts. “… legs.”

Emily felt the heat of his gaze as if the hot juice from the pan had, indeed, splashed against her. But it was not an unpleasant heat. Not in the least. It was, however, shocking. She couldn’t remember the last time her blood, her very skin, had heated at a mere look from a man.

Wow.

As the heat raced upward toward her face, she spun abruptly toward the sink and turned on the cold water. She thrust her wrists beneath the cold flow and hoped he couldn’t hear the sudden pounding of her heart.

The rushing sound of the water did nothing to calm her, but emphasized the speed at which her blood was racing through her veins.

From just a look? What was happening to her?

“Emily?” Concern filled his voice. “Are you all right?”

With a deep breath, she offered him what she hoped was a steady, friendly smile. “I’m fine.” He would be appalled if he knew the lonely widow he’d hired to keep house for his grandmother had a sudden case of the hots for him.

“You sure?” He took a step toward her. “You look a little flushed.”

Naturally, her cheeks heated even more. She could only imagine how bright a shade of red they were. “Really. I’m fine. It must just be the heat from the oven.”

At the reminder, he stepped back and blinked. The oven door still gaped wide open and three hundred-plus-degree air was filling the room. “Oh.” He shut the door.

“Thank you,” she said again, for lack of anything intelligent.

“Well, I’ll just, uh, go upstairs and tell Grandmother her truck is fixed.”

Emily turned off the water and reached for a hand towel. “She’ll be pleased.”

He stood there another long moment, during which Emily held her breath, hoping. That he would linger there in the kitchen? That he would smile at her again? That he would kiss her?

Before her cheeks could heat again at the thought, he finally turned and headed for the stairs.

Her hands didn’t stop shaking until dinner was on the table. Then they started trembling again, because he looked at her.

“Did you get the fence fixed?” Sloan’s words were for one of his brothers, but his gaze stayed locked on her.

Justin snickered. “Was Emily going to fix the fence?”

Libby evidently thought the idea of her mother fixing a fence was funny. She giggled. Even Janie laughed.

Sloan blinked and frowned at Justin. “Emily? I was talking to you, numbskull.”

This set the girls off again.

Emily frowned. “No name-calling at the table, please.”

The instant the words were out of her mouth, she wanted them back. Her hand flew to her lips. “I’m sorry.” She was an employee here, nothing more. What right did she have spouting rules? “You all make me feel so at home, I forget, sometimes, that… Well, you know what I mean. I didn’t mean to overstep.” “Nonsense,” Rose said, smiling. “You’re absolutely right. There should be no name-calling at the table. Or anywhere else, for that matter. Especially around the girls. Maybe the three of you will have a civilizing influence on my grandsons.”

“Civilizing?” In mock outrage, Justin placed his hand over his heart. “We’re the most civilized grandsons you’ve got.”

“A bunch of wild Indians is more like it,” Rose said, one corner of her mouth twitching.

Libby and Janie covered their mouths and giggled even harder.

“Tsk, tsk, Grandmother.” Sloan’s lips twitched. “No name-calling.”

There was no chance now that the girls would stop laughing anytime soon. Emily couldn’t help but join in this time.

“Besides,” Caleb added, “you know good and well that the Cherokee were civilized long before the white man ever came to this country. After all, we’re not one of the Five Civilized Tribes for nothing.”

Rose rolled her eyes and shot a look of helplessness at Emily. “You see what an old woman has to put up with in her own home? It’s a disgrace, that’s what it is. Such disrespect for an elder.”

“Oh, no, Miss Rose.” Janie’s laughter disappeared and she spoke earnestly. “They don’t disrespect you, they only tease you because they love you so much. Isn’t that right?” The latter she directed at the brothers.

Emily pursed her lips to keep from grinning. Gotcha, she thought. Now the three grown men were going to have to openly admit how much they loved their grandmother.

The Chisholm brothers took Janie’s words with good grace and smiled.

“Of course that’s right,” Sloan told Janie. To his grandmother he said, “We only pick on you because we love you so much.”

“Then perhaps,” Rose said, “I should wish you didn’t love me quite so much. Please pass the potatoes.”

“I forgot to ask,” Sloan said. “Anybody hear from Mel while I was gone to New Mexico?”

“I saw her in town,” Justin said.

“Melanie Pruitt is our nearest neighbor,” Rose explained to Emily. “She’s like a little sister to these boys.”

“Men, Grandmother,” Justin said. “I keep trying to tell you, we’re men.”

Rose nodded gravely while her eyes laughed. “I stand corrected.”

“Is she still dating that guy from Oklahoma City?” Caleb asked.

“Who,” Justin said. “Grandmother?”

Caleb smirked. “Melanie.”

“Oh.” Justin shrugged. “She didn’t say.”

A loud clap of thunder punctuated Justin’s statement.

Emily had been unaware that outside the windows the sky had rapidly turned dark during the past few minutes. “It’s going to rain?”

“It’s going to come a toad-strangler,” Sloan told her.

“A toad-strangler?” Libby broke up again, with Janie following right along.

“That means it’s going to rain so hard,” Caleb said, “that even critters who like water are likely to drown.”

“Oh, no!” Libby lost all urge to laugh. “Mommy, the little toads are going to drown?”

“No, honey.” Seated next to her youngest, Emily reached over and smoothed a hand down Libby’s hair. “Caleb was just teasing. It’s just an expression, isn’t that right, Caleb?”

Looking chagrined, and casting glares at his brothers, who were trying unsuccessfully not to laugh at him, Caleb gave Emily, then Libby, a pained smile. “Sorry, little one. Your mother’s right, it’s just an expression. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Oh.” Libby grinned. “Good.” Then she sobered again. “But, Mommy, if it’s gonna come a toad-strangler, does that mean we can’t work in the garden?”

Emily glanced toward the window over the sink behind her. “If it rains on the garden and gets it all muddy, then we’ll have to wait until tomorrow.” Her own disappointment took back seat to Libby’s. Libby loved to play in the dirt and had been looking forward to helping in the garden. “I’m sorry, baby.”

Janie speared a piece of roast on her plate. “That’s okay, Libby.” Janie didn’t particularly enjoy getting dirty. “We’ll just watch TV instead.” As far as Janie was concerned, the problem was solved.

At least, until the time came to decide what they would watch on television. Libby would want cartoons. Janie would want something educational. There would be whining, on both sides.

Emily sighed and served herself more potatoes. She sure hoped the sun came out tomorrow.

At 1 a.m. another round of thunderstorms hit the Cherokee Rose. A loud clap of thunder and brilliant flashes of lightning woke Emily. She checked on the girls, but they slept on, unaware of the noise and fury surrounding the house. Her girls, bless them, could sleep through a nuclear blast.

They must take after their father, because Emily had never had the knack for sleeping through loud noises, nor for going back to sleep easily once awakened. With a sigh of frustration, she slipped on her robe and made her way to the kitchen. A small glass of milk usually helped.

The kitchen, as was the rest of the house, was dark, but the frequent lightning helped her make her way to the counter. She felt her way to the stove and turned on the small light in the vent hood.

“Storm wake you?”

At the sound of the low, deep drawl behind her, Emily shrieked and whirled. Her hand flew to her heart, to keep it from jumping right out of her chest.

“Sorry,” Sloan said from his seat at the kitchen table.

She managed one breath, then another, but they came hard, staring as she was at the strip of bare chest teasingly revealed by his unbuttoned shirt.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She gave a nervous laugh and moved her gaze up to his face. “Well, you did. I think you just shortened my life by a couple of years, at least. What are you doing sitting here in the dark?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” He raised his beer bottle and wagged it in her direction. “Want one?”

Her heart was starting to settle, as long as she didn’t look at his chest again, but her throat would be dry for a week no matter what she drank. “No, thanks. I came for milk.” She turned and got a glass from the cabinet beside the sink then made her way to the refrigerator. She felt the need to move, to keep busy. Unexpectedly sharing kitchen space in the night with Sloan was the most intimate act she had experienced with a man in months. Years. It left her feeling unsure, vulnerable. Itchy.

“Somehow,” Sloan said with a smile evident in his voice, “milk suits you better.”

“Thank you.” She opened the fridge and poured herself half a glass of milk. “I think.”

He chuckled. “I just meant that you seem the sweet, wholesome type, instead of the type to swill beer in the middle of the night with some man in his kitchen.”

Sweet and wholesome. She frowned over those words, wondering if they were accurate and trying to decide how she felt about their being applied to her.

“Is something wrong?” Sloan asked, his voice quiet against the backdrop of the storm outside.

“No.” She pulled out the chair across from him and sat down. “No, nothing. Why?”

“The way you were frowning just now,” he said, “I wondered if I’ve offended you.”

She gave him a small, wry smile. “Funny, but that’s the question I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

“You’ve been meaning to ask me if I’ve offended you?”

“If I’ve offended you,” she corrected. “If I’ve said or done something I shouldn’t have since we got to the ranch.”

He studied the label on his beer bottle as if it held the secrets of life. Or next month’s beef prices.

“If you’d rather not talk about it,” she began.

“No,” he said quickly. “I’m glad you asked. In fact, I meant to bring it up myself earlier this evening.”

Emily felt her stomach sink. He had changed his mind about her working here. He was going to ask her to leave. She swallowed. Hard. “What have I done?”

“Nothing.” He jerked his gaze from the bottle to her. “You haven’t done anything wrong. That’s what I wanted to tell you.”

She cupped her cold glass of milk between her hands and waited for a boom of thunder to fade. “I don’t understand.”

He drew a figure eight on the table with the bottom of his beer bottle. “I guess you probably noticed that I haven’t said much to you the past couple of days.”

“You haven’t said much, no. You’ve barely looked at me.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“May I ask why?”

He let out a loud sigh. “I thought I needed to back off and give you some room.”

Emily frowned. “Give me some room?”

“You know.” He shrugged. “Room. I practically dragged you here, you barely know me, and I toss you into a house with two other strange men. I wanted to give you plenty of room so you wouldn’t feel threatened here.”

“Threatened?” God, she was starting to sound like a parrot. “I haven’t felt threatened here.”

“Some women might. Might at least feel vulnerable. Anyway, I didn’t want you to feel that way, so I backed off.”

“You mean you quit speaking to me, quit looking at me.”

He shrugged again. “That’s about it. I apologize if I made you uncomfortable.”

Emily laughed lightly, her tension easing. She’d been right earlier when he had taken the roast from the oven for her. He wasn’t upset or angry with her.

“What’s funny?” he asked.

“You, making me uncomfortable because you were trying to keep from making me uncomfortable.”

“Well.” He laughed, too. “When you put it that way. Can we start over?”

“I’d like that. Aside from what we just talked about, you and your family have gone out of your way to make me feel at home here, and I do. You took a chance on a stranger, a stranger with two kids. Your brothers and grandmother welcomed me and my children into your home. How could I possibly feel uncomfortable?”

“I’m glad you don’t,” he said softly.

The deeper, softer tone of his voice made the room, the situation, feel even more intimate. Her gaze seemed to move all on its own to the bare strip of hair-covered flesh revealed by his open shirt. When she finally realized that she was staring, she forced her gaze up along the column of his strong, tanned throat, over his chin, those sharply defined lips, his straight nose and into those dark brown eyes.

He’d been watching her. She could tell by the look in his eyes that he’d watched her stare at his chest.

“It’s late.” She tore her gaze away, only then noticing and remembering the glass of milk in her hands. She had yet to take a sip. In two long gulps, she downed it all and rose from the table. “The storm’s moved on.” At least the one outside, if not the one suddenly brewing within her.

The maelstrom inside her, however, had nothing to do with the weather. It had more to do with the fact that it was the middle of the night, the kitchen was dimly lit, she was in her gown and robe with a man who was half dressed. It had to do with the way her blood rushed through her veins, hot and fast, with the way her nipples tightened, her breath caught.

It had, she thought, stunned, to do with sex.

Good grief. She hadn’t even thought about sex, not in relation to herself, in a long, long time. Now here she was getting hot and bothered by a man who was merely being nice to her by hiring her to keep house for his grandmother while he saw to her car repairs.

Get a grip, Emily, she told herself silently.

At the sink she rinsed out her glass and set it on the counter. She hadn’t yet emptied the clean supper dishes from the dishwasher.

Her hands were shaking. She gripped them together to hide that fact from the man behind her.

Beyond the window above the sink, rain still fell, but it was a slow, quiet, soaking rain, good for the grass and garden. She turned away, toward Sloan, doing her best to avoid looking at his chest again. She wasn’t sure her pulse could take much more.

“Well.” Her voice came out too loud in the quiet room. Then, next to her, the refrigerator cycled on and made her jump. “Time for me to go back to bed.”

As she rushed past him toward the hall, he called her name. “Emily?”

She paused, her back to him. “Yes?”

“I’m glad you came.”

She smiled at the dark hall before her. “Thanks. So am I.”

Sloan listened to the soft whish of her bare feet as she went down the hall to her room. He took a deep swallow of beer. There wouldn’t be much hope for sleep now, not for a while, at least. Not with the memory of sharing a dark kitchen with a woman in her nightgown and robe. A woman with big eyes and a dainty, vulnerable neck that made his fingers itch to trace its length.

Chapter Five

Happy to have her Suburban running again, Rose proposed a trip to town the next morning. They went over the list Emily had started and decided on the grocery store, the drug store, and, if they left lunch for the men at the house while they were gone to town, the ice-cream parlor.

The latter was a blatant bribe to pry the girls away from the television. They had gone more than two weeks without getting to watch much TV while they stayed at the café all day with their mother. Now they were trying to make up for lost time, and they adored the big screen.

Of course, they would much rather be outside playing, but this morning the grass in the backyard was sopping wet, and Emily didn’t want them playing anywhere else. Not that anywhere else was any drier than the yard; the soaking rain that followed the second storm the night before had lasted until nearly sunup. Emily knew, because she had lain awake the rest of the night replaying every word, every gesture, every breath from her time in the kitchen with Sloan.

During the drive to town Emily enjoyed the countryside, as well as Rose’s commentary.

“That’s the Wilson place.” Rose pointed to a squat brick house with a huge barn behind it. The barn was easily five times the size of the house. “Of course, we shouldn’t call it that anymore.”

“Why not?” Emily asked.

“Because the Wilsons sold out, oh, I guess ten years ago now.”

“Ten years?” Emily chuckled. “And you still call it by its former owner’s name?”

“We’re a little slow to change around here. Set in our ways, I guess. Besides,” Rose added. “The Stoklasa place is too hard to say. And we never thought city folks like the Wilsons would stick this long.”

In the back seat, Janie cocked her head. “Mother, are we city folks?”

“I guess we are, honey.”

“Does that mean we won’t stick long?”

“For us, it does,” Emily said. “We’re only here long enough for me to earn enough money to get the car fixed, remember?”

“But we like it here.” In the back seat, Libby leaned forward in her seat belt and shoulder harness and complained. “Why do we have to leave?”

Emily said a silent prayer for patience. “We talked about this when we left Pueblo. You said you understood.”

“Oh.” Libby sat back in her seat and hung her head. “I forgot.”

“That’s all right,” Emily told her. “I’m glad you like it at the ranch. But you’ll like it in Fort Smith, too.”

“Will there be horses and kitties and cows?” Libby asked.

Emily noticed Rose’s lips twitching. To Libby, Emily said, “When we visit Cousin Brenda, there will be.”

Libby heaved a huge sigh. “I guess that’s all right, then. If we really have to leave the Cherokee Rose, and Miss Rose and Mr. Sloan and Mr. Caleb and Mr. Justin and Abigail.”

Emily frowned. “Who is Abigail?”

“She’s one of the mama kitties in the barn,” Libby said with sudden animation. “She’s a tabby, and she’s got five brand-new baby kittens. Mr. Sloan says we can go see them in a couple of days, once Abigail isn’t so nervous about her new babies.”

“That was nice of him,” Emily said. “Do I get to go, too?”

“Aw, Mommy.” Libby snickered. “You’re a grown-up. You get to do whatever you want.”

Emily and Rose shared a smile of irony.

If only that were true, Emily thought.

When they reached the small town of Rose Rock, they went to the drug store first. It would have taken them only a few minutes to make their purchases and check out, except Rose knew everyone, and everyone knew her. Neighbors—which included anyone who lived anywhere in the surrounding three counties, it seemed—stopped to catch up on the latest gossip, whose children and grandchildren were in town for a visit, who was gone on vacation and anything else of possible interest. Last night’s thunderstorm was a big topic, especially for those whom it missed, but who badly needed the rain.

Emily wondered at Rose’s introducing her by saying she was “helping out for a couple of weeks or so.” Not once did she use the word housekeeper.

One woman, Sandra, proved bold enough to ask, “Helping out? Doing what?”

Emily started to answer, to set the record straight.

Rose beat her to it, saying only, “Oh, a little of this, a little of that. Whatever needs doing, and believe me, plenty needs doing. Did you get much rain at your place?”

“Not a drop, and I’ll tell you, Jack is fit to be tied. We’re about to dry up and blow away out at our place. If we don’t get rain soon we’ll have to start feeding the hay we’ve stored for next winter now, and have nothing left for winter.” She shook her head in dismay, or perhaps it was disgust. “How’s Earline, by the way?”

Nothing showed on Rose’s face, but Emily felt a sudden increase in the tension in the air. “She’s fine, just fine. I guess we better get along with our shopping. We promised the girls ice cream after lunch.”

It wasn’t until they were in the grocery store a half hour later that the reason for Rose’s slight deception became clear. Or, more confused, depending on a person’s outlook.

As in the drug store, it took them a lot longer to shop than it would have if everyone weren’t so friendly. But finally their basket was filled and they stood in line at the checkout stand.

According to her name badge, the checker’s name was Sis, and she, too, knew Rose and her grandsons.

“Did you get rain out at the Cherokee Rose yesterday evening?” Sis asked as she ran their purchases across the scanner.

“A half inch in under an hour,” Rose reported. “Then a good, steady rain most of the night.”

Libby sidled up to the counter. “It was a real toad- strangler.”

Sis let out a boisterous laugh that made heads turn. “I’ll bet it was, little one. And who might you be?”

“My name’s Libby. This is my sister, Janie, and that’s my mommy.”

“Well, aren’t you all just cuter than a bug’s ear. Dang these bags.” The ten-pound bag of flour failed repeatedly to trip the scanner. With an exaggerated sigh for the extra work, Sis keyed the information in manually. Without missing a beat, or seemingly drawing a breath, she smiled up at Rose. “Have you heard from Earline?”

“No, but then I didn’t expect to, at least not this soon.”

Sis smacked the heel of her hand against her forehead. “What am I thinking? She just left yesterday, so of course you wouldn’t have heard from her. Imagine, working all day out at your house as usual, then going home that night and having those boys turn up on her doorstep, telling her she’s been working too hard and it was time to take a vacation. Next thing you know, she’s gone, the very next day, like she was afraid they’d change their minds.” The big woman laughed again.

“And to think, that was just yesterday when she left. It was just so sweet of those boys of yours. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of anybody sending their housekeeper and her husband and all three grandchildren to Disney World, all expenses paid. And as a complete surprise, with no warning at all. And that was smart on their part, if you ask me. Knowing Earline, she would have balked at taking off and leaving y’all with nobody to keep house for you while she’s gone.”

Emily stared at the woman’s mouth, watched the words form, heard them hit her ears. Housekeeper. Surprise trip. Yesterday. “Rose?” Sloan hadn’t said anything about them already having a housekeeper. He’d said that his grandmother needed her help.

“That Sloan,” Rose muttered under her breath.

“What was that?” Sis asked.

Rose offered Sis a smile. “Just talking to myself. How are we doing, there?” She gestured toward the groceries still to be scanned. “Don’t forget to bag the cold things separately so we can put them in the ice chest. We’re stopping for lunch, and ice cream,” she added to Janie and Libby, “before we go home.”

“Ah, a special treat for the little ones. We’ll have you out of here in two shakes, don’t you worry, you cute little things, you.”

Emily didn’t push for Rose to explain about their housekeeper. She thought she would do better to get her answers from Sloan.

But she feared she understood. The Chisholms hadn’t needed a housekeeper. Sloan had felt sorry for her. That’s why he’d offered her the job.

It fit with what little she knew of him. He was a nice man, and Brenda’s husband had sung his praises. Helping out a woman in need was something a man like him might do.

But to take her and two little girls into his home? That was taking charity a bit far.

Whatever his reasons, she had a sick feeling in her stomach. He hadn’t been truthful with her. What would happen now that she knew the truth?

Of course, she didn’t know the truth. Not much of it, anyway. She knew only that they hadn’t really needed a housekeeper. So why had he offered her the job? As near as she could tell from what Sis had said, at the same moment Sloan was offering Emily a job as housekeeper, their unsuspecting housekeeper was busy keeping their house.

What was going on?

“Come on, Mother.”

Emily looked down to find Janie waiting for her with a puzzled look. “What?”

“Come on, we’re going.”

Looking up, Emily realized that she’d obviously been lost in her own thoughts longer than she’d realized. The groceries were checked, bagged and on their way out the door with Rose and Libby. She took Janie’s hand and rushed after them.

While the stock boy loaded the groceries into the back of the SUV, following Rose’s instructions about putting the cold items in the ice chest, the woman kept one wary eye on Emily.

Emily held her peace, what little she could find of it. She knew Rose expected her to ask questions, but her questions were for Sloan. If there was a fight to pick, it would be with him.

Once again that sick feeling settled in her stomach, the one that told her she might have to buy those bus tickets yet. If the bus even came through Rose Rock, Oklahoma.

Emily bit her tongue until after supper that evening. When the girls asked if they could go watch Caleb work on her car, she jumped at the chance to have them occupied elsewhere when she cornered Sloan.

“Can we, Mother?” Janie asked again.

“That sounds like fun,” Emily told her. “Justin, would you mind taking them down to the garage to see the car?”

“Ladies.” He bowed to the girls. “It would be my honor.” With a flourish of his arm, he added, “May I escort you?”

Amid male laughter and little-girl giggles, the three followed Caleb, who had already left the house.

That left Rose and Sloan, both in the living room.

Emily hurriedly stacked the supper dishes on the counter and wiped off the table. The rest of the cleanup could wait until after she’d gotten some straight answers.

She found Rose at the desk with Sloan leaning over her.

“Sloan, may I have a word with you?”

Rose looked up at her grandson, then at Emily. “Uh-oh.”

“Sure.” Sloan straightened and gave his grandmother a frown. Then he looked at Emily. “What’s up?”

So, Emily thought, Rose had not warned him that Emily had learned that they hadn’t needed a housekeeper. That was interesting.

“I’ll go upstairs,” Rose offered, “so you two can talk.”

“That’s all right,” Emily said. “I don’t want to take you away from what you’re doing. Sloan and I can go for a walk.”

Not waiting to see if he followed, Emily headed for the back door. Outside she turned toward the creek, away from the girls down at the big garage in the opposite direction.

Sloan walked beside her. “What did you want to talk about?”

She’d been thinking about this confrontation all afternoon, yet still she didn’t know quite what she wanted to say. Finally, when they reached the swing next to the creek, she stared at the rushing water. What had been a shallow, tame trickle two days earlier was now, since last night’s rain, a two-foot, swift flowing torrent. The collection of wet, muddy debris along the banks showed that the water had been another two feet higher not long ago.

“Emily?”

She turned to face the man who had hired her. “Why am I here?”

“Pardon?”

“Why did you bring me, us, here to the ranch?”

Sloan frowned. “What’s this about? I told you, we needed help around the house—”

“Let me rephrase that before you dig yourself in any deeper. Why did you hire me to be your housekeeper when you already had Earline right here working for you?”

Surprise, then chagrin and guilt filled his face. “Oh.”

“Yes, oh.”

“Who squealed?”

“Just about everyone in town today, but mainly it was Sis at the grocery store.”

He let out a long sigh. “Her mouth always did outpace her brain. Look, it’s no big deal.”

“No big deal? You lied to me.”

“I never lied,” he protested. “I told you you’d be working for my grandmother, and you are. I told you she hated housework, and she does.”

“You got me here under false pretenses, and I’d like to know why.”

Sloan scratched his head. Hiring Emily, bringing her here to the ranch, had seemed like a good thing to do at the time, but she was starting to make him feel as if he’d done something underhanded, and he hadn’t.

Well, not much, anyway.

“I only wanted to help,” he confessed. “You were out of options, and nobody should be left in a situation like that.”

“So you lied to me?”

“I wanted you to have a choice, stick it out on your own, or come home with me. I knew you wouldn’t come here without the promise of a job.”

“So you shipped your housekeeper off?”

Ah, hell. “I called home from Amarillo and had Justin and Caleb send her on vacation. She’s been talking for months about she and her husband wanting to take their grandkids to Disney World. So, we sent them. They get a paid vacation, you get a job and a mechanic. Everybody wins.”

That was his story, and he was, by God, sticking to it. There was no sense in complicating the situation any more that it already was.

“What else?” she demanded.

“What do you mean?”

“There’s something else you’re not telling me.”

“About what?”

“About why you brought me here.”

Sloan propped his hands on his hips and met her gaze. Her steady, open gaze that he could not lie to. “Ah, hell.” He stared up at the clear blue sky for a minute, then looked down at the damp ground between his boots. This shouldn’t be so hard, telling a woman he liked her. Why wouldn’t the words form on his tongue?

“I’m waiting,” she said.

“Does anybody ever hold out on you?”

“Not for long, and don’t change the subject. You were about to come clean.”

He let out a long, slow breath. “All right.” He walked over and turned the tire upside down and around to empty out the standing water. No sense breeding any more mosquitoes than they had to. “I wanted you to come to the ranch so I could spend more time with you.”

Emily opened her mouth to say something, but he held up his hand to stop her. Which was just as well, since she had no idea what she’d been about to say.

“No,” he said. “Let me get it all out while I’m on a roll. I wanted to spend more time with you because I’m attracted to you. Which was what I was trying to hide by steering clear of you, for which I apologized last night.”

She stared up at him without blinking. What had he just said? “You’re attracted to me?”

He clenched his teeth and nodded.

“You’re attracted to me.”

“Well you don’t have to look so damn unhappy about it.”

“No,” she said, her mind whirling. “No, actually, I think I’m flattered.”

He snorted in disbelief. “You look scared to death.”

It was disconcerting, Emily thought, that he could read her so well. She was scared. Confused. At a complete loss.

“Do you react this way every time a man tells you he’s attracted to you?”

He’d been so kind to her, offering her this job, offering his brother to fix her car. She didn’t know what she and her girls would have done without him. And now he was being honest with her. The least she could do was be honest in return.

“No. I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s not that.”

He shifted from one foot to the other, his forehead furrowed. “It’s not what?”

“You’re right, I am afraid, at least a little.”

“Because I’m attracted to you? Believe me, the last thing I wanted to do was make you afraid of me.”

She shook her head, frustrated at not being able to find the words to make him understand. “I’m not afraid or offended that you’re attracted to me. I said I was flattered, and I meant that.”

“Then what is it, Emily?”

She stared at the tire, wishing it wasn’t still wet. At least swinging on it would give her something to do. “You need to understand that Michael has been the only man in my life. I fell in love with him in first grade, and, miracle of miracles, he fell right back. From that day on there was never anyone else for either of us.”

“I see.”

“No,” she said, “I don’t think you do. I haven’t been blind all these years. Now and then I have noticed that a man looked as if he might be attracted to me. But I was so wrapped up in Michael that it really meant nothing to me. It was flattering, of course. I’m not without an ego.”

“But this time you don’t have Michael to shield you from it?” Sloan asked.

“It’s not that.” Damn it, why couldn’t she just come out and say it? She took a deep breath, and plunged. “What scares me this time is that I think it might be mutual, and I don’t know what to do about it.”

Sloan’s pulse beat slow and hard. She had managed to surprise him. He moved two steps closer, but not close enough to pressure her. “What do you want to do about it?”

She shook her head and moved back a step. “I don’t know. Nothing.”

“We’ve just admitted we’re attracted to each other and you don’t want to do anything about it?”

She gave a jerky shrug that spoke of nerves. “I mean, what’s the point? I’m on my way to Fort Smith. I’ll only be here another week or so, just until my car’s fixed and I can pay for it.”

“If that’s the only problem,” he said, giving her a teasing grin, “I can arrange for it to take weeks, months, for your car to be fixed.”

Her eyes widened in shock, then she laughed. “Shame. You had me there, for a minute. You wouldn’t do that.” Her expression turned wary. “Would you?”

“Naw, I guess not. But the thought has merit.” His gaze lowered to her full, lush lips. What was that saying? In for a penny? He moved closer, much closer this time. “There’s something I’ve been wondering since the first time I saw you.”

Emily’s heart raced. She wouldn’t back away this time. Couldn’t, since her feet seemed to have taken root in the damp soil beneath her shoes. Not to mention that if she moved back so much as an inch she’d be flush against the tree.

“Are you afraid of me?”

The look in his eyes mesmerized her. His deep voice washed over her and left goose bumps in its wake. “No.” It was her reaction to him that was cause for concern.

“Good. Then you won’t mind if I do this.” He leaned forward.

His warmth surrounded her, yet he wasn’t touching her. Closer, closer he came until his breath puffed against her face. He was going to kiss her. And heaven help her, she wanted him to.

He did. Just the slightest brush of his lips to hers, no pressure. Before she had time to be disappointed, he was back, a little more this time, a little longer.

Oh, he was good at this.

She refused to let herself think about this being her first kiss in more than two years. She wasn’t much capable of thought anyway, since her mind went all fuzzy when Sloan whispered her name against her lips. Her mind went fuzzy, her knees went weak, and she ended up with her back against the tree and her arms around his waist. And, oh, it felt so good. She let herself sink into the kiss, into him.

Sloan felt her surrender and deepened the kiss, but not too much. He didn’t want to push her too hard, too fast. Her taste was sweet and light. He dipped in with his tongue for more. When she met him with her own, he shuddered. He could get used to this, to her, the taste of her, the feel of her pressed against him. He wanted to cup her breasts in his hands, but he settled for cupping her face.

Her skin was soft and satiny, as he’d known it would be. The shape of her, small and curved in all the right places, fit against him like a long-missing puzzle piece.

He wanted to scoop her up in his arms and carry her away to some soft, comfortable place where she would never have another worry. She wouldn’t have to travel four or five states for a chance at a damn factory job just to put food on the table. Her car wouldn’t quit and leave her stranded. She wouldn’t be alone in life, in raising her daughters.

Realizing where his thoughts were going, and that he had deepened the kiss far more than he’d intended, he lightened the pressure and slowly broke away. He was breathing hard. His palms were damp.

The woman definitely got to him. He leaned his forehead against hers. Her eyes were closed, her breathing just as rapid as his. “I’m going to want to do that again,” he warned her softly.

Her lips curved. “You are?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He stood back and placed his forearms on the tops of her shoulders. “What are my chances?”

She blinked her eyes open and smiled. There was a bit of the devil in that smile. “I’ll think about it and let you know.”

“I reserve the right to try to persuade you.”

She smiled at him, then changed the subject. “I need to go check on the girls.”

“They’re down at the garage. I’ll walk with you.”

They turned and walked away from the rushing creek and the kissing tree. After a few steps, she spoke.

“Let me make sure I’ve got this straight. You offered me a job, sent your housekeeper on vacation and brought me here.”

Sloan felt his cheeks sting. Damnation, he was blushing! He’d thought this discussion over. “Guilty.”

“And spent the first two days ignoring me so I wouldn’t know you were attracted to me.”

“We’ve been through all that.”

She folded her arms across her chest, her gaze centered on the big garage beyond the barn. “You said you ignored me so I wouldn’t feel uncomfortable. Why would your being attracted to me make me uncomfortable?”

“It did, didn’t it?”

Her lips quirked. “I obviously got over it. But you didn’t know about my reservations, so what made you think that?”

Sloan stopped walking and glanced up at the sky again, but no divine intervention swept down from above to save him from this awkward, embarrassing discussion. “I was afraid that if you knew I was attracted to you, you might think I expected you to do something about it.”

Finally, she blinked. “Do what?”

“I don’t know.” He was yelling, he realized, but couldn’t seem to help it. “Come on to me or something, because you thought you owed it to me for helping you out.”

She pursed her lips and arched her eyebrow. “You don’t want me to come on to you?”

“Of course I want you to come on to me,” he bellowed. “But not just because you think you owe me something.”

“As if I would. How can you possibly be attracted to a woman you think has no brains? No—” She held up a hand. “Never mind. You’re a man. Enough said.”

“Hey, I resemble that statement.”

She laughed. “Yes, you do.”

That fast, Sloan’s good humor was restored. And his attraction for this woman grew. “So,” he said, “you’re not mad?”

She sighed and smiled. “How can I be?” She threw her arms out and laughed. “When you did it all for love?”

“I knew you’d— What?”

The pretty woman before him, with the big blue eyes and delicately arched neck, laughed so hard she had tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Oh,” she managed, “you should see the look on your face.”

His knees turned to water. His mouth dried out. “I never said anything about… about love.”

She laughed again and patted his arm. “Relax. I think I’m actually flattered that you went to all this trouble. And that you don’t expect anything more from me but an honest day’s work filling in for Ear-line.”

“Well, of course that’s all I expect.”

“And the occasional kiss?”

“The occasional kiss,” he said quietly, “is something I would like very, very much. But it’s not part of your job description. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

“I wish you’d told me from the start,” she said.

“I was afraid if I tried too hard to reassure you, you’d think I was really up to something. And just out of curiosity, why did you even trust me enough to come with me? Not that I’m complaining,” he added quickly.

She chuckled and started walking again. “I didn’t.”

“Pardon?”

“I trusted you enough to get me out of New Mexico, but when we stopped at Amarillo I decided I would either leave my car there and take the bus to Fort Smith, or I’d stay in Amarillo and get a job there until I could get the car fixed.”

Sloan stared at her and nearly tripped over a rough spot in the ground. “For a woman with two little girls, either one of those might have been smarter than trusting a stranger.”

“Not that you’re complaining.”

“Right. So why didn’t you do one of those? What changed your mind?”

“Your reputation, and the reputation of your family and ranch.”

“Pardon?” Damn, he was starting to sound like a parrot.

“I called my cousin in Fort Smith to tell her what had happened and where we were. I told her what I was thinking about doing, but when her husband heard your name he said I’d be smarter to take you up on your offer. He personally vouched for your honesty and integrity.”

Sloan’s eyes widened. “Do I know him?”

She shook her head. “I doubt it. Tommy—Hargrave—has a small farm and ranching operation just outside Fort Smith. But he’s heard of you, and he assured me that Cherokee Rose Chisholm wouldn’t allow any foolishness under her roof.”

“Well, he got that right.” Sloan relaxed and smiled, a little humbled by such a glowing recommendation from a stranger, but gratified nonetheless. Especially since it got Emily and her girls to come to the ranch with him.

He’d have to thank this Tommy Hargrave some day.

Emily all but hummed to herself on her way to the garage. Sloan was attracted to her. If she thought about it very much, it might trouble her. After all, she’d only ever been with one man in her entire life. What did she really know about men and how to deal with the situation when a man said he was attracted to her? When a man kissed her beneath a tree?

But she didn’t let herself think about it. She didn’t let herself think about how out of her depth she felt, how nervous. How excited. For now, until she could be alone with her thoughts and her heart in the dark, she was simply going to enjoy the fact that the strong, handsome, kindhearted man walking beside her was attracted to her.

She heard the little-girl giggles and grown-man laughter before she had a good view into the garage because the big main door stood propped open, blocking her view.

She saw Justin first, and he spotted her. He pulled a round yellow sucker from his mouth and spun away.

“Mommy alert,” he hissed.

More little-girl giggles.

By the time Emily stepped around the gaping door and peered inside the garage, Caleb, his fingers black with grease, was leaning over her engine beneath the raised hood of her car. The white stick of a sucker protruded from his mouth as he oh-so-nonchalantly looked over at her and smiled.

Too nonchalantly, she thought.

On the other side of the car stood Justin and her daughters, all three of them grinning from ear to ear, their hands behind their backs. Telltale smears of green decorated Janie’s mouth, while Libby’s bore purple.

Emily pursed her lips and folded her arms. “Suckers.” It was a long-standing joke among them. Emily always told them they couldn’t have sweets, but she generally provided one after supper. “Caught you.”

“Busted,” Justin muttered out the side of his mouth. “What’ll she do to us?”

Both girls mashed their lips together to keep from laughing.

“Offer her a bribe,” Caleb suggested casually, his gaze focused on the grimy engine.

“What’s the deal? Who’s offering a bribe to who?” Sloan stood beside Emily.

“Whom.” Emily’s correction came automatically. She was used to correcting her daughters. But she winced, realizing Sloan might not appreciate it. She glanced at him warily.

He chuckled. “Okay, whom, Grandmother.”

“Sorry,” she muttered.

“Don’t be. What about this bribe business?”

“Unless I miss my guess,” she said, “I am about to be offered a bribe because I’ve caught them red-handed.”

“Red-handed at what?”

Janie and Libby couldn’t hold it in any longer and broke out once more in giggles.

God, but it did Emily’s heart good to see Janie giggle like a normal little girl. She was always so serious, Janie was, since Michael fell ill. She’d been so little, but she had somehow understood that her father was terribly ill. Now, just two days on this ranch, around these rough, tough cowboys, and she was giggling.

“At these,” Libby told Sloan, pulling her sucker from behind her back. She waved it at him, then popped it into her mouth.

Janie and Justin did the same.

“Suckers are no-no’s, huh?” Sloan asked.

“We’re supposed to ask first,” Libby confessed, totally unrepentant, if the grin on her lips and the twinkle in her eyes were anything to go on.

Janie leaned toward Justin and shoved her glasses into place. “Offer her the grape one.”

“Think she’ll go for it?” he asked.

“Yes, sir.”

From his hip pocket Justin pulled a sucker wrapped in purple paper. “Care to join us?” he offered Emily.

With a laugh, Emily rounded the front end of the car and reached for the sucker.

At the last second Justin snatched it back and held it out of her reach.

“Hey!” she protested.

“If you take it, you can’t lecture anybody about sweets for a whole week.”

Emily narrowed her eyes. “Twenty-four hours.”

“Three days,” he countered.

“Twenty-four hours,” she repeated, “and I won’t mention this little episode at all.”

Justin frowned down at the girls. “What do you think? Shall we call it a deal?”

Both girls nodded.

“Quick,” Libby said, “before she changes her mind.”

From where he stood near the door, Sloan took it all in with a quiet sigh. What a picture. Two little girls and a pretty woman, laughing and giggling in his garage. Who would have thought he would ever see such a beautiful sight?

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Chapter Six

Melanie Pruitt pulled up and parked her pickup in front of the Chisholm home. All the way over here she’d been telling herself that this wasn’t as bad an idea as it sounded. All she wanted to do was check out the woman who was “helping out” since the guys suddenly decided to send Earline, along with Jeff and their grandchildren, off to Florida. In the middle of summer, no less.

Melanie knew what people were going to think when word spread that she had come to meet the woman. And word would spread. Fast. People would say she was jealous, that she wasn’t really over her lifelong infatuation with Sloan, despite her avowals of the past couple of years. She couldn’t say she would blame them for their assumptions. She’d said she was over him a dozen times through the years.

But this time it was true. This time it had finally sunk in: first, that Sloan was never going to be anything more than a big brother to her; and second, she honestly liked it that way.

It had never been real love that she’d felt, anyway. How could it, when it had started so many years ago?

It had been a combination of her mother’s prodding—which only years later would Melanie come to understand was part of her mother’s own private agenda, to see her daughter married to one of the “great and mighty Chisholms”—and Melanie’s own case of hero-worship, begun the day when she was five, and Sloan, an older man of twelve, pulled her from the pond.

From the moment she told her mother about the wonderful boy who had helped her, Melanie had unknowingly—but willingly—been pushed in his direction.

“Eat your vegetables, Melanie, so you can be strong and healthy. I bet Sloan only likes strong, healthy girls.”

“Let me tie this ribbon in your hair. You might see Sloan today, and you want to look pretty for him, don’t you?”

Even her father had picked up the habit of using Sloan’s name to get her to do things. “You let that dang calf get away, girl. You wanna get Sloan’s attention, you’re going to have to be a better cowgirl than that. Try it again.”

It had been inevitable, she thought, that she would grow up believing that she was supposed to do everything in her power to attract Sloan’s attention, to please him, to make him like her. It had never occurred to her to act any other way.

Sloan had, for the most part, treated her kindly, and he did like her, but never the way she’d wanted him to. When she’d reached her teens and began to realize he might never think of her as anything other than an amusing nuisance, although, to him, a cute and lovable one, she’d needed a shoulder to cry on.

Why take it out of the family? She had turned to Caleb. Not for love, but for comfort. He’d been her friend, her confessor, her steady rock when her world began to crumble. Caleb was the salt of the earth. The best.

With her heart still set on Sloan, and with Caleb to lend an ear and a shoulder for her tears when things didn’t go well, Melanie turned to Justin for pure fun. It was with Justin that she’d shared the thrill of egging the school principal’s house on Halloween. The first time she’d gotten drunk had been with Justin, too. But when it came time to be sick and puke her guts out from too much beer, it was Caleb who held her head and wiped her face when the humiliating incident was over.

Oh, yes, she had something going with each of the Chisholm boys.

She still sometimes leaned on Caleb’s shoulder, and when Justin wasn’t involved with anyone, the two of them now and then went out and raised hell, just for the hell of it.

But Sloan? Sloan was never going to be hers. She knew that now, and she’d made her peace with it. In truth, she had come to realize that she didn’t want him to be hers. Go figure. She was a fickle female.

But that didn’t mean she was going to stand calmly by and watch some lazy gold digger sink her claws into him and break his heart. That’s what what’s-her-name, Connie Sue Walters, whom he’d fallen for a couple of years ago, had done, the worthless, silly twit. When Melanie had first met her she’d thought the woman must surely be putting on an act. Nobody was that dense, that helpless.

“Oh, Sloan,” Melanie mimicked in a singsong voice, “my shoe’s untied. Can you help me?”

Ugh. The really hideous thing was that Connie Sue really had been a helpless twit. What Sloan had ever seen in her was beyond Melanie.

No, she thought, that wasn’t true. Sloan was a kind, softhearted man. He’d seen a damsel in distress and, like a knight on a white charger, he had ridden to her rescue and changed a flat tire for her. She had needed him, and Sloan needed to feel needed.

But when he had realized Connie Sue had needed him for every little damn thing, he’d gotten tired of it. Plus, he had realized that a woman like that would never survive long on a ranch, and Sloan’s life was the Cherokee Rose. He would never leave it.

Too bad Donna Daniels hadn’t known that from the start. She could have skipped over Sloan and moved on to the next sucker, saving Sloan a great deal of heartache in the process.

But nooo, Donna had to go and pull the helpless female act on him, and he’d fallen for it, hook, line and sinker, bless his little pointed head.

Men could be so dumb. Stick a big pair of boobs in front of them and they lost all sense.

She glanced down at her adequate but average chest and shrugged. She would rather a man respect her mind and heart.

Donna had had a mind, though. A tough, calculating one. She had played Sloan like a fish. Once she’d had him on her string, she’d had the nerve to mention that he should sell his share of the ranch and buy her a house in Dallas.

Melanie chuckled and killed the engine. It had probably taken a week for the dust to settle after Sloan’s hasty departure from that sticky relationship.

The poor man just didn’t seem to have any sense where women were concerned. And now, according to what little she’d gotten out of Justin when she ran into him in town last night, Sloan had gone and rescued another damsel in distress. And this one with two kids, no less.

Melanie considered it her “sisterly” duty to check this woman out. Maybe a few well-placed words would send the bimbo packing.

She picked up the box from the passenger’s seat—after all, showing up without a legitimate excuse wouldn’t do for this visit—and climbed out of the truck.

On her way to the front door she glanced around but saw no one. They must all be out in one of the pastures or someplace. She hoped she’d timed it right and the woman would be alone in the house. But even if she wasn’t, Melanie could still ask a few pointed questions and form an opinion.

She decided to be polite and ring the doorbell.

When no one answered she rang again. Then it dawned on her that the noise she heard was probably the vacuum cleaner. It would be hard to hear the bell over that. She turned the knob and let herself in.

She called out, “Hello!” and pounded on the open door.

With the roar of the vacuum filling her ears, Emily worked around the pair of socks beside the recliner. The loud voice from only a few feet behind her startled her. She whirled toward the door.

A woman stood there, dark, shoulder-length hair pulled back and tied at her nape, a clear, flawless complexion and bright green eyes.

“Hello?” Emily said.

“Hi.” The woman, about Emily’s own age, smiled. “I’m sorry to startle you. I’m Melanie Pruitt from next door.”

“Oh, yes.” Emily remembered hearing the family speak of her. “The nearest neighbor.” She released the vacuum and extended a hand. “I’ve heard the family speak of you. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Emily.”

Melanie met her offer with a strong handshake.

But when Emily had released the vacuum—without, she would soon regret, turning it off—she must have jerked it or given it a small nudge. It suddenly made a horrible grinding noise.

“Oh, my word,” she said with disgust. She had sucked up a sock. She shut the unit off immediately. The silence, except for the sound of the washer out on the utility porch, was blessed. “Excuse me a minute, will you?”

She turned the vacuum on its side so she could get to the rollers on the bottom, and there was half the sock sticking out. She gave it a tug, then another, harder one. The rollers grudgingly turned backward and disgorged the sock.

She grabbed its mate from beside the recliner and carried them both to the kitchen trash.

“That’ll learn him,” Melanie said.

Emily pursed her lips. “If only,” she muttered to herself. Then, “I’m sorry, but the family is all out somewhere on the ranch right now. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Oh, no, I just came over to drop off these.” She raised the box she held, but before she could say anything else, or Emily could see inside or ask what was in it the back door crashed open.

“Mommy, mommy,” Libby wailed. “Mommy, I hurt myself!”

“Libby?” Emily took off at a dashing run toward her baby. “What happened? Where are you hurt?”

Libby wailed again, giant tears streaming down her cheeks. “Here.” She bent her arm up and pointed at her elbow. “I falled down.”

“You fell down,” Emily corrected automatically. Libby knew the right word to use, but when she got upset she sometimes lapsed into baby talk.

“I told her it wasn’t that big a deal,” Janie said with the disdain of one of advanced years. “It’s just a skinned elbow.”

“Yes,” Emily said. “But I bet it hurts, doesn’t it, baby.”

Libby sniffed. “Uh-huh.”

It was barely a scratch, but Libby liked to milk life’s little injuries for all they were worth. This small scrape should be worth at least a little cooing, a bandage she could show off and a kiss or two.

“Poor baby.”

“Who’s that?” Libby asked, pointing at Melanie, already forgetting her injury.

“I’m Melanie.” Melanie placed her box on the kitchen counter and came to inspect Libby’s elbow. “Looks like you got a pretty good boo-boo.”

“That’s not a real boo-boo,” Janie said from where

she leaned against the open back door. “It’s barely even an owie.”

Janie, Emily thought with gratitude, had certainly come out of her shell since they’d arrived at the Cherokee Rose.

“Melanie,” Emily said, “these are my daughters, Libby of the great and terrible wound, and Janie-the-Elder. Say hi to Miss Melanie, girls.”

“Hello, Miss Melanie,” they said in unison.

“Hello to you, too,” Melanie responded.

“Excuse us a minute, will you, Melanie, while I take Libby to the bathroom and clean this up? Janie, come inside and close the door.”

Janie started to comply, then stopped and shrieked. “Mother! Water! It’s spraying everywhere!”

“Water? Sit here in this chair, Libby, while I see about this. Excuse me,” she added to Melanie.

At the door to the porch Emily stopped short. “Oh, my word.” A geyser of water shot from behind the washer, where the hose from the washer connected to the faucet in the wall. It sprayed clear up to the ceiling, showering a good half of the porch. Washer, dryer, freezer. Walls, floor, ceiling. Sopping.

Melanie took a look at the mess. “Yikes.”

“Yeah.” Emily sighed. “Well, fixing it probably won’t take nearly as long as cleaning up the mess.”

“Fixing it?”

“It won’t take long.” Water splayed beneath each footstep as Emily stepped up to the washer. First she slapped the knob to shut off the machine, then she reached over to the wall and turned off the water at the faucet. At least it was the cold that was spraying. She wouldn’t have to worry about getting scalded. Which was a good thing, since she was already drenched.

“Mommy’s all wet.” Libby giggled, forgetting her terrible injury.

The problem causing the leak was easy enough to spot—the thick rubber hose had split at the fitting on the end. She didn’t suppose the Chisholms kept a spare hose lying around in some handy, obvious location. She couldn’t be that lucky.

But she was that lucky. The gods of plumbing smiled on her when she opened the cabinet beneath the tool drawer. Right there in plain sight lay a package of replacement hoses for a washing machine.

“I must be living right.” Finally. Finally something in her life went right. Thank you, Lord.

Emily wasn’t a tool purist. If a good pair of pliers would do the job, she would take them any day over some fancy specialized wrench. She took the pliers from the tool drawer, the package of replacement hoses from the cabinet and set them on the dryer. Then she unhooked the split hose from the faucet.

Now came the fun part. She had to pull the washer out from the wall; the hose connection was on the back of the machine, down near the floor. Impossible to reach without moving the machine away from the wall. But since it sat flush between the dryer on one side and the wall on the other, it had to come all the way out.

It had to come out, regardless, so she could mop up the water and dry the floor. But if she didn’t take care of some of this water on the floor in front of the washer first, she was likely to slip and end up on her rear.

When the floor before the washer was dry enough to suit her, she opened the lid of the machine, grabbed where she could and tugged. It barely moved. She repeated her efforts, grunting this time with exertion. It moved a little farther, but not much.

“Need some help?” Melanie offered.

“I think I do, if you can find a place to grab on.”

Together they managed to pull the washer far enough away from the wall for Emily to crawl behind it and replace the hose. The hose, which, of course, still had water in it, but what the heck, she thought. It was still wet behind the washer anyway.

She took care of both the hose replacement and the rest of the water in short order, and Melanie helped her push the washer back into place.

Then, to be safe, they pulled out the dryer so Emily could mop and dry the floor beneath it.

The entire event took approximately ten minutes.

“You know,” Melanie said thoughtfully, “something isn’t right, here.”

Emily straightened from giving the floor in front of the door a final wipe with a towel and turned. “What do you mean?”

“Well.” Melanie narrowed her eyes and tapped the tip of her index finger against her lower lip. “It’s true that I’ve never replaced a washer hose myself, but I’ve seen men do plumbing repairs like this and something’s missing.”

Emily frowned. “The hose is replaced, the floor is dry and clean and the machines are back where they belong.” She reached over and turned on the water and started the washer again. It sounded perfect. “What could be missing?”

“First, you didn’t use any swearwords.”

“Not out loud, anyway. Little ears, you know.”

“Hmm. Yes. But another thing, your knuckles aren’t bleeding, there are no new holes in the wall, you had the part you needed and you knew where it was.”

Emily grinned. “I confess, all that’s true.”

“But the main thing you did wrong as far as I can see is that you didn’t have to have three buddies over for a six-pack of beer in the middle of the project, while the wet laundry sat in the tub and soured.”

Emily burst out laughing. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

“Mommy,” Libby called from the table, “what about my owie?”

“I’m coming, baby. Excuse me, Melanie, I’ll just be a minute.”

Melanie chuckled and stepped aside. “No problem. Take your time.”

It didn’t take any time at all to carry poor, wounded Libby to the bathroom and tend to her scrape, and they were back in the kitchen with Janie and Melanie.

Emily walked over to Melanie and stuck out her hand. “Hi. I’m Emily Nelson. You must be Melanie from next door. What can I do for you?”

Melanie burst out laughing. “Oh, I think I’m going to like you, Emily Nelson. I think we should celebrate the new washer hose, and young Libby certainly deserves a reward for her owie. And Janie for sounding the alarm on the washing machine.”

“A celebration it is, then,” Emily agreed. “I don’t think a small dip of ice cream will do too much harm.” She smoothed a hand over each daughter’s hair. “They’ll still eat like little piggies at supper tonight.”

Libby scrunched up her nose and snorted like the little piggy she’d just been named.

“Not only ice cream,” Melanie declared. “Our blackberries are going crazy this year. I brought a couple of pies.”

“Oh, but you brought those for the family,” Emily objected.

“Trust me,” Melanie said, lifting her pies from the box she’d placed on the counter. “If you’re living in their home, they think of you as family. Besides, I baked them, so I get to say who eats them.”

“Well, then.” Emily took plates down from the cabinet.

“We’ll have pie,” Melanie said.

“And ice cream,” Emily added.

“And ice cream. And you can tell me how you met Sloan and ended up out here in the middle of Oklahoma.”

Sloan had wanted to come in that evening before everyone else. He’d planned it that way. He wanted, if possible, a few minutes alone with Emily.

It wasn’t the first time in his life that he’d been hot after a woman, but this felt somehow different. He could recall plainly the feeling of looking forward to the next time he would see a particular woman. Pleasant anticipation, sometimes strong, sometimes merely… pleasant.

Today’s feeling was different. More intense. He hadn’t thought, It’ll sure be nice when I get to see her again. No, he’d felt as if he had to see her again, and soon.

Of course he’d known all day that she would be waiting at the house when he returned. He only wished he knew she was waiting for him, specifically.

But coming in early meant leaving both his brothers, their two hired hands and his grandmother, to take up the slack in his absence. Leaving the men wouldn’t have kept him awake at night, but he couldn’t give even a passing thought to leaving his seventy-eight-year-old grandmother to help finish moving the cattle to new grass, and then check a few fences before heading in, just so he could go back to the house and coax another kiss out of Emily.

So he clamped down on his impatience and tried to keep his mind on the task at hand, namely moving the cattle to fresh grass. He couldn’t justify heading in for another couple of hours, at least. There were still fences to be checked, and, when they got back, tack to be repaired.

Rose rode up next to him. “I’m heading in for the day,” she told him.

He eyed her critically. “Tired?”

She narrowed her eyes. “I can still outlast you all day in the saddle, Grandson, even at my age.”

Sloan held up a hand. “Not saying any different. Just asking. You might not be tired, but I am.”

“Ride back in with me. They don’t need us for this. I want to talk to you.”

Sloan bit back a groan. Invoices. She was going to want to talk about this month’s invoices. Well, it couldn’t be helped. The ranch was a business, and it was theirs. No one else was going to take care of it. But damn, he hated bookkeeping.

“Sure,” he told her. “Let me tell the others, and I’ll catch up with you.”

Caleb was the nearest. Sloan rode over to him and told him he was riding back to the house with their grandmother and he’d see the rest of them there when they came in for the day. Then he caught up with her.

He was glad she was going in. She talked a good game about being able to outlast him in the saddle, but she had no business spending all day on horseback at her age.

Of course, he was only a mortal man, so he would never say such a thing within her hearing. It had been many years since he’d had his ears boxed, and he wasn’t fool enough to push his luck.

He slowed his horse to match her pace. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Windows.”

“Pardon?” That certainly wasn’t what he’d been expecting. “What windows?”

“The ones in our house. We have a lot of them, you know.”

“And what? They need washing?”

“Oh, probably, but they’re clean enough to see out of.”

He hated it when she got cryptic. “And what have you seen out of our windows?” The instant the words were out, he knew.

“Lots of things. My bedroom windows, for instance, look out over the backyard, the garden. The creek.”

“The creek.”

“I’ve seen two cute little girls playing in the yard. That’s a nice sight. The Cherokee Rose needs children.”

Uh-oh, Sloan thought.

“I’ve seen a pretty woman with yellow hair working in our garden to bring food to our table. I’ve seen my eldest grandson kissing that pretty woman.”

“Spying on me, Grandmother?”

“Ha!” She laughed. “You can’t stand out in the open and expect privacy around here. You know better than that.”

“Okay, so what’s your point?”

She looked at him then for the first time since he’d caught up with her. “I just wonder if you know what you’re doing.”

Sloan couldn’t hold her gaze for long because, in truth, he wasn’t sure he did know what he was doing. “I’m just helping out a woman in need.”

His grandmother’s lips twitched. She looked away, faced forward again. “And she needs help with kissing?”

“You’re either trying to make me laugh, or make me mad.”

“Neither. She’s a good woman.”

Sloan was more than surprised at his grandmother’s words. Rose generally liked people, but she tended to be stingy with her praise outside the family. “I’m glad you like her.”

“I can see that you like her, too,” Rose said. “That is good.”

“Now don’t start thinking there’s more going on than there is.”

“I have eyes. I see the way you look at her, when you stop fighting the need to fill your eyes.”

He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter what you see. She’s only here long enough to get her car fixed and get back on the road to Arkansas.”

“You’re going to simply let her go?”

He looked at her, stunned. “Of course I’m going to let her go. She’s not mine to keep.”

Rose let out a long-suffering sigh. “I suppose.”

“Come on, Grandmother, look at her. A woman that dainty and delicate wouldn’t survive two months out here on the ranch. You don’t want me falling for another helpless female, do you?”

“Of course I don’t. But if you think Emily is helpless, then you need glasses, Grandson. She’s a strong, competent woman.”

“I don’t mean to say she’s weak or incompetent. I don’t mean that at all. It’s just— Never mind. She’ll be gone in a matter of days anyway, and that’s the end of this conversation.”

Rose made a humming sound deep in her throat, but thankfully said no more on the subject. She questioned him instead on the condition of the hay crop, would they have enough stored to get them through winter if it was a hard one.

“With all this rain we’ve been getting, we’ll have plenty,” he assured her. And damn, but it felt good to be able to say that. Some years they had to truck hay in from some other state that hadn’t been hit by a drought just to get the herd through the winter. Those years were a pure bitch.

When they reached the corral, Sloan swung down from his horse. After Rose dismounted he took her reins. As much as he wanted to rush to the house to see Emily, he knew his grandmother was tired, even if she wouldn’t admit it.

“I’ll see to your horse,” he told her.

“Thank you, Grandson.” She patted his cheek. “I’m ready for a shower, and maybe even a nap, but if you repeat the latter, I’ll deny it.”

He blinked. “Repeat what?”

“You always were a good boy.”

Since Rose was going to be in the house with Emily, Sloan decided it would be wise if he kept his distance. He wasn’t ready for another lecture on the virtues of their temporary housekeeper. He feared he knew them all too well.

He wanted her.

There. He had actually let the words form in his brain. The big question was, what was he going to do about it?

While cooling down and grooming his mount and his grandmother’s, he considered the possibilities.

The first was that Emily was not interested in anything beyond that one kiss they’d already shared. In which case, his wants were moot.

But she had said she was attracted to him, too. That meant something, didn’t it? Of course it did. He could act on that, go after her. That’s what he wanted to do. He remembered the day he met her, that slow, graceful dance she’d performed while gliding from table to table. Remembered wondering if she moved that slowly, that gracefully in bed. He still wondered it, and the wondering heated his blood.

Would it be worth it to have her, then stand back and watch her drive away?

And she would drive away. She would have to, because she wasn’t cut out for life on a ranch. She had no business even being a housekeeper. Earline was as hefty as a linebacker, and the job wore her to a frazzle.

Memories of his mother surfaced, warm, loving, sad. She’d been delicate and dainty, too, like Emily. And in the end, life on this ranch had killed her. He’d been nine, and devastated.

His mother, he knew, was why he always fell for damsels in distress. Women who needed him to help them. His mother had needed a man to help her through her daily life, but his father had been consumed by the ranch, and the bottle.

Sloan had stepped in to fill the void, but he’d been a kid. He hadn’t been able to take care of his mother the way she needed, the way she deserved.

These days, it seemed, he made up for his youthful inabilities by helping any woman he thought needed him.

It was a hell of a thing, to realize all of that, and still fall in the same old trap. Because he could never, in good conscience, tie himself to a woman like his mother. He couldn’t stand to watch a woman he loved work herself to the bone and wither away before his eyes. Would never forgive himself if he did that to a woman.

So what the hell was he even thinking of, to consider getting involved with Emily? She wasn’t the type for a brief, hot fling. She had home and hearth written all over her.

Why couldn’t he gravitate, just once in his life, toward loose and wild?

In the end Sloan dallied so long in the tack room in the barn that their two part-time men came and left for home, and his brothers rode in and beat him to the shower.

Everyone was just sitting down at the table by the time he’d gotten himself cleaned up and made it to the kitchen.

Janie and Libby were bubbling over, chomping at the bit to be able to tell everyone about their day.

“And then I fell and skinned my elbow. See my owie?” Libby held up the elbow for all to see.

“That’s a beaut, all right,” Justin said.

“Did it hurt?” Sloan asked.

“It was awful,” she said. “But then I forgot about it when the washing machine broke and water went everywhere. That was cool. But it was okay, because Miss Melanie was here to help Mommy take care of it.”

Sloan inwardly winced. First because Emily had been confronted with a problem she shouldn’t have had to deal with. Second, “Mel was here?”

Emily passed the sliced tomatoes to Rose. “You call her Mel?”

He shrugged. “Sometimes. Is the washer okay now, or do we need to take a look at it?”

“No, it’s fine. It just needed a new hose for the cold water.”

Rose took a slice of tomato and passed the plate along. “I thought the porch floor looked unusually clean.”

Emily smiled. “Oh, it got a good mopping, all right.”

Sloan told himself it was no big deal that Mel had to replace the hose while she was here. Most women didn’t know squat about plumbing; Mel was the exception. He couldn’t think less of Emily for needing the help. He doubted his grandmother could have handled it on her own, and she could do damn near anything, although she tended to turn her nose up at plumbing.

“Men’s work,” she had always said. “Plumbing and electricity and car engines.” Anything else, to her way of thinking, was fair game, but women shouldn’t be bothered by any of those three pesky chores. Scrubbing toilets, she’d said, was bad enough.

No, he shouldn’t feel disappointed that Emily had needed Mel’s help. He was only sorry that he hadn’t been here himself to take care of the problem for her.

“What did Melanie want?” Caleb asked Emily.

“She brought dessert.”

“No fooling?” Justin straightened and looked around the room. “What’d she bring?”

“Listen to you,” Rose scolded. “You sound like you never get dessert. And after that wonderful banana pudding Emily made yesterday.”

Emily took no offense at Justin’s remark. “She said their blackberries were out of control. She brought pies.”

“Awright,” Justin cried. “Hot? With ice cream?”

Sloan snorted. “Heat your own pie. Emily doesn’t need to be doing extra work like heating a piece of pie for a nitwit. Next thing, you’ll be asking her to cut your meat and tie your shoes.”

Justin winked at Emily. “Don’t mind him. He’s probably just worried about whatever Mel might have told you about him.”

Sloan nearly choked on a sip of iced tea.

Emily grinned. “You mean like the fact that she had a bad crush on him for most of her life?”

Sloan’s face turned an interesting shade of red.

Justin chuckled. “That’s our Mel.”

“Did you run a count when we moved those cattle?” Maybe changing the subject, Sloan thought, would save him the serious razzing he feared was coming.

“Sixty-three,” Justin replied, “all present and accounted for.”

“You’re sure. We didn’t miss any down in that draw?”

“We didn’t miss any. I counted two-hundred-and-fifty-two legs, and divided by four.”

“Not without a calculator, you didn’t,” Sloan taunted. “Math never was your strong suit.”

“Hey,” Justin protested. “I can count just fine.”

“I seem to remember a D in math your junior year in high school.”

“Yes,” Caleb joined in. “I remember that, too. But be fair, Sloan. That D had nothing to do with his inability to add or subtract, but with the fact that Beverly Anniston of the tight-fitting, low-necked sweaters sat beside him.” He grinned. “Speaking of Ds.”

“That’s right,” Justin proclaimed. “How’s a guy supposed to concentrate with all that—”

“Watch out, Grandson,” Rose warned, a twinkle in her eye as she used her fork to cut a piece from her tomato slice.

“I was going to say distraction,” Justin claimed.

“How very diplomatic of you,” his grandmother said.

Chapter Seven

“It occurs to me,” Sloan said to Emily after supper, “that you’ve been here several days and we haven’t got you or your girls up on horseback yet. Most kids would have been clamoring for a ride by now. Don’t they like horses?”

Emily gave the kitchen countertop a final swipe with the dishrag. “They’ve never been around horses before.”

“Meaning?”

She draped the wet dishrag over the sink divider and turned to face him. “Meaning I think they’re probably dying to ride, but because I told them not to ask, they haven’t.”

Sloan’s eyes widened. “Why would you tell them not to ask? Kids, horses, wide-open spaces, it’s a nobrainer.”

She gave him a small, tight smile. “For summer camp, maybe. But we’re not here for a vacation, we’re here for me to work. I didn’t think it was appropriate.”

“Well, stuff that.” He took her by the hand and headed for the back door. “Here to work,” he muttered. “What do you think this is, the salt mines?”

Janie held her little sister’s hand tightly. The two of them stood well back from the garage, as ordered. Mr. Caleb and Mr. Justin had brought in this big thing they called an A-frame and stood it over the car engine. Now they had huge, long chains, as big around as Janie’s arm, hanging from the crossbar. The other ends of the chains were hooked onto the engine, and they were turning this handle thing, like a crank, and lifting the engine up. They said they weren’t going to pull it clear up in the air, just high enough that they could get to that thing underneath that they needed to get to. Something called an oil pan, she thought. Whatever that was.

“Golly,” Libby said beside her, her eyes wide.

Janie squeezed Libby’s hand. It was kind of scary, what the men were doing. Mr. Justin said she and Libby had to stand way back out of the way in case something broke and the engine fell.

“That big ol’ thing would squash you like a bug, and we sure don’t want that to happen,” he’d said.

Half of what Mr. Justin said, Janie knew, was teasing. But this time, she believed him.

“We have to do something,” Janie murmured.

“What do you mean?” Libby asked.

“About the car.” She pushed her glasses up on her nose. “If Mr. Caleb fixes the car, we’ll have to leave and go to Fort Smith.”

“We can’t leave,” Libby protested. “What about the survey? Mr. Sloan has to be our new daddy.”

“Shh. I know. That’s why we have to do something.” But what could they do? Janie wondered as she watched the two men point and gesture toward the engine. Mr. Caleb would repair whatever was wrong with the car, then put it back together, and it would be fixed.

Then an idea occurred to her. It made her heart pound and her hands got slick with sweat. “I know what we’ll do,” she whispered.

“What?” Libby whispered back.

“Shh. They might hear us, and it has to be a secret.”

After dragging Emily out of the house Sloan spotted the girls watching Caleb and Justin pull the car engine. He should have been out here helping them, but, damn it, some things—like talking with Emily—were more important than helping fix the car that would take her away from him.

“There they are,” he said unnecessarily. “Hey, girls, whatcha doing?”

“Look.” Libby pointed at the A-frame standing over the car.

“Oh, my.” Emily stared. “Well, that’s progress.”

“Yes,” Sloan murmured, none too pleased with the idea. Then, with a sigh, he strode toward his brothers. “If you’d told me you were doing this now, I’d have helped.”

“Did we say we needed any help?” Caleb asked.

“No, as a matter of fact,” Sloan admitted, his good mood restored. “You didn’t. We’re out of here. Ladies, if you please.” He swept his arm toward the barn and corrals.

Libby gave a little hop and skip. “Where we goin’?”

“Oh,” he said casually. “I don’t know. Maybe we’ll go saddle up a horse and ride around for a while.”

Libby squealed and clapped her hands.

Janie sucked in a sharp breath, her eyes widening. “Really? A horseback ride?”

“Would you like that?” Sloan asked, with a quick wink at Emily.

“Yes, sir!”

“You guys have fun,” Sloan called to his brothers. “We’re going riding.”

“They’re naturals,” Rose said. “Both of them.” She had come out to watch and now stood beside Emily at the corral fence watching Sloan lead their gentlest mare, Suzie Q, around the corral. Janie and Libby grinned from astride the mare’s bare back.

“This is the thrill of their lives,” Emily said. She could clearly remember the thrill of her first childhood horseback ride, of feeling as if she were the tallest person in the world while she was up there on the back of that magnificent steed.

She hadn’t cared that that magnificent steed was a thirty-year-old nag who refused to move at any pace faster than cold molasses. She’d been riding. On a horse.

She’d been seven, and Michael had made it all possible, since the horse belonged to his cousin. If she hadn’t already been in love with him, she would have fallen for him that day.

“Look, Mommy, look at us!” Libby called.

“I see you,” Emily called back. “You look wonderful, both of you. How does it feel?”

“I’m so tall,” she crowed.

Emily laughed, so grateful to Sloan for this moment, for suggesting it. She wanted her daughters to ride horses, swing on old tire swings, suck on lollipops. She wanted them to have a happy, normal childhood. Leaving Pueblo had been the first step toward that goal, away from the sadness of the past, away from struggling to put food on the table.

This interlude at the Cherokee Rose, with Sloan and his family, was something her girls would always remember, and something for which Emily would always be grateful.

“I don’t know who’s having more fun,” Rose said. “The girls or Sloan.”

It was true, Emily realized. She’d been so focused on Janie and Libby that she hadn’t noticed the look of sheer pleasure on Sloan’s face. He should have children, she thought. He would be such a good father, with his kindness and patience and good humor.

After a few more minutes Sloan lifted each of the girls down, then came to stand before Emily. “Your turn,” he said.

Emily smiled. “All right, but I want a saddle.”

“Have you ever ridden?”

“Yes, but it’s been years and years ago. I think Suzie Q here is just about my speed.”

“With a saddle.”

“Yes, please.”

“Mommy, mommy!”

“Mother, it was so fun!” Janie’s face glowed with excitement. Emily’s heart clenched. Thank you, Sloan, for putting that look on my oh-so-serious daughter’s face. Emily put an arm around each girl and hugged them both. “I’m so glad you liked it.”

“When can we do it again?” Libby wanted to know.

Emily laughed. “I don’t know. We’ll see.”

“Did you see, Miss Rose?” the little one asked. “We rode a horse.”

“I saw. You looked good up there. We’ll make horsewomen out of you two yet.”

Libby scrunched up her face. “What’s a horse swimmin’?”

Rose laughed. “Horse women. Women who ride horses.”

“Oh. But we’re not women, we’re just little girls. Can we be cowgirls?”

Emily wasn’t sure how it had happened, but Sloan had brought Suzie Q to her, saddled and ready to ride, and she’d ridden her around the corral. He’d pronounced her proficient enough for a trip through the pasture to the north pond—wherever that was—and Rose asked if she could give the girls ice cream to celebrate their ride. Now, here Emily was, riding across the grassy acres with Sloan riding next to her, the evening sun in her eyes, the south wind in her hair. He kept the horses to a walk, which she greatly appreciated.

She looked over at Sloan and found him watching her, a small smile on his lips. “Thank you,” she told him.

He looked surprised. “For what?”

“For this. I haven’t ridden since I was a kid. I love it. And for the girls. You’re their hero now. Thank you for giving them this evening.”

“Your girls.” He let out a breath and shook his head slightly, as if in wonder. “They’re so special, Emily. It’s a real kick to see the world through their eyes. A privilege to be part of their world. I’m the one who should be thanking you, for sharing them with me.”

Emily sniffed. “You’re trying to make me cry.”

He looked so suddenly horrified that she laughed.

Then he looked sheepish. “I’m trying to make you like me. Not that I didn’t mean what I said—I meant every word of it.”

“Sloan, I already like you.”

He gave her an exaggerated leer. “You do?”

She laughed again. “I’m not saying another word. Where are we going?”

“Just over this rise we’ll turn north toward the pond. It’s a pretty spot. I thought you might like it.”

How could she not like it? she thought. The greens in their varying shades were so vivid, from the dark oak leaves to the blue-green of the grass to the emerald of the cottonwoods and the paler shade of the narrow willow leaves. The sky was a sharp, breathless blue. The wind was a warm caress. It was all like a dream.

Then there was the man at her side, whose lips had touched hers. Would he try to kiss her again? Would she let him?

Ha. Let him? If he didn’t make a move soon, she thought she might just beg him.

They topped the low rise and the land stretched out ahead of them forever toward the lowering sun. Sloan angled them to the right toward a gleaming spot of water surrounded by a thin scattering of trees. The pond was maybe a half acre in size. As they rode near, a dozen or more mallard ducks flapped their wings and, with a flutter of noise, lifted toward the sky.

Emily nudged her horse to follow Sloan to the shade of a towering cottonwood beside the pond.

“Stay put,” he said as he swung down from the saddle. “I’ll help you down.”

“That’s all right.” Shifting her weight into the left stirrup, she swung her right leg over the back of the horse and slid to the ground. Right into Sloan’s waiting arms.

“I said I’d help.” His voice, as well as his arms, wrapped around her from behind.

For an instant, Emily melted. This was what she had wanted, wasn’t it? From the moment he’d kissed her, she had wanted to feel his touch, his nearness again. Wanted to find out if she had only imagined the warm tingling sensation deep inside, the gooseflesh on her arms.

She hadn’t imagined it. It was real, all of it, and it swamped her again. And this, from only his arms touching hers, his breath brushing the back of her neck.

For the life of her, she couldn’t remember what he’d just said to her.

“You said you would think about it.” This time the warmth of his breath brushed across her ear.

She shuddered. In pure delight. There was no use pretending she didn’t know what he was talking about. He’d said he would want to kiss her again, and she’d said she would think about it.

“Have you?” He ran his hands up her arms to her shoulders and turned her to face him. She was trapped between his broad chest and her horse. “Have you thought about it?”

Only in her sleep, and every waking moment. The guilt. The thrill. “Yes.”

“And?” He leaned closer, his face so near it consumed her vision.

She leaned toward him. “And.”

He didn’t wait for a verbal invitation. He slid his arms around her and took her mouth with his.

This wasn’t the gentle brush of lips like the last time. This was a taking. She reveled in it and gave back, measure for measure. With her mouth on his, she ran her hands up his hard, muscled arms, over his broad shoulders, to his neck. She threaded her fingers into his thick, soft hair. Oh, the feel of it against the sensitive skin between her fingers. Who would have thought that simply touching a man’s hair could make her spine tingle this way?

It had been so long since a man had held her. So incredibly long since she had felt this familiar heat in her blood. Was it wrong to take this pleasure? It couldn’t be. She wouldn’t let it be. She sank into the kiss, into the man, and lost herself to the sheer wonder of it. His tongue was like hot velvet against hers.

Her hands found their way down his arms again, then up, across his chest. Fascinated, she followed the dips and hollows of hard muscles. She’d never felt such strength in a man before. She wanted to feel his skin. Would it be smooth or rough, hot or cool?

She caught herself starting to open a snap and jerked back.

Sloan blinked, shook his head to clear it. “What?” His breath was coming hard. “What’s wrong?”

She looked up at him with those sky-blue eyes and swallowed. “Nothing.”

But something was. She had jerked away as if he had suddenly burst into flames. Hell, he damn near had.

Then he realized where her hands had been, what they’d been doing just before she’d broken off that mind-numbing kiss. He chuckled, if a little breathlessly. “Hey, it’s all right with me if you want to unsnap my shirt.”

Her face turned the prettiest shade of red he thought he’d ever seen. She sucked in a sharp breath and took a step back. And ran up against the horse.

Suzie Q snorted and sidestepped away from Emily, leaving Emily with no support, throwing her off balance. Her eyes widened as she started to tumble.

Sloan snared her by the arms before she could fall and pulled her to his chest. “I’ve got you.”

Despite her acute embarrassment, Emily laughed. “That was spoken with entirely too much confidence to suit me.”

“What?” He grinned down at her and ran his hands up and down her back while pressing her against his chest. “That I’ve got you?” He couldn’t get enough of the smell of her, something light and flowery. He could easily become addicted to the feel of her breasts against him. “Maybe it’s wishful thinking.”

“It’s nice thinking,” she said shyly.

“Yeah?”

“Yes.” She slipped out of his arms and turned to stroke Suzie Q between the eyes. “But it’s pointless, you know.”

“I like you, you like me. What’s pointless about that?”

She gave the horse a final pat, then walked toward the pond. Sloan followed her as if he were a puppy on a leash. But what else could a man do, he thought.

“I’m only here until my car’s fixed,” she reminded him.

He hadn’t needed the reminder.

“Judging by the progress Caleb is making, that should only be a couple more days. A few days after that I’ll have earned enough to pay for the repairs, and a couple more days I’ll have enough to pay you for towing my car from New Mexico.”

“Now, hold on,” he protested. “You’re not paying me for towing your car.”

“That’s not my point.”

“I mean it,” he said, stopping next to her at the edge of the reddish-brown water. “Towing your car was like bringing your suitcase along. That’s all. No charge.”

“My point,” she said, lips pursed, “is that I’ll be gone in a few days.”

He gave her a wry smile. “You never heard of making hay while the sun shines?”

She chuckled.

“Hey, that’s a saying we take seriously around here.”

“That’s fine,” she told him. “As long as it’s hay you’re talking about.”

Sloan reached out and took her hand. “You don’t believe in living for the moment? Grabbing for what you can while it’s there?” He tugged her closer, nuzzled the side of her face. “When it’s something you want clear down to your toes?”

Emily could feel herself melting at his low, seductive tone. Another minute and she would be in his arms again. And would that be so wrong?

“Just because you leave the ranch doesn’t mean we can’t still see each other, if we want to.”

“Oh, sure, you’re going to drive to Arkansas to take me out to dinner and a movie.”

“I don’t have a problem with that. Do you?”

Emily chuckled. “Is this what they call a one-track mind?”

“Ah, come on. Give a guy a break.”

She pulled her hand from his grasp. “Give a guy a break and do what, have sex with him because he wants me to?”

Sloan raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, I give. I take it all back. If you’d rather, I’ll go back to ignoring you.”

Emily’s heart sank. “You’re angry.”

He let out a gust of breath. “That’s an understatement. But at myself, not you. I obviously managed to make this sound, I don’t know, tawdry. That’s not how I meant it at all. And, okay, I’m a little mad at you for taking it all wrong. I thought we might have something going here. I thought it was mutual.”

Disheartened, disgusted with herself, Emily sat on the grass and hugged her knees. “I’m sorry.” She couldn’t look at him. “I’m no good at this.”

He lowered himself to the grass beside her. “No good at what?”

She shrugged and pulled a blade of grass through her fingers. “This man-woman stuff. I’ve never played this game before.”

“Is that what you think I’m doing? Playing a game?” Sloan was losing her, he knew. He could feel her slipping right through his grasp. Not that she’d ever been his to lose, but he’d had his hopes. Was he simply being perverse? Telling himself he wanted her, while chalking up a list of all the reasons they were wrong for each other?

Reasons. One, really. She wasn’t suited to life on a ranch. Now he had to figure that she wasn’t suited to life with him.

Life? God, if she could hear his thoughts. She assumed he wanted a roll in the hay and nothing more, and the word life kept zipping through his mind.

“I honestly don’t know,” she said in answer to his question. “I only know that I’m here for a matter of days, no more, and you seem to want something from me I don’t think I’m prepared to give.”

Hope was a funny thing, Sloan thought. It sprang to life at the slightest provocation. He reached toward her, and with the tip of his index finger beneath her chin, turned her face toward his. “I don’t want to take anything from you, Em, I just thought, if you wanted to, we could get together, pass a little mutually satisfying time together, and see where it leads.”

Her cheeks were as pink as the streaks cast across the sky by the setting sun. “I told you I wasn’t any good at this sort of stuff. I like you, Sloan. I am attracted to you. I just don’t know what, if anything, I should do about it.”

“There’s no should to it,” he said gently. “You either feel like getting closer to me, or you don’t. I’m a big boy, Em. I can take rejection. Not well,” he added with a quirk of his lips, “but I can take it. I guess I’ve been rushing you, and I apologize for that. Come on, let’s head back before it gets dark.”

* * *

That night Emily lay awake for hours going over in her head every gesture they’d made, every word they’d spoken at the pond. She’d made such a mess of it, she felt like an inexperienced fool.

At the thought, she bit back a laugh. She wasn’t ready to admit to the fool part, but, mother of two children or not, she was inexperienced when it came to dealing with men. The only man she’d ever had anything to do with was Michael.

Wanting Sloan felt like a betrayal of everything she and Michael had shared. The guilt gnawed at her.

But that was unreasonable. Michael had been gone for two years now, and she’d been alone. He had loved her every bit as much as she had loved him. He would want her to find someone new. Wouldn’t he?

She tried to think in the reverse—if she had died and left Michael alone. Wouldn’t she want him to be happy? Or was she so petty that she would prefer he spend the rest of his life pining for her?

Oh, heaven above, she hoped what was inside her was the former. Thinking she might be small and petty didn’t sit well with her. Michael would be ashamed of her for such thoughts.

Michael is dead.

Yes, he was dead. Gone. But never forgotten. He was and always would be alive in her heart, and she did her best to keep him alive for his daughters.

Oh, Michael, what am I going to do?

Heaven help her, was she actually asking her husband if she should give in to her desire and make love with Sloan?

Emily, girl, that’s just sick.

But in the darkness of the room she shared with her daughters, Michael’s daughters, she smiled up at the ceiling. She could see him getting a good belly laugh from the irony of it all.

Sloan, too, had trouble sleeping that night. He told himself until the wee hours of the morning that he was wasting his time chasing after Emily. She was right. What was the point? She’d be leaving in a few days. And since his suggestion that he could drive to Fort Smith to take her out had been met with a decided lack of enthusiasm—or belief—that, it seemed, would be that. No point in beating his head, or his heart—

His heart? When had that pathetic organ chimed in on the situation?

Bleary-eyed, he climbed out of bed the same time he did every morning. He didn’t need an alarm to tell him it was time to get to work. The rooster had been crowing for more than an hour. The sun would be up soon.

He didn’t know what he expected from Emily when he went downstairs for breakfast after he’d showered and shaved and grunted a time or two at his brothers, but the possibility of a cold shoulder had crossed his mind. He was grateful to beat the rest of the family to the kitchen.

Emily was alone in the kitchen, working on her second skilletful of bacon, when she heard a sound behind her. Startled, she whirled. Her hand passed over the skillet just as a slice of bacon gave up a drop of moisture and sent grease popping across her palm. She yelped and grabbed her burned hand.

Sloan rushed to her side. “You hurt yourself.”

With little sleep the night before, Emily was not in the best of moods. She stepped around him and thrust her hand under a stream of cold water at the sink.

“No,” she told him. “I didn’t do anything to myself. You snuck up on me, startled me, and grease popped on my hand.”

“I’m sorry,” Sloan said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No.” She let out a sigh. The cold water felt good on her palm. “I know you didn’t. I’m sorry. There was no need for me to snap at you.” She turned off the water and reached for a dish towel.

“Let me see.” Sloan took her hand and cupped it in his palm. Three red spots decorated the center of it. “We’ve got a tube of something for burns.”

“Yes, I’ll get it later.” His hands, warm against hers, tempted her to linger. She made a move to pull away.

He held on. “You didn’t get any blisters yesterday from riding, did you?”

“No, no blisters.”

His thumb traced lightly across her palm, sending a shiver down her spine.

“I should have found you a pair of gloves.”

Her lips quirked. She pulled free of his light grasp and stepped back to the stove. “You should have found me a thick pillow. It’s not my hands that suffered.”

Sloan chuckled, but the sound was filled with sympathy. “We have a tub of something for that, too.”

“I’ve already used it,” she confessed with a laugh. With a long turning fork she lifted the final strips of bacon from the skillet and placed them on a paper towel to drain.

“Em, about yesterday.”

She wasn’t sure she was ready to talk about yesterday yet. She turned off the flame beneath the skillet and moved it to a cold burner.

“I only meant to take you for a ride,” he offered.

She gave him a look from the corner of her eye.

“Make that, horseback ride,” he corrected. “I didn’t take you out to the pond with the plan to get you into bed. Or the grass, as the case may be.”

“If I’d thought that’s what you were after, I wouldn’t have gone with you.”

“I just wanted to, I don’t know, show you around the place a little. I thought you’d enjoy going riding. I wasn’t thinking about getting your clothes off. Well, I mean, I wasn’t planning on it.”

A bark of laughter escaped her.

“Yeah,” he said. “Well, I’m trying to be honest here. I haven’t talked so much like this to a woman in, well, ever. I want you to know the truth. I thought maybe we could—do they still use the word neck?”

Emily laughed again at the red stain creeping up his neck. “That’ll do. And we did, didn’t we? I mean, a little bit.”

“So, does this mean you’re not mad at me?”

She gave him a smile and a slice of crisp bacon. “I’m not mad, Sloan.”

He took the bacon with one hand and stroked her cheek with the other. “You look like you didn’t get much sleep.”

“Well, now I’m mad,” she said tartly. “No woman likes to hear that.”

Chapter Eight

Since Caleb had been doing all the work on Emily’s car in the evenings, Justin figured he’d give the guy a break and change the oil in the tractor himself before it was time to cut hay again. But the oil wasn’t in the tractor shed, it was down in the garage. He strolled along past the corrals and barn and enjoyed the sunshine and the hot south wind.

A flash of pink at the open garage door alerted him. He slowed, then paused. Whispering. The funny thing about whispering was that the sibilant hiss of it tended to carry farther than normally spoken words. The only reasons to whisper, in Justin’s experience, were when you didn’t want anyone to hear what you were saying to your sweetheart, or when you were saying something you knew you weren’t supposed to say.

Quietly he walked to the garage door and leaned against it.

Janie was gathering up nuts and bolts in her small hands. “He’ll need these to put the car back together. If he can’t find them, he can’t finish the car, and we won’t have to leave and go to Fort Smith.”

“But that’s stealing,” Libby whispered back.

“It is not. It’s our car, isn’t it? So these things are ours, too. You can’t steal from yourself.”

Justin bit back a chuckle. Smart little cookie, that Janie. It sounded to him as if she and her sister were in no hurry to continue on their way to Arkansas. He figured maybe they had the right idea.

“Hiya, girls,” he said. “Whatcha doin’?”

Both girls jerked and squeaked. Never had guilt been so blatantly stamped on such pretty little faces.

“Nothing,” they said in unison.

“I just came down here to get some oil for the tractor. Would you look at that mess?” He pointed to the oil-stained tarp Caleb had spread out beneath the front end of the car. On it lay all the nuts and bolts and various parts that he had taken from the engine.

Justin shook his head in mock dismay. “Something’s gonna get lost if Caleb leaves that stuff lying around like that.” He squatted down next to the girls and picked up a bolt. “Of course, it won’t matter much if these nuts and bolts and screws and stuff get lost. We’ve got a zillion of them around here we can use to replace them. But this little thing here,” he added, nudging with his index finger the oil pickup tube Caleb had removed and cleaned last night. “This thing gets kicked around and accidentally lost, why, no telling how long it might take to replace it.”

Janie blinked up at him, all serious and wide-eyed, her mind running a mile a minute or his name wasn’t Justin Chisholm. “How come?” she asked.

“Are you kidding? A car this old, nobody keeps a part like that lying around. There’s probably not another one of these little tubes for this particular vehicle for fifty miles. Maybe a hundred. Could take a week or two to track down a replacement and get it shipped in.”

“It could?” Janie darted a quick look at Libby.

“It sure could.” He pushed himself to his feet and shook his head. “Caleb needs to be more careful with stuff. I’ll have to tell him to do just that, next time I see him.”

Janie swallowed and craned her neck to look up at him. “When might that be?”

“Oh, probably not ’til suppertime tonight. Now, if you ladies will excuse me, I better get that oil and get back down to the tractor. We’ll be wanting to cut hay probably next week, and I don’t want to leave this for the last minute.”

Whistling as if he didn’t have a care in the world, Justin took the oil he needed from the cabinet in the back, grabbed the spout and funnel and sauntered back out of the garage. “See you girls later.”

“’Bye, Mr. Justin,” Libby called.

It was all he could do to keep from laughing out loud all the way back to the tractor.

Oh, he did like a devious mind. He wondered where they would hide the oil pickup tube. Wondered if he was going to be able to keep a straight face when Caleb tore the garage apart looking for it.

Sloan made it back to the barn in the middle of the afternoon and was pleased to learn that Justin had changed the oil in the tractor. It was due, and then some.

“We’ll be needing this sucker in a few days, maybe a week,” he said.

“The hay’s nearly ready?”

“Yep. This rain we’ve been getting has helped. If we could get another good soaking in the next day or two, then a good dry spell, it’ll be damn near perfect.”

Justin wiped his hands on an oily rag. “It’s turning out to be a good year.”

Sloan looked out and surveyed the only home any of them had ever known. Two little girls played and giggled in the backyard and a pretty blond-headed lady knelt in the garden. “It sure is.” Now, he thought with a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach, if only it was real.

Oh, the hay was real enough. And it was true that the weather had been their friend this year, for which he remembered to give thanks, because it was a rare thing. Normally the rains came at the worst possible time, followed by weeks of drought, or an early freeze, or a late one, or a tornado.

And the family, that was real enough to be thankful for, too.

It was the woman and the children that weren’t real. Weren’t his.

And they shouldn’t be, he told himself. He wished he could stop pulling himself in opposite directions over Emily. His head kept telling him she wasn’t cut out for life on a ranch. She would end up pale and rundown and wasted, like his mother, and that would kill him. And maybe her, too. His head also told him that if she continued to need his help every time he turned around, he would get tired of it.

But his heart argued that she was the woman he’d been waiting to meet his entire life. He had to admire a woman who could raise two such terrific kids. And she wasn’t that helpless, was she?

Or maybe, he thought wryly, it wasn’t his heart, but an area farther south that kept ignoring his head and wanting her when he knew he shouldn’t. He wanted to hold her, touch her, taste her. He wanted to feel her flesh against his.

And she was having none of it.

Maybe it was for the best.

“What’s the matter with you?” Justin nudged his shoulder. “You look like somebody just ran over your favorite puppy.”

The sound that came from Sloan’s throat sounded suspiciously like a growl.

“She gets to you, huh?”

Sloan turned away. From his brother, from the view of Emily and the girls. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Ha! Who are you trying to kid, me? Or yourself?”

“When’s the last time anybody told you to shut up?”

“I don’t know what your problem is. She seems perfect for you. What are you going to do, let her slip right through your fingers?”

“Butt out, kid.”

Justin threw his hands in the air. “Butting out. Butting way out.”

Sloan opened his mouth to have another go at him, because griping at Justin was easier than thinking about Emily, but he was cut off by the scream of a little girl.

* * *

Emily was taking a break from housework to spend some time in Rose’s vegetable garden. She’d brought a plastic five-gallon bucket with her to collect the day’s offering of tomatoes, squash, green beans and cucumbers. They’d be having fresh salad tonight for sure.

With half her mind on picking vegetables and pulling weeds and the other half on the girls playing on the other side of the fence in the backyard, the small gray snake startled her. She jerked back, then laughed at herself. It was just a little bug-eater, a gardener’s friend. But at her sudden movement, it slithered under cover among the thick growth of bush beans.

Libby came over and draped herself against the chain-link fence. “Whatcha doin’, Mommy?”

“I found a friend,” Emily said. “You and Janie want to come see?”

“Janie, come see what Mommy found.”

In seconds the girls had joined her in the garden, hunkered down with her between two rows of beans.

“What is it?” Janie asked, trying to peer around her mother while Libby sidled up and stood in front of Emily.

Emily studied the bases of the bean plants carefully. “I think he’s hiding. He’s probably scared of us. He’s just a little guy.”

“But what is it, Mother?” Janie asked.

“It’s a snake,” Emily told her. “A little gray snake.”

“Snake?” Libby screamed at the top of her lungs. “Snake! It’s a snake!” She bolted from the ground and rammed into Emily.

With Janie directly behind her, Emily lost her balance and did an awkward side flip over the row of beans. She barely had time to register the fact that she was facedown in the dirt, with a cucumber in her ear, when Libby was all over her, shrieking for all she was worth.

Heavy footfalls thundered toward the garden from across the drive.

“Emily!” Sloan leaped the two rows of bush beans to land next to her.

While Janie called her sister’s name, Libby’s shrieks subsided into pitiful sobs.

“What’s wrong?” Sloan demanded frantically. “Em? Libby? Are you all right? What happened?”

“Libby, baby,” Emily groaned. “Get off me, baby.”

“I’ve got her.” Sloan lifted Libby in his arms and started wiping her tears. “Are you hurt, sweetie?”

Sniff, sniff. “No, I was scared.”

“Em?” he asked. “Are you okay?”

With another groan, Emily pushed herself to her knees. “I’m okay. Just in shock.”

“What happened?” he demanded.

“I don’t know. Libby, why did you scream, baby?”

Libby sniffed again. “You said it was a snake.”

“A snake?” Sloan practically jerked Emily to her feet. “Where? Did it get you?”

“Relax,” Emily said, half amused, half irritated. “It was just a little gray bug-eater. Libby, you weren’t afraid of snakes last summer when we went up in the hills and had the picnic for Carol Ann’s birthday party.” She took Libby from Sloan’s arms and stood her on the ground. Kneeling before her youngest, she used the hem of her T-shirt to mop the girl’s face. As her shirt now had garden soil ground into it, Libby’s face became a mess.

“Remember?” Emily said. “You found that little green snake and picked it up? You said it was cute and you carried it in your pocket.”

Libby sniffed again. “I forgot.”

“You forgot you weren’t afraid of snakes?”

Libby’s lower lip wobbled. “I was scared it might be a tobra.”

Emily frowned. “A what?”

“A tobra.” Sniff. “Like comes out of the basket on TV.”

“I don’t…” Emily looked questioningly at Sloan, who shook his head. At Justin, who shrugged. At Janie, who stared at the ground and dug the toe of her shoe in the dirt.

“Janie, do you know what she’s talking about?”

Janie shrugged and twisted back and forth as if swaying in the wind. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

Another shrug. “I guess.”

“Janie,” Emily said firmly. “Tell me.”

Janie dared a look at her mother, then looked up at Sloan, then Justin, with a plea in her eyes. When neither man offered any help, she let out a dramatic sigh. “She means a cobra. We saw it on TV.”

The light dawned. “And it comes out of a basket,” Emily said. “A snake charmer.”

“And it was great big and scary.” Libby’s voice shook. “And they said it kilt people. It gave me bad dreams. I told her it scared me, but she wouldn’t change the channel. She called me a sissy.”

“I didn’t call you a sissy, I told you not to be a sissy.”

“I’m not a sissy.” Libby stuck out her tongue.

“Are, too.”

“All right, girls,” Emily said sternly, “that’s enough. Let’s go in the house and get cleaned up. Sloan, Justin, thank you for running to our rescue, so to speak. I’m sorry for all the commotion.”

At a complete loss, Sloan tagged along behind them until they disappeared inside the house. He stood in the dirt and stared at the back door, feeling shut out of his own house.

“Man,” Justin said, standing beside him. “Hearing a little girl scream like that, seeing Emily pitch face first to the ground. That’ll take the starch out of a man’s knees.”

“No fooling,” Sloan said with feeling. In about a week, he was sure, his hands might stop shaking.

They just stood there for a couple of minutes. Sloan’s mind was blank. Just…blank. Except for the echo of Libby’s scream, the picture of Emily falling.

“So,” Justin finally said. “What do you think?”

Sloan let out a long breath and scrubbed a hand down his face. “I think I need a beer.”

In the house, Emily washed all three of them up at the bathroom sink. She was in need of it worse than the girls. When they were all clean she took the girls to their bedroom and sat between them on the edge of her bed.

“Well,” she said. “That was exciting.”

Libby giggled. Couldn’t keep her baby down for long, Emily thought, relieved. She smoothed her hand over Libby’s hair. “Are you okay now?”

She sniffed and nodded. “I didn’t think about a little snake. I just thought about the big, mean tobra.”

“Cobra,” Janie corrected.

Emily put her arm around Janie. “I think you owe somebody an apology, young lady.”

Janie hung her head. “I’m sorry, Mommy.”

Emily’s heart clenched. Janie hadn’t called her that since Michael died. Since the day after the funeral she had called her Mother. “I know you are, honey, but I’m not the one you need to apologize to.”

Janie mumbled something Emily couldn’t make out.

“I didn’t hear you.”

“I said, I know.”

“And?”

Janie peered over at her sister. “I’m sorry, Lib. I didn’t think it would scare you that bad.”

“Well, it did.” Libby was going to milk this.

“Libby, when someone admits they did something wrong and apologizes, the correct response is, thank you. Apology accepted. And then you let it go and don’t argue about it anymore.”

Now Libby hung her head. “Okay.”

“Okay, what?”

“Okay, thank you, Janie.”

“Apology accepted,” Emily prompted.

“Apology accepted.”

It wasn’t the most gracious acceptance Emily had ever heard, but it would do.

Emily decided that after the emotional upheaval of the day, the girls had earned themselves a nap. They didn’t much care for the idea; they would rather go back outside and play, as long, Libby said, as there weren’t any tobras around. Emily assured her that there were no tobras, or cobras, either, anywhere in the entire country. But Libby needed to rest and regroup, and Janie had earned a little time-out.

“And I mean nap,” she warned. “No TV for at least thirty minutes.”

The latter might have been taken more seriously if she hadn’t winked at them when she closed the bedroom door as she left.

She found Justin at the desk talking on the phone. She busied herself in the kitchen until he finished the call, then asked him where Sloan was.

“He’s out at the barn,” he said.

She hesitated, then asked. “Are you going to be in the house for a few minutes?”

“Yeah. I got stuck with dealing with an invoice screwup at the feed store.”

“I hate to ask, but I need to talk to Sloan. Would you mind keeping an ear out for the girls? They’re supposed to be napping, but if they turn on the television, that’s okay. I just don’t like leaving them alone in the house.”

“No problem,” he said easily. “Take your time. I’ll be at this for at least an hour, at the rate things are going,” he added with disgust.

“You’re sure you don’t mind?”

Justin chuckled to himself. Mind? “Of course not.” Especially if it would help throw Emily and Sloan together, he thought. “Go easy on him. Little Libby screaming like that kinda shook him up. If you’ve got any of that incredible patience and sympathy left, he could probably use some about now.”

He was grinning as he watched her rush out the door.

Sloan had barely finished his beer and had yet to settle his nerves before Melanie Pruitt pulled up at the barn where he was working.

He and Mel went way back, to childhood. He had always been uneasy around her, with that hard case of hero-worship she’d had for him for years. But lately, the past couple of years, she’d finally decided he was never going to see her as anything other than an honorary sister, and they had become friends. Good friends.

She sauntered toward him now with a swing in her hips and a cocky grin on her lips. “Hey, big guy.”

“Mel.” He waited for her to join him inside the barn, out of the sun. “What’s up?”

“I was on my way to town and decided to stop at the last minute and see if Emily or Rose needed anything or wanted to go with me.”

“That was nice of you, considering you never stop and invite any of us to ride to town with you.”

“Hey, so sue me. I like Emily. I gotta say, Sloan, I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Had what in me?”

“The ability to finally find the right woman.”

Sloan was glad he had already finished his beer. If he’d had a mouthful just then he would have choked on it. “Pardon?”

Melanie leaned toward his face. “Em-i-ly,” she pronounced carefully. “You did good. I approve. Don’t tell me you don’t like her.”

“Of course I like her. That’s not the point.”

“What is the point?”

“She’ll be leaving in a few days. She’s got a job offer or something in Arkansas. She’s got family there.”

“So? You’re just going to let her go? You getting stupid in your old age?”

“Give it a rest, Mel. In the first place, it’s really none of your business.”

“Of course it is. I may not want you for myself anymore, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to see you happy. If I hadn’t been out of town when you hooked up with that what’s-her-name, the piranha, I could have saved you a lot of grief.”

“You didn’t try to save me any grief over Connie Sue.”

Melanie snorted. “Like I didn’t try. You got what you deserved with that clinging vine.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re all heart. But none of this has anything to do with Emily.” This conversation, he thought, was getting out of hand. The toes of his boots suddenly became fascinating. He stared down at them. “It’s not like that with her.”

“Well, I should think not. Emily’s got a brain in her head, and she’s a nice lady. And she likes you.”

Sloan’s head shot up. “She said that?”

“Ho! That got your attention.”

Sloan felt like an idiot. Mel was playing with him. He tried to remember if he’d done anything to make her mad lately, but couldn’t come up with an incident that she might think required retribution. Besides, Justin was the one she usually played her practical jokes on, mainly because he played them on her. Occasionally they got together and played them on someone else.

“Okay,” he said. “So she likes me. I’m a likable guy. But as soon as her car’s fixed, she’s gone. She’s not cut out for life out here.”

“Been thinking about asking her to stay, have you?”

“Of course not,” he denied. “I just told you, she’s not cut out for living on a ranch.”

“Says who?” Melanie demanded.

“For crying out loud, her first full day here I had to haul a roast out of the oven for her. Little fool was going to try it herself, and the damn thing weighed about as much as she does. She’s going to kill herself hauling that damn vacuum cleaner up and down the stairs, and she can’t even fry bacon without burning herself.”

Melanie stared at him, her mouth hanging open. “What did you say?”

“Aw, hell, those were just examples. From what I hear, you saw how helpless she is the other day when the washer blew a hose. If you hadn’t been here we’d probably still be knee deep in water. Thanks, by the way.”

“Of all the—” She swallowed the rest of her words. “In the first place, big guy, the only thing I did the other day was help her drag the washer out from the wall. It weighs slightly more than a stupid roast. It took both of us. In the space of ten minutes I saw her drag socks out of a vacuum cleaner, doctor her daughter’s scraped elbow, replace a hose on the washing machine and mop down the entire porch and everything on it. Then, without batting an eye, she served me a slice of my own pie, heated and with ice cream. She never even broke a sweat. Helpless, my ass, Chisholm. You better take those blinders off or you’re going to miss out on the best thing that ever happened to you.”

Sloan didn’t plan on saying another word. He’d already said too much as it was. But before his brain could still his tongue, words spilled out. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. She reminds me so much of my mother it terrifies me.”

“Your mother?” Melanie shrieked. “You really do have blinders on, don’t you? It’s you who’s got the problem, not Emily. You just forget everything I’ve said and let Emily leave. She’s too damn good for an idiot like you. Ask yourself this, Sloan. If she’s so damn helpless, so completely wrong for you, why are you still attracted to her?”

Without another word, or letting him get one in, she whirled and stomped back to her truck. Before her dust settled, before his mind could clear out the fog that had suddenly filled it, Emily appeared before him. Just appeared, as if by magic.

“What,” she said tightly, “was that all about?”

Sloan’s heart dropped to the pit of his stomach. “How much did you hear?”

Emily propped her hands on her hips. “Oh, not much. Only that you think I’m a helpless, incompetent idiot.”

“I never said—”

“I heard what you said.” She had never been so hurt, so angry. She felt betrayed. Why, she wasn’t sure. She and Sloan were nothing to each other. Nothing more than boss and employee, and actually, Rose was her boss.

“All this time,” she told him, “I thought you were being so nice, such a gentleman. Offering me this job, opening doors for me, the heavy lifting, your concern over every little thing I do. I wonder if you really think I’m helpless, or if you’re trying to convince me I am.”

“Emily, I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt your feelings.”

“My feelings? Is that what this is about? After today, I’m beginning to think maybe it’s your feelings that are the problem here.”

“What are you talking about?” He looked like a confused, whipped puppy.

Emily didn’t care what he looked like. She wasn’t about to let him off the hook. “Convince me I’m helpless, that I don’t belong here, and I’ll leave, just the way I planned to, and you won’t have to deal with your feelings for me.”

“What difference does it make what I think?” He didn’t look so downtrodden and misused now, he looked angry. “You’re leaving anyway. You make that clear every time I get near you. You’ve as much as said that being with me is a waste of time.”

“I never said any such thing. Every time I mentioned leaving, you never suggested anything else. Because you think I’m what, too weak, too helpless? I’m not helpless, Sloan Chisholm, I’m not. I don’t know who you see when you look at me, but you’re not seeing me. This is me.” She whipped off her shirt and tossed it over her shoulder.

“Emily! Are you crazy?” He stepped around her and scooped up her blouse. “Put this back on.”

“Why? So you can go on seeing me the way you want to, instead of the way I am? But then, you don’t know who I am, do you?”

“The whole damn world’s going to know who you are when they walk in here and see you half-naked.”

“Nobody’s going to walk in here, and so what if they do?”

“Where are your girls?” he demanded. “Don’t you care about them?”

“Of course I care. I’d die for them and you know it. It just so happens they’re in their room for the next hour, and Justin is staying in the house to make sure they stay put. Your grandmother’s in town and not expected back until supper, and Caleb is out riding the range, or whatever. Nobody’s going to walk in here, so you can quit worrying that you’ll be embarrassed.”

“I’m not worried about me, damn it. Put your clothes back on.”

“I will not,” she shot back. “Not as long as you have trouble seeing me, the real me. This is me.” With abrupt, jerky motions, running on pure adrenaline and probably, she admitted to herself, no shortage of stupidity, she unzipped her jeans and jerked them down a couple of inches.

“Emily, stop this.”

“You see these?” She pointed to the pale marks near her hipbone. “These are stretch marks from having my body swell up to five times its normal size, both times I got pregnant. I carried two babies to term, gave birth to two babies, natural childbirth both times. Michael was there, holding my hand, but he sure didn’t step in and finish the job for me. I was a stay-at-home mom. Do you have any idea what that means?”

“Emily, put your clothes back on.”

“You think I sat around at home with my feet up all day, eating bonbons and watching soap operas? Men. What do any of you know? Do you think every time a faucet dripped, a toilet overflowed or a light switch broke, I sat down and cried and waited for the man of the house to come home and solve the problem? Do you think when Michael fell ill and I had a four-year-old and a six-year-old that I waited for somebody else to come along and help me? He was sick for two years before he died. Two long, grueling years. Grueling for him, and yes, for me, too. When he died, I buried the man I’d loved all my life. His medical expenses wiped out our finances. I had to sell the house, put the kids in day care and get a job.”

“Emily, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry. Prospective employers were sorry, too, that I didn’t have any real job experience. Managing a household, raising children, nursing a dying husband, handling the finances, the plumbing, appliance repairs, none of that mattered, because I wasn’t getting paid for it. It wasn’t real work. But, no, I don’t know how to pull a car engine, so I couldn’t take care of that myself. That does not make me helpless or incompetent.”

“I never said you were incompetent.”

“You might as well have.”

“Would you please put your clothes back on?”

“Why? Don’t you like what you see? Or maybe the problem is that you do like what you see, but you don’t want to like it. How can you possibly be attracted to a woman you think is a helpless ninny?”

“I never called you a ninny,” he cried. “Quit putting words in my mouth.”

“Quit dodging the question.”

“Because I can’t help it!” he shouted. “All right? I can’t help it. I want you.”

“Despite what you think of me.”

“I was wrong, okay?” Heaven help him, no woman had ever looked less like anyone’s mother than Emily did in that moment. She looked like every man’s secret fantasy. “You’ve convinced me. But even when I thought you did need help with a few things, I never thought it was your fault. I never blamed you.”

“Oh, goody.”

“I can’t win with you,” he cried.

“And I can’t win with you,” she fired back. “I don’t know why I even want to.”

Sloan lost all desire to shout. He could barely find his voice. “Do you?”

Emily wasn’t ready to talk about her wants. “What did you mean about your mother?”

He closed his eyes for a moment, then turned away. “I’m not saying another word until you get dressed.”

“No,” she told him. “You said I remind you of her. Maybe I should take off the rest of my clothes so you can be sure I’m not her.” She shoved her jeans down to her ankles, kicked off her shoes, then stepped out of the jeans.

“Damn it, Emily, what are you doing?”

“I’m waiting,” she said, standing there in panties and bra, “for you to answer my question. Why do I remind you of your mother, and what does that have to do with anything? And why should it terrify you?”

“I was wrong, okay? You’ve convinced me you’re nothing like her. Just drop it.”

“I won’t drop it.”

“Why not, for crying out loud?”

“Because it’s important to me.”

“Oh, well, that explains everything.”

“I take it you thought your mother was helpless.”

He let out a long breath. “She needed help a lot,” he confessed.

“Like you think I do.”

“She was small like you, delicate like you.”

“So now I’m delicate.”

Sloan couldn’t help himself. He reached out and stroked her cheek. “You are. She was fragile, too, like you.”

“I’m not fragile.”

“To me, you are.”

Emily leaned into his touch, then backed away. “What happened to your mother, Sloan.”

He sighed and looked away. “She wasn’t cut out for life on a ranch. It was too hard on her. Eventually, it drove her to kill herself.”

“Oh, dear God. How old were you?”

“I was nine. Justin was a little thing, about two.”

“I lost my parents in a car accident when I was in my teens. I can’t imagine how devastating it must have been for you.”

“It was roughest on our father. He blamed himself for bringing her here. Drank himself to death within two years.”

Emily saw the old, deep pain in Sloan’s eyes, pain he had carried all these years since losing his parents. Her own hurt feelings suddenly seemed petty. This time it was her hand that went to his cheek. “Oh, Sloan. I’m so sorry. Nothing I could say would ease the pain of your loss. But, Sloan, I am not like your mother.”

He swallowed and cupped his hand over hers where it rested against his cheek. “I guess I’ve been wrong about you.”

A tentative smile curved her lips. “I guess you have been. So, can we kiss and make up?”

“Ha. Not until you put your clothes back on.”

She moved in closer to him. “You mean that I’ve finally worked up my nerve to make a move on you, and you’re going to turn me away?”

Chapter Nine

It might have been nerves, or it might have been the combination of panic, wariness and hope in Sloan’s eyes that had Emily biting back a smile.

He took a step backward, severing the physical contact. “This is kind of an about-face, isn’t it?”

Emily missed the feel of his cheek against her palm, his hand holding her hand against his face. “I thought you’d be pleased.”

“I am,” he acknowledged. “But I’m also confused.”

Emily glanced down and was sharply reminded that her clothes lay in a heap on the barn floor. She looked up again to his face, to keep from losing her nerve. “In most areas of my life I’m confident. I know what I’m doing. I’m good with my girls, and I can handle most of your average daily crises. But when it comes to my personal life, I’m not as confident. I’ve never had to think about having a relationship before, of being intimate with a man, because I always had Michael. I’ve been alone now for two years. I’m out of practice. If you don’t want me anymore, just say so, and I’ll go away. But if you do still want me, you’re going to have to help me out, because I’m not sure how to go about this.”

Sloan was touched that she would open herself up to him so completely. He couldn’t leave her twisting in the wind on her own. “All you have to be sure about,” he said, taking her hand and pulling her closer, “is that this is what you want.”

She stepped closer and pressed herself against him. With her steady, blue gaze locked on his, she rose onto her toes and kissed him. A small, simple touch of lips on lips. “I’m sure.”

He looked down at their joined hands. “You’re trembling.”

“I know.”

But she still wanted him. He could see it in her eyes, the heat, the desire. The nerves. “Come here, then.” He wrapped his arms around her and held her close.

Emily let out the breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. She had told him she was sure this was what she wanted. That didn’t mean she was sure of herself. She felt that uncertainty in the chill on her skin, despite the heat of the day. When his mouth brushed hers, she sighed. Then he kissed her again, more thoroughly this time, and when his tongue swept into her mouth and touched hers, her chill disappeared.

For this space in time she would pretend that she was no longer alone. That someone strong and loving stood by her side and faced the world with her. Someone she could turn to in need, in laughter, in love. Someone she could share the girls with.

Pretending felt like heaven. Letting go of the reality of her life felt like freedom. To taste a man, to slide her hands over his chest and feel the hard muscles there, made her heart race, her blood heat, and she welcomed both the racing and the heat. His lips were soft, his body hard. The contrast was incredibly arousing.

She felt as if she were standing on a new threshold, ready to take wing and fly. Against his lips, she murmured his name.

Sloan ran his hands down her back, then up once more. “Say it again,” he whispered. He had a need to hear it from her. “Say my name again.”

“Sloan,” she whispered. “Sloan.”

Her skin felt so smooth, so soft and tender against his hard, workingman’s hands, but she didn’t seem to mind his calluses.

The smell of her, so sweet and womanly, contrasted sharply, for which he was eternally grateful, with the smells of clean straw and old leather that permeated the barn. The scent of flowers came from her hair, and different, softer perfume from her skin. It was enough to make a man weak.

When her breath quickened, he nearly lost his head and took her down to the floor of the barn. He wanted to take her to a soft bed, but there was no chance of that. Not this time. But he couldn’t bring himself to pull away and forgo the pleasure he instinctively knew awaited them both.

He skimmed his lips over her cheeks, down along the side of her neck. Given half a chance, he could devour her.

When his teeth grazed the tendon in the side of her neck Emily’s knees nearly gave way. What kind of magic did he possess, to make her feel this way? She didn’t know, didn’t care, cared only that he never stop.

Then his mouth was on hers again, devouring her even as she devoured him.

His hands, hard and firm and callused on her bare skin, sent a shower of hot shivers down her spine. It wasn’t fair that she couldn’t return the favor. With eager fingers she attacked the snaps on his shirt then shoved the offending garment down his arms and off. Now, now she could feel his skin, and oh, it was glorious. Hot and smooth over hard muscle. Covered with hair down the center of his chest. She ran her hands over him again and again, unable to get enough of the feel of him. His sides, his chest, his arms and shoulders. His back, so broad and firm and hot to the touch.

Sloan felt every touch, every small, individual movement of her fingers. He groaned and held her tighter, walked her backward toward the stall behind him. If he didn’t find something to lean against, the two of them might yet end up on the floor.

She was so perfect, fit so perfectly in his arms, against his chest. With a flick of his fingers he unhooked her bra, but he couldn’t slide the straps off her arms unless she stopped touching him. He didn’t want her to ever stop touching him.

She solved the problem herself and then returned her hands to his chest.

He wanted to touch her the same way, but first, ah, first he pressed her slowly against him, her bare, soft breasts against his chest. The sensation of flesh against flesh stole his breath, made him moan. Then he was touching her, holding a firm, round breast in the palm of his hand, and again, the word perfect swam through his mind.

At the feel of his hand on her breast Emily’s knees turned to jelly. Heat shot from her breast to her core. Wires, nerves, somewhere deep inside tightened. A new pulse started pounding, hot and heavy, down low in her body. He was killing her with pleasure, and she wanted to thank him. But that would require words, and her mouth was busy devouring his.

Had she ever felt this way before? She didn’t think so. She hadn’t known she was capable of feeling so much at once. The physical. The emotional. The sheer need to have him inside her. Tearing her mouth from his, she cried out and tried to get closer, closer. Closer.

“Sloan,” she moaned.

“I know.” His breathing was as heavy as hers. “I know.”

He was moving, leading her somewhere. She didn’t care where, only that he take her with him, that he fill this yawning emptiness inside her, and soon.

Sloan felt her surrender and cherished it. Had he ever had such a gift before? Had he ever cherished anything, anyone? He didn’t know, couldn’t think. He had to have her, had to sink himself into her and take them both someplace they’d never been before.

But she deserved better than to be taken against a stall door in the open barn, and straw, he remembered from his randy youth, had a nasty way of poking holes in skin. It was damn uncomfortable, and he wouldn’t do that to Emily. His Emily.

He tore his mouth from hers.

She cried out in protest.

“Wait,” he managed, his chest heaving. He yanked open the stall door and pulled her inside. There he tugged off his boots, then his jeans. The boots he tossed into a corner of the stall. His jeans, he laid out flat on the straw. Short of taking her into the house and parading her past Justin, and maybe her daughters, this was the best he could do.

Then, because he’d been away from her way too long, he pulled her close again, and pulled her down onto the makeshift bed.

Emily barely had time to take in his long, lean legs, his narrow hips and flat, muscled abdomen before she found herself lying on her back on his jeans with his weight, his solid, comforting weight covering her. She had to close her eyes to hold in all the sensations she was experiencing. His heat. The slight rasp of his chest hair against her bare breasts. The silky feel of the hair on his strong legs against her smooth ones. So many sensations, so many feelings. So much heat, along her skin, and in her racing blood.

She opened her eyes and stared up into his dark brown eyes and thought they might devour her, so hungry was their expression. That they might burn her alive, so hot was their look. Either way, devouring or burning, she could not look away.

He cupped her breast in his hand and she moaned. He flicked his tongue across her nipple and she cried out. Her hips arched against him of their own accord, but she found no argument with their effort. She wanted him there.

As his mouth settled over her breast, with tongue and teeth torturing her with pleasure, his hand slid down, down, beneath her panties and straight to the place that ached for him. When he touched her there she nearly exploded.

Sloan felt her heat, the dampness that told him she was ready to accept him. He felt her hands clutch his shoulders. Felt them slide down his back, and lower, until she was pushing his briefs down. If his heart raced any faster there would be no difference between one beat and the next.

When her legs parted, he moved between them, settling his hips there with a perfect fit, as if he’d merely been away and was now home. He eased into her slowly, don’t rush. Slowly, to make it last. But when she opened her eyes and he looked into all that blue, he sank in to the hilt, loving the tiny gasp she made, echoing it with one of his own.

They were so in tune with each other that they started to move at the same time. Rise and fall, give and take, in and out. Slowly at first, then faster as the intensity gripped them. Faster, harder, until the rush of sensations became too much.

Emily’s climax shattered her, overwhelmed her. She’d never, never felt anything so powerful in her life.

When Sloan felt her go over, felt her inner muscles clench around him, he was helpless to do anything but follow. He gave her everything he had, everything he was, and collapsed in her welcoming arms.

When he could breathe again, and think a little, Sloan raised himself onto his elbows and looked down at the woman who had just turned his world inside out. His movement made her hands slip off his shoulders. Her arms fell back, palms up, in the straw. Her eyes were closed, and she was grinning.

Sloan chuckled. “I sure do like the way you kiss and make up.”

Emily felt his brief laughter through the vibrations that ran from his belly straight into hers. Heaven help her, even his laughter was arousing. How could she be aroused again after what they’d just shared?

Something unwanted niggled at the back of her mind, something she wasn’t ready to face and couldn’t yet name. She refused to think about it, refused to let it intrude on this glorious experience.

“As much as I like that smile on your face,” Sloan said, “I think we should get dressed before we get caught.” That was all they needed, he thought as he rose to his knees and pulled her until she sat before him. To get caught naked as a couple of plucked chickens by her daughters, or his grandmother. Or even worse, one of his brothers, who would tease them until doomsday.

“Ohmygod.” Emily twisted left and right, jabbing her hands into the straw. “My clothes. Where are they?”

“Hey, easy. No one’s coming yet. We’ve got time for this.” He cupped her cheek, still warm and flushed, and kissed her softy. “I’m going to want to do this again, you know.”

The shyness in her smile touched something deep inside of him. “So am I,” she confessed.

“Maybe we can find someplace more private than the barn next time.”

This time it was Emily who chuckled. “With two little girls, there’s no such thing as privacy.”

“We’ll find a way.” He kissed her again. Then, unconcerned about his own nakedness, he stood and retrieved Emily’s clothes, then his own.

When they were dressed and had finished picking straw off each other, Emily turned to head for the house, but Sloan took her hand in his and drew her to a halt.

“One more,” he said, pulling her to his chest and kissing her hard.

Emily’s head spun. The man certainly packed a punch. “I’ve got to get back to the house. The girls’ downtime should be about up, and Justin is probably tired of waiting for me.”

“I’ll go with you. I need to find out if he was able to straighten out that feed invoice.”

Both of them had things to do, people waiting for them, yet neither hurried on their way to the house. They ambled slowly, reluctant to let go of this brief spell of private intimacy.

“So,” he said when they were nearly at the sidewalk leading to the back door. “You can’t pull a car engine, huh?”

Emily smirked. “Pull an engine, ha. I can give birth. Can you? I can change a fan belt, put in a new battery, install a new kitchen faucet, unstop a clogged toilet, bandage a skinned knee and still have dinner ready on time. What can you do?”

Sloan gnawed on the inside of his jaw. “Never mind. I concede.”

When they entered the kitchen Emily checked the clock on the wall and noted that the girls still had ten minutes left on their hour of “rest.” Justin was at the table eating a sandwich.

“Haven’t heard a peep out of them,” he told Emily.

“Thank you, Justin. I really appreciate it.”

Justin looked from her to Sloan and grinned. “I just bet you do.”

Emily felt her cheeks sting. Could he see on their faces what they’d been doing? Heaven forbid. To distract him, she asked, “Did I not feed you enough lunch?” She motioned toward his sandwich.

“Lunch was fine, I just wanted a snack. I’ve got a hot date later tonight, and if I’m lucky, I’ll need all the energy I can find,” he said with a cheesy grin.

Sloan made a sound that was half grunt, half laugh. “What’s the story on the invoice?”

Justin made a face. “Still working on it. That sorry old goat couldn’t find his nose with a flashlight and a road map.”

“So what else is new?”

“What’s new is his daughter finally agreed to go out with me.”

“Blaire?” Sloan looked surprised. “I thought she had better taste than that.”

When they started with a little good-natured bickering, Emily went to check on the girls. She found them together on the top bunk, leaning off the side and watching television, with the volume down low. That they were both on one bunk meant they were friends again. Emily was relieved.

“Can we go play outside again now?” Libby asked. “Pretty please?”

Emily laughed. “I think that would be all right. Put your shoes on.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Emily waited while they put on their shoes, then turned off the television and followed them into the kitchen.

“There they are,” Sloan said with a big smile. “Everybody okay now?”

“Yes, sir,” Janie answered. “We’re going back outside to play now.”

Justin scooted his chair back from the table and carried his empty milk glass to the sink.

“Wait, Mr. Justin.” Janie stooped and picked up a small red packet from the floor and held it out to him. “You dropped your condom.”

Justin, in the process of turning away from the sink, back toward Janie when she called his name, froze in midstride, his eyes wide, his jaw dropping.

Sloan coughed, covered his mouth and turned his back, his shoulders shaking.

Emily could do nothing but gape at her eight-year-old daughter. Then a new thought intruded.

Sloan must have had the same new thought, for he turned and looked at her. Neither had to say a word. They had both just realized that they had not used a condom when they made love.

But that was for later consideration. First things first.

“Uh.” Justin cleared his throat. “Thanks, Janie.” With his face an interesting shade of red, he took the condom packet from Janie and stuffed it into his back pocket.

“Janie,” Emily said. “How do you know what a condom is?”

Janie shrugged. “At school. All the boys carry one. They think it makes them look cool, but they’re really just babies.” With no apparent concern at all for the shock she’d just given her mother, Janie motioned for Libby to follow, and they went out the door, chattering about who was going to be “it” first.

As soon their voices trailed off, Justin whooped with laughter.

Emily sank onto a chair and dropped her head with an audible thunk onto the table.

Sloan coughed again.

“I guess I’m outta here.” Justin waggled his eyebrows. “Here’s hoping I need that condom tonight.”

Sloan stood in the middle of the room for a long moment, then took the chair next to Emily. “I’d laugh,” he said, “but I have to apologize first.”

Emily took a deep breath and let it out again before raising her head. “What do you have to apologize for?”

His serious gaze was steady on hers. “For not using a condom.”

Emily gave him a half smile. “Yeah, nothing like having an eight-year-old remind you.”

“Emily, I have no excuse—”

She waved away his words. “There were two of us out there in the barn. It’s as much my fault as yours. But as far as the timing goes, I should be safe from getting pregnant.” Dear God, let her be safe. Not that she wouldn’t dearly love to have another child; she’d always wanted a big family. But not now, not when she was trying to get to Arkansas, to get her feet under her and be able to support her children. How could she do that with her head in the toilet every morning for weeks on end? Because there was no doubt in her mind that the hideous morning sickness she’d suffered with Janie and Libby would pay her another visit with the next baby she carried. Just a little gift from Mother Nature to make you value your newborn all the more for having gone through hell to bring her into the world.

Mother Nature obviously never had any children of her own and never suffered morning sickness.

“Still,” Sloan said, “I should have—”

“We should have,” she corrected. Then she smiled. “Or, rather, maybe we shouldn’t have. But we did. Just so you’ll know, I don’t have any diseases.”

“Neither do I.” Then he shook his head. “Jeez. Snakes in the morning, and condoms in the afternoon. I guess I never realized what a parent goes through.”

Emily chuckled. “Oh, you haven’t seen the half of it.”

After a glass of iced tea and a few awkward silences, Sloan and Emily each went back to work. He had chores to do, and she had a meal to prepare.

Emily had been torn. She had wanted him to stay, wanted to sit with him and share the quiet of the kitchen. The chances of them getting another few minutes alone in the middle of the day were slim to none.

On the other hand she was relieved when he left the house. She didn’t know how to act around him now that they’d been intimate. She wanted to reach out and touch him, run her fingers through his thick, dark hair. She wanted to lean over and kiss that hard, square jaw. But she hadn’t felt sure enough of herself to do either.

She’d never had to go through this awkward phase with Michael. She was out of her element with Sloan.

That unwanted something that had niggled the back of her mind just before they’d made love tried to push its way into her thoughts, but she refused it. She wanted time to savor their lovemaking, hold it tightly to herself lest the memories start to fade too quickly.

Who was she kidding? She would remember every second of their time together in the barn until her dying day. She’d never felt that way before.

And boom, that quick, the unwanted something settled heavily on her heart and announced its name. Its name was guilt.

She had never felt before the way she’d felt with Sloan earlier. Not even with Michael.

Feelings of disloyalty staggered her. She closed the cabinet door, disregarding whatever it was she’d been about to do, and eased onto a chair at the table.

It was ridiculous, of course, to feel as if she were cheating on her husband. Realistically, she had no husband. But Michael had been in her heart since childhood, nearly all the years of her life. A mere two years without him could not erase the past.

Logically, feeling guilty for making love with another man was absurd. She didn’t want to feel guilty. She felt, oddly, that Michael would be disappointed in her for clinging to his memory instead of moving forward with her life, even to and including finding a man to share her life with. Michael would want her to move on. And she had moved on. Today was a definite move forward. She should be celebrating rather than burying her face in her hands.

She had no right to feel guilty. She certainly could not regret being with Sloan. How could she, when he had shown her what she was capable of?

That, she realized, was the problem. It felt incredibly disloyal to even think, much less acknowledge, that Sloan was a better lover, that he made her feel things she’d never felt before.

Yet, if she thought about it, it made sense. Michael had never been with any woman but her, and he was the only man, until today, she’d ever been with. Whatever they had learned, they had learned together. They had enjoyed making love with each other, but after today, Emily realized that enjoyed was such a pale term for what could be.

Sloan had more and varied experience than either she or Michael. Of course, she didn’t know how much experience he had, but it was certainly ample as far as she was concerned.

When she realized the nature of the thoughts running through her mind, her faced heated up.

She pushed herself from the chair and turned toward the cabinet. She was not going to ease her mind and escape the sense that she was betraying Michael by sitting at the table. She had a job to do, hungry people to feed. And two little girls who were counting on her to keep her head squarely on her shoulders.

The bottom line was, she would be leaving here in a few days. She would never forget her time with Sloan, but it was a brief interlude that would soon come to a close. He hadn’t asked her to stay.

Even if he did, she couldn’t do it. No matter how much she might want to further explore her growing feelings for him, she had to put her daughters first. And that meant getting them to Arkansas and getting hired at the factory. Her job here would end with Earline’s return, and Rose Rock, Oklahoma, wasn’t exactly a hotbed of employment opportunities.

Her heart chimed in and told her that the sooner she left, the better off she would be. Both she and her girls were becoming more attached to the Cherokee Rose than was wise.

Sloan stayed away from the house for as long as he could, but when he saw Caleb heading in and Justin leaving for his date, he made a beeline for the door.

He shouldn’t have left Emily the way he had. There should have been tender words, but he wasn’t sure he had them. There should have been soft kisses, to make sure she didn’t forget what they had just shared in the barn.

But she hadn’t looked approachable, sitting beside him at the kitchen table. Not after realizing that he’d forgotten to use protection, damn his hide. And certainly not after finding out her eight-year-old daughter not only knew what a condom was, but what one looked like in its little plastic pouch. Talk about a mood breaker.

He chuckled and shook his head. It was himself he was laughing at, but what he should do was kick himself. After seeing her handle Libby’s screaming incident in the garden, he couldn’t believe he had ever thought Emily helpless and in need of rescuing. He’d been terrified, while Emily had been calm and collected. How did she do that?

He stepped into the utility room and headed for the bathroom there. He checked his watch and noted that he had time for a shower. He looked in the closet just outside the bathroom and found a clean change of clothes.

One whiff of himself told him he needed to make good use of the shower. When he caught himself checking his appearance in the mirror after his shower a few minutes later, he laughed. Okay, so he wanted to look good for her. Just because it wasn’t like him didn’t mean it was dumb. Nothing wrong with wanting to look good for a pretty lady.

Now, if he could just tuck away those heated memories of their time in the barn, he might be able to look at her in front of his family and avoid pouncing. If he tried really hard, he could possibly even get out a sensible word or two.

He put on his clean clothes, gave his hair another lick with the comb, then headed for the kitchen.

He was the last to arrive, but that didn’t keep him from seeking out Emily with his eyes.

As if there were some sort of internal radar operating between them, she turned to look, found him, met his gaze. Her shy smile made his heart twist. Had a woman ever made him feel this way before? Strong and tender at the same time? He didn’t think so.

Then her smile faded and something else came into her eyes, something he couldn’t identify, but that might have been regret. She looked away, busying herself with a skillet on the stove.

Sloan turned abruptly away, not wanting to be caught staring at her. What had that look meant?

A moment later dinner was on the table and everyone was sitting down.

Emily busied herself helping the girls fill their plates. They didn’t need her help, but she had to do something to keep from looking at Sloan. She feared that all her uncertainties would show on her face if she met his gaze again.

Sloan asked his grandmother about her trip to town, and Rose filled him in. For the life of her, Emily couldn’t have said a moment later what Rose had told him. Her own thoughts of guilt and betrayal, overlaid with the pleasure and excitement she’d felt in Sloan’s arms, kept whirling in her mind. She didn’t come out of that fog until she heard Caleb say something about her car.

“I can’t figure what happened to it,” he said.

Emily blinked and looked at him across the table. “I’m sorry. I was thinking about something else. What happened to what?”

“The oil pickup tube on your car. I left it lying on the tarp under the engine, and it’s gone. I’ll have to order a new one. I’m sorry, Emily. It’s my responsibility, so you won’t have to pay for a new one, but it will take a few days to get the new part.”

Days? “How many days?” she asked. If she wasn’t in Fort Smith in a week and a half she would lose out on the chance at a job.

“I don’t know,” he confessed. “A car that old, it might be hard to find an oil pickup tube for it. I’m sorry.”

Emily’s mind raced. She couldn’t lose that chance for the factory job. What would she do if it took too long to get the new part? If she waited until the last minute, she would be too late. But how would she get to Fort Smith without her car? She had seen no bus station in Rose Rock.

Sloan might take her, but she couldn’t ask him. That would be too much, for him to drive her all the way to Arkansas. She would offer to pay him, but he wouldn’t accept, she knew.

Brenda. If Emily reimbursed her cousin for gas, Brenda would come get her. But she could come only on Saturday or Sunday. Fort Smith was about three hours away, so a round-trip in one day was doable, if long.

Now that she was directly faced with the reminder of her need to get to Arkansas, Emily felt dazed. She had thought she had more time. Now she realized she did not.

She cast a brief look at Sloan, but he was looking at Caleb.

“We can get on the phone and call around in Oklahoma City,” Sloan suggested.

“Yeah, I plan to start that this evening.”

“If you could tell me what you find out,” Emily said, “I’d appreciate it. If you can’t get the part and get it installed by the end of next week, then don’t rush.” This was Wednesday. That gave him a week and a half. It sounded like a long time to fix a car, but she knew Caleb was only able to work on it during his spare time, of which he had little. “I’ll have to call my cousin, Brenda, to come get us.”

Sloan’s fork clanked against his plate. He stared at her in silent shock and denial.

Her daughters were not so quiet with their objections.

“Mother, no,” Janie cried.

“We can’t leave,” Libby said, a definite whine in her voice. “We have to stay here.”

“Baby.” Emily smoothed her hand over Libby’s hair. “We have to get to Fort Smith so I can get that new job.”

“No,” she cried. “We have to stay here. Mr. Sloan won the survey.”

Emily blinked. “What?”

“You can’t win a survey,” Janie said with a note of superiority in her voice. To her mother, she said, “He scored the highest out of everyone.”

At the foot of the table, Sloan coughed into his hand.

“What survey?” Emily asked. “What are you talking about?”

“The Daddy Survey,” Libby said. “We have to stay here,’ cause Mr. Sloan has to be our new daddy.”

Shock stuck Emily’s tongue to the roof of her mouth. Everyone else at the table seemed to have the same problem.

Finally Emily found her voice. She looked at Sloan. “You knew about this? You took this survey?”

He pursed his lips and folded his arms across his chest. “I think this would be a good time for me to invoke my Fifth Amendment privilege.”

Never had she felt such dismay. She looked back to her girls. “I thought you were taking a survey on customer satisfaction.”

Janie stared down at her plate. “We did that one, too.” She looked up at her mother. “That was for you. This one was for us. You’re not mad, are you?”

“I…don’t know,” Emily said truthfully. She was shocked. She ached for her children, feeling as though she had somehow let them down, failed to provide for them in a way that would make them feel as if their family was complete. Heaven help her, what was she going to do? “After supper we’ll talk about it, and you can show me this survey.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the girls said quietly.

Chapter Ten

How well do you like little girls?

Emily’s heart clenched as she stared at the childish handwriting in the spiral-bound notebook.

The girls were in bed, as was the rest of the household. She had waited for privacy and now sat at the kitchen table, alone, reading the secret wishes of two little girls who missed their daddy. She didn’t notice her own tears until one fell on the page before her. She blotted it away with the edge of her hand.

Spanking. Liver and onions. Ice cream.

“Dear God.” She pressed her fingers over her mouth.

Does Santa Claus know where you live?

“My babies,” she whispered. “My poor babies.”

How well do you like puppies? Kittens?

Devastated, she stared at the questions. Questions of her own haunted her. What was she to do? How was she supposed to make up for their lack of a father? She had tried to be everything to them. They had never let on that they wanted a man in their lives. Surely there had been signs, but she had missed them.

They wanted a daddy. She’d known they missed Michael for a long time after he died, but during the past several months they had rarely talked about him.

Now this. “Oh, babies, what can I do?” she whispered.

A moment later she heard soft footsteps coming down the stairs. With a sniff, she wiped her face dry and closed the notebook.

“I thought you might still be up.” Rose stood in the doorway, her pink robe belted loosely at the waist, her long braid uncoiled from her head and draping over one shoulder to hang to her waist. “I wanted a glass of water.”

They both knew that Rose had her own bathroom upstairs. There was no need for her to come down to the kitchen to get a drink, but neither one of them mentioned that small fact.

Rose got herself a tall glass of water and sat in the chair at the end of the table. “Part of an old woman’s job, it seems to me, is to poke her nose into other people’s business.”

Emily laughed, and realized she hadn’t laughed or even smiled in hours. “Is it?”

“Of course,” Rose said. “Did you find out about this survey?”

Emily flipped open the notebook. “‘On a scale of one to five, with one being not at all and five being very, very much, do you believe in spanking?”’

“Oh, that’s clever. They wouldn’t want a new father who might spank them. You have smart daughters.”

“Too smart,” Emily said ruefully. “They did all this without my knowing anything about it.”

“And it makes you sad, this survey?”

Emily looked down at the page of questions her babies had devised and smoothed her hand over it. “It breaks my heart.”

“Because you think if you’d been a better mother, they wouldn’t need anyone but you?”

Emily looked up and smiled sadly. “You’re not only nosy, you’re also smart.”

Rose reached over and patted Emily’s hand. “I raised three boys after their parents died. I know something of what you’re feeling. Trust me on this, child. That your daughters want a new father is not a criticism of you. It’s a tribute to the father they lost. He was a good father, wasn’t he?”

“He was the best,” Emily said. “He adored them, and they worshipped him.”

“Which explains why they want a new father.”

“I don’t follow you.”

“If they hadn’t enjoyed having a father, they wouldn’t be in a hurry to find a new one. But they loved having your husband in their lives. It was a positive experience for them, so they want to repeat it. It’s the highest compliment they could pay to the father they lost.”

Emily’s vision blurred. She blinked to clear away the moisture. “I still feel so bad for them.”

“Well, that’s easily remedied.” Rose took a sip of her water. When she set her glass down again, her lips curved up. “Find them a new father.”

“Rose,” Emily said, half laughing, half outraged.

“You don’t believe it’s disloyal of them to want a new father, do you?”

“Of course not.”

“Would it be disloyal of you to find a new husband?”

Emily opened her mouth to speak, then shut it. This was a little too close to home as far as she was concerned.

“Ah,” Rose said. “So I was right.”

“About what?”

“About the way you look at my eldest grandson. The way he looks at you.”

“Rose—”

“Tell me this,” Rose said, interrupting. “When your second child was born, did you love your first one any less?”

“Of course not.”

“There, then. Falling in love with a new man takes nothing away from what you had with your first husband. Different man, different you, different love.”

“Sloan isn’t in love with me,” Emily protested.

Rose smiled. “If you recall, we’re talking about your feelings, not his.”

“I don’t… I mean…” Emily shut her mouth, deciding that was the wisest course at the moment. “What about you? You never remarried?”

A faraway look came into Rose’s eyes. “No, I didn’t. I never found another man to tempt me after my John died.”

The two women were silent for a moment, then Rose spoke. “What else did they ask on their survey?”

If someone had told her thirty minutes ago that she would be glad to read her daughters’ survey, Emily would have adamantly disagreed. Now, however, she was relieved to change the subject. Gratefully she read the list of questions, and when Rose laughed at some of them, Emily found herself laughing along with her.

Rose got up from the table and carried her glass to the sink. “I’m going back to bed. You have a good night, Emily, and don’t worry about Libby and Janie. They’re good girls, and they’re smart, and any fool can see they’re happy children.”

Emily stood and placed a hand on Rose’s arm. “Thank you.”

Upstairs, Sloan silently laughed at himself, although there was little humor in it. He wondered just how many years it had been since he’d stood in his room with his ear pressed to the door, waiting to hear his grandmother go to her room and close her door.

He’d wanted to talk to Emily earlier, but there had been no chance for privacy before she and the girls went to their room. He had hung around downstairs waiting for her to come out, but she hadn’t, and Grandmother had been watching him. Outlasting him. He had given up and gone upstairs.

Then he’d heard his grandmother leave her room and go downstairs. The quiet hum of female voices drifted up the stairs, but not loud enough for him to make out what they were saying, even when he cracked open his door.

He felt like a jerk for trying to eavesdrop. He really didn’t care what they were saying to each other, he just wanted to know when they were finished so he could go down and talk to Emily. He shouldn’t have worried about his grandmother knowing he wanted to talk to Emily.

Definitely jerklike. He’d acted like a randy teenager earlier in the day, and now here he was, engaged in more juvenile behavior. But he couldn’t put this day to rest without seeing Emily, talking to her.

He heard his grandmother’s door close and waited for a count of ten, then slipped out of his room and down the stairs. He probably wasn’t fooling anybody. He had visions of his grandmother and both brothers standing at their respective doors, each with an ear pressed there, snickering over his sneaking downstairs late at night to see a woman.

Well, at least if that was true, it meant he wasn’t the only jerk in the house.

The living room was dark, but a light shone from the kitchen. He found Emily seated at the table. Before her lay the spiral-bound notebook Janie had used for her survey.

“They know what they want,” he said.

Emily had heard someone coming and assumed it was Sloan, so the sound of his voice did not surprise her. His words, however, did. “What?”

He shrugged and leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb. “They put a lot of thought into their questions. They know what they want, how they want to be treated. Like the question about spanking. If you can get past the heartache of it, it’s not only funny, it’s damn clever.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Her face, her voice spoke of pain and dismay.

He straightened and strolled to the table, where he took a seat across from her. “I probably should have, but I didn’t know you. For all I knew, you knew all about it.”

Her eyes flew wide. “You thought I would let my daughters interview prospective fathers?”

“Like I said, I didn’t know you. I didn’t really think you knew what was going on, but the girls, well, hell, they trusted me. I didn’t want to betray that trust. I realize that probably wasn’t smart, that you needed to know what was going on. But when you came here with me I knew they couldn’t do it anymore. If it helps any, I was planning to do something about it when you left here.”

“Do something? You were going to tell me about it?”

He gave her a wry grin. “I knew I should, but I probably would have talked to the girls instead, told them not to survey any more men.”

“Why would they need to?” She threw her hands in the air. “They’ve already decided you’re the one. I have never been so embarrassed in my life.”

He cocked his head. “Embarrassed for who?”

Emily let out a sigh. “I’m tired of thinking about this. Let’s talk about something else.”

“Okay.” He leaned back in his chair and drummed his fingers on the table. A grin came quickly to his mouth. “Wanna pay a late-night visit to the barn with me?”

Emily groaned, rolled her eyes and dropped her forehead to the table.

“Hey,” he said. “It wasn’t that bad, was it?”

Emily raised her head and met his gaze. “It wasn’t bad at all.”

The look in her eyes sent the blood rushing from his brain to points south. Slowly he rose from his chair. “I’m glad you liked it.” He rounded the end of the table and stood next to her. Taking her hand in his, he tugged gently until she stood before him. “But before we leave the subject of surveys, how are you, really?”

It took little urging, just a slight nudge to get Emily to step into his arms and lay her head on his shoulder. Did it make her weak, she wondered, to feel relief at having someone to lean on, if only for a few minutes? If so, then she was weak, and that was that. She could not bring herself to turn away from the comfort Sloan offered.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m getting there.” She slipped her arms around his waist. “Your grandmother helped.”

He smoothed his hands up and down her back. “She’s good at that sort of thing.”

Emily chuckled and rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. “With you and your brothers, I’m sure she’s had a lot of practice at getting to the heart of a problem.”

His answering chuckle rumbled through her chest. “You can say that again.”

They stood that way, their arms around each other in the silent kitchen, for a long moment. Then Sloan trailed a string of kisses from her temple to her jaw. Emily turned her head to meet his mouth with hers. The potent mixture of comfort and arousal weakened her bones. She tightened her arms around his waist and hung on, welcoming his deepening of the kiss.

In seconds her breathing was harsh, her heartbeat racing. Heat pooled between her legs. She arched her body to get closer to him. A tiny whimper escaped her throat.

The sound drove Sloan wild. He drank in the flavor of her, inhaled her scent. He wanted to gobble her up in three quick bites. There was no way he could stop himself from slipping a hand to her breast and squeezing gently.

It felt, Emily thought hazily, as if her breast swelled to fill his hand. Her whimper this time came out as a deep moan.

Sloan tore his mouth from hers and covered the side of her neck with his teeth and open mouth. “I want you.”

She could feel the hard evidence of that want pressing against her. Her hips surged against him in pure reflex.

“That damn barn,” he said, his breath coming in sharp gasps, “is looking better and better. We can take a blanket, and we won’t have to worry about anyone walking in on us.” He kissed his way back up to her mouth, where he nibbled, teasing her with the promise of more. “We can take our time.”

Just the thought of what they could do together, how it would be, tempted her to grab his hand and race out the door into the night.

But responsibility and common sense reared their ugly little heads. “I can’t.”

“Em.”

“I want to.” She pulled back and held his face in her hands, forcing him to look her in the eye. “I want to. You have no idea how much I want to. But I can’t go off and leave the girls.”

He let out a breath and lowered his forehead to rest against hers. “I guess I knew that.”

“And, Sloan?” She waited until he raised his head and met her gaze again. “I still have to leave by next weekend.”

Sloan felt as if he’d been kicked in the gut. Why, he didn’t understand. They still had more than a week. He’d known from the beginning that she would soon be leaving. He had accepted that. No problem.

But that was before he had held her, kissed her, sank into her hot sweet depths and burned himself alive inside her. For a time, he’d forgotten she wasn’t his.

But that wasn’t right. She was his, no matter where she went. He knew that, felt it in his bones. Yet she would leave. She had a life to build for herself and her daughters. He couldn’t fault her for that, and wouldn’t try to stand in her way. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t grab for all she would give him while she was here.

“If you’re not staying,” he said solemnly, “shouldn’t we make the most of what little time we have?”

Emily didn’t know what to say. He was acknowledging that she would soon leave. He respected her enough to refrain from trying to interfere in her plans.

He was not asking her to stay.

Had she hoped he would? Had that faint hope lived inside her unvoiced? That couldn’t be. She had risked everything, her and her daughters’ futures, on this move to Arkansas. She couldn’t, wouldn’t turn away from it. She owed her daughters a solid future, and this was the only way she knew to provide it. The only way she could want him to interfere in that would be if she was in love with him. And of course, she wasn’t.

But if she wasn’t in love with him, why did it feel as if she was tearing out her own heart when she thought of leaving him?

“Em?” He gave her a small, gentle shake.

“I have to think about it, Sloan.”

“Okay,” he said. “That’s fair. But don’t think too long. According to you, we don’t have much time to spend together. Think fast, Em.”

Then he gave her something to think about. He kissed her. It was long and hard and all-consuming. It left her head spinning and her heart reeling.

“Think about me,” he said.

And Emily thought. About Sloan, about his kisses, his lovemaking. About her daughters. About Arkansas. She thought about leaving the Cherokee Rose, leaving Sloan. And she thought about the fact that he did not ask her to stay.

Yet hadn’t he said if she was leaving? Did that not indicate he thought she might change her mind and stay?

But he hadn’t asked her to say. Announcing that she might stay would be to assume that he would welcome such a decision. The height of presumption on her part, it seemed to her.

No, she could not stay. So was there any point in getting any closer to him, in risking her heart?

She was no closer to an answer after a sleepless night, nor when she saw Sloan at breakfast the next morning. She put a smile on her face for her daughters and for the Chisholms, and she went about her daily chores. She met the family with calm efficiency and a hearty meal when they came in at lunch, and again a few hours later when the family gathered for supper.

After she had cleaned up the kitchen for a final time that day, she turned to find Sloan standing behind her.

“Can I get you something?” she asked. “There’s pie left. Would you like another slice?” She reached for a plate in the cabinet.

“No.” He grasped her hand and threaded his fingers through hers. “Thank you, but no, I don’t want any more pie, as good as it was.”

Emily saw in his eyes the desire that she had been fighting in her own heart.

“Come for a ride with me,” he said.

“A ride?”

“Back to the pond. Just the two of us.”

Emily’s heart started pounding. “I can’t leave the girls.”

“They’re going to watch a Disney movie with Grandmother. They’ll be glued to the TV for two hours.”

“I can’t take advantage of Rose that way.”

“What advantage? I’ve already asked, and she said it was fine. Besides, it gets me off the hook. I’m grateful I’m not the one who has to watch those 101 spotted puppies again. It’s her favorite movie. She’s about worn out the video, and rumor is, she’s got the sequel now.”

“You’ve arranged for your grandmother to baby-sit my children.” Was she supposed to be grateful for his thoughtfulness? Or angry at his presumption?

“Is that a problem?” he asked.

“I’ll have to think about that.”

“But you’ll go for a ride with me?”

Emily didn’t know why she was quibbling. Yes, she was leaving in barely more than a week and would surely never see him again. But, for right now, he wanted her, and she wanted him. “Yes,” she said. “I’ll go for a ride with you.”

Sloan had tried to think of everything. He had ridden out to the pond earlier to set the stage. He had arranged for his grandmother to watch the girls. He had a quilt rolled inside a blanket strapped on behind his saddle. To prove he could be civilized as the occasion merited, he had a carefully wrapped bottle of wine and two wineglasses in his saddlebags. Candles, he had decided, would be overkill, considering it was still daylight, and he wouldn’t risk setting fire to the pasture anyway. But the pink-tinged clouds riding just above the tree line on the western ridge added a nice touch, even if he couldn’t take credit for arranging them.

He was nervous, he admitted. He’d made it past the first hurdle, getting Emily to come with him. He looked at her now, as she rode silently beside him. She looked so cool and calm. So damn beautiful. So delicate, although she would fire up quickly enough if he said it aloud.

What, he asked himself for the dozenth time, was he doing? He had feelings for Emily, strong ones, growing stronger by the minute. He didn’t want her to leave. Not next week, not next month. But how could he ask her to stay? She had home and hearth written all over her. Marriage. And that was something he could not offer.

Maybe she was right, maybe she was strong enough for life on the ranch. Maybe he was the one who was helpless, when it came to her and her girls. He still remembered the sheer terror that had seized him when he heard Libby scream. The sharp fear of seeing Emily fall to the ground.

She had handled Libby’s screaming without breaking a sweat, while his hands had shaken for more than an hour.

Maybe it wasn’t her at all who was the problem, but him. In any case, a man should be in love with a woman before he asked her to marry him, and she should love him, too. That wasn’t the case with him and Emily. They liked each other, cared for each other, and were definitely attracted to each other. But love? Surely not.

So where did that leave them?

He doubted there was a job available anywhere in the county that would pay her enough to support herself and her daughters, pay for a place to live, day care, clothes, food and everything else required to keep a family going.

It would be easy to suggest she simply remain as their housekeeper, but that would mean firing Earline, and that he could not do. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t right, and Emily, not to mention his grandmother, would have nothing to do with such an arrangement.

That left Emily and him with few options. No options, as far as he could see, except to make the most of the short time they had left.

In all of his musings, there had been one important point in the back of his mind. He had mentioned it once to Emily, but she hadn’t taken him seriously. She thought he wouldn’t bother with driving to Fort Smith to see her.

The hell he wouldn’t, he thought as they approached the pond. Unless she simply refused to see him after she left, he planned to do just that. There had to be more for them than these few days.

“Oh my.”

Sloan heard Emily’s quiet comment and knew she’d finally seen what he’d done.

“Do you like it?”

“Like it?” Emily had to blink to clear the moisture from her vision. “Sloan, it’s wonderful.” She couldn’t believe he’d gone to so much trouble. He must have ridden for hours to gather all the bunches of wildflowers that greeted them as they rode up to the pond. She didn’t know their names, but there were tiny white flowers on long stems with fernlike foliage. There were black-eyed Susans, small pink cuplike blossoms, little blue flowers on stalks of long, green grass. All of them grouped in a large arc facing the pond.

As they rode closer she realized the wildflowers were stuck in old coffee cans, Mason jars, milk jugs, whatever would hold them. And obviously, would hold water, too, or else the flowers would have long since wilted in the day’s heat.

He’d done all this work for her. She was moved almost to tears by his thoughtfulness. It had been a long time since anyone had done anything special for her.

They drew their horses to a halt beneath the big willow tree and before she could swing down from the saddle, Sloan was there. With his hands around her waist, he lifted her down until she stood between him and her horse.

Then he kissed her. It was a slow, luscious melding of lips and tongue and teeth. With her legs already weak from the ride, Emily didn’t have a chance of standing on her own. She leaned on him for support.

A deep tension inside Sloan dissipated when he felt her slight weight rest against him. This time he was going to take it slow and savor every moment with her, every inch of her.

He broke off the kiss and led her to the base of the willow. He turned her until she faced away from the pond. “Stay right there.”

She turned to follow when he headed toward his horse. “But I want to see the—”

“Just—” He turned her around again and led her back to the tree, again facing her away from the pond. “—stay here. You can see everything you want to see—” he wiggled his eyebrows “—in a minute.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What are you up to?”

“It’s a surprise. Just stay here with your back turned so I can take care of a few things. Promise?”

What was he up to now? she wondered. “All right, but I don’t need any more surprises. The flowers are beautiful.”

“I’m glad you like them.” He placed a kiss on her forehead. “Now behave and stay put. I’ll be right back.”

Emily stayed where he left her, tracking him with her ears. She heard him lead the horses farther along the shore of the pond. She heard the creak of leather. He must be loosening the cinch on each saddle.

The grass swished with his footsteps. Then a rustling and a snap. A blanket? More swishing through the grass, then the distinctive chime of glass ringing against glass.

Her heart started racing. He had obviously gone to even more trouble than she’d first assumed. She bit back nervous laughter. Did he honestly think he needed to seduce her? She had already nearly melted in his arms.

Around her, the long narrow leaves of the willow rustled gently, while the larger rounder cottonwood leaves made a clattering sound as they slapped against each other in the slight southern breeze.

She heard again the swishing of grass, this time coming toward her. She was suddenly wound so tight that she barely avoided jumping when his hands settled on her shoulders.

“Close your eyes.”

“Sloan, this isn’t necessary.”

“Humor me,” he said. “Just close your eyes.”

She did, and he wrapped an arm around her and turned her toward the pond. The ground sloped down toward the water. With the first step he encouraged her to take, she stumbled.

“Careful,” he said. “Here, this is better. Keep your eyes closed.”

Suddenly the ground fell away beneath her. “Sloan!”

“Hold on.”

It took her a moment to realize that he had picked her up and was carrying her in his arms. “What are you doing?” It was, she admitted, a stupid question. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on.

He stopped walking. He slipped his arm from beneath her knees and stood her on the ground. When he had her facing the direction he wanted, he stepped from behind her and stood at her side.

“Okay,” he said. “You can open your eyes now.”

Emily opened her eyes and gasped in surprise and pleasure. A beautiful, colorful quilt, made in the star pattern, was spread out between her and the water’s edge. He had added flowers to each corner of the quilt, and at the edge nearest the water sat an open bottle of red wine and two wineglasses.

“Oh, Sloan. How lovely.” She looked up at him. “Thank you.”

He smiled. “Come sit down.” He tugged her to the center of the quilt and sat.

When she joined him there, he began pulling off his boots. No small feat, Emily thought, no pun intended, without the use of a bootjack. Then she remembered that he had managed it well enough in the barn yesterday, so perhaps it wasn’t as difficult as it looked.

Whatever, it looked like a good idea. She toed off her sneakers and set them, as Sloan did with his boots, on the grass beside the quilt, then peeled off her socks and tucked them into her shoes.

“I thought this might be nicer than the barn,” he said.

Emily smiled and sipped her wine. “The air is fresher.”

He let out a short laugh. “It is that. Em, you deserved better than a stall in the barn.”

“You can’t possibly be taking responsibility for that,” she said. “If you recall, I’m the one who stripped down and came at you like a shameless hussy.”

His grin was slow and devilish. “Oh, yeah, I definitely remember that. And I’ll be grateful for it until my dying day.” He leaned forward and kissed her.

Her mind simply shut down. She tasted rich wine on his lips and tongue. She smelled sweet clean wind and growing things.

Sloan pulled back, then tilted his head and kissed her again, a little harder this time, a little deeper. “You deserve a bed with satin sheets and candlelight. I can’t give you those things right now. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she told him. “This is wonderful. It’s special and thoughtful, and I love you for it.” The instant she said the words, she knew they were true. She did love him. Heaven help her.

Her words shook Sloan. She didn’t mean them, of course. Not the way he wanted her to. But he would hold them close inside just the same. He kissed her again. Then again, and again.

“If you keep this up,” she said, “I’m going to spill my wine and it will put an ugly stain on this beautiful quilt.”

“Since I plan on keeping this up,” he said, dipping in for another quick kiss, “we better figure this out.”

Emily set her glass of wine on the grass, beyond the edge of the quilt. She turned back and reached for his, placing it next to hers. “What’s to figure?”

“Ah.” He moved in closer and nudged her until her elbows were the only things keeping her from lying down. “A woman after my own heart.”

The next thing Emily realized, she was lying on her back, staring up at the blue, blue sky, with Sloan leaning over her.

Sloan knew they had all the time they wanted. There was no rush, even if they stayed until late. The horses knew the way back to the barn no matter how dark it got. Yet he felt an urgency building inside him to have her beneath him, embracing him, taking him in.

Slowly, he reminded himself. Slowly.

With the tip of one finger, he traced her eyebrow, the line of her cheek, the length of her jaw. “You are so incredibly beautiful.”

Her throat worked on a swallow. “You make me feel that way, when you look at me like that.”

“I knew your eyes were the color of the sky before I ever saw you.” He kissed each eyelid.

“How did you know such a thing?”

“Because I knew that only a beautiful, blue-eyed angel could have given birth to those two little blue-eyed angels who greeted me at the door of that café.”

She smiled and ran her fingers through his hair. “You say the sweetest things.”

“I try.”

“You don’t have to, you know.”

“I don’t have to try?”

“You don’t have to say sweet things. You don’t have to seduce me. You did that with the flowers.”

He stared into her eyes, and kept staring as he kissed her. “How is a man supposed to resist you?”

“What if I don’t want you to resist me?”

“I can’t tell you,” he said, moving toward her mouth again, “how relieved I am to hear that.” He settled his lips over hers and tasted the wine, and himself, on her tongue. While he deepened the kiss, he smoothed his hand from her hip to the side of her breast.

Emily was burning from the inside out, but she didn’t want to rush things. This could easily be the last time she and Sloan would be together this way. She would be gone in barely more than a week, and privacy was at a premium. They might not find another chance to be alone together. She wanted to savor every moment, to press each touch, each sensation deeply into her memory to pull out for warmth on the cold, lonely nights ahead. She would take whatever he offered, give whatever she had, and she would have the memories to last a lifetime.

She moved, trying to shift his hand to cover her breast.

“Not yet,” he whispered against her mouth. “Not yet.” He stroked his hand back down her side, along her hip. “You feel so good.” But he wanted to feel more. He slid his hand beneath the hem of her knit top and traced his fingers back and forth across the silky skin of her abdomen. The way her muscles quivered in response sent his blood rushing.

The knit top was in his way. Pulling it off over her head was a simple matter, one which she helped him accomplish. He tossed it aside. Her soft skin, so pale next to his, fairly begged to be tasted. He pressed his open mouth where his fingers had been.

Sweet. She tasted as sweet as he’d known she would. But just to make certain, he tasted another spot, and then another, until he had tasted every inch between the waistband of her jeans and the bottom edge of her bra. Then he kissed his way up the center of her ribs, over the middle of her bra, over her chest, up her neck, until he reached her mouth.

While he feasted on her mouth, he reached beneath her and unsnapped her bra. With a slight shift of his weight, he was able to slide the straps down her arms and away. He raised onto his elbows so he could see what he’d just revealed.

“So pale,” he whispered. “So perfect.” With both hands, he cupped her breasts. They plumped beautifully to fill his palms. He flicked first one tip then the other with his tongue and watched them harden.

Emily sucked in a sharp breath. He was killing her, slowly, one kiss, one breath at a time, and she welcomed it. When he brushed his tongue across her nipples she cried out at the sudden sharp sensation that arrowed from those twin points to deep in her belly.

She felt his fingers trail down her middle, then reach for the snap on her jeans, then the zipper. Her stomach muscles quivered. She helped him push down her jeans then she kicked them off.

He reared back and sat on his heels to look at her. She could feel his eyes on her as if they were his hands. It was the most erotic sensation she’d ever known, lying there, spread out before him, naked, like a feast for the taking, while he sat there fully clothed with the fire of heightened passion in his eyes.

Sloan gazed down at her and thought he’d never seen a more beautiful sight. Until she pushed him over and rose above him, her knees straddling his hips. She took his breath away.

“It’s my turn now.” She pulled his shirttail from his jeans and began working the buttons. When she finished she spread his shirt open and ran her hands over his chest, making his breath catch. In that moment there was nothing in the world he wouldn’t have done for her. He was her willing slave.

She tugged his shirt down his arms and away, then set to work on his buckle. His snap. His zipper. She was careful with the zipper, not letting her fingers touch him at all. It nearly killed him.

She started working his jeans down over his hips, but had trouble. “Help me,” she said, frustration coloring her voice.

“Gladly.” He shucked his jeans and shorts and watched her face.

Her gaze started at his feet and moved up, slowly. The smile on her face was secretive, self-satisfied. When she reached his loins, he could have sworn she actually touched him. His reaction was immediate and physical and made her smile widen.

Her eyes finally reached his face, and he let out a breath. He wanted her to make that same trail again, this time with her hands. Then her mouth. Oh, how he wanted her mouth on him.

But just then it was her eyes that held him captive. They were filled with an odd mix of innocence and ancient female knowledge. She made him feel more of a man than he had felt in his entire life. She made his chest swell, his brain stall. She made him as hard as a rock.

“The first time I saw you,” she said, stroking his cheek with her gentle fingertips, “I thought you had the most compelling face I’d ever seen.”

“I notice you didn’t say handsome.” He tried to smile, but a sudden rise of emotion nearly choked him. God help him, was he in love with her? Could that be what this soaring, trembling feeling meant?

“Handsome?” She shook her head. “Such a weak word for such a strong face. I’d never really noticed a man’s looks before, until I saw you.” She leaned down until the only thing separating her lips from his was a scant breath. “I’m so glad I saw you that day. So glad,” she said, taking a quick nip of his lips, “that you came in for lunch.”

He ran his hands up her sides, then around to capture her breasts. “Not half as glad as I am,” he said with feeling.

She kissed a trail down his jaw to his neck and had him hissing in a sharp breath. He held that breath and told himself not to move as she kissed a path down his chest, along his hip. But she bypassed the part of him that throbbed in want of her.

Emily knew what he wanted, but she would wait, would make him wait. As she was waiting for what she wanted.

His skin was firm and salty on her lips. She loved the taste of him. The hair on his legs was soft and dark. His feet long and broad. And ticklish, she noted with a smile as she kissed his arch and he jerked.

On her way back up his long lean body she used her hands, feeling the bone and muscle that made up the man she loved. Would she ever touch him this way again after today?

She couldn’t think about that. They were here together for now. That had to be enough. She would make it enough.

When she reached the tops of his thighs, she wrapped a hand around his erection and felt it leap in response.

Sloan thought his heart would stop when she enclosed him in that soft hand. It did stop a moment later when she swiped her tongue across the head. His hips rose from the quilt and he thrust himself hard into her hand. He didn’t know how much more he could take, but he was willing to find out.

She placed open-mouthed kisses up his chest and straddled his hips again. With her gaze locked on his, she grasped him in her hand again and started to take him in. Only then did he remember.

“Wait.” His voice came out as a harsh rasp. “Jeans.” He reached for them. “Pocket.” He fumbled until he found the red packet and tore it open.

Emily waited, on fire for him, while he put on the condom. She couldn’t believe she had forgotten about it. Again.

When the condom was in place Sloan rose up and reversed their positions, settling himself between her legs. His weight anchored her, made her feel safe and cared for. Aroused her.

Then he was pushing himself inside her. She opened herself and breathed his name. He filled her as she had never been filled before. She would swear he touched her heart. When he was inside her she felt complete and beautiful in a way she had forgotten, or maybe had never known. The beauty of it stung her eyes.

They moved together, slowly at first, give and take, in and out. She gave him everything she had, everything she was, hoping it would be enough to keep her in his mind when she was gone. She knew she would remember him and their lovemaking for the rest of her life.

Heat pooled. Points of fire licked. Nerves stretched tighter and tighter until slow was no longer an option. Faster. Harder, hotter. On and on.

Emily felt herself reaching for that peak, the top of the world, where she could hurl herself into nothingness. Closer. Almost there. Almost.

It was on her with surprising force, hurtling her off the edge of the world and sending colored lights exploding to blind her. That he followed her into oblivion so quickly, that they were so in tune with one another and could bring each other so much pleasure, brought tears to her eyes.

Sloan didn’t want to come back to reality. He wanted to stay in the warm, sweet world of Emily’s arms and let the real world just float on by. This had been the most incredible experience of his life. He raised himself onto his elbows to relieve her of some of his weight and looked down at her closed eyes.

He just wished he didn’t have the sinking feeling that with every kiss, with every touch, she had been telling him goodbye.

He also wished, he thought wryly, that his vision would clear. Was he going blind? What had happened to the light?

A glance over his shoulder made him swear. He wanted more time. Time enough to start over and love her again as completely as it was possible for a man to love a woman. Time to savor being with her.

They weren’t going to get it.

“Storm’s coming in.”

Emily blinked open her eyes. “I think it’s already been here.”

He smiled. “You are the most remarkable woman.”

She smiled back and closed her eyes again. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

He dropped his forehead to hers. “We’ve got to get out of here. Damn it, this isn’t how I wanted the evening to end.”

“I know. Me, neither.” She placed her hand on the side of his face.

Sloan turned his head and buried his lips in her palm. A deep rumble of thunder sounded in the near distance. “That storm’s not going to wait. It’s coming in fast and looks nasty.”

“Then I guess we better go.”

He would have felt better if her voice hadn’t shaken.

Chapter Eleven

They raced the storm all the way home. They beat it, but just barely. It proved, according to Sloan later that night, to be the worst storm of the season. The initial gust front had winds clocked at seventy-two miles an hour. Hard, heavy rain pounded the ranch for hours as the storm front stalled, trapped between the cool dry air from Kansas to the north and warm moist air blowing up from the remnants of a tropical storm in the Gulf of Mexico.

A few minutes after Emily and Sloan had taken care of their mounts and made it to the house, the rain had come in torrents. Then had come the hail. It had viciously hammered everything under the sky. After several minutes it eased off.

The family had trooped out onto the front porch to find the ground covered in millions of small white pellets of ice about as big around as a nickel.

“We’ll be checking the roofs on all the buildings in the morning for damage,” Sloan said.

When the rain started up again, hard and heavy, they all went back into the house.

While the girls and the family watched television Emily divided her time between making popcorn and fresh iced tea, pacing the kitchen floor and watching the clock. Brenda had called while she and Sloan had been at the pond. She was supposed to call back at nine.

Emily looked at the clock again. It was 8:55. “Come on, come on,” she muttered to the minute hand. “Move.”

Time had raced while she and Sloan had been together. Now it hung motionless like thick, heavy smoke.

The minutes were crawling. What could Brenda want? It had to be about the job at the factory, and it surely couldn’t be good news.

This was killing her. She had a week left on the Cherokee Rose. After today she and Sloan might not find a chance to be alone together again. The storm had cut their time together today short, and now this worry over Brenda’s call was eating at the one nerve she had left.

This was not how she had wanted this evening to be.

When the phone rang she jumped as if electrocuted.

“Emily,” Rose called from the living room. “Would you mind getting that? I’m sure it’s for you anyway.”

“No problem,” she called back.

She answered the wall phone in the kitchen. Rose was right, it was Brenda.

“They’ve changed their hiring schedule at the factory,” Brenda told her.

Emily’s heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean? Changed it how?”

“They’ve moved it up. You have to be here Wednesday if you want to get your application in the first batch.”

“Wednesday? But my car surely won’t be ready by then. We’re waiting on a new part and it’s taking a few days.”

“What are you going to do?” Brenda asked.

“Can you come get me?” She had already decided she might have to call Brenda next week and ask this very thing. The timetable had just been moved ahead one week. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but I’ll pay you back, I promise. I can buy the gas. You could come Saturday or Sunday.”

“Are you kidding?” Brenda laughed. “When I tell Tommy I’m coming to the Cherokee Rose ranch, just try keeping us away. He’ll want to drive me there himself.”

“You’ll come then?”

“Saturday. Is that okay?”

Emily’s stomach twisted into a knot. “Saturday is fine. I’ll see you then.”

When Emily hung up the phone and turned back toward the room, Sloan was standing there. His face was a blank mask.

“You heard?” she asked, wondering what he was thinking.

“I heard.”

“Day after tomorrow. My cousin’s coming to get me.”

“Why? I thought you had another week.”

“The factory moved up their hiring schedule. I have to be there to put my application in by Wednesday, and Saturday is the only day Brenda can come get me.”

“I could have taken you.”

She shook her head and hugged herself against a sudden chill. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“You didn’t ask. I’m offering.”

“Why?” she asked, her heart breaking in two. “So we can have an extra day or two? I have feelings for you, Sloan. You have to know that. The longer I stay, the harder it’s going to be for me to leave.”

He closed the distance between them and stood before her, out of sight of the living room, and put his hands on her shoulders. “I’m not ready to let you go.”

“I don’t have a choice.” Unless you offer me one.

He pulled her gently to his chest. “I know.”

Those two pieces of her heart shattered into tiny shards. She didn’t know why it hurt so much. What had she expected? That he would offer her some miraculous alternative? There was no alternative, if he wasn’t in love with her. If he didn’t think she was strong enough for life on a ranch.

“Em.” He held her tighter. His nose nestled against her temple.

Emily turned her face, and his mouth was there, waiting for hers. She met it and, for a moment, took what he offered with all the desperation she felt. Then she pulled back, determined not to make a fool of herself.

A brief fling was obviously enough for him. It was startling to realize that she wanted so much more. Of course, she would be equally shocked to realize that a brief fling would satisfy her. She’d never had a fling, brief or otherwise, in her life. She didn’t think she was cut out for it.

But she’d had a fling now, and it had been brief. Yet she knew in her heart it had not been wrong. She and Sloan, they had been so right together. Even now, standing here in his arms with goodbye only a heartbeat away, he still felt right to her.

“I better go,” she told him. “The girls will come looking for more popcorn any minute.”

No sooner had she spoken the words than Janie stepped into the kitchen. She looked at her mother, then at Sloan, and back to her mother. “What’s the matter?”

Emily forced a smile for her daughter. “Nothing, honey.”

“Was that Cousin Brenda on the phone? What did she say?”

Emily hadn’t planned to tell the girls just yet, because she knew they would be upset. But Janie had asked, and Emily would not lie. She told her daughter what was happening.

“Saturday?” Janie cried. “But that’s day after tomorrow.”

“I know, honey.”

Libby joined them. “What’s day after tomorrow?”

Janie looked at her mother accusingly. “Cousin Brenda’s coming to get us and take us to Arkansas.”

“Mommy, no! Not yet,” Libby wailed.

Emily knelt before her daughters. “I know it’s sooner than you want, but it can’t be helped. Now, go back in there and watch the rest of your movie, okay?”

They hung their heads. “Yes, ma’am,” they said in unison.

When they returned to the living room, Emily stood and turned back to Sloan.

He shook his head. “I don’t know how you do it. If it was me, I’d promise them anything to chase that hangdog look from their faces.”

Emily pursed her lips. “And they would have you wrapped around their little fingers in no time.”

He shrugged and grinned. “I can think of worse places to be.”

So could Emily. Namely, Arkansas.

When Emily put the girls to bed as soon as the second Disney movie was over, she took her shower and went to bed herself instead of joining the family in the living room. She was still awake when she heard the last of them go upstairs for the night.

Sloan was the last to go up, except for Justin, who had yet to return from his hot date. Funny how she could tell Sloan’s footsteps on the stairs from those of his brothers.

She was still awake when the rain finally quit, and later when Justin came in, and three hours after that when the sky lightened near dawn. The lessening of the darkness surprised her. She had determined that it just might last forever.

Feeling hollow-headed from lack of sleep, Emily rose and prepared to start her last full day on the Cherokee Rose.

She had breakfast well under way when the family started making their way downstairs. She had expected Sloan to be the first, but instead it was Justin.

“Good morning, sunshine.”

Emily’s lips twitched. It was as gray as winter outside. “I guess that means your date went well.”

He waggled his eyebrows. “A gentleman never tells.”

“Since when,” Caleb said as he rounded the corner into the kitchen, “were you ever a gentleman?”

“Hey, I’m always a gentleman,” Justin protested.

“Shame, Grandson.” Rose entered the room. “I taught you better than to lie.”

“Well, I’m usually a gentleman.”

“Try again,” said Sloan, joining them.

“Okay, okay. I was a gentleman once. I’m sure I was.”

With a round of laughter, they took their seats at the table. Emily was grateful for the laughter and for Justin’s protests that he was being unfairly maligned, for it took the attention off her and her impending departure.

Sloan did not ignore her, but neither did he initiate any conversation. She was grateful for that, too. This day was going to be difficult enough without starting it off with more tension than she already felt.

“I’ll start checking the buildings for damage.” Having finished eating, Sloan tossed his napkin on his plate and slid his chair back from the table. “You two ride out and check on the stock. I’ll join you as soon as I can.”

“I’ll ride out with them,” Rose said.

“You don’t need to do that, Grandmother,” Sloan objected.

She arched one dark eyebrow. “You don’t need to tell me what I don’t need to do, Grandson.”

Sloan clenched his jaw. “Yes, ma’am,” he muttered. This was getting to be a habit with him, he realized. Trying to protect the women in his life from hardship. A habit that was going to get his ears boxed if he tried it on his grandmother again.

There was no shame in a strategic retreat, he told himself as he made it out the back door. If he rushed a little faster than normal, well, that was his business, wasn’t it?

When the door closed behind him, Rose eyed her other two grandsons. “And let that be a lesson to the two of you.”

“What lesson would that be, Grandmother?” Justin asked with a cheeky grin.

“That would be that I’m not so old yet that I need to be coddled. You take care of your work, I’ll take care of mine.”

“Hey, I never said otherwise,” Justin protested.

“Me, neither,” Caleb said, his hands raised in innocence.

“Just be sure you don’t.”

Emily smiled at their byplay. Within a few minutes they were all outside following their plans for the day. She began cleaning up the kitchen and getting ready to fix breakfast for her daughters, who would be up within the hour.

“Mommy?” Libby asked when the girls had finished eating. “Can we go outside and play?”

Emily glanced out the window over the sink. The sun was breaking through the clouds. She looked at the puddles dotting the ground and thought of the girls’ white sneakers. “I don’t know, baby, it’s pretty messy out there.”

“Please, Mommy? We’ll be careful.”

“Please, Mother?” Janie added.

It would be good to have them out of the house; she planned to give the house a cleaning the likes of which it had never seen, as a farewell to the family that had welcomed them with open arms. Besides, who knew when the girls would get the chance to run and play outside again, especially in a place where she didn’t have to worry about the dangers of traffic or strangers.

“All right,” she told them. “But try not to get too muddy, please.”

“Oh, thank you, Mommy.” Libby hugged her hips.

“We’ll be careful,” Janie promised.

When Libby and Janie went outside, they sat on the concrete steps leading to the utility porch.

“It’s my fault,” Libby said sadly.

“What is?” Janie asked.

“That we have to leave.”

“How can it be your fault?”

“It’s because I got scared of the snake and screamed.”

“No, it’s not,” Janie protested. “Besides, then it would be my fault, too,’ cause I made you watch that show about cobras that scared you.”

“Mommy thinks I’m too scared to stay here. That’s why we have to leave.”

“No, it’s because of that job in Arkansas,” Janie explained.

“I bet if I found that snake and showed everybody I wasn’t scared of it, we’d get to stay and Mr. Sloan would get to be our daddy.”

Janie shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

Libby looked at her older, wiser sister earnestly. “But we could try, couldn’t we?”

Janie shrugged. “I don’t think it will help, but I don’t guess it will hurt anything, if you wanna look for the snake. As long as we don’t get all muddy.”

“We won’t.” Libby jumped to her feet. “Come on. Let’s look in the garden.”

All the plants in the garden were sopping wet from the rain. The girls couldn’t walk down any pathway without brushing against one plant or another. They got wet in no time. But the ground in the garden had drained well, so the mud was kept to a minimum.

“Here, little snake,” Libby called. “Here, Snakey, Snakey.”

“I don’t think they come when you call them,” Janie said.

“How do you know? He ran away when I screamed, maybe he’ll come if I talk nice. Come on, little snake, I won’t hurt you.”

“That sounds really silly.”

“Look!” Libby pointed to a bean bush whose lower leaves, which rested on the ground, rustled. “It’s him, I know it.”

Janie would have expressed her doubt, but just then a small gray snake slithered out from beneath the bush, across the path and into the tomato plants.

“There he goes!” Unmindful of the wet plants, or their delicacy, Libby charged through the bush tomatoes, and the chase was on. They followed the snake as it raced from one row to the next, until it was through the chain-link fence and out of the garden.

“Oh, no!” Libby yelled. “He’s heading for the creek!”

The girls ran back out through the garden gate and followed the six-inch gray snake. Libby saw it disappear into a clump of grass near the tire swing.

“There he goes,” Janie said.

“I saw, I saw.” Libby slowed and tiptoed toward the clump of grass, two feet from the bank of the creek.

“Don’t get too close to the edge,” Janie warned.

Libby looked over at the rushing water that was nearly to the top of the banks, when usually it was five feet lower. “Golly,” she said. “Look at all that water.”

“Be careful,” Janie warned.

“I am.” She inched another step forward, and the ground, weakened and saturated by the torrential rains, simply gave way beneath her feet. One minute Libby was standing there, the next she was gone.

“Libby!”

Emily was working upstairs, giving Rose’s bedroom a final going-over with the polishing cloth. The house was quiet, quieter than usual with the girls outside.

A shrill scream from outside broke the silence.

Emily’s heart stopped. That was Libby’s voice.

She raced to the window that overlooked the backyard, but before she reached it she heard Janie scream Libby’s name.

She reached the window and threw aside the curtains to see Janie dancing back and forth anxiously at the edge of the creek, only the edge of the creek didn’t seem to be where it should be.

Emily dropped her polishing cloth and tore out of the bedroom and down the stairs. She was outside in five seconds flat and running for all she was worth toward the creek.

Sloan was on the roof of the barn fixing a leak when he heard the screams. His heart jumped to his throat and threatened to cut off his air. He had hoped to never again hear the sound of a little girl screaming in fear for as long as he lived, but there it was. It was Libby, he knew. But this time her scream sounded even more terrified than the day she’d been afraid of the snake.

Then Janie screamed her sister’s name.

He dropped his hammer and slid down the slope of the roof to the edge. No fireman had ever slid down a pole faster than Sloan made it down the ladder. Then he was off and running.

He saw Emily fly out of the house thirty yards ahead of him and run for the creek.

Emily raced up to Janie, who was jumping up and down in anxiety and staring down the creek. “Hold on, Libby!”

“Janie!”

“Mama! Mama, the ground fell into the creek and took Libby with it.”

Terror clutched at Emily’s throat. She could plainly see where the raging water had gouged out a huge chunk of ground. “Where is she?”

“There.” She pointed downstream.

“Where? I don’t see her.”

“There, on that tree.”

Emily followed the direction Janie pointed. There, on a tree branch that hung low over the water, a spot of color. “Libby!”

Her baby was hanging on to the branch with her tiny hands, while the force of the water did its best to tear her loose. The rain-swollen creek, normally barely ankle deep but now at least five feet deep, shot broken branches, large and small, directly at the terrified child.

“Hang on, Libby, Mommy’s coming!”

“What are you going to do?” Janie cried.

Emily spun and grabbed Janie by the shoulders. “I’m going after her. You go find help. Sloan might—” She broke off when she spotted Sloan running full speed toward them. “Never mind. Just stay away from the creek. Stay way back.”

Then Emily did the exact opposite. She raced along the bank and got as close to Libby as possible. Holding on to the same branch that was Libby’s lifeline, Emily stepped into the rushing water.

The force of the water knocked her legs from beneath her, but there was nothing to stand on anyway, as the bottom of the creek was a good five feet down. The frigid water took her breath, the swiftness took her under. She held on to the thick, sturdy branch for all she was worth, tearing the skin on her palms, to keep from being washed away. The force of the water pulled on her so hard she feared her shoulders might be dislocated.

The pain centered her. The pain, and the faint cry from Libby.

“Mommy!”

With a strength she didn’t know she possessed, Emily gripped the branch tighter and pulled until her head was above water. Coughing and choking, she tried to draw in air.

“Mommy,” Libby cried again with terror in her tiny voice.

“Hang on, baby. Just hang on,” Emily yelled over the roaring of the raging water.

Hand over hand, Emily inched her way toward her baby, praying as she had never prayed before.

“Mommy, I’m slipping!”

“Hold on, baby! Hold on tight, I’m almost there!” What she would do once she reached Libby, she didn’t know. There was still nothing beneath her feet but rushing water. Nothing to stand on.

Something slammed into her leg hard enough to force a cry from her lips and blacken her vision. She shook her head, trying to clear it.

“Emily!”

Sloan! The sound of his voice gave her strength. Her vision cleared and she made it the final three feet down the branch to Libby.

The branch dipped and swayed. Emily’s added weight was more than it wanted to bear. Libby screamed.

“It’s all right, baby, just hold on, be still. I’ve got you.” With a deep breath and another prayer, she let go of the branch with one hand and wrapped that arm around Libby’s waist. “I’ve got you.”

Libby turned loose of the branch and threw her arms around Emily’s neck, nearly strangling her, nearly causing Emily to lose her tentative, one-handed hold on the branch.

On the bank, Sloan nearly had a heart attack. Emily couldn’t hold on much longer, not with Libby’s weight added to hers, and her grip slipping on the thick branch, and the branch dipping lower and lower toward the water. She would never be able to make her way back to the bank.

In that instant Sloan had a stark glimpse of what his life would be like in the future without Emily. The sky would always be gray, the waters always dark and deadly. There would be no precious blue-eyed girls, no beautiful, yellow-haired woman. There would be only one unending, lonely night after empty day. Life without Emily, Janie and Libby, would be colorless. Hopeless. Empty.

He swore a blue streak at himself for wasting time feeling sorry for himself while Emily was fighting for her life. He searched the bank and the water for a loose branch thick enough and long enough to extend toward them so he could pull them in. There was nothing usable. With another curse, he whipped off his belt, then buckled it to make the largest loop possible. He found a place on the tree where a large branch had broken off, leaving a six-inch stub pointing up and out from the trunk. He stuck the looped belt over the stub and gripped the opposite side of the loop tightly.

“Can you get them?” Janie asked.

“I can get them. Get back, honey. I don’t trust this bank, and we don’t want you ending up in there, too.”

Janie swallowed and moved back, terrified for her mother and little sister, but knowing that Mr. Sloan could save them. Mr. Sloan could do anything. He’d made her mother laugh and smile again, hadn’t he?

Unaware of his hero status in Janie’s eyes, Sloan focused on Emily and Libby. Holding on to the belt, he gave it a sharp tug, then another, testing its strength and the strength of the branch stub that held it. Both seemed sound enough.

“Hold on,” he called. Then he stepped down the bank and into the foaming red water. He dug his heels into the side of the bank, fighting the strength of the current racing downstream. He leaned as far out as he could and stretched out his arm.

Too far. Emily and Libby were too far to reach.

Emily saw the problem instantly. “Wait there,” she called. “We’ll come to you.”

“Be careful!”

“Libby, baby, you hang on to me. I’m going to take my arm from around you so I can hold on to the branch with both hands.”

“No, Mommy, noo! Don’t let go of me!”

“I have to, baby, but it’ll be okay. See Mr. Sloan? He’s waiting for us. You hold on to me, and I’ll move us down this branch toward Sloan, and he’ll get you out of the water. Okay?”

Too scared to cry, Libby nodded jerkily. “Okay, Mommy.” She tightened her hold on Emily’s neck, nearly strangling her again. But this time Emily let her. She took her arm from around Libby’s back and grabbed the branch over her head.

Slowly and painfully she moved, hand over hand, toward the bank and Sloan.

“A little farther,” Sloan called. “A little farther. What are you doing?”

“I’m turning around,” she yelled, “so you can get Libby.”

Sloan wanted to argue that he could get them both at once, but he shut his mouth. That was a fool’s idea. She was right and he knew it. He could get Libby first, then Emily. It would be safer that way, as long as Emily could hold on.

“Look!”

Distracted by Janie’s cry, Sloan glanced upstream. A large tree limb that branched off in a half dozen places was racing directly for Emily and Libby.

“Hurry!” he yelled. He stretched his arm out as far as he could. “Hurry, Emily.”

A slap of water hit her in the face. Sputtering, she felt her hands slipping. “Hold on, Libby. Almost there. Can you get her?”

“A little farther. A few more inches. You can do it.”

Her arms and hands screaming in pain, Emily inched her way up the branch. Finally she had Libby within Sloan’s reach.

Sloan tried to grab the back of Libby’s shirt, but it stretched so much that she would slip right out of it if he lifted her that way. Panting with effort, he forced his arm between Libby and Emily.

“Let go of Mommy, Lib,” he said.

“Nooo!”

“Come on, baby, I’ve got you.”

“Let go, Libby,” Emily encouraged. “Sloan’s got you. He won’t let you go.”

Libby’s pupils were tiny pinpricks of terror. “O-okay.”

The instant her arms loosened, Sloan scooped her to his chest. “There, I’ve got you.”

Holding her in one arm, he used the belt to help him climb up the bank. “Janie, get her back from here. I’m going after your mother.”

“Hurry!”

With Libby safely out of harm’s way, Emily used what was left of her strength to pull herself toward the bank.

“Look out!” Janie screamed.

Emily glanced upstream. A giant limb with multiple branches was almost upon her. It would knock her hold loose and take her under. She had seconds, at the most.

“Em!”

She moved her right hand forward, then her left. Then she was out of time. She let go of the branch and threw herself forward with the last of her strength.

It was enough. Sloan caught her and crushed her to his chest. “Thank God,” he managed.

By the time they crawled to shore all Emily could do was sprawl on her face in the mud.

“Mommy!”

“Mother!”

“Em?”

The three voices she loved most in the world gave her the strength to push herself up until she could sit. Before she could draw a full breath Sloan had his arms around her and held her so tightly she feared for her ribs.

“I thought I was going to lose you. God, Em, you can’t leave me. You can’t.”

Janie and Libby flung themselves at their mother. Sloan took them all into his arms.

“Sloan.”

“You saved us, Mr. Sloan,” Libby said. “You saved us from the creek.”

“Are you okay?” he demanded of both of them. “Are you hurt? Libby? Em?”

“I’m fine,” Emily said. “Libby?”

“I’m okay, Mommy. I was just standing there, and the ground fell in. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, baby.” Emily kissed the forehead of her youngest daughter. “Are you okay?” she asked Janie.

“I’m okay, Mother. Did you hear Mr. Sloan? He said we couldn’t leave.”

“He’s just relieved that we’re all okay,” Emily assured her, while her heart beat in double time.

“Yes,” he said, “I’m relieved you’re all okay. But I meant it, Em. When I saw you in the water, I had a terrible flash of what my life will be like if you leave me, and it’s too empty to think about. You have to stay.”

“Stay? What do you mean?”

“I’m saying this all wrong. You deserve candlelight and soft music, but at least I’m on my knees. That’s gotta count for something.”

Emily’s heart hit triple time. “What are you saying?”

“I’m asking you to marry me. I want you to marry me and live here on this ranch with me and let me be a father to your daughters.”

The roar of the raging creek was drowned out by the roar of her blood in her ears. “Marry you?”

“You have to, you know,” he said. “I scored the highest on the survey. That means you have to marry me.”

“I do?”

“Those are the right words, the minute we’re in front of a preacher.”

“Sloan, why should I marry you?”

Sloan gulped. He looked her in the eye and felt new strength surge through him. “Because I love you. I love all of you so much.”

With a glad cry, Emily threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. He kissed her back. It was something the girls were going to have to get used to, seeing him kiss their mother. He planned to do a lot of it during the next fifty or sixty years.

Libby and Janie looked at each other and grinned.

“Does this mean we’re staying?” Janie asked.

Emily pulled back from kissing Sloan and looked at the eager expressions on her daughters’ faces. “Yes. We’re staying.”

“And Mr. Sloan’s going to be our new daddy?” They looked at him.

“If you’ll have me,” he said.

Janie and Libby cheered and threw their arms around his neck.

Emily watched the three people she loved most in the world with a wide smile and blurred vision.

Then Sloan set the girls aside. “Can you go to the house and get cleaned up while I talk to your mother?”

“Okay.” The girls held hands and raced toward the house, giggling and cheering all the way.

“Oh, God, Sloan.” She leaned her shoulder against his chest. “I’ve never seen them so happy.”

“You’ve never seen me so happy, either, because I’ve never been this happy. I love you, Em.”

She turned her face toward his. “I love you, too.”

“I was hoping you’d say that. I’m going to want to hear it a lot.”

“I’m going to want to say it a lot. I love you. I love you.”

He took her words, and then her breath, when he covered her mouth with his. They knelt in the mud along the bank of the creek that had nearly separated them forever and made promises with that kiss, promises of love and laughter and companionship until the day they died.

Chapter Twelve

Excitement fairly bubbled around the dinner table that night. Nobody had time to dwell on Libby’s near drowning, least of all, Libby. Her and Emily’s scrapes and bruises had been seen to, Janie praised for getting help, Sloan for his dramatic rescue.

But all of that was nothing. Libby and Janie were getting a new daddy! Sloan and Emily were getting married!

At the head of the table, Rose looked happy enough to burst. Her eldest grandson—the firstborn of her firstborn—was going to marry a lovely woman. Rose was about to gain not only a granddaughter-in-law, but two beautiful great-granddaughters, as well. She couldn’t have been more pleased.

At her left, Caleb looked as satisfied as if he had already polished off the entire peach cobbler that his soon-to-be sister-in-law had made for dessert. Of course, he wouldn’t get to eat the whole thing, but that was okay. Sloan was marrying the cook, so there would be more where that cobbler came from. And, aside from the fact that he loved her cooking, Caleb couldn’t have picked a more perfect woman for his big brother to marry. He was about to become a brother-in-law, and an uncle, to boot. Oh, yes, life was indeed satisfying.

To Caleb’s left, Justin looked—and felt, he admitted—smug. After all, he’d had the biggest hand in getting Sloan and Emily together. If he didn’t count the flood. Or the girls. Or the missing car part. He, after all, had baby-sat, hadn’t he?

Emily sat across from Justin, with Sloan between them at the foot of the table. Sloan and Emily looked…at each other. They couldn’t seem to stop, couldn’t get enough of each other. But when the girls, seated between Emily and Rose, started to giggle, Emily finally managed to tear her gaze from Sloan’s, and he from hers.

When she glanced at her daughters, she frowned. They might be giggling, but something else was going on. There were nerves behind those giggles and in those eyes.

“Is something wrong?” she asked them quietly.

Janie and Libby shared a look. They both swallowed, eyes big, and looked back at their mother.

“What is it?” Emily asked with a puzzled smile.

“You’re not…” Janie began, then paused.

“Go on.” Libby elbowed her sister. “Ask her.”

“Ask me what?” Emily wanted to know. “Come on, out with it.”

Janie cast a final glance at Libby, then licked her lips. “You’re not going to marry Sloan just because our car can’t get fixed, are you?”

“What?”

“I mean, you’d marry him even if our car was fixed, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course I would, honey. This has nothing to do with our car. Sloan and I are getting married, and that’s that. I thought you were happy about it.”

“We are!” Libby cried. “We’re real happy, aren’t we, Janie?”

“Real happy,” Janie confirmed. “We get a new daddy.” She grinned at Sloan. “And we get a great- grandmother.”

“You sure do,” Rose told them with a big smile.

“And we get uncles.” Janie looked pointedly at a beaming Caleb and Justin.

Justin leaned back in his chair and stuck out his chest. “Hear that, Caleb? We’re gonna be uncles.”

“Yeah. Pretty cool,” Caleb decided.

Then Janie frowned. “Do you know how to be uncles?”

The two men frowned and shared a brief look.

“Well,” Caleb said. “I guess we can figure it out as we go. Unless you want to give us a few pointers.”

Libby nodded. “Give ’em pointers, Janie. Tell them the rules.”

Justin chuckled. “There are rules for uncles?”

“Oh, yes.” Janie nodded vigorously. “Uncles are like playmates, only they’re already grown-up. They play with you and take you places and let you do things your parents wouldn’t let you do.”

Emily pursed her lips, wondering what else was coming, because after a speech like that, there was certain to be a bombshell.

“And they always take your side,” Janie added.

The two prospective uncles scrunched up their faces in thought, looked at each other, then nodded.

“Yep,” Justin said. “That sounds about right to me.”

“We can do that,” Caleb said.

Libby leaned over and whispered to Janie. “They gotta promise.”

“You promise?” Janie asked earnestly.

“Cross my heart,” Justin said.

“We promise,” Caleb said solemnly.

The two girls looked at each other, but they didn’t grin. Here it came, Emily thought. Whatever it was.

“Okay, then.” Janie reached beneath the table, pulled out a long skinny tube and held it across the table toward Caleb. “Then I guess you might want this.”

At the foot of the table Sloan choked on a sip of iced tea.

Next to him, Justin pressed his knuckles over lips that wanted to curve up.

Caleb blinked. “Well.” He blinked again. “You found the missing oil pickup tube.” Another blink, and what might have been a twitch of his lips, a sharp sideways glance at Justin. “Thank you,” he said to Janie. “Where did you find it?”

Emily gaped. “That’s the part that disappeared?”

“We found it on the tarp, underneath the car,” Janie said in a rush.

“You did?” Caleb took the tube and studied it, shaking his head. “Must have been there all along and I just overlooked it.” He cut another look at Justin, this one promising a reckoning. Caleb knew his younger brother. This thing had the kid’s fingerprints all over it, figuratively if not literally. “Thanks, Janie. I’m glad you found it.”

Janie and Libby looked at each other and let out a long breath of relief.

Janie grinned across the table. “You’re welcome, Uncle Caleb.”

Caleb beamed back at her.

“Young ladies,” Emily said in her mother voice. “I think—”

Justin cut her off. “I think that’s just great, the way you girls found that missing part. After supper Caleb and I can show you where it goes. We’ll make mechanics out of the pair of you yet.”

Libby giggled. “You’re gonna be a good uncle, Uncle Justin.”

He winked at her. “I’m gonna be the best.”

“Now, hold on,” Caleb protested. “I’m older than you. I get to be the best uncle.”

Sloan rolled his eyes. “Lord, help us. I think you’ve just lost control of your daughters, Em. Their new uncles are going to take over.”

“Not to worry,” Rose said cheerfully. “No one spoils little girls like a great-grandmother. You just leave everything to me.”

Sloan narrowed his eyes at his grandmother. “I know you. I know what you’re thinking. You are not going to buy them each a horse.”

“A horse?” Janie and Libby squealed together. “We get a horse?”

Emily rolled her eyes. “Now you’ve done it,” she muttered.

“Of course you do, dears,” Rose said to the girls, her eyes narrowed at her eldest grandson.

“Of course you do,” Sloan said. “But I’m getting them for you.” He jabbed a thumb at his own chest.

“We get horses!”

Emily looked across the table at Caleb and Justin. “Help.”

They just grinned at her. “Welcome to the family, sister.”

Sudden tears blurred Emily’s vision. “Oh.” She pressed her fingers to her lips. In all the excitement it hadn’t really dawned on her. Yes, she was getting married—that alone took her breath away. Her daughters were getting a new father, a great-grandmother and two uncles. But it hadn’t sunk in that Emily herself was getting brothers. She’d never had siblings. Now she would have brothers. Two of them.

“Em?” Sloan took her hand in his. “Em, what’s wrong?”

Her smile might have wobbled, but it came straight from her heart. “I love you.”

Someday she hoped to make him understand just how grateful she was. Not only was he giving her himself, but an entire family, as well.

Thank you, her heart sang.

Epilogue

Five weeks later Emily Nelson married Sloan Chisholm at the Rose Rock Baptist church in what was to have been a small intimate ceremony. Nearly fifty people showed up.

Brenda and Tommy drove in from Fort Smith. That was the extent of Emily’s contribution to the guest list. Everyone else had come for Sloan.

Emily had known that Sloan had a lot of friends—she had met a few of them. She and Melanie had even become friends in recent weeks. But Emily had had no idea about the Chisholm relatives. Aunts and uncles and cousins came from all over the country. Farmers and ranchers, doctors and soldiers, and a few she was just as glad not to know about.

The groom, all agreed, was a handsome devil in his black tux, his head held high with pride. His brothers, serving as his groomsmen, were no slouches, either.

The bride wore an off-white dress that fell in graceful folds to her ankles. Everyone agreed that she glowed with a special beauty. But it was her bridesmaids dressed in pink who stole the show. Libby and Janie were full of their own importance, excited at taking part in their mother’s wedding and absolutely adorable.

They stood beside their mother and stared at her, and at Sloan, in wonder, their young minds not sure what to make of all the fuss, but understanding that it might be the most important thing that had ever happened in their lives.

Their mother was marrying Mr. Sloan. He’d been the best daddy candidate they had found, and, as far as they were concerned, he was wonderful.

To Janie’s mind, they had stated their goal—a new father. They had made a plan and surveyed every man they met. In the end, it was a matter of adding up the numbers, totalling the scores. Everything logical, sensible. If you kept things sensible, you could have what you wanted.

Libby looked at things differently. To her this wedding was proof that if you squeezed your eyes shut tight enough and wished hard enough, good things happened.

They had argued about their opposite views and decided that maybe, just maybe, they were both right.

When the I-dos were said and the groom kissed his bride, Libby and Janie shared a look.

“Now?” Libby whispered, her eyes alight with excitement.

“No.” Janie shook her head and held on to her sister’s arm. “We have to ask first.”

The instant the kiss was over, as the newlyweds turned to face their guests, Libby tugged on her mother’s dress.

Misty-eyed, with her heart full to bursting, Emily turned to her daughters.

“Mama,” Libby asked, “is Mr. Sloan our daddy now?”

Emily shared a look with Sloan, then touched a hand to each daughter’s cheek. “That’s right. Sloan is your new daddy now.”

“Does that mean we don’t have to call him Mr. Sloan anymore?” Janie asked.

Several guests in the front rows chuckled.

“No,” Emily said. “You don’t have to call him Mr. Sloan anymore.”

Sloan slipped his arm around Emily’s waist and smiled at his new daughters. “So, what are you going to call me?”

Janie and Libby moved to stand before Sloan and looked up at him. “If it’s okay,” Janie said, taking her sister’s hand in hers and squeezing, “I mean, if you don’t mind…”

Sloan’s heart started pounding. “What is it you want to call me?”

Libby stepped up and craned her neck to look up at him. “Can we call you Daddy?”

For an instant, Sloan’s heart stopped, his vision blurred. The next thing he knew, he was on his knees, hugging his new daughters to his chest. He looked up helplessly at Emily.

Emily’s own vision blurred. She gave him a wobbly smile.

“I’d be honored,” he said in a voice that shook, “to have you call me Daddy.”

Then all he could do was mouth the words thank you to Emily. Someday he hoped he could make her understand just how grateful he was that she had come into his life. For, not only had she given him herself, she had given him two precious daughters. He prayed that he could fill the shoes Michael Nelson had left and be the type of father these girls needed to see them through childhood, through the awkward teen years and on into womanhood.

But, for now, they were little girls, and they were his. And so was their mother.

Life, he decided, could not be better.

* * * * *

The Other Brother

Chapter One

The fiddler’s bow moved so fast it was little more than a blur beneath the gaily colored Chinese lanterns strung from barn to house and back again. Feet stomped, hands clapped, and couples whirled on the makeshift plywood dance floor. The winter wheat was in the ground, which was enough of a reason to party, but that wasn’t what brought people to the Cherokee Rose ranch in central Oklahoma this early-October night. Cherokee Rose Chisholm’s eldest grandson had taken a wife, and the celebration was in full swing. From farmers and ranchers to bankers to down-on-their-luck cowboys, people from all over the county, the state of Oklahoma and beyond filled the ranch yard to welcome Emily Nelson Chisholm and her two young daughters to the community.

There was even a rumor that a token Texan or two had shown up. Of course, to an Oklahoman, there was no such place as Texas. All that land south of the Red River was simply known as Baja Oklahoma.

Texans didn’t like this description much, since they considered the area north of the Red River to be nothing more than North Texas. But what the heck. The annual Red River Rivalry, better known to the rest of the world as the Oklahoma University versus the University of Texas football game, was still two weeks away. For now, the Sooners would let the Longhorns drink their beer.

That beer was being tapped from the keg by Caleb Chisholm, the middle brother of Cherokee Rose’s pride and joy—her three grandsons. Most people thought of Caleb as the quiet Chisholm. Sloan, the eldest, was outgoing and friendly, kindhearted and always ready to help someone in need. Justin, the youngest, had earned the nickname Wild Man back in high school; it was appropriate, and it had stuck. He liked to party, play practical jokes, and generally have a good time with the ladies.

But Caleb kept mostly to himself, when he wasn’t trying to keep his two brothers from pounding on each other just for the fun of it. He was steady and dependable, and considered one of the best catches in the county, according to local beauty-shop gossip. He was a quiet man with a sober demeanor that added just a touch of mystery and made his rare smiles all the more powerful.

He flashed one of those rare smiles now as their nearest neighbor sashayed her way over to his keg of beer in time with the country band knocking them out from the front porch.

If anybody asked the three Chisholm brothers what kind of woman Melanie Pruitt was, three different answers would come back. She was a cute kid who didn’t know what she really wanted; she wore her heart, usually broken, on her sleeve for all the world to see; and she was a tomboy who wouldn’t think twice about playing along with, or even instigating, a good practical joke.

From her point of view, Caleb knew, Melanie considered herself none of those things, and all of them. She was right on both points. They’d known her all her life. She was the kid sister they’d never had. She’d been in love with Sloan, cried on Caleb’s shoulder when that had proved to be all one-sided, and helped Justin egg the high school principal’s house on Halloween.

As far as anyone in the Chisholm family was concerned, Mel was solid gold.

“Hey, Caleb. Some party.” Her grin curved her mouth but did not reach the depths of those emerald-green eyes.

This troubled Caleb. Melanie had supposedly been over Sloan for a couple of years now. She had made friends with Emily, and encouraged Sloan to marry the woman. Now she came to the party held in honor of their marriage, and something was bothering her.

Her gaze strayed, and he followed it. She stared at Sloan and Emily as they two-stepped their way around the dance floor, laughing together as if they didn’t have a care in the world. And to them, they didn’t. Not this night, anyway.

“Dammit, Melanie,” Caleb complained. “I thought you were over him.”

Melanie blinked and looked up at Caleb. Twin lines formed between her eyes. “What? Who?”

“Who, hell. Sloan.” It was all he could do to keep from shaking her. “You were staring at him like you just lost your best friend.”

Her eyes widened. “I was not. I wasn’t even looking at him, much less thinking about him.”

She seemed sincere enough, Caleb thought, but something was definitely troubling her. “If it’s not Sloan, then what’s wrong?”

Melanie shook her head. “It’s nothing.”

“Come on, Melanie. This is me you’re talking to.”

“Okay, I’ll rephrase. It’s nothing I want to talk about, but it has nothing to do with Sloan. You know better than that, or you should.”

He shrugged. “I thought I did. You’re sure you’re over him?”

She narrowed those deep green eyes at him. “You’re going to make me mad, you keep asking that. I’ve been over him for years. And even if I wasn’t, look at them.” She waved a hand toward Sloan and Emily on the dance floor. The tall, dark-skinned man and the small golden-haired woman danced and gazed at each other as if they were the only two people in the world. “Even a blind person can see how perfect they are together, how much in love they are. And, Caleb?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m not blind.”

“Got it. Consider me sufficiently chastised.”

Her lips quirked. “That’ll be the day.”

“Uncle Caleb, Uncle Caleb, look at us!”

The cry came from little Libby, Emily’s six-year-old daughter. She and her eight-year-old sister, Janie, were both being whirled around the dance floor by Justin, Caleb and Sloan’s youngest brother. At their begging, Justin had been teaching the girls to two-step for the past week. They had wanted to be ready for the party.

“Look, Uncle Caleb!” Janie called.

Uncle. Damn if Caleb didn’t get a great big kick out of that. He couldn’t help but grin. “I see,” he called back. “Looking good, ladies.”

“Look at them,” Melanie said, clearly delighted. “Inside of a month he’ll have them doing the Cotton-Eyed Joe and the schottische.”

Caleb laughed. “Month, nothing. Those two are quick. They’ve already just about got the Cotton-Eyed Joe down pat.”

“You’re getting a kick out of this uncle thing, aren’t you?” Melanie asked.

“You better believe it,” he said. “They’re angels, both of them.”

“Oh, look.” Melanie pointed across the dance floor. “There goes your grandmother, with the Methodist minister.”

“Grandmother loves to dance,” he said.

“So do you,” Melanie said. “Why aren’t you out there?”

“I’m on beer duty.”

“To heck with that. We can get our own beer. Besides, barracuda at twelve o’clock. Bearing down on you with a gleam in her eyes. You’re going to want to dance with me. And I mean right now.”

Caleb started to turn around to see what she was talking about, but she grabbed his arm and started dragging him toward the dance floor.

“Don’t look,” she hissed. “It’s Alyshia Campbell.”

“Enough said.” Caleb took her right hand in his left, put his right hand on her waist and spun her into a fast two-step amid the other dancers.

Caleb shuddered. Alyshia Campbell, aka the barracuda, aka the shark, the piranha, the pariah and a dozen other names that weren’t so nice. Alyshia knew about all the names people called her. She enjoyed her nasty reputation.

She was older than Caleb’s thirty-three by at least ten years, and she was married to the local used-car salesman who happily turned a blind eye to his wife’s numerous boyfriends while she turned a blind eye to his. A person couldn’t talk about Alyshia or Jerry Campbell without getting a bad taste in the mouth. And for some reason, Alyshia had apparently decided Caleb was going to be her next conquest, although word was that she hadn’t dumped her current one yet.

“Thanks,” he said to Melanie with feeling. “I owe you one.”

Melanie shook her shoulder-length hair back and laughed. “You better believe you do.”

Caleb arched a brow. “Are you saying that dancing with me is a hardship?”

“Of course not. You know you’re one of the best dancers around. But I saved your bacon, pal. For that, you owe me.”

“Looks like your rescue was short-lived. Here she comes.”

Melanie glanced over her shoulder and saw Alyshia bearing down on them with a predatory smile on her surgically enhanced face.

“May I cut in?” Alyshia purred.

Melanie smiled. Caleb had never seen that particular look on Melanie’s face before. For a moment, he wondered which woman was the more dangerous. Then he shook off the feeling. This was Melanie, his friend.

“Go away, Alyshia,” Melanie said dismissively. “This one’s taken.” Without missing a beat, Melanie slid her hands to the back of Caleb’s head and pulled him down to meet her mouth.

The shock was instantaneous. A sharp jolt of electricity. Intense heat, flames licking from the inside out. Arousal, hard and fast. The air turned hot and heavy, and with it, Caleb thought that if Melanie wasn’t feeling what he was feeling, his life would never be complete.

Startled, he tore his mouth from hers and stared.

Melanie blinked up at him, her breath rasping. “Oh…my…God.”

Caleb swallowed. “Uh, yeah.” He swallowed again. “That was…”

She swallowed. “Yeah.”

“Come on, you two.” Alyshia smirked. “Get a room, for heaven’s sake.”

Caleb and Melanie both ignored her.

Alyshia shrugged and walked away.

“What just happened?” Melanie asked, a dazed look in her eyes.

“I…I don’t know. An explosion, I think.”

Around them friends and neighbors swirled across the dance floor, feet stomped, voices laughed, the band blared.

“Yeah.” Melanie looked away, around, anywhere but at Caleb. She couldn’t believe what had just happened. “Yeah. That would explain it.”

They stared at each other another long moment, then Caleb looked away and shuffled his feet. “Anyway, uh, thanks. For getting Alyshia off my back, I mean.”

“Hey,” Melanie said with a big fake smile. “What are friends for? Oh, look, there’s Daddy. See you later.” She escaped Caleb and the dance floor so fast, she was pretty sure she left a vacuum in her wake. What else could a woman do when she’d just done the unthinkable and kissed her best friend? And not just kissed, but Kissed.

It wasn’t her fault, she told herself. That lightning bolt from the sky shouldn’t have happened. The kiss had been meant as a joke. A ploy to get rid of Alyshia. A teasing gesture between friends. Not…not…not fireworks.

“What’s the matter with you?” her father groused. “You look like you just got thrown by a wild bronc.”

Leave it to her father to describe perfectly what she was feeling. “Uh, no,” she managed. “Just a fast whirl on the dance floor.”

He patted her on the shoulder. “Well, you have a good time, little girl. I’ll find you later.”

“Daddy,” she said as he turned to walk away.

Ralph Pruitt stopped and looked back at his only child. “Yeah?”

Melanie opened her mouth, then closed it and shook her head. “Nothing. I’ll find you when I’m ready to go home.”

As he walked away, she bit the end of her tongue to keep from calling out a warning to him: No gambling.

Maybe she was getting wiser, keeping her mouth shut this time. Lord knew the warning would have fallen on deaf ears. Gambling was an addiction with her father. He used to go to meetings up in Oklahoma City, and the people there, fellow compulsive gamblers, had been a help. But when Melanie’s mother left them a couple of years ago, Ralph had given up the meetings. He’d been gambling ever since.

Call her a cynic, but if her father would win his bets more often she wouldn’t worry so much. But Lady Luck favored Ralph Pruitt only often enough to keep him coming back. His losses were mounting, and the ranch finances were hurting because of it. It was that, rather than any upset over Sloan’s marriage, that had been troubling Melanie when Caleb had questioned her earlier.

Now, in addition to worrying about her father and the ranch, and wondering what her mother was up to, there was that kiss to torment her. She ought to be able to laugh it off and forget it, but for now it loomed large in her mind.

By 3:00 a.m. that damn kiss still occupied Melanie’s mind. It filled every nook and cranny and wouldn’t let her sleep. She had tossed and turned so much that her bed looked like a disaster zone. By sunup, so did she.

She did her best with a cold shower and makeup, but nothing could disguise the sleepless night she’d just spent.

Her father obviously noticed, if the sudden height of his eyebrows was any indication, but, with uncharacteristic wisdom, he said nothing as he drove the two of them to church.

For as long as Melanie could remember, her father had driven the family to church every Sunday morning. Only calving or foaling could keep him home, and neither of those was taking place this day. Still, it seemed odd that it was only the two of them in the pickup, though it had been just the two of them for more than two years now, since Melanie’s mother had left them.

She should be here, Melanie thought. Her mother should be here with them on the way to church. She shouldn’t be off in sunny Arizona living the high life. And sending the bills home for the ranch to pay her expenses. Mounting expenses.

Between her mother and father, Melanie was about ready to bang her head against the nearest wall, financially speaking.

Patience. She would pray for patience. If she was very, very good, maybe God would grant her some.

But first, she thought as she and her father entered the church, she would pray to become invisible. How was she supposed to sit in church and concentrate on the sermon with Caleb Chisholm just across the aisle?

She did her best to focus on the minister, her bible, her hymnal, each in turn. She must have managed to keep last night’s kiss from her mind, because lightning did not shoot through the roof of the sanctuary and strike her dead for having lascivious thoughts in church.

After the final amen was delivered and announcements were made, Melanie managed to fumble long enough with her purse and her bible and trading small talk with the pharmacist seated next to her to allow plenty of time for the Chisholms to get halfway down the aisle before her father finally took her by the arm and dragged her from the pew.

“What’s the matter with you today?” he grumbled. “You’re slow as molasses.”

She dragged her feet and slowed even more. “What’s the hurry?”

“Maybe I’m hungry.”

That was the other part of their Sunday ritual—dinner out after church at Lucille’s Café on Main. Her father would order the chicken-fried steak, and, because Melanie made pets out of her laying hens and refused to butcher them, she would have fried chicken—someone else’s fried chicken, thank you very much.

With great relief, or so she told herself, Melanie noted that when she and her father finally exited the church the Chisholms were already pulling out of the parking lot. There were so many of them now that Sloan had a wife and two new stepdaughters that it took them two vehicles to haul everyone.

At her side she heard her father mutter a curse.

“What’s the matter with you today?” she demanded, parroting his words. “You’re grumpy as a bear with a sore paw.”

“I told you,” he said tersely, nudging her none too gently down the church steps. “I’m hungry.”

“Well, by all means, then,” she said with exaggerated sweetness. “Let’s feed you.”

The town of Rose Rock had a population of just under two thousand, but it boasted three cafés, a steak house, a pizza parlor, two hamburger joints and a hotdog stand. Nearly every seat in every one of them filled up fast at noon each Sunday.

If all the churches were to let out at the same time, it would be a disaster. People would be lined up all the way up and down Main waiting for a table. But while the Methodists, the Baptists, the Presbyterians and the First Christians all let out at noon, the Baptists, the Southern Baptists, Church of Christ and the small congregation of Latter-day Saints never let out before twelve-thirty. Melanie didn’t know if that was because they were all so naughty during the week that it took them longer to make up for it, or if their preachers were simply long-winded. In any case, she thought as she and her father stepped through the front door of Lucille’s, it was one very practical reason to be glad she was a Baptist.

Even then, it was a near thing finding a table, but Melanie spotted one that thankfully was not too close to where the Chisholms had pushed three tables together in the middle of the room. The only drawback was that she would have to pass their table to get to the empty one.

She was being stupid, she knew, shying away from Caleb this way. They saw each other every Sunday, and usually a time or two more during the week. All she had to do was nod and smile—at the whole family, not just Caleb—and move right along. Simple. Easy. No problem at all.

Except that just as she was managing it and stepping past their table, her father placed his hand on her shoulder.

“Hold up a minute,” he told her.

He stood beside the Chisholms’ table and greeted them, leaving Melanie no choice but to face them.

“Rose,” Ralph said to the matriarch of the Chisholm clan. “You sure know how to throw a party.”

“Thank you, Ralph.” Cherokee Rose Chisholm smiled. “It’s not every day one of my grandsons gets married.”

“Some of us,” he said, casting a dark look at Melanie, “are still waiting for our children to marry and produce grandchildren.”

Carefully avoiding looking at Caleb, Melanie leaned down and batted her eyes at Justin. “Are you busy tonight? My daddy wants me to get married and have children.”

Justin screwed up his face in concentration, then smiled. “I’ve got a date tonight, but tomorrow night’s Billy Ray’s birthday, and I’m supposed to pick you up at seven. We wouldn’t be able to get married since we don’t have a license or anything, but we could probably get started on the kids after the party.”

The adults at the table laughed. Emily, Justin’s new sister-in-law, gave him that frown she used on her daughters when they’d been naughty. “Justin, shame.”

Melanie quirked her lips and pinched the end of Justin’s nose. “In your dreams, fella.”

Justin heaved a big sigh. “Yeah, you’re right. Besides, it’d be like kissing my sister.”

Melanie turned to her father and shrugged. “Sorry, Daddy. Looks like I’ll be staying single a little while longer.”

Ralph Pruitt huffed out a breath of mock disgust at their play, and at the laughter around the table. “Well, then, the least he can do is give you a ride home. I’ve got an errand to run in the opposite direction, and I need to leave now. Y’all don’t mind, do you?” he asked the table at large.

“Now wait a min—”

But Melanie’s protest was cut off by Rose’s voice. “Of course we don’t mind. You know you don’t even have to ask.”

“Yeah,” Sloan said. “Come on, Mel, pull up a chair.”

Melanie gaped at her father. He was fobbing her off on the Chisholms like she was a stray dog. An unwanted stray dog, at that. “Daddy…”

He gave her a peck on the cheek and a pat on the back. “There you go, little girl. I won’t be home till late, so don’t wait up for me. Afternoon, y’all.” He tipped his hat and walked away, leaving Melanie standing there feeling as if she’d just been betrayed.

“Daddy,” she called after him, but to no avail. Her father walked straight to the door and out without a backward glance.

Inside, over and around the embarrassment he’d just caused her by foisting her onto the neighbors, fury burned. If he was, indeed, going in the opposite direction from home, that meant he was headed in the general direction of Oklahoma City.

There were no horses running at Remington Park today, but there were a hundred other places he could go to gamble, not the least of which was any one of several dozen tribal casinos around the state. Damn his hide.

“Come on,” Sloan told her. “Join us, Mel.”

She turned to face the table. There was one empty chair. It was between Justin and Caleb. Terrific. But there was no way around it, so she stifled a sigh and sat down.

“Thanks,” she said to the table at large. “For letting me barge in on your Sunday dinner.”

“Nonsense,” Rose said matter-of-factly. “If you came through the front door in the middle of the night, you wouldn’t be barging in. Not with us. Hello, Donna,” Rose added to the waitress who came to take their orders. “Melanie has joined us. She’ll be needing something to drink.”

The meal with the Chisholms was not the ordeal Melanie had feared it would be, seated next to Caleb as she was. He and everyone else treated her as they always had—as one of the family. There was no hint that her father’s behavior had seemed, if not rude, then at least odd. There was no hint from Caleb or anyone that anything momentous had happened on that makeshift dance floor the night before.

As the meal progressed, Melanie finally began to relax. She had simply been overreacting, that was all. And what a relief it was to realize that. She had kissed a friend as a joke, to rescue him from a potentially sticky situation. That was all there had been to it. Whatever she had thought she’d felt had merely been a trick of her obviously overactive imagination.

And surely the sly looks that passed between Sloan and Justin had nothing to do with her. Again, only her imagination working overtime.

It was not her imagination, however, that had her standing alone with Caleb beside his pickup as the rest of the Chisholms piled into Rose’s SUV and drove away. And those twin smirks from Caleb’s brothers were not her imagination, either.

“Well,” Caleb said, “that was subtle.”

“As a Mack truck,” Melanie said in agreement. “I’m sorry you got stuck with taxi duty.”

“Hey, forget it.” He walked around to the passenger side and unlocked the door for her. “What are friends for?”

The instant the words were out of his mouth, they both wished he hadn’t said them. Both pretended he hadn’t. Pretended they didn’t recall Melanie uttering those very words on the dance floor the night before, right after… well, right after the big disaster.

Melanie averted her gaze and jumped into the pickup.

Caleb silently cursed himself with every step he took around the pickup to the driver’s door. He cursed his brothers. He cursed Ralph Pruitt. He cursed Alyshia Campbell.

But most of all, he cursed himself, for reminding them both of something that shouldn’t have affected them in the least, but had somehow altered the universe.

Melanie had been so uncomfortable when her father had stopped her beside their table that she had looked everywhere but at him. But eventually, as the meal progressed, her stiffness had eased. Her smile had come more easily. Her laughter had sounded more natural. She had even managed to look at him a time or two. Out the corner of her eye. When she thought he wasn’t looking.

Now she was all pokered up again.

With a heavy sigh, he climbed in behind the wheel and started the engine. He hadn’t a clue what to say to her, but surely at some point during the twenty-minute drive to her house he could come up with something. Something that had nothing to do with his having lain awake last night giving serious thought to figuring out a way to kiss her again.

The very idea appalled him. He had always valued Melanie’s friendship. He had no intention of ruining that simply because his glands decided to act up. True, lifelong friends were hard to come by.

Besides which, this particular lifelong friend would likely box his ears if he tried kissing her again.

He was an imbecile. That was all there was to it. They were friends. Just friends. She hadn’t meant anything by that kiss any more than he had. It had been a joke, that was all. A prank. God knew Mel loved a good prank.

It was too quiet in the pickup, road and wind noise notwithstanding. Deciding a little music might help break the tension, Caleb reached for the radio knob on his dash.

Melanie must have had the same idea at the same time; their hands collided over the knob. For a brief instant their fingers ended up entwined. A sharp tingling sensation raced up Caleb’s arm and he jerked.

Melanie must have felt it, too, he thought, since she jerked away every bit as fast as he did.

“Sorry,” she muttered, using her other hand to rub her arm, further convincing him she suffered the same sharp tingling sensation.

At least he wasn’t alone in this, he thought. And he hadn’t been alone in his reaction last night, either. But that didn’t give him any insight into how to deal with the situation. Ignore it? Act like nothing had happened? Say something about it? Kiss her again.

“Melanie,” he began, with no clue as to what he was going to say next.

“I thought you were going to turn on the radio.” Her voice was sharp, terse, as she folded her arms across her chest and stared out the windshield.

“Yeah. Sure.” Okay, he thought. She didn’t want to talk. He turned on the radio. Neither spoke again.

When Caleb turned off the highway onto the gravel lane that led to Melanie’s house—essentially her driveway, but too long to be called by that name—he had to slow the pickup to a crawl. The gravel had long since disappeared, leaving bare clay, baked in the Oklahoma sun to the consistency of solid granite. The ruts were deep and many. In more than one spot he had to veer to keep from scraping his undercarriage, some of the ruts were so deep.

What the hell were she and her father thinking, letting this road get in such bad shape? They should have taken the box blade to it before it had completely dried after the last rain and smoothed it out. Then they should have hauled in a load of gravel.

He glanced over at Melanie, but her shoulders were set so hard against him he figured that if he said anything his voice would just bounce right off her, so he kept his mouth shut and bounced his way toward her house.

Chapter Two

It had been the longest ride of Melanie’s life. The only saving grace had been that Caleb didn’t bring up the kiss.

She didn’t know whether to be grateful or angry. She supposed she was a little of both, she thought as she watched his taillights disappear down the driveway in a cloud of dust. Grateful that she’d escaped having to talk about something that she didn’t understand, something that embarrassed her to the core, and angry with both of them for not bringing it out in the open so they could put themselves and their friendship back on an even keel.

Shaking her head, Melanie trudged to her bedroom to change into work clothes. Since her father wasn’t home, the remainder of the day’s chores fell to her.

She didn’t mind the work. In fact, she loved each and every chore—well, okay, maybe she didn’t love each one, but she couldn’t think of a single chore she actually hated. Except on the rare occasion when an animal had to be put down. And housework. She hated anything that hinted of housework.

Other than that, she didn’t mind the effort it took to keep a ranch running. It was good honest work. It made a person stronger, and not just physically. What she did mind was having to do her father’s share so he could run around losing money all over the damn territory.

She would start with the most important chores and work her way down until dark. The most important were the mares. There were three of them, and they were her star boarders.

Well, Melanie thought with a chuckle, they were her only boarders. Their owners paid extra to make sure their beauties were well taken care of, including being stabled each night so they wouldn’t have to spend the nights out in the open.

If given a choice, nearly all of Pruitt Ranch’s own horses would stand outside in a blizzard and let icicles form on their muzzles before they would willingly step a single hoof inside a barn. PR horses were an independent lot.

At the back door, in the kitchen, Melanie stomped her feet into her boots and headed out. She juggled the list of chores in her mind. It wasn’t fair to the mares to bring then in from the paddock and lock them up in the barn in the middle of the day just because she wanted to take her list of chores in some particular order.

But part and parcel with putting them up for the night was cleaning out their stalls, so she started there. After that she drained the water trough in the corral and gave it a good scrubbing. Ever since the West Nile virus made its appearance in Oklahoma she tried not to let water stand in the troughs, or anywhere else, for more than a couple of days. Lord knew there were enough natural breeding places for mosquitoes; she wasn’t about to provide more if she could help it.

By the time she did a few more chores, drove out to the back pasture and checked on the cattle there, then came back and stabled the mares, it was nearly dark. While she was brushing down the last mare she heard a vehicle rumble up to the barn on the other side of the corral.

It was her dad. She recognized the sound of his pickup. After the way he’d dumped her at the café earlier, she wasn’t sure she was ready yet to talk to him. She took her time with the last mare.

Finally, she could delay no longer. In the deep twilight she walked the fifty yards from the barn to the back door and entered the house.

Her father was on the phone. As she came in, he said, “I told you I’d get you the money.”

Melanie’s stomach clenched. She froze in the open doorway.

Her father hung up the phone and turned toward the refrigerator. “What’s for supper?”

For one long moment, Melanie could do no more than gape. When she didn’t answer, her father turned to look at her. She snapped. Somehow, behind her, the door slammed shut.

“Maybe if you’d eaten dinner after church this afternoon you wouldn’t be hungry.”

“Hmmph.” He appeared unimpressed with her sudden anger. “You ate, and I’ll bet you’re hungry.”

“Bet?” It was all she could do to keep from shrieking. “Haven’t you placed enough bets for one day?”

A flush of guilty red stained his cheeks. He turned back toward the fridge and pulled open the door. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You don’t, huh?” She jammed the heel of one boot into the bootjack and worked her foot free. “Then who was that on the phone that you were promising money to?”

His shoulders stiffened, but he didn’t turn to face her. “None of your business.”

“Oh, it’s my business, all right.” She took off her second boot and stalked across the room to grab his arm and tug him around. “You’ve been taking money out of the ranch account for months like you think we’ve got our own printing press.”

Melanie stopped and took a deep breath. This was the man who played horsey while she rode his shoulders. The man who taught her to ride a real horse, gave her her first pony, taught her to rope a steer. Taught her to love the land. Taught her what it was to love family.

“Daddy, I love you, but this has to stop before you bankrupt us.”

“Aw, don’t give me that,” he said, pained. “It hasn’t been that bad.”

“Hasn’t been that bad?” Her voice rose in pitch as she waved her arms. “Look around. Do you think we let the hands go three weeks ago because we didn’t need them anymore? Because we like working ourselves half to death and never catching up?”

“I know you said we were short,” Ralph said, “but that was before we sold the calves. We’re fine now.”

“We might be,” she said, “if we hadn’t been in the red before the sale, thanks to your gambling and Mama’s credit card charges.”

Fayrene and Ralph Pruitt had been separated for nearly two years. Not legally, on paper, but physically. One day Fayrene had decided she was tired of Ralph paying more attention to his cattle and horses—even his pickup—than her. She had packed a bag and hauled tail to Phoenix to live with her sister. She called every couple of weeks to talk to Melanie, but never Ralph.

There had never been a discussion about how Fayrene was to support herself. She had the same credit card she’d always carried, in the name of the ranch; Ralph had never asked her to give it back or stop using it. As long as she was his wife, she was entitled, he said.

It was Melanie, however, who had to figure out how to pay the mounting bills.

“I’m telling you, Daddy, we won’t make it through the winter at this rate. What are we supposed to do, sell off land? Or maybe Big Angus.”

“We’re not selling so much as an acre of the PR, and we’re damn sure not selling Big Angus.”

Big Angus was the enormous bull that was the foundation of their breeding program. His championship bloodline, not to mention his perfect confirmation, made him one of the most valuable bulls in the state.

“You sound just like your mother,” Ralph went on, “always exaggerating, making things sound worse than they are.”

“Daddy—”

“I’m hungry. Do we still have any of that roast beef? We can have sandwiches.”

And that, Melanie knew from past experience, was the end of any discussion on money.

* * *

Melanie had been right about the end of any more money talk with her father. He stuffed two thick roast beef sandwiches, one after the other, into his mouth then kissed her on top of her head and went to bed.

Monday morning she faced the chores alone again. Instead of her father, in the kitchen making coffee as he did most mornings, she found a note:

Gone to the city. Don’t wait up.

He meant Oklahoma City. If he’d been going to Rose Rock, he’d have said he was gone to town. In Oklahoma, there was generally only one “city,” and that was Oklahoma City. Tulsa was Tulsa; everything else was called by its name unless you lived in the country and were referring to the nearest town, then it was “town.” But “the city” was Oklahoma City.

There was legitimate ranch business he could take care of in the city. The big tractor-supply places were there, and they needed a new part. But he usually had the parts store in town order whatever he needed.

He was up to no good again. Gambling. There was no other logical explanation for this latest disappearing act.

Melanie was so angry, so frustrated, she wished heartily for a punching bag. Or a cord of wood to chop. Since neither of those was handy, she bit down on her emotions and turned the mares out for the day. She found little satisfaction in mucking out their stalls, but it had to be done.

When she went to the feed room in the back of the barn, she swore. Her father was supposed to have brought home a new load of sweet feed for the mares two days ago. Obviously he’d had more important things on his mind, because there were no new bags.

She should wait until later, after she’d put in another few hours of work, but maybe the trip to the feed store in town would settle her down. Between anger at her father, and the dream she’d had of kissing Caleb, she felt ready to explode. Mucking out stalls had not helped.

She drove to town, cursing herself for postponing her work, knowing that she would have to stop early enough that evening to get ready to go with Justin to the birthday party. Maybe she would drown her sorrows in beer. Except she never got drunk. She wasn’t much of a drinker at all. She was a sipper. It took her all night to get through two glasses of beer. If she was drinking bottles or cans, she couldn’t finish two unless she stayed up all night to get the job done. Still, she was looking forward to the evening.

What she was not looking forward to, she thought as she stopped at the mailbox at the end of her driveway on her way back from the feed store, was opening the mail. It was, as usual, all bills. No prize patrol, no letter from Ed McMahon waiting to tell her she’d won a million dollars. Just another bill from the electric company, who, for some reason, expected money from them about this time every month. An insurance statement. An invoice from the credit card company. That was going to hurt.

And hurt, it did. She put off opening it for as long as she could. She unloaded the sweet feed. She made sure the bags were stacked straight. She straightened up the rest of the storage room. She went to the house and made herself another roast beef sandwich. She would be glad to see the last of that roast; she was getting tired of it, no matter how good it tasted.

Then there was nothing legitimate standing between her and the bills. With grim resolve, she carried them to the desk in the small den off the living room and grabbed the letter opener. As if about to take a dose of particularly foul-tasting medicine, she held her breath and opened the worst of them—the credit card bill—first.

She nearly staggered at the amount due. Good grief! Last month she had paid off the entire balance, and now the account was completely maxed out. All five digits of the allowable amount. What the— In one month?

“Mama, what have you done?”

The list of charges was as long as her arm and took up two pages. None was for less than five hundred dollars. Department stores—high-end ones. Victoria’s Secret? What could her mother have bought there for six-hundred-fifty-seven dollars? There were other places listed, whose merchandise or services Melanie could only guess at.

The charge that stopped her heart was from a Scottsdale clinic for more than ten thousand dollars.

Oh, God. A clinic? Her mother was ill. How serious was it? It must be bad to cost that much. Why hadn’t Mama called to tell them?

She reached for the phone with trembling hands and dialed her mother’s number in Arizona. She got the damn answering machine.

“Mama, it’s Melanie. Are you there? If you’re there pick up. I just got the credit card bill. Mama, what’s wrong? Are you sick? Hurt? What’s happened? All that money charged to the clinic. Why didn’t you let the insurance cover it? Please call. You’ve got me terrified here. Call. And hurry, Mama.”

A sick feeling bubbled in the pit of Melanie’s stomach. Oh, God. Her mother was sick, and the Pruitt Ranch was in big financial trouble. Heaven help her, there was no way she could pay off the credit card balance this time. And with interest rates that would do a loan shark proud, it was going to take years to pay off.

And how could she even consider worrying about such a trivial matter as that when for all she knew her mother could be dying?

Melanie sat heavily and buried her face in her hands. What was she going to do? How could she help her mother? She had to assume that if her mother was in a really bad way she would have called. Or Aunt Karen would have. But nobody ran up a ten-thousand-dollar tab at a clinic for a hangnail or a bout with the flu.

And why, oh why, hadn’t she used their health insurance instead of charging it all to the credit card? Had she lost her mind?

She was obviously feeling well enough to buy out half of the finer shops in Phoenix, whose charges were dated after the charge at the clinic. That was something, then.

If her mother’s health weren’t enough, Melanie felt as if the very survival of the PR rested on her shoulders. In truth, it did. Her parents certainly weren’t helping. They were, in fact, the problem. Both of them.

She loved her parents deeply, but right now all she wanted to do was knock their heads together. They had to stop this. She had to make them stop.

But how? She had tried talking, begging, demanding. Nothing had worked. What else could she do? She couldn’t sit around and let them take the ranch under. She knew they didn’t want the ranch to go under any more than she did, it was just that they had both become as irresponsible as a couple of teenagers since Mama had moved out. She supposed she should be grateful they’d…

That was it. She didn’t have to convince them of anything. When her parents had separated they had agreed that they wanted to ensure that if anything happened to one of them, Melanie would still have the ranch. They’d had their lawyer draw up papers giving Melanie fifty percent of the ranch, with twenty-five percent going to each of her parents. Unless the two of them joined forces—an event not likely to happen in the foreseeable future—control rested in Melanie’s hands. It was time she exercised it.

She reached for the phone.

Thirty minutes later it was done. They weren’t out of debt, weren’t going to be for a good long while. But neither of her parents would be able to add to the problem. She had closed the credit card account and canceled the ATM cards. No one could charge anything to the ranch, except at the feed store in town, and no one could withdraw cash from the bank without writing a check. And she had the only checkbook. If her mother’s health caused more expenses Melanie would handle it. Somehow.

Heaven help her, her mother and father were going to hit the roof when they found out what she’d done.

She wished her actions made her feel better but they didn’t. That sick feeling still rumbled in her stomach. Who was she to tell her parents what to do? They had worked hard all their lives, built this ranch up from the small, one-man operation Grandpa had left Daddy. They were her parents, and she was treating them like children, taking control of their money, cutting them off.

Heaven help her.

Billy Ray’s birthday celebration that night at the Road Hog Saloon was, by all accounts, a rousing success.

By all accounts except Melanie’s. She was most definitely not enjoying herself. Her beer kept disappearing right out of her glass. She reached for the pitcher on the table to give herself a refill, but, oh, great. The pitcher was empty.

“More beer!” she yelled. But the band was so loud, she doubted anyone heard her. It was a local group called the Aloha Shirt Boys, named for the shirts they wore, not the music they played; they played country and western, with a little Cajun thrown in now and then, and they played it loud. L-O-U-D loud.

“More beer!” she yelled again, pounding the pitcher on the table. Why wasn’t there any more beer?

“Hey, sweetcakes.” Her buddy, Justin, slid in next to her in the booth. “Whatcha hollering about?” He had picked her up at seven, as planned, and they had driven to the Road Hog for Billy Ray’s party, both grateful that whoever had done the choosing had chosen the Road Hog over Deuces at the other end of town. If the Road Hog was a dump, Deuces was three notches below a dive.

“I’m outta beer.” She frowned at her empty glass, the empty pitcher, then at Justin. Her pal. Caleb’s brother. Caleb, with the magic lips.

No, no, no. Mustn’t think about Caleb’s lips. Nope. Bad lips. Shame on those lips. No more lips for her, by golly. She shouldn’t even be thinking about lips,

but she needed lips to drink her beer.

“I’m outta beer,” she said again.

It was easier to think about beer. If she just kept thinking about it, pouring it down her throat, she wouldn’t have to think about Caleb’s lips. Or her father. Or her mother’s health. Now there was a subject to get a girl to drinking.

Her father didn’t yet know what she’d done, but she had called her mother back and left a second message, warning her not to use the credit card because it would be turned down.

Oh, boy, howdy, that was going to go over like a lead balloon.

They were going to hate her. Mama and Daddy were both going to hate her for this.

“I want more beer.”

Good grief, was that her voice? That ugly, whiny sound?

Her parents weren’t here. And neither were Caleb’s lips. She was safe for now.

“Where you been?” she demanded of Justin. “This’s the firs’ I’ve seen you since we got here.”

Justin hooted. “Sweetcakes, did you know your words are slurring?”

She blinked and opened her eyes wide. “Are not.”

“Are too.”

“Tha’s a lie.”

Justin hooted again. “You’re drunk as a skunk. How much beer have you had?”

“This is her third pitcher.” The waitress, Linda, clunked down a fresh pitcher of beer and whipped the empty one away.

Justin goggled. “Third? What’s the deal, Mel? You never drink this much.”

Using two hands to make sure she didn’t spill a drop, Melanie refilled her parched glass, then guzzled the entire contents to soothe her parched throat.

“Ah.” She slapped the glass back down onto the table and smacked her lips. “Tha’s better.”

Justin was starting to get worried. This wasn’t like Mel at all. She never drank this much, and she damn sure never guzzled a full glass in one gulp. “Three pitchers?”

“’S a lie.”

“Come on, pal, what’s going on? It’s me, here. You can tell me anything, you know that.”

“Nope.” She shook her head and refilled her glass yet again. “You’re my fun pal. Caleb’s my talkin’-to pal.”

“You want me to call Caleb?”

Her eyes nearly popped out of her head. “Lips?”

Justin burst out laughing.

“No way, José.” She shook her head so hard she nearly fell against him. “He’s part of the prob— The prol— The damn reason. Him and his lips.” She snorted. “His lips, my parents. Either one would be enough to send a girl to the nearest bar, and I’ve got ’em both to deal with.”

The way Mel was glaring at him, as though Caleb and his lips and her parents, whatever they had to do with anything, were somehow his fault, had Justin swallowing back another burst of laughter. Sober, she was capable of giving him a black eye if he made her too mad. He had no idea what she might do when drunk, because he’d never seen her like this before. He didn’t know how to deal with this Mel.

“You hold that thought, sweetcakes.” He patted her on the shoulder. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

“I don’ thin’ so.”

Halfway out of the booth, Justin paused and looked back at her. “You don’t think I’ll be back?”

“Nope.” She took a sip of beer and smacked her lips.

“Why not?”

“’Cuz Blaire Harding just walked in, an’ I happen to know you’ve got a baaad case of the hots for her.”

At the mention of Blaire Harding’s name, Justin’s head whipped around all on its own. Without direction from his brain, his eyes scanned, then zeroed in on her as if they were laser-guided. Without looking back, he slid from the booth.

“See ya, kid,” he said over his shoulder. Because Mel was right. He had a baaad case of the hots for Blaire Harding, and the woman had been avoiding him like the plague for days.

But before he got too carried away, he made his way outside—where he could make sure Blaire didn’t leave before he had a chance to drool—er, talk to her. The noise level was slightly lower outside than in, which was his reason for going there. He unclipped his cell phone from his belt and called Caleb.

Caleb pulled into the gravel parking lot in front of the Road Hog and killed the engine, but he didn’t get out right away. Justin had to be lying. The kid would consider it a good practical joke to get Caleb riled up and have him driving all the way into town to see about Melanie.

Melanie herself was probably in on the joke.

Drunk. That was a good one. Melanie never got drunk. It took her all night long to sip her way through one or two beers. And that certainly didn’t make her drunk.

It was much more likely that Justin got hooked up with a woman and didn’t want to drive Melanie home. Melanie wouldn’t care, because she and Justin were just friends.

But then, he would have sworn he and Melanie were just friends, too, until she’d knocked his socks off with that kiss the other night at the party. Now he wasn’t sure what they were to each other.

It flashed through his mind that calling him to come rescue Melanie could be nothing more than a trick to get him to come to Billy Ray’s party. Justin and Melanie weren’t above such a scheme.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like Billy Ray. How could you not like a guy who put up with everyone calling him by his first and last names together, all his life? His name wasn’t Billy Ray Somebody. Ray was not his middle name, it was his last name. But for some reason, everyone in his family was known by their first and last names joined together. And the names always ran together as if they were one word: Billy Ray, his brother DonnieRay, their daddy JuniorRay, their sister ConnieRay, and their mother, Mrs. Ray, pronounced MizRay. MizRay, as far as anyone could tell, did not have a first name other than Miz.

Caleb liked them all just fine. It was only that Billy Ray and his crowd were several years younger than Caleb, and he could take only so much rowdy partying.

Could it be that at thirty-three he was getting old?

Nah, thirty-three wasn’t old. Never mind the aching muscles as he finally climbed out of his pickup. Muscles were supposed to ache after a long hard day.

The noise from the band was loud in the parking lot. He took a deep breath and braced himself before pushing the door of the Road Hog open and stepping inside. The blast of sound that hit him made him wince. The wall of smoke choked him. Two more good reasons to have stayed home—preservation of his lungs and eardrums. “Hey, Caleb!” Billy Ray himself, obviously just coming from the men’s room, spotted him instantly and gave Caleb a hearty slap on the back. Or, he would have, if he hadn’t been three sheets to the wind. His aim was off and his hand barely glanced off Caleb’s shoulder. But the force of his own movement, without Caleb’s solid back to stop him, nearly sent him face-first to the floor. He staggered, then righted himself and grinned sloppily. “Glad you came, buddy. Come on over to my table and have a beer.”

Caleb tucked his hands into his back pockets and pretended he hadn’t heard the invitation. “Looks like a big party.” He had to shout to make himself heard over the band and the crowd.

“It’s the best!” Billy Ray answered. “Oops. There’s Carol Anne flaggin’ me down.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Wouldn’t wanna keep the lady waiting, now, would I?”

Caleb laughed, as he was meant to. “Not if you’re smart, pardner.”

“Oh, yeah,” Billy Ray said, swaying past Caleb toward the well-endowed redhead waving her arms in the air. “If there’s one thing Billy Ray is, it’s smart, and don’t let anyone tell you different.”

Caleb shook his head as Billy Ray plowed his way through the crowd of people. Yep, he would just as soon have stayed home. That didn’t make him old, it just, in his book, made him sensible.

Now all he had to do was find Melanie through the smoke and the throng and call Justin’s bluff about her being drunk.

This was one of those occasions when being six feet tall came in handy. There were some men taller than he was, but they were either on the dance floor, sitting at a table, or leaning on the bar. Without too much stretching on his part he was able to see pretty much the entire room.

Just then the band ended their number and a two-second lull occurred before the roar of voices resumed over the scattering of applause. Into that two-second lull came a sharp whistle from near the tiny dance floor in front of the band at the opposite end of the room from where Caleb stood.

The whistle was, if one could be, familiar. He glanced over and saw Justin. Caleb nodded that he’d spotted him, and Justin pointed toward the booths along the far wall.

And there sat Melanie in the front corner booth. Maybe sat wasn’t the right word, as she was more or less slumped into the corner. She looked as if any moment she would simply slide right out of the booth and end up in the floor beneath the table.

Good grief, had Justin been telling the truth? Was she really drunk?

As he worked his way to her side he worried over what could have caused her to get herself in such a state.

He remembered that lost look on her face Saturday night at the party, remembered thinking she was upset over Sloan’s marriage to Emily. She had denied it, but now, seeing her drunk, for what might be the first time in her life, he had to wonder.

Saturday night she’d said that whatever was bothering her had nothing to do with Sloan. Caleb knew Melanie pretty well, and he couldn’t imagine what could be hurting her enough to have her acting so out of character.

“Hey, there.” He slid in across from her, more than surprised that someone as popular and well-liked as Melanie was alone in the booth.

Her eyes were closed. For a minute he was afraid she had fallen asleep. Or passed out, if she was really as soused as Justin said.

“Go away,” she said. “There’s only enough beer for one, and I’m the one.”

The pitcher was full, her glass half so.

“Looks to me,” he said, “as if you’ve had more than your fair share already.”

Melanie cracked one eye partially open then groaned. Great. She’d either had way too much to drink, or not nearly enough. She was hallucinating. She had to be, because she knew Caleb wasn’t really sitting across from her. No way. She’d made sure to find out that he was not coming to…to…Oh, yeah. Billy Ray’s birthday party. The Road Hog. That’s where she was.

But Caleb wasn’t there. She’d ridden to town with Justin. Not Caleb.

“I definitely need another beer.” She raised her glass, but the apparition across from her reached out and snatched it from her hand. “Hey!”

“No more for you, pal.”

Melanie frowned and squinted to see more clearly. “Lips?”

The apparition frowned back. “What about them?”

“’Zat you?”

“Jeez, how drunk are you? It’s me, Caleb. Are you ready to go home?”

She hiccuped, then giggled. “I think I’m too drive to drunk.”

He muttered something that sounded like, “The understatement of the year.”

“Hey, I resemble that statement.”

Caleb laughed and shook his head. He’d never seen her like this. “You certainly do. Come on, woman, let’s get you out of here.”

She poked out her lower lip in a stupendous pout. “Don’t wanna go home.”

Caleb slid out of the booth. He stepped to her side of the table and reached for her arm, intrigued by the strength he felt there. He shouldn’t let her strength surprise him; he knew she worked probably as hard as he did. He decided he liked that firm muscle beneath his hand.

“Come on,” he said. “We’ll go someplace else, then.” He wasn’t, as a rule, a liar, but just then he would have promised her anything to get her to get up and walk out the door with him. He hoped to God she could still walk. If he had to carry her through this crowd of her friends she would never live it down. Which meant she would never forgive him.

But she let him tug her across the seat to stand beside him. She wobbled a little but stayed upright.

Caleb wrapped his arm around her waist and started her toward the door. She leaned against him and stumbled over her own feet.

“Oops.” She giggled.

“You’re going to love hearing about this tomorrow,” he muttered.

She flung her head back to look up at him and nearly threw them both over backward. “What?” she yelled. “Where are we going?”

“Out of here.”

They made it out the door without much trouble. Most of the crowd didn’t notice they were leaving, so only a few yelled out to say good-night. The gravel in the parking lot made for tricky footing for Melanie. He would have simply picked her up and carried her—she wasn’t in much condition to object—but there were several people around and he didn’t want to have to deal with the talk such a move would surely generate. He took most of Melanie’s weight against his hip. All she had to do was move her feet, and finally they made it to his truck, where he belted her into the passenger seat.

“Where we goin’?” she asked, swaying as he turned right out of the parking lot.

“You already asked that.”

“I did?” Hic. Giggle.

“Jeez, you are snockered.” He glanced over in time to see her blink once, slowly. She reminded him of a baby owl.

“How ’bout that. I guess I am. Snockered.”

“I’m wondering why that is,” Caleb said.

Hic. Giggle. “’Cuz I drank too much beer.” She gave an emphatic nod. The movement would have overbalanced her and sent her tumbling to the floorboard had it not been for the seat and shoulder belts.

“Easy, there.” Caleb reached over and pulled her back upright. Her head fell against the headrest and stayed there. He would have wished that she would just go ahead and pass out, except then he would have to get her into her house, and he didn’t particularly want to have to explain to Ralph why he was bringing his pride and joy home drunk as the proverbial skunk.

And if the worst should happen and Ralph wasn’t home, Caleb would have to put her to bed.

“Don’t you dare fall asleep,” he ordered sharply.

“Sleep, sleep, sleep. Don’ wanna sleep. Where we goin’? I wanna dance.”

Caleb turned on the radio to a country station. “Knock yourself out. Figuratively speaking.”

“Knock myself out.” She gave herself a mock punch to the head. “Pow.” She laughed so hard she fell against the door.

Caleb winced. She was strapped in, but that didn’t mean he wanted that door to fly open. Leaning as far as he could, he reached behind her head and pushed the door lock on her door.

“Oh, oh! I love this song.” She leaped toward the radio. It took her three tries, but she finally managed to turn up the volume and sing along.

Since Caleb had spent most of the past two days reliving that kiss they’d shared on the makeshift dance floor Saturday night, he wished heartily that she had picked some song other than the old Conway Twitty hit about wanting a lover with a slow hand. Caleb did not need the pictures that took over his mind.

Retracing a trip he’d made at least a hundred times in his life, Caleb slowed and turned off the highway onto the Pruitt Ranch driveway. But for his headlights it was pitch-black out here. He had to take it even slower than he had when he brought her home the day before, because he couldn’t see where the next pothole might be.

Potholes obviously were no concern for Melanie. She sat next to him singing at the top of her lungs. Currently it was a commercial jingle about car mufflers.

“We’re here,” he said unnecessarily.

“No, no, no.” She groaned. “I tol’ you I di’n wanna come home.”

“Yeah, you told me.” He parked next to the back door. The house was dark, and the yard and driveway, lit by the utility light next to the house, showed her lone vehicle. After ten on a weeknight and her dad wasn’t home.

“Not my business,” he muttered as he got out and went around to haul Melanie out.

She did not cooperate. Part of that was on purpose, because she really didn’t want to go into the house, and she kept saying so as she held on to the truck door when he urged her out of her seat. But part of her lack of cooperation was because she was too snockered to stand up straight.

“Okay.” He slipped one arm around her waist and lifted her weight onto his hip again. It had worked well enough at the parking lot. “Here we go.”

At the back door he pulled open the storm door and tried the knob. It was locked. No surprise there.

“Where’s your key?” he asked.

She blinked up at him, doing that little owl thing again, and giggled. “You’re so cute. Did I ever tell you how cute you are?”

“Come on, you’re not that drunk. Your key, Melanie. Where’s your house key?”

She gave him a sly smile. “My pocket.”

“Well, get it so I can get you inside.”

“No.”

Caleb dropped his forehead to rest against hers and sighed. “Come on, Mel, be a sport. Give me your

key.”

“You have to kiss me first.”

Caleb jerked his head up. In the glow of the utility light he stared at her, stunned. “I take it back. You’re drunker than I thought. Give me your key.”

Her bottom lip poked out. “You’re not gonna kiss me?”

“We did that the other night, remember? I got the impression you wished we hadn’t. Now be a pal and give me your key.”

“I know you liked kissing me.”

“Sugarpie, a dead man would like kissing you.” Please, God, let her be too drunk to remember I said that. “Now give me your key.”

That sly smile she gave him a moment ago returned. “Why don’t you get it yourself?”

Sweat popped out along his upper lip. He could almost feel his hand pushing into her pocket, feeling the shape of her beneath a single layer of fabric.

He braced his hands on her shoulders. “If I have to get it myself I’m going to hold you upside down by your ankles and shake you until the key falls out.”

Now her pout came back. “You’re no fun.” She jammed her right hand into her front pocket and pulled out a key. And promptly dropped it. “Oops.” Giggle. Hic.

Caleb spent the next several minutes on his hands and knees, in the semidark, swearing, until he finally found the key on the edge of the bottom step.

“Eureka!” Melanie cried with a wave of her arms that nearly sent her tumbling off the steps.

“Whoa, there.” Caleb caught her by the arm and steadied her. While he unlocked the door, she moaned.

“Caleb?”

“Here we go.” He pushed open the door and reached inside and turned on the kitchen light.

She swayed against him. “Caleb, is this room s’pose to be spinning?”

“Oh no you don’t.” He swept her into the room and closed the door. “Don’t you dare pass out or get sick on me.”

She leaned against him. “I think I need to…”

“I hope you’re going to say lie down.” He helped her across the kitchen and down the hall. Caleb got her through her bedroom door and lowered her to sit on the side of the bed.

She fell back, her arms spread wide. “Ahhh.”

Caleb turned on the bedside lamp. “You’re not sick?”

“Nope. I’m fine, fine, fine.” She looked at him and wiggled her eyebrows. “You’re lookin’ pretty fine yourself, Lips.”

“I’ll ignore that. Let’s get these boots off.” He straightened her on the bed, then tugged off her boots, leaving her thick white socks on. “Better?”

“Mmm.” She flexed her toes. “Oh, yeah.” She tugged her shirttail free and unbuckled her belt.

Caleb swallowed. “What are you doing?”

“Getting comfor—” She unzipped her jeans. “Comorb—” With a wiggle of her hips she started tugging the denim down her hips. “Comftorble.”

He stood beside the bed, helpless to stop her, helpless to look away. Had her legs always been that long, that perfect?

With a final kick of her feet the jeans did a neat little soar-and-dive and fell into a puddle on the floor.

Caleb couldn’t look anymore. He reached across her and tugged the comforter until it covered her from the waist down. Feeling much better, and not a little proud of himself, he propped his hands on his hips and wished he knew why she’d felt the need to drink the way she had tonight. “Need anything else?”

“Uh-huh.”

“What?”

She crooked a finger at him. “Come here.”

He stepped closer. “What do you need?”

“Come cos— Closer. Come closer.”

“I’m right here, Mel.”

She wiggled sideways on the bed, then patted the space beside her hip. “Here.”

Caleb sat on the edge of the bed and leaned toward her. “What is it? Are you sick?”

“No.” She shook her head, then closed her eyes and moaned. “Oh, I shouldn’t have done that. Remind me not to move my head again.”

“Don’t move your head again.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“You’re welcome. You want to tell me why you did this to yourself?”

“You wanna kiss me again?”

If she had needed to get his attention, she sure did it. “What?” he asked, certain that he did not want her to repeat the question.

“You liked kissing me.”

“Melanie…”

She reached up and traced a finger across his mouth. “You’ve got great lips.”

Caleb jerked his head back. Letting her touch his lips was not a good idea. Not when he wanted— badly—to taste hers. “Three pitchers of beer, huh?”

She slipped her hands around his neck and locked her fingers together. “And your point is?”

“Come on, Mel, let go.”

“Not until you tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

She licked her lips. “Tell me you liked kissing me.”

Lamplight glistened along her moist mouth, making him want to groan. Instead, he swallowed. “I liked kissing you.”

“Then do it again.” She tugged him closer.

“And have you accuse me tomorrow that I took advantage of you?”

A giggle escaped her. “Oh, goody. You’re going to take advantage of me?”

“I am not.” He pulled her hands from behind his neck, but she then slid them around his chest. “Come on, quit fooling around.”

“Well, that’s typical. All I wanted was a kiss, and you want to fool around.”

“If you weren’t three sheets to the wind I might just give you what you think you want.”

“Promises, promises. Come here.” She tugged sharply, throwing him off balance. He caught himself on his forearms before crushing her beneath his weight. “You don’t have to take advantage of me. I’ll take advantage of you.”

“Melanie.”

“Caleb. I’ve never known you to talk so much. Are you scared of me?”

Somewhere in the back of his mind he realized that she wasn’t slurring her words quite as much as she had been, but the thought disappeared, along with his common sense, when he admitted, “Terrified.”

But really, he thought, gazing into her eyes and on down that pert nose to those soft lips. What would it hurt if he kissed her? She wanted him to. And in the morning she probably wouldn’t even remember it.

And that was disgusting. She didn’t know what she was doing. He had never taken advantage of a woman in his life. He wasn’t about to start with a trusted friend. This was Melanie, for crying out loud. She trusted him. He couldn’t betray that trust.

“I’ll be gentle,” she whispered.

“Melanie.”

“Are you going to make me beg?”

All the strength went out of his knees, his arms. He lowered toward her until there was nothing but a scant breath separating his mouth from hers. Then there was nothing at all, because he was unable to stop himself from taking what she offered. Giving what she asked for.

Her taste was hot and sweet, with a hint of beer that made him smile against her mouth.

When she traced his lower lip with her tongue, he forgot all about smiling. He forgot he shouldn’t be kissing his friend. He forgot that she probably didn’t know what she was doing. He forgot his own name. It didn’t matter. He didn’t care what his name was—he knew hers. It was Melanie. Sweet, sweet Melanie, who could be as soft as an angel one minute, sharp as a blade the next, and just now, in his arms—how had his arms come to be around her?—as fiery and lethal as a bolt of lightning.

Then suddenly her mouth went slack, her arms slid from around his back to fall to her sides on the bed.

Caleb raised his head and looked at her. “Melanie?”

Her eyes were closed. She had passed out.

It was a sign, Caleb thought as he pushed himself up and off of her.

Damn. He didn’t even remember crawling on top of her. Another few minutes and he might have done something they would both be a lot sorrier for than a simple kiss or two.

Not that kissing Melanie even began to resemble simple. They had too much history between then, as neighbors, as friends, for them to change the status quo without some careful consideration.

He looked down at her sweet, familiar face, her sable-brown hair spread out messily across the pillow. He was halfway toward touching that hair when he stopped himself and backed away. He had no business touching her while she slept. No business standing over her, watching her.

He turned off the lamp and left the room. As he stepped into the hall, a delicate snore followed him. He smiled.

Chapter Three

The sofa in the Pruitts’ living room was almost long enough to allow Caleb to stretch out. Almost, but not quite. During the night, he was certain he’d set a new record for tossing and turning, if anyone kept track of things like that. Now the sun was coming up, yet he felt as if he hadn’t slept a wink.

Of course, sleep might have come easier if he hadn’t kept seeing Melanie’s long, bare legs, and the lower edge of her white lace panties every time he closed his eyes.

Her father hadn’t returned, and Caleb hadn’t been able to go home and leave her alone last night. The girl he’d known since childhood, the woman she had grown into, would not have gotten drunk last night, or any night, without a damn good reason. It wasn’t like her.

Maybe he’d been right Saturday night. Maybe she really wasn’t over Sloan. Caleb couldn’t think of anything else that would bother her so much, and he knew her well. But a broken heart? Yeah, that would do it for Melanie. She might act tough as nails, could be as hard and mean as she had to be when the situation warranted, but she had the most tender heart on the planet.

When he crawled from the sofa it took him a minute to straighten up. He should have slept on the floor. It might have been harder, but at least it wouldn’t have been too short.

He went to Melanie’s door and found her sound asleep, sprawled on her back, her hands over her head as if in surrender. No way was he waking her.

He checked again to see if her father had returned, but there was still no sign of Ralph Pruitt. On a ranch at six-thirty on a Tuesday morning there was always work to be done. Where the hell was the man?

Caleb went to the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. While it brewed he stepped out the back door to have a look around. The air was cool and damp, the wind light. From the chicken house across the driveway came a noisy fuss and clatter, hens bickering amongst each other, a couple of roosters crowing for all they were worth.

Not knowing if the Pruitts let their chickens out during the day or kept them penned and safe from predators, Caleb decided to leave the birds alone and headed for the barn instead.

There he found three pretty mares pacing restlessly in their stalls.

“Good morning, ladies. I bet you’d like to get out of there. How about a handful of oats first? Maybe a little grooming?”

* * *

Melanie came awake in slow, painful stages. Then wished she hadn’t. Her head! How had a hammer ended up inside her head, and who the devil was banging it against the inside of her skull?

“Somebody shoot me, please,” she moaned. The beer. Why, why, why had she drank so much beer? For that matter, how had she drunk that much? She’d never been able to hold that much water in one evening, let alone beer.

Too bad she hadn’t gotten even drunker. Maybe then she wouldn’t be remembering… Good grief! What had she done? Caleb brought her home and had been sweet enough to take care of her, tuck her in, and she had…she had… She’d done something, she knew she had. It involved mouths and lips and tongues, but it was all fuzzy in her pain-fogged brain.

In sheer misery she rolled to her side. The light from the window blinded her.

Light? Good grief! If it was that light, it was late. She’d slept half the morning away.

The mares! Oh, those poor babies.

Melanie tossed the comforter aside and pushed herself up. Every muscle and joint screamed in protest, and her stomach heaved. She wrapped her arms around her gut and moaned.

“I will not throw up. I will not throw up. I will not throw up.”

She waited, breathing deeply, to be sure the mantra was going to work. When everything stayed settled, she slid off the side of the bed and tested the strength of her legs. Since they seemed to work, she staggered from the bedroom toward the back door.

Coffee. The aroma reached out and tempted her to pause for a cup of sustenance, but she feared that if she gave in, it might be an hour before she was able to force herself outside, and the mares were surely impatient by now, wondering what had happened to her. Much longer and they’d be kicking down their stalls.

She steeled herself against the seductive smell of coffee and opened the back door. Only then, as the rush of cool air made goose bumps rise on her legs, did she look down at herself. She was wearing last night’s shirt and bra, panties, socks, and not a damn thing more.

To heck with it. She jammed her feet into the extra pair of boots she kept by the door and slammed outside. It was cool but not cold, and there was no one around to see her.

At the sound of the door slamming, the chickens set up a clatter in their fenced pen surrounding the chicken house.

“Yeah, yeah,” Melanie called. “I’m coming, babies.” It had long been accepted on the PR, although reluctantly by most, that their chickens were for egg production, not for the frying pan. At the age of six, when Melanie caught her mother wringing the neck of a hen that had stopped laying, Melanie had cried for three days and refused to eat. She most especially had refused to eat Esmeralda, her favorite pretty bird.

Her parents had tried and tried to explain the realities of ranch life, of where food came from, but Melanie hadn’t budged. She could eat beef. The ranch produced so many steers each year, and they kept them for only a few months, out in the pastures. She never really had much of a chance to get attached to any of them.

The chickens were a different story. There were a scant dozen of them, and they were right there by the house all the time, and her parents had never warned her not to get attached, not to name them, not to pet the tamer ones.

Eat them? No way!

Of course, her attitude made her the butt of many a joke among her friends, but she didn’t care. To her, eating one of her own chickens would be like eating the family dog. She could eat the Colonel’s chicken, or the grocery store’s, without a qualm. But not her own.

She entered the chicken yard, leaving the gate open as she scattered grain on the ground. The birds would wander in and out through the day, but they wouldn’t go far; the hens were attached to their nest boxes and the scratch Melanie fed them every day.

The mares were waiting, so Melanie didn’t linger. Her boots scuffed a fast trail across the gravel and dirt to the barn. It was only as she neared that it dawned on her that the barn door was open. She was positive she had closed it before leaving with Justin the evening before. She would not have been so careless as to have left it open.

Hearing what sounded like a voice coming from inside the barn, Melanie darted to the side of the big door. Steam bubbled inside her, along with a small dash of fear. If one of those goons her father owed money to had come to the PR again as they had a few months earlier to demand she pay her father’s debt, there would be hell to pay.

Hearing another low murmur, Melanie slipped through the door and into the deep shadows of the first stall, which was open and empty. For once she was glad her father had taken to leaving tools there instead of putting them away where they belonged. She would have preferred a pitchfork, but the shovel in the corner would do just as well. Quietly she picked it up and peered down the center of the barn.

A man stood at one of the mare’s stalls, his back toward Melanie.

Melanie gritted her teeth and gripped the shovel tightly in both hands. No stranger snuck in and messed around in her barn, by damn. She crept soundlessly across the dirt floor of the barn. The creep never heard her coming. She hefted the shovel in the air, and when she knew she was close enough, she swung.

She would never know if she made a sound, or if some sixth sense alerted him to her presence. Either way, just as she swung, he stood and turned.

Caleb!

With a shout of protest he raised an arm to fend off the blow.

Melanie tried to halt her swing, but it was too late. She did manage to shift her aim, thank God. The steel spade whacked him solidly on the shoulder rather than the head, where she had originally aimed. Still, the ring of the connecting blow echoed through the barn. As did Caleb’s brief grunt of pain.

“Oh no!” Melanie cried.

“Damnation, woman, what the hell was that for?”

“Caleb, I’m sorry. I thought— I’m so sorry. Did I hurt you?”

He grimaced and rubbed his shoulder. “What do you think? You whacked me a good one.”

Now that she realized he wasn’t seriously hurt, Melanie was disgusted with herself. She must be more hungover than she’d thought not to have noticed Caleb’s pickup, which, now that she thought about it, was parked outside the back door of the house. Idiot that she was, she had walked right past it without paying attention.

Even without noticing his pickup, she should have recognized, even from the back, a man she had known her entire life. Should have recognized a voice nearly as familiar to her as her own.

“What I want to know,” Caleb went on, “is why?”

“Never mind.” She tossed the shovel aside and took him by the arm. “Let’s get some ice on that shoulder.”

“I’m all right.” He pulled free of her. “Let’s get the mares taken care of first.”

Melanie was torn. Taking care of Caleb was a need. The mares were a responsibility. Caleb was right. The mares came first.

It took mere minutes to see to the mares and turn them out into the pasture for the day, then she was back at Caleb’s side, leading him toward the house. She took him into the kitchen and pushed him down onto a chair at the table.

“Take off your shirt,” Melanie said as she turned away and opened the freezer.

“All you had to do was ask,” Caleb said. “You didn’t have to hit me with a shovel first.”

“Very funny.” She pulled out a clear, zippered plastic bag of corn kernels. She had grown the corn, sliced the kernels from the ears herself and had the nicks in her knuckles to prove it. She turned back toward Caleb, but stopped where she stood.

She had seen him without a shirt before, many times, she was sure, but she didn’t remember the sight of his bare chest ever causing this hitch in her breathing before, or this sudden need to swallow. To touch. To feel.

The hangover must be having an even stranger effect on her than she’d realized. With a shake of her head she carried the frozen corn to him and gently placed it over the red spot on his shoulder.

“You’re not going to kiss it first?”

Melanie narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re sure full of yourself this morning. What are you still doing here, anyway? You look like you slept in that shirt.”

“I could say the same, but at least I’m wearing jeans. Not that I’m complaining about your clothes, or lack thereof. Actually, I kinda like this look on you.”

Dumbfounded, Melanie looked down at her bare legs. “Oh.” In her book, there was nothing that looked more ridiculous than the combination of cowboy boots and bare legs. With her socks showing out the tops of the boots, no less. “Ugh.”

Then she glanced up at Caleb and realized he was not looking at her boots with the socks showing above them. His gaze rested somewhat higher, namely the end of her shirttail, which was almost embarrassingly high on her thighs. “Pervert.” She reached out and pinched his uninjured shoulder.

“Hey, what was that for?” He rubbed the new red spot. “Got another bag of corn?” he grumbled.

“Baby.” She tried to step away, but he put a hand on her hip. She stopped instantly. His touch, through the cotton of her shirt, was warm, and felt much more intimate than it should.

“You didn’t think I was such a baby last night,” he said quietly, his gaze capturing hers and holding it like a magnet.

Melanie’s pulse jumped. “I…don’t remember much… about last night.”

Leaving his hand on her hip, Caleb tossed the bag of corn onto the table and rose from the chair to stand before her. Close before her. “One of the things I’ve always admired about you was that you’ve always known, and admitted, that you’re a lousy liar.”

Heat stung her cheeks. She didn’t need a mirror to tell her they were as red as a Hereford’s hind end. “Yeah, well, it was worth a try.”

With his fingers he smoothed a strand of hair from her face. It was all she could do to keep from leaning into his touch. What was the matter with her?

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“You’re kidding, right? Talk about how I got drunk and embarrassed myself last night?”

“Why did you get drunk? It’s not like you.”

Melanie shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I was just more stupid than usual.”

He placed a finger beneath her chin and tilted her face up toward his. “You are not, nor have you ever been, stupid.”

She forced a wry grin. “I was last night.”

“I hope you mean because you drank too much, not because you kissed me.”

“Oh, please.” She rolled her eyes. “Don’t remind me.”

“Maybe I want to remind you.”

Melanie knew, from the look in his eyes and the tone in his voice, that he was not talking about reminding her of drinking too much. She swallowed. “Why?”

“Aren’t you even a little curious to see where this might lead us?”

“No.” She shook her head hard. “We don’t need to be led anywhere. We do great without kissing.”

“Yeah.” He pulled her close and rested his cheek against the top of her head. His arms slipped around her and held her loosely. “You’re right. We’ve always done great, you and me.”

They had stood this way so many times before, Melanie thought. A hundred, a thousand times or more, but never quite like this. There was comfort, as there always had been. Whenever she needed holding to ease an ache inside, Caleb was always there with his broad chest and steady heart. And there was strength, as always, in his muscled arms.

But today there was more. There was a tension, a new anticipation that hummed between them because now they knew what could happen if their lips met. Melanie both feared and reveled in the warring emotions. Both feared and reveled in the feel of his bare chest beneath her splayed fingers. Without any conscious command or permission from her brain, her fingers flexed. Caressed. Beneath them Caleb’s muscles jerked.

“Sorry,” she murmured.

Maybe he should be, too, Caleb thought, but he wasn’t. He wanted her to do it again. He liked feeling her hands on his flesh. It seemed impossible. She was his friend. They had touched each other, casually, a zillion times over the years. Not once, in his memory, had her touch made his pulse spike this way.

Yes, he wanted her to touch him again.

He raised his head and looked down into her emer-ald-green eyes. If they moved their feet they’d be dancing.

“What are we doing, Caleb?”

“Are we supposed to know?”

“Shouldn’t we?”

“Maybe.” He brushed his nose along the length of hers. “Or maybe we should just…” He brushed his lips across hers.

Her lips parted on a quick intake of breath. Caleb dived in, and it happened again, that sharp tingling along his spine. That zap of lightning, the clichéd fireworks exploding in his head.

Melanie felt it, too, that startling awareness, the sheer intensity of which stole her breath and pulled a moan from her throat. Her nerves danced, her blood heated. She pressed herself closer to Caleb’s lean, hard body, craving a closer, more intimate connection.

He obliged her, his hands sliding down to cup her hips and pull her flush against him, giving her proof that her blood wasn’t all that was heated between them.

Another moan tore from her throat. She arched against him, reveling in the feel of his erection and of her nipples hardening in response. She dragged her hands down his chest, around his waist, across his back. His skin was hot and smooth and sleek, with firm muscles beneath that spoke of steely strength.

The need for breath broke them apart. The need for sanity pushed them each back a step, made them look away from each other, he over her head, she at his shoulder.

Melanie struggled for something to say, some way to explain away what had just happened. Barring that, something to distract them both. Then it came, like a gift, wafting across the room.

“Coffee,” she blurted. “I need coffee.”

When she spun away toward the coffeemaker, Caleb took in a deep breath and let it out. She obviously didn’t want to talk about it. And really, he thought, what was there to say? The whole situation was crazy. Best friends weren’t supposed to set off fireworks when they kissed. Hell, they weren’t supposed to be kissing, not like that, in the first place.

But damned if he didn’t want to do it again, and again, and see where it led them. For now, however, it might be wiser to change the subject.

“So where is everybody?” He’d been wondering that since before he’d crawled off the sofa earlier. If she wouldn’t talk about the two of them and whatever this kissing thing was that was going on with them, maybe he could get her to talk about something else. “I didn’t see your men when I was out earlier.”

She shrugged. “Day off.”

Caleb eyed her skeptically. “Tuesday is their day off?”

She poured two mugs of coffee and handed him one without speaking.

“How about your dad? Is it his day off, too?”

“Lord only knows where he is, because I sure don’t.”

The sharp bitterness in her voice surprised him. “How long’s he been gone?”

“What, are you writing a book? You’re sure nosy all of a sudden. Maybe you think a couple of kisses gives you the right to give me the third degree, but if that’s what you’re thinking, buster, you can just think again.”

Caleb stared, astounded. “Whoa, there. What brought that on?”

She whirled away so fast that coffee sloshed from her mug to splatter on the floor.

Caleb set his mug, along with his bag of frozen corn, on the table. At the counter next to the sink he tore a paper towel from the roll mounted beneath the upper cabinet and wiped up the spill on the floor. He threw the wadded towel into the trash, then turned to face Melanie.

“We’ve already established that you’re a lousy liar, so why don’t you just tell me what’s going on around here? How long has your dad been gone? Has something happened to him? Where are your men? And why is this place starting to look like nobody’s been here for weeks?”

Her cheeks turned bright red. She moved to step around him.

“Melanie, I’m not trying to embarrass you or stick my nose into your business. I’m trying to find out what kind of trouble my best friend and neighbor is in so I can figure out how to help. The more you refuse to answer, the worse I’m going to think it is. Now just tell me, dammit. Where’s your dad?”

What did it matter, Melanie thought, if she told him the truth? If she couldn’t tell somebody soon, the whole ugly mess was liable to explode in her from the inside out. All her life, whenever she had trouble, Caleb was the one she had always taken it to. He had never made her feel small or stupid, had never betrayed a confidence. He had always listened, and, if asked, offered sound advice.

But, oh, how she did not want to have this discussion. It was embarrassing. Humiliating.

“I don’t know,” she blurted. “I don’t know where Daddy is, and right now I don’t much care.”

“That’s a hell of a thing to say. What do you mean you don’t know where he is? He didn’t come home last night.”

“I know that. He’s off gambling somewhere. Again.”

“Ah, hell, Melanie, I’m sorry. What happened?” he asked quietly. “I thought he was doing good, going to those Gamblers Anonymous meetings up in the city.”

She shook her head and plunked her mug down on the counter next to the sink. “He was. He was doing fine until he decided he didn’t need the meetings anymore and stopped going. Within a week he started draining cash out of the ranch.”

“Ah, damn, Melanie, I’m sorry. How bad is it? Do you need help?”

She gave a short, harsh laugh. “Help? I had to let the men go three weeks ago. Daddy thinks I’m blowing things out of proportion, but he hasn’t seen anything yet.”

“What do you mean?”

“When he needs cash he uses his ATM card. Yesterday I canceled it. I also canceled the credit card Mama’s been playing with.”

“Did you do that yesterday, too?”

She nodded and took a sip of her coffee. “Yeah. And I think Mama’s sick but I can’t reach her to find out.”

“What makes you think that?”

“There was a big charge on the credit card from a clinic.”

All of that to handle, and then, he thought, she’d gone out and gotten drunk.

“I’m hungry,” she said suddenly. “How about breakfast?”

“You cooking?”

She laughed. “As if you would. As if you could.”

“Hey, do you think Grandmother raised the three of us to be helpless? I can scramble eggs with the best of them.”

“Well, well. Imagine learning something new about you after all these years. You’re in charge of the eggs.”

Breakfast turned into the most awkward affair either of them could remember experiencing. The kitchen was not small, yet it seemed every time one of them turned around, the other was there, too close. By the time the meal was on the table they were practically tiptoeing around each other.

The meal itself wasn’t much better, except they didn’t have to worry about bumping into each other. Except with their gazes, which were quickly averted.

They used to enjoy each other’s company. They used to be able to laugh and talk about anything or nothing. Now it seemed they couldn’t even look at each other.

Melanie couldn’t stand it. She wanted her friend back. She laid down her fork with a definite clatter and glared across the table at Caleb.

“Is this how it’s going to be between us?” she asked. “Have we ruined our friendship?”

“Come on, don’t say that.”

“Well, look at us,” she cried. “This is—this is the pits is what it is.”

“If you think I’m sorry, I’m not. I’m sorry you feel awkward, but what happened between us was something special, and you know it. I won’t apologize for it, and if you say you regret it you’re a liar, and we’ve already established you’re no good at that. You’ve never been a liar before. Don’t start now. Besides,” he added with a narrowing of his eyes and a quirk of his lips. “You started it.”

“Oh, well.” She threw a hand in the air. “That helps. You started it,” she mimicked. “How intelligent. How mature. Am I supposed to come back with Did not so you can tack on a did too for good measure? Then we can stick our tongues out at each other like two adults.”

“Now there’s a picture,” Caleb said. “But if you’re going to stick your tongue out, you should come over

here and do it up close.”

“Don’t be a jerk, Caleb.”

“Then don’t be an idiot,” he countered. “We kissed. It was terrific. We did it again, twice, and it was just as terrific. Why should that ruin our friendship?”

Melanie groaned in frustration. “If I wasn’t so hungover I’m sure I’d have a coherent answer to that. Meanwhile I’ll be your friend and tell you to put that ice back on your shoulder.”

He grimaced and reached for the bag of corn. “If you were my friend you wouldn’t have clobbered me in the first place. Care to explain that, pal?”

She scrunched up her face. “I did say I was sorry, didn’t I?”

“You did. So do you always swing a shovel when you find a man in your barn?”

“Damn right I do. I thought you were another one of those creeps coming to collect on one of Daddy’s debts.”

Caleb’s heart gave a hard thump. “What? Are you saying you’ve got thumb breakers coming around here hitting you up because of your dad?”

She shrugged and looked away, a flush of embarrassment coloring her cheeks.

Damn, Caleb thought. Things were worse, much worse at the PR than he could have imagined. With their hired hands gone, Ralph off God knew where, Melanie was left alone to deal not only with the work of running the ranch, but the fallout from Ralph’s gambling.

The situation, as far as Caleb was concerned, was intolerable. “When’s your dad due back?”

“I have no idea.”

Caleb thought a minute, then nodded. “All right, then.” He got up and went to the wall phone beside the back door and called home. Sloan’s wife, Emily, answered.

“Hey, it’s me. I need a favor.”

“Caleb, where are you? We’ve been worried to death.”

“Sorry,” he said, realizing he should have called home last night. “I gave Melanie a ride home last night. She didn’t feel good—”

Behind him Melanie snorted, sounding like a disgruntled hog.

“—and her dad wasn’t home, so I stayed.”

“Is she all right? What do you need me to do?”

“She’s fine. It looks like Ralph’s going to be gone for a few days, so I’m going to stay over here and give Melanie a hand.”

“Caleb, no,” Melanie protested.

Caleb ignored her and spoke to Emily. “Can you gather up enough clean clothes to last me two or three days and have Hector run them over here when he gets a chance?”

Emily readily agreed, promising the clean clothes within the hour.

“Caleb,” Melanie said after he hung up. “You can’t be serious about staying here.”

“Sure I can. That’s what friends do, Mel.”

“But it’s not necessary. You think I can’t do my own chores?”

“I think you can do your own chores just fine. But there’s no reason you should have to do all of your work, your father’s, the work of two hired men, and fight off thumb breakers, all by yourself. And that has nothing,” he added to forestall the argument he could see forming in her eyes, “to do with your being a woman.”

“I wasn’t going to say that.”

He knew better. Knew her better. “What is it with you today?” he demanded. “That’s at least the third time you’ve lied to me.”

“That wasn’t a lie,” she protested. “It was a denial.”

Caleb rolled his eyes.

“In any case, you’re not staying here.”

“Yes,” he said emphatically, “I am.” He had to. There was a need. If the need was his more than hers, that didn’t scare him. Not too much.

The hell it didn’t, he thought. He’d known her all his life, but suddenly he felt drawn to her, had a need to be near her that had nothing to do with friendship.

But all that aside, he couldn’t leave her here alone to fend for herself, especially if there was the chance of some goon showing up to make mischief.

He’d like to punch Ralph Pruitt square in the nose.

“Caleb, I appreciate the offer, but I neither want nor need your pity.”

“That’s a stupid thing to say, and it’s mean. Since when have I ever pitied you?”

Melanie snapped her teeth together. The truth was, he had pitied her plenty of times over the years, whenever she had cried on his shoulder because Sloan wouldn’t pay her any attention. She had deserved Caleb’s pity then because she had been pretty damn pitiful.

“I’m not staying because I feel sorry for you,” he claimed, and she believed him. “I’m staying because I’d do the same for any neighbor, so I can’t really see myself doing any less for a neighbor who happens to be my closest damn friend, all right? I don’t care if you need me here or not. I need to be here. Get over it.”

Melanie threw her hands in the air. “I’m going to take a shower. Toss that bag of corn back in the freezer before it thaws and trade it for the peas.”

Caleb couldn’t help smirking. “Yes, ma’am.”

With a snarl of irritation, she spun on her heel and stomped from the room in bare legs and cowboy boots.

For his sake, Caleb hoped that when she came back she’d have on some damn pants. Platonic friends weren’t supposed to have legs that long and shapely.

When Melanie returned to the kitchen thirty minutes later she did indeed have on some damn pants. Jeans, faded, worn and soft-looking. Her dark hair was still wet and slicked back from a face scrubbed clean. Her eyes, while still a shade on the bloodshot side, were nonetheless alert, even as they avoided his gaze.

She stood in the middle of the room and blinked. “You cleaned the kitchen?”

He frowned. “Yeah, so?”

“So? You guys over at the Cherokee Rose have a housekeeper who I happen to know cleans up after all of you and keeps your house spotless so you don’t have to lift a finger in that area.”

“That she does.” He gave the counter a final swipe with the dishrag in his hand. “But Earline’s only been with us a few years. If you think Grandmother didn’t make the three of us clean up after ourselves—”

“Got it. And you’re right. I know she raised the three of you, and she wouldn’t have waited on you hand and foot or cleaned that big house all by herself. Not Rose.”

“You got that right.”

“That’s what makes her one of my heroes.”

Outside, a pickup pulled up. Melanie folded her arms and watched out the window as Caleb went out and took a duffel bag from the young Mexican man behind the wheel.

It was so like Caleb, to see a friend in need and refuse to do anything other than help. This particular friend, however—namely, herself—would breathe a little easier if Caleb went home, but it didn’t look as if that was going to happen anytime soon.

A gleam came into her eyes. Maybe she couldn’t convince him to go home. So, if he was going to stay, she was going to take full advantage of it and see that some long-postponed work got done around this place. If he thought he was going to get to sit around the house and watch ESPN all day while sipping iced tea, he had another think coming.

She was being ridiculous, she knew. She’d never known Caleb to sit still when there was work to be done, and he was the one who kept pointing out how much work needed to be done on the PR. So she would accept his help.

“That was fast,” she said when the pickup drove away and Caleb came back inside.

“Emily’s a godsend, and Hector drives fast.”

“Hector, huh? A new hand?”

“We took him on a couple of weeks ago.”

“Hmm.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” She shrugged. “It’s just that there’s been a flood of illegal aliens around here lately. Is he local?”

“I don’t believe you said that.” Caleb gaped at her.

“What?”

“I’d wager that a quarter of this county is of Mexican descent, or Indian.” Namely him and his family, part Cherokee, one and all. “Or both. Since when did that matter to you?”

Melanie blinked. “You think I care that he’s got dark skin? I can’t believe you said that.”

Caleb turned away and ran his fingers through his hair. He knew better. He knew she wasn’t prejudiced. Or, he thought he’d known. She had never seemed to care that his skin was so much darker than hers. And he knew she had friends from school who were Mexican Americans.

“Then what did you mean about Hector?”

“I just meant he didn’t look familiar.”

“That’s not what you meant. Just because you don’t recognize him doesn’t mean he’s an illegal. That’s not a logical assumption, even for you.”

“What do you mean, even for me?”

“Don’t change the subject. What have you got against Mexicans?”

“Nothing,” she cried, throwing her hands in the air. “Okay, look. There’s a rumor going around that somebody around here is helping illegal aliens hide from Immigration.”

“And you think it’s us?”

“I’m hoping it’s not.”

Interesting, Caleb thought. Crazy, but interesting that she would think such a thing. “Would you care?” he asked.

“Of course I would care,” she cried. “You think I want to see you and your family get in trouble? Hiding illegal aliens is against the law. Besides which,” she added with a quirk of her lips, “I’d think a Native American would be the last person who’d want to see more foreigners flooding into this country.”

“Hey, I’m only half Indian. Half of my ancestors came over on the Mayflower.”

“Yeah, yeah, and the other half met the boat. I’ve heard that one before. About a hundred times.”

“So all this smoke about Hector and illegal aliens is because you’re worried about me?”

“Oh, just go soak your head in the shower.”

“Thanks.” He hefted his duffel bag. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

While Caleb was in the shower Melanie decided to head out to the barn and get started on what was shaping up to be a long day. She was halfway to the barn when her father sped up the driveway, a giant rooster tail of dust shooting up behind him. He came to a skidding halt a few feet away from Caleb’s pickup, got out and slammed the door. He eyed Caleb’s rig briefly, shot her a look and a short nod, then hurried into the house.

“Daddy?”

The slamming of the back door was the only answer she got.

She stood in the dirt, fuming. He goes off for two days without a word, then comes home and ignores her? No way was she letting him get away with that. Plus, she had yet to tell him that she had canceled the ATM card.

Of course, his inability to withdraw cash from the bank could explain his lack of a greeting. With a heavy sigh, she trudged back to the house.

“Daddy?” He wasn’t in the kitchen, nor in his room. “Daddy?” His bathroom was empty. She crossed through the living room to the small den they used as an office and found him booting up the computer. The screen desktop appeared and he clicked on the icon for the bookkeeping software.

Melanie’s surprise was complete. Her father never looked at their finances. That was Melanie’s area and had been for several years. As far as she knew, he’d never even used the accounting software before. “What are you doing?”

“What is this?” He stared at the computer screen.

“What is what?” She came and stood beside him to see what he was seeing. The pitifully low balance in their cash account. “It’s a disaster is what it is.”

“Where the hell’s the rest of our money? And what nonsense is the bank spouting about us canceling our ATM card?”

Melanie folded her arms across her chest. “It’s not nonsense. I canceled it yesterday. Along with our credit card.”

He turned toward her as if in slow motion. His cheeks turned the color of fresh blood. “You what?”

Grown men had been known to back away from that look on his face. Melanie stood her ground. “I had no choice.”

“What are you talking about? What happened to our bank balance?”

“What do you think happened to it?” she asked heatedly. “It went to pay off your damn bookie, and mother’s never-ending spending sprees.”

“What spending sprees?”

The entire subject made Melanie so angry her hands shook. She pulled out the credit card statement she’d received yesterday and tossed it at him. “Here’s the latest fiasco. She maxed out the card. In one month she maxed it out. We can’t pay it off. The interest charges alone are going to kill us. The two of you together are going to bankrupt us if you don’t stop.”

Her father’s eyes bulged. “So you took it upon yourself to cancel our ATM and credit cards? Without consulting me?”

“I did what I had to do to keep us from going under. Granddad didn’t build this ranch so we could put money in the pockets of bookies and boutiques.”

“We just sold our calves. Where’s the money from that?”

“It’s drawing interest, what’s left of it, so we can pay the light bill for the rest of the year. You might remember that except for the occasional stud fee for Big Angus, there won’t be any more income until we sell calves again next fall.”

“You watch your mouth, little girl. I’ve been ranching, running the PR since before you were born. I’m still your father and you’ll by God do what I tell you. I need cash, and I need it right now, today. Or else.”

Melanie choked back the wail of misery and tears that threatened to burst from her. He was her father, and she loved him dearly. But she couldn’t, wouldn’t let him lose this ranch. If he was thinking straight, he would say she was right. As she saw it, it was her job to do what had to be done until this craziness that had a hold of him turned him loose.

“Or else what?” she demanded, keeping her voice as hard and steady as she could. “Or else what, Daddy?”

“You don’t understand,” he said earnestly. “I need cash, and I need it now. Just five grand, that’s all, I swear.”

“We don’t have it to spare,” she protested. “You can see that for yourself. The ranch can’t afford any more of your gambling debts.”

“I swear,” he said, “this is the last time, baby girl, the last time. I’ll never gamble again.”

“How many times have you said that? How many times have I fallen for it? The last time, I let you talk me into selling a prized bull, and now, here we are again. We’ve got only one prized bull left, and we’re not selling him. If we sell Big Angus, we’re finished. If we sell off part of the herd, we’ll lose money—prices are way down right now. Even without this, we’re looking at maybe not being able to make the balloon payment next year. With this, we’re bankrupt, unless we want to sell land. Is that what you want us to do? Sell part of our land?”

“Come on,” he protested. “It can’t be that bad.”

“Can’t it? Look at these credit card bills from Mama’s latest spree. Look at them. If we don’t pay them, our credit is screwed.”

He glanced irritably at the statement in his hand. Then his eyes widened as the figures jumped out at him. “Jeez, Louise, how could she have charged that much?”

“I don’t know, but now you see what I mean. We can’t pay it off this month.” He obviously hadn’t noticed that the largest charge was to a clinic. Melanie started to point it out, so he would know her mother was sick or hurt, but she decided not to. She didn’t know for sure what was wrong with her mother. If it had been anything terrible, Aunt Karen would have called. Right now her dad was upset and under a great deal of stress. She would wait until she knew something definite about her mother before she told him.

“We’re going to have to make payments and pay sky-high interest,” she said, “and winter’s coming on, which means we’re going to have a nice fat heating bill every month.”

“I can’t worry about things that haven’t happened yet,” he said. “If I don’t pay off Bruno by tomorrow they’ll drill holes in my kneecaps—or worse—and that’s the God’s honest truth.”

Melanie shook her head at his exaggeration. “No problem. We’ve still got medical insurance to cover that.”

“You think I’m joking?” he cried.

“I think that if you take five thousand dollars out of our account, medical insurance will be one of the first things to go. Then it’ll be the car insurance, the house insurance. Are you getting the picture yet? We spend an extra five thousand right now, we might as well hang it up, because we’ll be finished.”

“Finished is right.” He swore. “If I don’t pay him off I’ll be finished.”

Melanie did her best to ignore the knot in her stomach. Tough love, she was learning, was at least as hard on the person dispensing it as on the recipient. This was killing her.

“You’ll just have to find some other way to do it,” she said. “We don’t have the money. I won’t let your gambling bankrupt this ranch. I hope you understand.”

“Understand?” he cried. “I’m supposed to understand why my own flesh and blood is so selfish and tightfisted that she’d rather throw her own father to the wolves than turn loose of a few dollars?”

“Five thousand is not a few, and I’m not responsible for your gambling. You are. You did it, you fix it.”

“How? You’ve cut me off from my own money.”

“Your money? What am I? Chopped liver? A hired hand? It was your idea to make me a partner. It was you and Mama together who decided I should have fifty percent while the two of you had a quarter each. You gave me the responsibility of keeping the PR solvent, and that’s what I’m doing.”

His face turned from flushed to gray and back again. “My own daughter.” He shook his head and turned toward the door. “It’s not natural. It’s just not natural.”

“Daddy?”

He stopped just beyond the doorway but did not turn back. “I’m going out. I don’t know when I’ll be back. A day or two maybe.”

Melanie swallowed hard. Her vision blurred. “Daddy?”

He kept walking. A moment later she heard the back door shut. His pickup started up, and he was gone.

“Oh, Daddy.” She turned around and kicked the ottoman in front of the easy chair next to the desk. “Dammit.”

“Was that your dad who just left?”

At the sound of Caleb’s voice from the doorway Melanie bit back a groan. “Yes.”

She heard him move closer. “He didn’t stay long,” he said. “Is he coming back?”

Melanie found that she couldn’t turn around. Couldn’t face her best friend. She hated family discord, hated even more that she had told Caleb about her father’s gambling, their financial troubles. It was too embarrassing. No, she couldn’t turn around.

But she wanted to. Wanted to turn around and lean on him, let him prop her up until she felt steady enough to cope again. She wanted it so much that she steeled herself against even looking at him.

“He said he’d be gone a day or two.”

“Mel?” He put a hand on her shoulder. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah. Fine. Listen…” She forced herself to turn and smile. “Thanks for offering to stick around and help, but I’ll be fine. You can go on home.” And she could take a run out to the hay field and pound on a bale or two. If she didn’t get to hit something, and soon, she was going to explode. Or cry. Neither, as far as she was concerned, was acceptable in front of Caleb.

“We’ve already had this argument, and you lost. I’m staying.”

On the other hand, she thought, there were an awful lot of bales to be loaded and stored in the hay barn. Twenty acres’ worth. It was normally a three-person job. With Caleb’s help, the two of them should be able to get the work done today. Alone it would take her two or three days, if she didn’t kill herself in the process. It was a nasty, dirty job, almost as bad as cutting the hay in the first place, with bits of hay finding their way inside a person’s clothes and making you itch to high heaven.

“All right.” She gave him a nod. “But we’re loading and hauling hay and there’s only two of us, so don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Fair enough.”

Caleb was just glad she’d given in, since he’d had no intention of leaving her alone to fend for herself. He was only sorry he hadn’t caught Ralph before the man had disappeared again. That man needed his butt kicked.

Chapter Four

Caleb and Melanie had worked together many times over the years, helping out at each other’s ranch, or on someone else’s ranch. They worked together now with few words, as few were necessary. Each knew what needed to be done.

They started in the kitchen, making lunch to take with them. They pulled everything they wanted from the refrigerator and spread it on the table, then walked around it building sandwiches. A regular assembly line of sandwich production. They had bread, mustard and mayonnaise, lettuce and tomatoes and sliced cheese. Roast beef and bologna, peanut butter and jelly.

“You got enough mayo there?”

Caleb looked up from where he was spreading mayonnaise on a slice of bread. “I like mayo.”

“I do, too, but I still want to taste the meat when I bite in.”

“Who’s doing this, you or me?”

“You, but I have to eat it.”

“Wimp.” He scraped a thick layer of mayo from the slice before him. “Is that better?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“And don’t skimp on the peanut butter.”

“I’m not,” she protested.

“Are too.”

She slathered it on as thick as she could. “Better?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“The fine art of compromise,” she said.

With half a dozen sandwiches stacked on the table, Melanie turned back toward the refrigerator and found Caleb doing the same. He reached the door first and pulled it open. He went for the apples while she retrieved two bananas.

Melanie stepped to the pantry and tossed him a roll of plastic wrap for the sandwiches. While he wrapped, she found a big bag of potato chips to add to their lunch. As he wrapped the last sandwich she hauled out the small cooler from the floor of the pantry and they started piling everything in, except the bag of chips, which wouldn’t fit. They packed a second cooler with ice and cans of soft drinks, and grabbed two tall plastic tumblers for drinking water from the jug on the truck.

On their way out the door Melanie grabbed her old leather work gloves and a ball cap to keep her hair from blowing in her face.

“Do you need anything?” she asked him.

“Gloves and hat in my rig.”

While he retrieved those items she carried the coolers and chips to the big equipment shed. She set her load down on a bench and opened the wide doors. “Hello, Sister.”

Caleb was just coming up behind her and laughed. “I’d forgotten you call that old truck Sister.”

“Old being the operative word. Daddy brought her home brand spanking new about three years before I was born. Which is how she came to be his first baby. That makes her my sister.”

The old truck had been manufactured specifically for hauling hay. Basically, it was a wooden bed, twenty-five-feet long by eight-and-a-half wide, on wheels. The engine, instead of being under a hood in the front, was mounted dead center beneath the bed, mere inches above the ground. Woe be unto the driver who hit a deep hole or rut.

Been there, done that, Melanie thought. Still had the memory of her daddy’s cussing to prove it.

Rather than a cab like on a regular truck or pickup, Sister had a driver’s station on the left front corner of the bed, complete with seat, steering wheel, gearshift, pedals, and control panel. When Melanie was a baby her dad built an enclosure—only a cover, really, with open sides—to offer a modicum of shade and protection for the driver. He had also mounted a large, insulated water jug, which had to be replaced every five years or so, as the sun and weather broke it down, on the right front corner of the bed. It made a handy passenger seat.

When Melanie had started driving the truck for her dad she’d barely been twelve. Her mother had insisted that Ralph install a seat belt for her. The belt was still there.

Whoever sat on the water jug, however, was on his own.

A loading conveyor extended off the front of the truck, with another conveyor running down the middle of the truck bed. As the truck was driven through the field, one bale at a time would be scooped up by the front conveyor, carried up to the second conveyor, which took it down the bed toward the rear guard that kept it from falling off the back.

Ordinarily two people worked together picking the bales off the second belt and stacking them on the bed, from back to front, until the load was full. The truck could carry one-hundred-fifty square bales of approximately sixty-five pounds each. Nine-thousand-sevenhundred and fifty pounds of dry grass.

Today, instead of one to drive and two to do the toting and stacking, there would be one to drive, one to stack. And it would probably take them two loads to clear the field. Scoop it up, stack it, haul it to the hay barn, unload it, restack it. Go back to the field and do it all again. Melanie would make sure they traded off several times. No way was she going to have Caleb doing all that work himself. Especially after she had clobbered him in the shoulder that morning.

While Caleb rinsed and filled the big water jug on the truck Melanie got the toolbox from the shed and slid it in behind the driver’s seat. They checked the gas tank, found it full, and Melanie climbed into the driver’s seat.

Caleb frowned.

“What?” she asked, her lips twitching.

“I thought I’d drive,” Caleb said.

“Did you, now? And why is that?”

He bit the inside of his jaw. “Habit? Never mind.”

“You offered to help,” she told him. “Tell me I’m not going to be butting up against your he-man ego all day.”

His eyes widened. “My what? I don’t have a heman  ego. Whatever the hell that is. When have I ever tried to stop you from doing anything you wanted to do?”

“How about that time I wanted to drive Jerry MacKenzie’s motorcycle in high school? You had long since graduated. Just what were you doing in the school parking lot that day?”

“I was saving your hide. That motorcycle was a death trap, and you weren’t even going to wear a helmet.”

“I suppose you wear a helmet when you ride a horse, which is a darn sight more unpredictable than a motorcycle.”

“A horse doesn’t have anywhere near the torque that a Harley does.”

“Did you ever ride a Harley?” she asked pointedly.

“We’re not talking about me.”

“Oh, yeah, the old double standard.”

“You were a seventeen-year-old kid.”

She started the truck and put it in gear. “Don’t you mean girl?”

“If the shoe fits, Cinderella.”

“Oh, ugh.”

“What? I thought girls liked Cinderella.”

“Sure.” She headed for the first of several gates they would have to open to get through, then close behind them to keep cattle and horses in their pastures. On horseback, gates could be fun, a challenge. You leaned down from the saddle without dismounting and opened a gate, rode through, then closed and latched it behind you. No big deal. At least not the first seven hundred times you did it. After that it was just a necessary nuisance.

In a vehicle it was a royal pain in the tush, especially if you were alone. Drive up, stop, get out, push the gate all the way open and make sure it doesn’t swing shut. Drive through, stop, get out, walk back to the gate, realize you didn’t drive through far enough to close the gate, get back in and pull forward, get out and walk back, close and latch the gate, walk back to the truck. A pain in the tush.

“Cinderella was a great role model for little girls,” she informed him. “She got her heart’s desire not by having to work for it, but by having small feet. Gives every little girl something worthwhile to strive for, don’t you think? Teaches a valuable lesson about life.”

He scrunched up his face. “Small feet?”

“Forget it.” She pulled to a stop. “Passenger gets the gates.”

He scowled. “That’s why you wanted to drive.”

“Of course.”

She watched as he got out and walked to the gate. Sauntered was more like it, with a cute little bobble and wave from the leather work gloves, the fingers of which were sticking out of his right hip pocket.

Hello, gloves.

Hello, nice butt.

She blinked and found him standing there holding the gate open, a puzzled look on his face as he stared back at her.

Oops. Caught, she thought. Better keep her mind on the business at hand. Which meant keeping her mind off Caleb, which was going to be hard to do, since they were going to be joined at the hip, so to speak, all day.

She drove through the open gate and idled, waiting while Caleb closed the gate and climbed back onto the water jug he was using as a seat. They repeated the process three more times before reaching the far hay field.

The sky was a clear, cloudless blue. The angle of light and shadow where the woods met the field spoke of fall. The breeze carried that sweet, pungent perfume of twenty acres of freshly cut alfalfa.

Melanie scanned the field, then looked at Caleb.

“I’m betting we can get all this stored in the hay barn before dark,” he said.

“How’s your shoulder?” she asked.

“It’s fine.” He stood up and tugged on his gloves. “Just drive. I’ll stack.”

“I can stack bales,” she said.

“I’m sure you can. But you wanted to drive.”

“All right,” she said. “But I’ll spell you.”

“We’ll see.”

Melanie drove the big lumbering truck straight and slowly down each row of bales, aiming the end of the loader at each next bale. The conveyor belt carried the bale back to the truck bed where Caleb added it to the growing stack.

The day was warm for October. Mother Nature decided to give them a late dose of summer and pushed the temperature up into the mid eighties, which wasn’t necessarily hot, unless your body protested that, Hey, it’s October already, cool it down some, will ya? The heat, Melanie realized, was both a curse and a blessing. A curse because lifting and stacking bales was hot, heavy work even in cool weather; now it made the sweat roll. A blessing because the warmth had Caleb taking off his shirt before they made it to the second row. The T-shirt he wore beneath it hugged every curve and dip and bulge in his muscled shoulders and torso.

Nice, she thought. Very, very nice.

When Melanie made the turn at the end of the fourth row she had just enough time to notice that one of the old wooden fence posts was down and the wires sagging when the loading conveyor jerked and let out a squeal, then made a hideous grinding noise before it stopped altogether. Melanie shut it down immediately then killed the truck engine. The acrid stench of burning rubber stung her nostrils.

She jumped left off the truck; Caleb leaped off the right side. They met on opposite sides of the loading conveyor.

“If we can’t fix this thing,” Melanie muttered, “Daddy’s going to have my head on a platter.” Heaven knew she was already in the running for his least favorite person of the year after this morning. “I smelled burning rubber.”

“Me, too.” Caleb knelt at the front end of the loader.

“But I smell wood smoke, too.” She noted the turn she’d just made, next to the fence. A thick stand of scrub oak grew on the other side of the barbed wire, with dozens of limbs hanging over. “Could have picked up a small limb.”

Caleb looked up at her. “Only one way to tell.”

“I’ll get the toolbox.”

“You notice the fence there?” he called.

“Yeah, I saw it. One problem at a time. I’ll get the fence tomorrow.”

By working together they loosened the tension on the conveyor and found a mass of twigs caught up in a place it shouldn’t be. The clump had managed to get caught in just the wrong spot to gum up the works. They had it cleaned out and the belt operating smoothly in minutes.

“Oh, we’re good.” Melanie put the tools they’d used back into the toolbox.

“Never doubt it,” Caleb said. He met her gaze, held it. His voice deepened. Softened. “We make a good team.”

Melanie couldn’t have looked away if she had tried. She felt mesmerized, held captive by the questions in his eyes, questions she didn’t understand.

He put out his hand. “Put it there, partner.”

Melanie blinked and, in slow motion, reached for his hand. If, on contact, she flinched slightly at the sharp charge of electricity that raced up her arm, well, maybe that was okay, because he flinched, too.

They broke contact.

Caleb’s lips quirked. “That just keeps happening to us.”

Melanie reminded herself that she didn’t intend to screw up their friendship. Just then, looking into his deep brown eyes, she wasn’t sure why—oh, yeah. Best friend she’d ever had. Only person she could be herself with. Okay. Okay. She wouldn’t let a little fact like heated blood and tingling skin make her do something, something else, anyway, to damage their friendship.

“You drive.” She grabbed the toolbox and turned back toward the truck. “I’ll stack for a while.”

Caleb started to argue. There was no need for her to lift and stack bales of hay. He wasn’t tired, wasn’t likely to get that way anytime soon, and wasn’t likely to keel over dead if he did get tired.

But he’d seen that don’t argue with me, my mind’s made up look in her eyes when she had turned away. Hell with it. If she wanted to wear herself out, who was he to stop her?

If, in the back of his mind, he knew that he had never before—before he’d gotten a good solid taste of her Saturday night, and last night, and this morning—if he’d never worried about her working too hard and wearing herself out, well, that was something to think about. Later.

Caleb drove the truck, and Melanie found her rhythm stacking bales. Slip fingers beneath baling wire. Grab, lift, swing, stack. Pull hands out from beneath baling wire. Turn. Do it all again. Honest work that taxed the muscles and worked up a sweat. Mindless work that left the brain free to wander. Hers wanted to wander to her friend in the driver’s seat.

She blanked her mind and thought instead of her father, wondered where he was, when he would be back. She thought of her mother, wondered how she was, when she would call.

Then she thought of nothing at all except lifting the next bale.

They didn’t yet have a full load when Caleb suggested they take what they had to the hay barn and come back for the rest.

Melanie would have argued, despite the growing ache in her hands and muscles, but she could see that they’d already loaded more than half the field, but they couldn’t get all of the rest of it this trip. It would take a second load, regardless.

Besides, she was hungry.

Caleb drove to the hay barn in the pasture beyond the hay field while Melanie sat on the water jug and let the slight breeze dry the sweat on her face. At the barn Melanie jumped down and opened the doors so Caleb could back the truck in.

“You want to eat first?” Caleb asked once he stopped and killed the engine. “Or unload?”

“Eat,” she said. “I’m starving.”

They carried their coolers to the hay bales already stacked in the barn, then Melanie darted back to the truck.

“Wait,” she said, digging into the toolbox. A moment later she was back at his side handing him a moistened towelette in a packet.

Caleb smirked. “Afraid of a little dirt?”

“We’re civilized here on the PR. We wash up before we eat.”

“You carry these things in the toolbox?”

“Why not?”

Caleb shrugged and tore the end off the packet. “Shrimpfest?”

“They give them out at the all-you-can-eat fish place up in the city.”

“And you bring them home.”

“Whatever works.”

As soon as their hands were clean they dived in. After the first sandwich and two full cups of water Melanie felt better. She let out a long sigh, certain now that she was in no danger of starving to death.

“Tell me something pleasant,” she said.

He plucked an apple out of the cooler. “What would you consider pleasant?”

“Oh, I don’t know. How is it having a woman and two kids living in the house these days? Are you guys used to them yet?”

Caleb chuckled. “Sloan is.”

“Do tell. I’m sure he’s happy as a lark. Must put a crimp in your style, though, and Justin’s.”

“Well, we don’t walk around the house in our underwear. Or out of it. But then, Grandmother would have boxed our ears if we’d ever done it once we passed the age of about four, women and girls around or not.”

“So it’s no big deal, then, having a woman and two little girls around.”

“Are you kidding? It’s great. Emily makes these great desserts, and there’s always fresh-baked cookies of one kind or another in the kitchen, and fresh flowers all over the house. And those girls, they’re so cute you just want to hug ’em.”

“Food and fun,” she said with a smirk. “Is that what it takes to please a man? Comfort and entertainment.” She shook her head. “Which would explain why I’m not married.”

Caleb bit into his apple and chewed thoughtfully.

Melanie frowned. “The fruit’s supposed to be dessert.”

“Why aren’t you married?” he asked. “If you’re really not still hung up on Sloan—”

“If?” She gaped at him. “What do you mean, if?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged and unwrapped another sandwich. Roast beef this time. “I guess I’ve been thinking lately that maybe you aren’t as over him as you thought you were.” He shrugged again. “Maybe I was wrong.”

“No maybe about it.” Suddenly it became more important than ever that he believe her. “You know I’ve been over him for a long, long time. You know that.”

“I thought I knew that.” He studied his sandwich as if trying to figure out what it was and how it got into his hand. “Until the other night at the party.”

“I told you I had a lot on my mind but that it had nothing to do with Sloan.”

“Yeah.” He looked her in the eye. “And then you kissed me.”

Heat stung her cheeks. “Next time I’ll just let the barracuda have you.”

“Then you went out two nights later and got yourself drunk. That’s not like you, Mel.”

“No,” she agreed. “It’s not like me. I didn’t set out to get drunk, you know. I just kept thinking about the money and Daddy’s gambling and Mama’s bills, and I just kept drinking. Stupid.”

“You’ll get no argument from me.”

She made a face. “I can always count on you for comfort and support.”

“Hey, what are friends for?”

Melanie grabbed a banana from the cooler and pulled the peel down. She was losing her appetite fast. She ate her banana in silence, then dropped the peel into the cooler.

“I’ve had enough. I’ll get started.” She climbed onto the truck and started tossing bales to the ground.

Caleb ate a third sandwich in four quick bites. If he lived to be a hundred he would never understand women. He had thought, for most of his life, that he knew this one, understood her mind and heart. But since Saturday she had done nothing but confound him time after time.

He’d even confounded himself a time or two in regards to her.

And if she threw those bales down any harder she was going to dislocate a shoulder.

One thing he did know when it came to women. No matter the situation, a man could never go wrong with an apology. Didn’t matter if there was anything to apologize for. A man had nearly always done something wrong. In the eyes of a woman.

He cleaned up the remains of their lunch and stowed the coolers back on the truck, then climbed up with Melanie, who kept her back turned and ignored him.

“Melanie.” He waited until she had tossed the bale she held, then put his hands on her shoulders. “Melanie, I’m sorry.”

She whipped her head around, surprise written across her face. “For what?”

He turned her until she stood facing him, and brushed his fingers along her cheek. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m just, I don’t know, trying to figure things out, I guess.”

She stared up at him, her green eyes clouded with questions. “What kinds of things?”

Overhead a carpenter bee buzzed loudly as it drilled a hole in a wooden beam, and from farther up in the rafters came the flutter of wings. Caleb didn’t look up to see what kind of bird intruded on them. Probably a pigeon.

“Things,” he said, “like why we all of a sudden seem to end up kissing every time we turn around.”

Her throat worked on a swallow. “Kissing?”

“Yeah.” He leaned closer. “You know, your lips, my lips, lightning bolts.”

Something skittered across her face, through her eyes, that looked suspiciously like fear. “Good grief.” She stepped back and laughed. Nervously. “Not here. With our track record we’d set the hay on fire. Let’s get back to work.”

He wanted, badly, to ask her what that look had meant. She couldn’t be afraid of him. Not him. It wasn’t possible.

But she lifted another bale and tossed it down. She wasn’t going to talk. Not now.

That didn’t mean he intended to let the matter drop for long. Not when all he could think about was kissing her again.

They finished unloading and stacking the bales, then drove back to the field to get the rest. When Caleb moved to the back of the truck to start stacking, Melanie didn’t object. He was bigger and stronger than she was. She’d be an idiot to try to match him bale for bale.

Besides, all she had to do was readjust her rearview mirror slightly and she could watch those beautiful biceps flex and bulge. Best view in the county.

She wondered if she’d ever before seen that particular lock of black hair fall from beneath his cowboy hat at just that angle across his forehead. In defense against the urge to walk back there and smooth it back from his face, she gripped the steering wheel tighter.

There was no use trying to talk over the rumble of the engine while Caleb worked in the back and Melanie sat in the driver’s seat, but they didn’t find much to say to each other later, either, when they returned to the hay barn or while they unloaded, or during the drive back to the house.

Melanie knew they wouldn’t be using the truck again until next season, so instead of pulling into the equipment shed she stopped in the yard.

“Drain the water jug?” Caleb asked.

“You read my mind.”

“I’ll get it.” There was enough water left that letting it drain out the tap would have taken several minutes. Instead he unstrapped the jug, opened the top and dumped the water in the flower bed beside the house.

Melanie gathered up the coolers from lunch and carried them to the house while Caleb backed the truck into the shed. He met her in the kitchen where she was cleaning up the coolers.

“I really appreciate all your work today,” she told him.

“You’re welcome, but you know you don’t have to thank me. You’d do the same if I had a need.”

“Of course I would. Still, I’m grateful. If I’d had to do that job alone it would have taken me days, and who knows what the weather might do before Daddy comes home.”

“I was glad to help.”

“I was glad to have you.”

“Are we through yet?”

She blinked. “Through with what?”

“With whatever this polite, I-barely-know-you-butthanks- anyway nonsense is.”

This time she blinked twice. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Okay, fine.” He threw his hands in the air. “But if that look of fear I see in your eyes is for me you’re really going to piss me off, pal.”

“You think I’m afraid of you?” she cried.

He wished he knew if the outrage on her face was real or feigned. He suddenly felt as if he was walking through a minefield where she was concerned.

“You’re afraid of something,” he said. “Every time I’ve been near you today you get this look of panic in your eyes. Maybe I’ve come on a little strong a couple of times, but for crying out loud, Melanie, this is me. You have to know I’d cut off my right arm before I’d hurt you.”

“Good grief.” Melanie gaped. “You think I don’t know that?”

“For the past few days, when it comes to you I don’t know what to think.” But he breathed easier.

“Well, there you have it. We’re in total agreement. This whole…whatever it is…is just crazy. We need to go back to the way things were.”

“Were?”

“You know. Before.”

“Before what?”

“You know.”

“What’s the matter, can’t you even say it? We kissed. More than once.”

“I don’t need to say it. You’re saying it enough for both of us.”

“And you’re avoiding the subject entirely. Except for last night.”

“Now you’re throwing last night in my face?”

“Absolutely not,” he argued, fighting a grin. He didn’t care how mad she got as long as she wasn’t indifferent.

With narrowed eyes, she tapped her toe and folded her arms across her chest. “I’m glad we got that cleared up. Now, as grateful as I am for your help today, I’ve got things to do. Give your grandmother my best, and say hi to Emily and the girls.”

“I’ll do that. When I call home later.”

“When you—” She planted her hands on her hips. “Go home, Caleb.”

“Not gonna happen,” he said. “I don’t see your dad around here anywhere, and I’m not about to go off and leave you here, isolated and alone, when you’ve had strangers snooping around the place.”

Melanie opened her mouth to protest, but then she remembered her father saying he needed to pay off a man named Bruno. Bruno. It could be that Caleb was more correct than he’d realized when he’d called her snooping strangers thumb breakers.

Bruno, for crying out loud. She was just worried enough to shut her mouth on further protests of Caleb’s intentions of staying.

But there was no sense in giving in too easily and giving him a swelled head.

“I didn’t notice any strangers out there when we came in.”

“I’m staying. If you weren’t so stubborn you’d agree it’s a good idea.”

“Stubborn. I’m stubborn?”

“If the shoe fits—”

“If you call me Cinderella again, I might have to hurt you.”

“I’m shaking in my boots.”

“You should be. Stubborn. This from a man they call yanasa.”

“Aw, come on. Don’t start that.”

His family had given him the nickname when he’d been a kid. The Cherokee word meant buffalo. His grandmother and brothers said it fit him because he was about as immovable as that hairy beast.

“Gotcha.” She gave him a cheesy grin. “Well, don’t just stand there, go get cleaned up for supper. But you’re doing the dishes.”

His smile was slow and devastating. “I’ve got no problem with that.”

That smile was all it took to make her pulse spike.

* * *

There were a few more chores to do after supper. Caleb tagged along and helped gather eggs, lock up the chickens to keep the coyotes and possums from getting them, bring the mares back into the stable and give them some grain.

Afterward Melanie told Caleb to make himself at home while she did some paperwork at the desk in the den. She heard him turn on the television while she made note of the final hay load. Unless they had the worst winter on record—and the way the PR’s luck was going, that was entirely possible—there should be plenty of hay to see the cattle and horses through the winter.

She smiled as a feminine Southern drawl came from the television in the living room. “As God is my witness, I’ll never be hungry again.”

Then she heard Caleb change channels.

She was in the living room and grabbing the remote from his hand in under three seconds.

“You can’t do that,” she cried, changing the channel back.

He looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. “Jeez, sorry. All I did was change channels. You weren’t even in here.”

“You did a lot more than change channels. You committed a supreme no-no.”

“Let me guess. You’re on medication and you missed your last dose.”

“You are sooo funny.”

“I’m glad one of us is. Supreme no-no,” he muttered.

“Supreme no-no,” she repeated. “The top three supreme no-nos would be, you never turn your back while the flag is being raised, you never walk out during ‘Amazing Grace,’ and you never change channels during Gone With the Wind.”

“I won’t change the channel, if you sit here and watch it with me.”

“Good enough.”

“Do we get popcorn?” he asked hopefully.

Despite brushing and flossing, she was still picking popcorn hulls out of her teeth hours later when she went to bed.

Sleep, however, eluded her. How was she supposed to relax when she knew that Caleb was only a few feet away, across the hall in the spare bedroom? How was she supposed to close her eyes when every time she did she kept seeing that errant lock of hair fall forward onto his sweat-dampened forehead?

How was she supposed to sleep when he hadn’t tried to kiss her again?

She rolled her face into her pillow to muffle a groan of frustration. She was out of her mind. Perverse. Crazy. Stupid. She wanted to kiss him again. Wanted, maybe, more than that. Yet when the opportunity arose, she pushed him away, or ran.

Stupid.

But why did her best friend suddenly have to be so damn appealing?

Caleb didn’t have as much trouble going to sleep as Melanie did. But once he slept, he dreamed. About green eyes, dark hair, smooth skin. No fear in those eyes, but warmth, welcome. The afternoon in the hay barn, in his dream, was spent much differently than the reality. They had, indeed, set the hay on fire. Figuratively speaking.

Beneath his rough fingers her skin felt like silk. Beneath her touch his skin felt on fire.

In the dream there had been no need to work buttons, fumble with zippers. Their clothing melted away, letting the warm air caress every inch of them, as they caressed, tasted, every inch of each other.

He took her down onto the fresh, fragrant hay. In his dream it was loose and soft rather than baled and prickly. She reached for him and pulled him down into heaven.

He woke at 3:00 a. m., hot and hard and sweaty.

He nearly laughed out loud. He hadn’t wanted a woman this badly in a long time, and it felt good. Damn good. Too bad he couldn’t do anything about it.

Of course, he had options, but they were limited.

He could knock on Melanie’s door and hope she didn’t keep a gun in her bedroom.

Naw, bad idea.

He could take a cold shower, as distasteful as that sounded. But the noise of the shower would probably wake Melanie, and how would he explain taking a shower at 3:00 a. m.?

In frustration, he rolled over and buried his face in his pillow to stifle a groan.

The next morning started out more calmly than the one before. No hangovers, no hitting each other with shovels. No breath-stealing kiss in the kitchen. Just bacon and eggs and pancakes.

While Melanie started breakfast, Caleb headed for the back door.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“I thought I’d turn the mares out.”

“Why don’t you cook and I’ll take care of the mares.”

“The whole point of my being here is so you don’t go out to the barn, or anywhere else, alone, in case those goons come back.”

“But it’s okay for you to go alone? I don’t think so.”

“Come on, Melanie, you’re—”

“If you were about to say I’m a girl—”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. We’ll eat, then go out together.”

“A very sensible plan. How do you want your eggs?”

With breakfast behind them and the kitchen cleaned up, they headed out for the day. They let the chickens out, then the mares, and cleaned out the stalls. Every step Melanie took, Caleb was right beside her. They invariably reached for the same bucket, the rake, the pitchfork at the same time, ending up tangling their fingers together more than once.

By the time they finished in the barn Melanie was almost used to the constant tingling that shot up her arm every time their hands touched.

She started to complain. There was plenty of room, no need for him to crowd her so damn much. But she had the feeling he was just waiting for her to gripe at him. She decided not to give him the satisfaction.

They loaded fencing supplies—T-posts, post pounder, wire, come-along, fencing pliers, staples, and more—into the back of her pickup and followed the path they had driven the day before to the field where the fence needed repairing.

They installed a new T-post halfway between the broken wooden post and the next post on either side, took out the broken one and restrung the barbed wire, fastening it securely to the new posts.

It was inevitable, with two people working together on such a chore, for their shoulders to occasionally brush, their knees to bump, their hands to touch. Accidentally, of course. Every touch an accident. Almost every touch.

Sometimes, however, he was a little too casual about it, telling Melanie that some of the touching was on purpose. Such as when he reached across her for the fencing pliers and his forearm brushed slowly, lightly against hers.

Sharp tingles of awareness flooded her. Her nipples peaked. Her breath caught.

“Sorry,” he said.

Melanie wasn’t buying it. He looked entirely too innocent.

All right, pal, she thought. Two can play this game. “No problem,” she told him quietly. “Oh, no!” she cried as she smeared dirt all down his arm. Accidentally, of course. “Now I’m the one who’s sorry. Here, let me.” She stripped off her gloves and gently stroked the dirty spot.

He jumped as though he’d been shot. “It’s just dirt. Leave it.”

“No, I think there’s a scratch under there. It could get infected.” She reached into the toolbox and pulled out one of her packaged towelettes. “This’ll just take a second.”

But instead of wiping off the dirt, Melanie cradled his forearm in one hand and used the other to caress the soiled skin. She brushed carefully from elbow to wrist, barely touching, applying no pressure. Then she did it again, sideways, following the pattern of hair growth, inner arm to outer, inner to outer.

His arm jerked in her hand, but he didn’t pull away. She did, however, hear him swallow rather heavily.

She had to fight to keep from doing the same. Her ploy to tease him seemed to be backfiring, if the spike in her pulse was any indication. The sight of her pale hands on his bronze skin made her heart pound.

“There.” Her voice was a little too breathy for comfort. “All clean, and no cut at all.”

He swallowed again, cleared his throat as he turned away. “Thanks.”

He didn’t brush or bump or rub against her again. It didn’t seem to matter. She was as aware of him as if he were stroking her bare flesh.

They finished the repairs, then drove along the fence checking for any other trouble spots. They found a place where a tree had fallen and pulled the fence between the PR and the Cherokee Rose down with it. It was just lucky that neither ranch had any cattle nearby.

As they hauled out their supplies again, Caleb said, “I can’t believe in all these years we haven’t just put a gate in this fence so we can go back and forth when we want.”

Melanie paused and looked at him. Then at the fence. “I’ve thought the same thing a dozen times over the years,” she admitted.

“Why didn’t you say something?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I thought it was a dumb idea.”

“What’s dumb about it?”

She shrugged again. “Nothing, now that I think about it.”

He grinned at her. “You game?”

She grinned back. “Why not? We could rig a Texas gate out of wire.” A Texas gate consisted of strands of wire fastened to a stationary fence post at one end and a loose, unplanted post at the other. Loops of wire on the opposite post held the loose post in place to close the gate. Simple, effective.

“Let’s do it,” Caleb said.

She laughed. “What’s Sloan going to say?”

“Or your dad,” Caleb said.

“Hey, if he can’t take a joke, to heck with him. Besides,” she added grimly, “he can’t get much madder at me than he already is.”

Caleb rested a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry, the two of you will work it out.”

She gave him a wry smile. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I am.” He turned her and held her gently by both shoulders. “You and your dad are closer than any other two people I know. He’s worried about his debt, you’re worried about the ranch. You’ll work it out.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“I know I am. And you know he won’t mind about the gate.”

She smiled. “No, he won’t mind.”

“Well, then, let’s get it done.”

Chapter Five

It was another long d reasons were somehow different from the night before. Today, not only had she felt the sharp physical pull toward Caleb, the hot sexual tension, but she’d also been reminded of his kindness, and his sense of fun.

How was a woman supposed to resist all of that? Why would a sane one even want to try?

She must have eventually fallen asleep—although she had seen 2:00 a.m. come and go on her bedside clock—because she woke at her usual five o’clock.

Bleary eyed, she stumbled from the bed and down the hall to the shower. Ten minutes of hot water pounding on her head helped make her feel more like a human being. She put on her robe, shoved her wet hair back with her hands and opened the bathroom door.

And ran smack into the hard wall of Caleb’s chest.

“Oomph,” was the closest way to describe the sound she made. Yet even with most of the breath knocked out of her she had no trouble feeling the solid warmth of his bare chest against her face and hands as she tried to catch herself.

“Whoa.” Caleb stepped back and steadied her by clasping her arms. “Sorry. Guess I was still half-asleep. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” Or she would be, if she could convince her hands to remove themselves from his pecs. Oh, the man had glorious pecs.

“You sure?” he asked, his fingers flexing on her upper arms. “You look a little dazed.”

She caught herself leaning closer to him and jumped back. “I just haven’t had my coffee yet. I’ll, uh, go start breakfast while you shower.”

Caleb turned and watched as she beat a hasty retreat to her bedroom. He entered the bathroom and closed the door, taking in the scent of her soap and shampoo that lingered in the air.

That was no lack of coffee he’d seen in her eyes. She was just glad to see him, or his name wasn’t Caleb Chisholm.

By the time he stepped into the shower, he was whistling.

“What’s on today’s agenda?” he asked over breakfast.

Melanie had given herself a stern lecture while she dressed and another while she cooked. Caleb was her friend, and he had volunteered to help her around the ranch. If she didn’t get a grip on herself she would end up drooling all over him, and wouldn’t that be a pretty sight?

But she was steady now, and prepared to act normally around him. If it killed her.

“Since you’re here and willing to work, I thought we’d saddle up and move the Angus herd up to the corral for their worming. You know, the glamorous part of ranching.”

“Well,” he offered with a slight smirk. “The riding might be glamorous, but I’d have to argue about the worming.”

An hour later they were saddled up and riding toward the pasture where the purebred Angus herd grazed. There were only a dozen head of the black cattle, not counting the bull, Big Angus, who was kept in a separate pasture.

It was a glorious morning, warm and bright, the smell of cottonwood leaves turning for the season teasing the air. The call of bob-white quail was music on the breeze, with a counterpoint of the creak of leather, a cow calling her calf.

“If there’s any better life than this,” she said, staring up at the blue, blue sky, “I can’t imagine what it could be.”

“There is no better,” Caleb said.

They rode on at a walk, in silence. Melanie felt an emotional closeness with Caleb that she’d never felt before. At times like this she believed they were more than friends, they were kindred spirits, two people with like values who enjoyed the same things, believed in the same things.

“Mind if I ask you a question?” Caleb said.

She tilted her face to the sky and took in a deep breath. “Right now I feel so good you can ask me anything you want.”

“It’s personal, and maybe none of my business.”

“Oh boy, this ought to be good. Go ahead. Shoot. I might even answer it.”

“If you don’t want to, that’s okay. If the subject makes you uncomfortable we can drop it.”

She peered over at him. “Now you’ve got my curiosity up.”

He gave a slight shrug and gazed out over toward the woods on the far side of the empty pasture they were crossing.

“It’s about Sloan.”

Melanie laughed. “He’s your brother. I doubt there’s anything I can tell you that you don’t already know.”

“Except why you finally gave up on him when you say you did a couple of years ago.”

“When I say I did?” she cried. “You still don’t believe me?”

“Don’t get your drawers in a twist. I’m—”

“Drawers in a twist?”

“—just trying to figure it out in my head and I don’t get it. One day you were chasing after him, crying when he wouldn’t return your feelings, the next you’re saying you’re over him. How does that work?”

Melanie came close to telling him to mind his own business, but considering how many times over the years she had used his shoulder for a crying pillow, it seemed as though the subject of her feelings for Sloan pretty much was Caleb’s business. As close as she and Caleb had been all their lives, there was plenty she had never told him. Maybe it was time she did.

“When I was five years old Freddie Wilson threw me out into the middle of that pond over at your place. We were having a picnic or something. Maybe Fourth of July.”

“I remember,” Caleb said. “Sloan fished you out. What does that have to do with your getting over him?”

“I’m telling this,” she said. “Anyway, he didn’t just fish me out. He saved me.”

“Saved you, hell. That water didn’t even come up to your chin.”

“Yes, but I didn’t know that. I was a good swimmer, but I thought the whole pond was as shallow in the middle as it was two feet from shore. When Freddie, the creep, threw me in I went under and came up spitting red, dirty water. My mother had tied my hair in pigtails, and I had these pretty, red-white-and-blue ribbons. Now they were ruined. I was so mad I wanted to scream. And my knee hurt where I’d scraped it on something. When I went to stand up I kept my leg bent, but the bottom wasn’t where I thought it should be, so I went under again.”

“And Sloan saved you.”

“From my earliest memories my mother used to read to me. Fairy tales.”

He chuckled. “‘Cinderella’?”

“Among others. Stories of knights on white steeds riding to the rescue of damsels in distress. The darkly handsome prince, older, wiser, a man of the world, saving the fair young maiden.”

“I’m sure I heard some of those same stories, growing up.”

“Maybe, but you guys get to be the knights and princes. You get to fight the battles, slay the dragons, defeat the villains and save the girl. For the most part, the girl—Cinderella, Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, whoever—is supposed to look pretty even in rags, keep a clean house, prepare gourmet food from scraps, always be a lady, and wait to be rescued by the man of her dreams.”

“What about Goldilocks? She had an adventure.”

Melanie shrugged. “She broke into a house, ate someone else’s food and went to sleep. She didn’t get to climb a beanstalk and face down a giant. She didn’t get to wield a sword to defeat some deadly monster. She ate and went to sleep.”

“Okay, okay. Small feet and looking pretty. I get it.”

“I doubt it, but anyway, there I was, five years old and thinking I was drowning. Then, out of the blue appears this beautiful, dark-skinned older man of thirteen. He wasn’t riding a white steed, but his bay was tied up to a tree at the edge of the pond. He waded in and lifted me out of the water with one arm. One arm. The only other person I knew of who was that strong was my father. Daddy had always been my hero. But that day Sloan took over the title. I was, as they say, smitten.”

“Sloan was your knight.”

“And my prince. And my hero.”

“Is there a point to this regarding getting over him?”

“I’m getting to it. Don’t get your drawers in a twist,” she added with a smirk.

“Touché.”

“Anyway, when I got home from the picnic all I could talk about was Sloan. If I’d been about ten years older I might have recognized the gleam that came into my mother’s eyes, but I didn’t. I just thought she was as excited about Sloan as I was. And in truth, she was.”

“She liked the idea of your needing to be rescued from the pond?”

“No, she liked the idea that the eldest grandson of Cherokee Rose Chisholm had taken notice of the only child—a daughter—of the Pruitt Ranch.”

“Holy Hannah, you were only five years old.”

“Which, in her mind, I think, gave me plenty of time to enthrall Sloan and make him my slave. Or some such nonsense.”

Caleb’s lips quirked. “Did you think it was nonsense?”

“At five I wasn’t thinking in terms of slaves. I was thinking that when I grew up Sloan would marry me, and I had to do everything I could to make sure that happened.”

“Good God. At the age of five?”

“What can I say? I was already programmed to become a wife and mother. Those were my goals in life. That, and being a cowgirl.”

He tossed her a cocky grin. “That goes without saying.”

“Thank you.” She gave him a regal nod. “I guess I have my obsession with Sloan to thank for learning to be a cowgirl.”

“How’s that?”

“It was something Daddy picked up from Mama. She used to say things like, ‘Eat your vegetables, honey, so you can grow up faster for Sloan.”’

Caleb snorted.

“Yeah, well, it worked. She would tie ribbons in my hair so I would be pretty if I saw Sloan. Everything she wanted me to do, she held out Sloan as the carrot. It got to the point where I believed I was supposed to eat and dress and groom and take naps to impress Sloan. Even Daddy got into the act, telling me how much more Sloan would notice me if I could rope a steer faster, saddle my own horse.”

“They brainwashed you.”

“Very effectively, but I went along with them. Eagerly, you might say, because to me he really was a hero. My hero. And when I got older and realized he was dating girls—other girls—it was okay at first, because I knew I wasn’t old enough.”

“And when you were old enough?”

“He broke my heart,” she said quietly. Calmly. She remembered the pain, but no longer felt it. “I did everything in my power to get him to notice me, to like me the way I liked him. It never occurred to me to act any other way. Poor Sloan.”

“Poor Sloan? Why do you say that?”

“Are you kidding? All those years with me dogging his heels, showing up everyplace he went. Especially when I turned sixteen and Daddy fixed up that old pickup for me. I had wheels. I was mobile, could follow Sloan everywhere he went. God, how embarrassed he used to get.”

“He didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

“I know. I know. But the only way he could have avoided that would have been to fall madly in love with me. And I think I knew that wasn’t going to happen long before I got that first set of wheels. And there you were, every time I got discouraged. You always let me cry on your shoulder, and you never tried to tell me to leave him alone, or that he would change his mind. You were just there.”

Melanie drew her horse to a halt and waited for Caleb to do the same and face her. When he did, she held his gaze steadily. “Right where I needed you to be. Always. Did I ever thank you for that? For a lifetime of that?”

“We were friends,” he said. “Are friends. There was never any need for thanks between you and me.”

“And that,” she said with a saucy grin as she nudged Jack into motion again, “is why I love you.”

At her casual, breezy words, Caleb felt a heavy thump in his chest. He tried to laugh it off, but something was happening inside him that he didn’t understand. It felt like a gathering. Knowledge. Revelation. But it was unclear, fuzzy and just out of his reach. If he could only stretch out his hand far enough, he might be able to grasp it. Whatever it was.

But first he needed to catch up with the woman who was swiftly driving him insane.

A gathering of knowledge. Ha. Nonsense was what it was.

He caught up with her quickly, then slowed his horse to walk beside hers. As far as he could tell, she had yet to answer his question.

“So,” he said casually, “are you saying… what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that what I felt for Sloan was as much habit and suggestion as it was real feelings. I didn’t just wake up one morning two years ago and decided I didn’t love him. It was more a growing feeling—no, that’s not right. Not a feeling. A slow acknowledgment that what I felt for him was selfish and self-serving and superficial, and Sloan and I both deserved better than that. I decided to grow up, to give him a little peace for a change from my constant hounding. And if I sound as if that wasn’t a painful realization, it was.”

Caleb tried to filter through everything she’d said to get to the guts of it. “Are you saying you never really, you know, loved him?”

“I sure thought I did. But now when I look back, I don’t think I understood what love was. I’m not sure I know now, for that matter. But I should have wanted what was best for him, what would make him happy. But all I thought about was my feelings. That doesn’t sound much like love to me.”

“Come on, give yourself a break. And I doubt Sloan ever felt hounded.”

“He was just too sweet to ever say so.”

“Sweet?” Caleb hooted with laughter. “I’ve never heard anybody call him that before.”

“Okay, so he was never sweet. He was always nice to me, though. He treated me just the way he thought of me. Like a kid sister. Think how much grief I could have saved us all if I’d gotten the message a few years sooner.”

They rode in silence for a few minutes. Then Caleb decided to just ask outright. “So, are you really over him?”

Melanie threw her head back and laughed. “Yes, Caleb, I have been really over him for a long, long time. He’s the big brother I never had.”

He gave her a wry grin. “I thought that was my role.”

She snorted. “Hardly. I never thought of you as a brother. You were—are—my friend. My one true friend.”

Her admission both humbled and liberated him. Freed him from some nagging worry he hadn’t even named. “What about Justin?”

She laughed. “Justin’s my playmate.” A few moments later she spoke again. “Did I tell you what you wanted to know?”

“That you’re no longer hot after my brother? Yeah.”

“Caleb,” she said, exasperated, “I haven’t been hot after Sloan for a long time and you know it. Good grief, do you think I could have hooked up with Mark Shannon last year if I still had feelings for Sloan? If I had feelings for any other man?”

Caleb stuck his tongue in his cheek. “Didn’t stop you from jumping into the back seat of Tommy Newly’s car your senior year of high school.”

Melanie groaned and rolled her eyes. “Don’t remind me. What a disaster. Are you going to hold that over my head forever?”

“I was so hacked at you over that I could have turned you over my knee.”

“Ha. You could have lost a few fingers trying. I was the oldest living virgin, and it was a cinch Sloan wasn’t going to do anything about it.”

You could have come to me. Caleb stiffened in sheer terror that he might have spoken those words aloud. Since she didn’t fall off her horse laughing, or throw her hat at him, he had to assume he’d kept his mouth shut. But the words were there, in his head. He refused to examine how long they’d been hidden in the dark recesses of his mind.

“A girl had to do something,” she said with a defiant toss of her head.

“Whatever,” Caleb muttered. He decided they’d had enough conversation. He wished he’d never brought up the subject of her feelings for Sloan.

They rode on in silence, and Melanie was grateful. She had blabbered on like a fool. She was better off keeping her mouth shut.

They clambered down an embankment and up the other side of a dry wash, which put them halfway to the Angus pasture. A few minutes later Melanie’s horse started favoring his right foreleg and nodding his head up and down.

“Whoa, Jack.” She barely had to pull gently on the reins to have the horse stopping. “Hold up, Caleb.” She swung down from the saddle and rounded to Jack’s right side.

“What’s wrong?”

“He’s favoring this leg.”

“What happened?” He dismounted and joined her.

“I don’t know. He just started limping.” She had checked each hoof, shoe and foot before saddling him, but she checked again, thinking maybe Jack had picked up a stone. But there was no sign of one, and the frog didn’t seem to be tender when she pressed on it.

She didn’t have to go far above the hoof, however, to find the problem. “Feel this.” She pressed her hand over Jack’s right fetlock. She checked his left ankle for comparison and found it no warmer than it should be. “His right ankle’s hot.”

Caleb placed his hand where she indicated and felt. “Yeah, it’s hot all right.”

“He must have pulled a tendon, poor boy, or bruised it on something.” She stood and rubbed the horse between his ears. “Poor baby. We’ll get you home and take care of you.”

“Rub on some liniment or alcohol, pack a little ice around it, he’ll be good as new in a few days.” He rose to his feet. “We’ll head back. You can ride with me.”

Melanie spent another few minutes petting Jack and fretting over his leg. When Caleb remounted, Melanie handed him Jack’s reins. Caleb removed his left foot from the stirrup and held an arm down for her.

Melanie gripped his forearm and he hers; she put her foot into the stirrup and, with a tug from Caleb, swung up to sit on the skirt behind the seat of the saddle. The horse moved restlessly beneath the new weight, seated farther back on his back than he cared for.

“Easy, boy,” Caleb murmured. “It’s just Melanie. You all set?” he asked over his shoulder.

Melanie gripped the cantle and settled her weight. “All set.”

“You gonna hold on?” he asked.

“I’ve got a nice grip on the saddle. Take off. I’m fine.”

“If you say so,” Caleb muttered. He’d ridden the back end of a horse often enough to know that holding on to the saddle was no way to keep your seat unless the ground was smooth and level and you weren’t in a hurry.

They weren’t necessarily in a hurry today, but she was going to have a hell of a time keeping her seat without holding on to him when they climbed up out of the wash.

His horse didn’t seem to care how his extra passenger held on. He wasn’t pleased with the extra weight. Especially when that extra weight kept shifting and fidgeting instead of sitting still. The horse sidestepped restlessly and tossed his head.

“Easy, boy.” Caleb patted the horse’s neck. “What’s wrong back there?” he asked Melanie over his shoulder.

“Nothing,” Melanie claimed.

“Then sit still, will you, before this fellow tosses us both in the dirt.”

“I know how to sit a horse, thank you.”

“Then prove it.” He reached around and grabbed her hand, placing it on his waist. “Hang on to me.”

The minute he released her hand, she removed it from his side and shifted her weight again.

The horse gave a small buck in objection. The action threw Melanie against Caleb’s back with a gasp of alarm.

Caleb swore. At the horse, at Melanie. “You all right?”

“I would be,” she said, straightening away from Caleb’s back, “if this ornery beast would settle down.”

“He’d settle down if you’d quit moving around back there. And he’s not ornery, he’s uncomfortable, and not too happy about that extra weight bouncing around on his butt.”

“Are you saying I weigh too much?”

“I’m saying you need to hold on to me and sit still.”

He sent the horse down the incline into the dry wash.

Gravity threw Melanie forward again into Caleb’s back. She tried to lean back but couldn’t. And she didn’t want to touch him. They had just had a long, friendly conversation, putting their friendship back on track, where it belonged. It was imperative that she not touch him, because touching him made her want to forget about friendship and move on to a more interesting relationship.

Yet if she lost his friendship, she would lose a part of herself. A vital part that she wasn’t sure she wanted to live without.

As soon as they reached the bottom of the ravine she leaned back, shifting her weight away from Caleb, and gripped the saddle again.

The horse responded with another little bump with his hindquarters, bouncing Melanie a good two inches into the air. She came down with a hard umph.

“Told ya,” Caleb muttered.

Behind his back Melanie made a face.

“Did you just make a face at me?”

“What, have you got eyes in the back of your head now?”

“No, I just know you.”

They were across the wash and starting up the other side before Melanie could psych herself up enough to voluntarily touch him again. The climb was steeper than she’d realized. Reflex and instinct, along with the fear of falling, kicked in. With a shriek she threw her arms around Caleb’s waist and hung on for dear life. His warmth instantly seeped into her. The smell of her soap and his shampoo combined to tease her senses.

She wasn’t sure, because of the thunder of her own pulse in her ears, but she thought she might have heard laughter. And not from the horse.

She glanced over to make sure Jack was making it okay. He seemed to be keeping up all right.

It wasn’t far up the bank. The wash wasn’t all that deep. They were up and over the lip in a matter of seconds. The instant the horse settled back into an easy walk Melanie shoved away from Caleb and repositioned herself.

The horse nickered, tossed his head, and kicked out with one hind leg.

“Okay, that’s it.” After looping the reins around the saddle horn, Caleb kicked his feet free of the stirrups, swung his right leg up and over and jumped to the ground. It wasn’t an easy maneuver for a grown man who would never see thirty again, but he was just ticked enough to pull it off.

“What are you doing?” Melanie demanded.

“I’m walking,” he said. “If you find touching me so distasteful that you’d rather irritate the poor damn horse to the point where he’s ready to buck us both off, then I’ll just walk, if it’s all the same to you.”

The anger in his eyes got her own dander up. She moved up into the saddle, then used the stirrup to swing down. She stood before him, her fists propped on her hips. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea for the two of us to get all cozy, that’s all.”

“Cozy?” It was almost, but not quite, a bellow.

The horses moved away to chomp the still-green grass in a less volatile atmosphere.

“You know what I’m talking about,” she snapped. “Every time we get within touching distance of each other you get that look in your eyes like you’re ready to lap me up, and my skin starts humming.”

A quick grin curved his lips. “Humming?”

“Get over it. I’m just trying to keep things simple between us. To keep our friendship safe. All this touching and teasing and kissing is going to ruin everything.” She started pacing back and forth before him, kicking at tufts of grass.

“If we keep it up,” she warned, “we’ll end up in bed together.”

“And your problem is?”

“And if we like it enough,” she said, rolling over his words, “the next thing we know, we’ll be having a hot, torrid affair, then one of us will do something to hurt the other one’s feelings and we’ll break up, and then not only will we not have all that great sex anymore, we won’t even have our friendship.”

Caleb stared at her, dumbfounded. “All we’ve done is kiss a few times and you’ve got us into a torrid affair, and broken up, and not speaking to each other. Gee, did we have any kids during all this time?”

“You are sooo funny.”

“I’m funny? You’ve built this whole scenario out of a few kisses. Do you have any idea how crazy that sounds?”

“Of course I know how crazy it sounds,” she cried, waving her arms in the air. “And it’s all your fault, because you’re making me crazy.”

“I’m making you crazy?” He took his hat off and slapped it against his leg. “What you’re saying is you want a guarantee. Like for a new car. Five years or fifty thousand miles. Is that what you want?”

“No. Of course not.”

“Well it’s a damn good thing, because I’m sure as hell no new car. For all you know, the sex will suck for both of us, we’ll have a good laugh over it and go back to being just friends.”

“Oh, yeah, right,” she said. “Like it would really suck between us.”

“Yeah, I know. Not much chance of that.” He moved closer to her. “It’d be great. We both know it.”

She gave a toss of her head. He doubted that her chin could poke out any farther. “What makes you think that?”

“This.” He pulled her close and kissed her.

Somewhere in the back of her mind Melanie had expected this. Hoped for this. Yet still he managed to take her by surprise and lock her breath in her throat. Along with her heart. She was helpless to do anything other than cling to him and kiss him back.

He felt hard and smooth beneath her hands as she spread them over his back. He tasted of that last cup of coffee he’d had before leaving the house.

She felt as if she’d had entirely too much coffee rather than the single cup she’d sipped. Every nerve ending danced beneath her skin.

And she wanted him. Could finally admit how much she wanted him. But she pulled back slightly and whispered, “Is this a mistake, Caleb?”

He kissed her right cheek, her left, and pulled her ball cap off, tossed it to the ground. “Do we care?” He flicked his tongue across her lips.

“No,” she breathed. “No, we don’t care. But in case we’re wrong, let’s make it a doozy.” She leaned into him and ran her hands up his back and hooked them over his shoulders. She had never felt such urgency before. If she didn’t get closer to him, she might die.

It was only sex. That’s what she told herself. Just two willing bodies coming together to scratch an itch. It didn’t have to be a big deal, and it wouldn’t. It was just sex.

And it was going to be stupendous, she thought with a secret smile.

She raised one leg and rubbed it against his outer thigh, trying to get closer.

Sloan got the message and was grateful for it. He wasn’t sure who took whom down, but the next thing he knew they were rolling in the grass and he had his hand on her breast. At long last. And the feel of her was infinitely better than in his dream. Softer, firmer, fuller. Real.

“I want your clothes off.”

Caleb thought he’d spoken aloud what was in his mind, then realized that was Melanie’s voice. He laughed, delighted. “You won’t get an objection out of me.”

She tugged at the snaps on his western shirt and they popped open. “Is that a fact?”

“As long as I get to return the favor.”

Melanie swallowed. “Be my guest.”

She was afraid to look away from his eyes, afraid she would wake up and find this was only a dream. Sunshine, the smell of autumn grass, a warm southerly breeze, and Caleb.

Don’t let me wake up.

While she pulled open his shirt he worked on her buttons. But he was much too slow for her. She rose to her knees and pulled him with her, where she promptly stripped him of his shirt and took off her own.

Caleb managed, but just barely, to refrain from simply pouncing on her. She was suddenly so confident, so bold and sure of herself, so magnificent with the sunlight pouring over her pale skin, her dark hair. She took his breath away. With hands that weren’t as steady as they should have been, he reached behind her and unhooked her plain white bra.

She felt the air first, then the sun on flesh that never saw the sun. Then Caleb’s hands cupped her, the first man’s hands to touch her this way in a long, long time. She closed her eyes and felt her breasts swell to fill his palms.

“Oh, Caleb,” she whispered.

“You’re beautiful,” he told her.

She shook her head. “I’m not, but you make me feel that way.”

“You are. Beautiful to see, to touch.” He dipped his head down and teased one nipple with his tongue. “To taste.” He took the bud into his hot, wet mouth and suckled.

A deep shudder tore through her and suddenly she was on fire, burning alive from the inside out, and only Caleb could save her. She arched toward him and felt the grass cushion her back as he took her down again to the ground.

When he took his mouth away an involuntary cry of protest escaped her lips.

But he didn’t leave, not really, for he kissed his way across her chest to the other nipple. It was torture of the most exquisite, most pleasurable kind.

She went wild. She had to have him inside her. Now. This instant. But there were still too damn many clothes separating them. She tried to toe off her boots, but she knew better. It took two hands or a bootjack to free her feet.

Caleb felt her struggle and chuckled against her breast. “Damn boots.”

“Help me.”

They rolled together, tugging and laughing and cursing the foibles of well-fitting boots. Leather flew this way and that, followed swiftly by socks. Melanie fumbled her belt buckle open and reached for her zipper.

“Wait.” Caleb pressed his hand over hers. “Let me.” He pushed her gently back to the grass and took his time, tugging the zipper down slowly, one notch at a time, while watching her. He was stunned, humbled, that he could bring her as much pleasure as he saw on her face.

He tugged her jeans down and off, and with them her white cotton panties. No frills for his Mel.

He hadn’t known that plain, white cotton could make his heart pound like a hammer in his chest.

She squirmed on the ground, reaching for his belt buckle, but he was too busy admiring the pale length of her long, long legs to be of any help.

“So perfect,” he murmured.

“Off.” She freed his buckle, lowered his zipper and thrust her hands inside the back of his jeans. Her fingers dug into his flesh. The small pricks of her fingernails shot fire straight to his loins.

She was rushing him, and it was important that with her, for her, he did not rush. He knew this woman. She could face anything that came at her, except her own feelings. Hadn’t she just told him that she had outgrown her feelings for Sloan years before she’d been willing to admit it?

If Caleb wanted her to have feelings for him, he was going to have to make her face them. She was going to have to face that there was more between them now than friendship. And she wouldn’t want to. He had his work cut out for him. But it started here and now, on the grass in an open pasture in the sunlight. No secrets. No more hiding.

“Wait,” he said. “Let me look at you.”

“You can look at me with your jeans off.”

“I can.” He nipped at her lips. “But with my jeans off I’m more likely to do something else.”

She grinned up at him. “That’s the idea.”

He chuckled. “Don’t be in such a hurry.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You wouldn’t start something you don’t intend to finish, would you?”

“Not finish? Are you out of your mind?”

She smiled again, but it was tinged with wry humor. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Oh, that’ll cost you.” He buried his mouth against her neck and made growling noises.

Melanie shrieked with laughter. She’d never laughed before while having sex. Of course, they weren’t exactly having sex yet, but they were getting to it. If she could just hurry Caleb along before things got too intense. She could already feel her emotions bubbling, fighting each other, trying to overtake her. Sex wasn’t supposed to be so complicated. At least, it never had been for her.

This, with the laughter and the yearning in Caleb’s eyes, the tenderness in his touch, was something new, something scary.

Her mind raced in a thousand directions, seeking a way to get them back on an even keel. The laughter was fine. Great in fact. But the yearning… that wouldn’t do. That way lay disaster.

Then he cupped his hand between her legs and her mind blanked. What was he doing to her? Why should his touch, above any other she’d ever known, be the one to melt her bones?

She reached to push down his jeans. Caleb helped her, and as soon as he was naked she rolled him to his back and straddled his hips. “Now.” She grinned down at him.

“Not yet.” With a twist of his hips he had her on her back before she knew it. “Let me in, Melanie.”

“Let you?” She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close. “I’m about to beg you.”

He traced a finger across her brow. “What are you afraid of?”

“Nothing. I’m afraid of dying before I feel you inside me.”

Her admission was enough to make his blood surge. “I want inside you. Here,” he said, cupping a hand between her legs. “And here.” He kissed her forehead. “And here.” He kissed between her breasts, over her heart. “I want it all. Let me in, Mel, let me in.”

“Caleb.” She gave a frustrated groan and arched her hips against his hand.

Caleb knew what she wanted. He wanted the same thing, wanted to bury himself deep inside her and stroke until they both flew apart, together. He nudged her legs apart and settled between her thighs.

Melanie took in a breath and held it. To feel him there, between her legs, his weight covering her hips, was like nothing she’d ever known. Hot shivers raced over her skin and through her muscles. Every nerve ending in her body danced beneath her skin. But it wasn’t enough. She wanted more. She wanted him.

And then he was there, easing inside her, stretching her, filling her with his hot, hard length in a way she had never before been filled. She raised her knees to take more of him.

With a groan, Caleb pushed in to the hilt. She was so tight, so hot and wet, it was all he could do to keep from pulling out and pounding into her again and again until he lost his mind, until he made her scream with pleasure.

He thought maybe he had already lost his mind, for he didn’t move. “Let me in, Melanie.”

Breathless, she said, “Are you kidding?”

“I don’t mean just here.” He nudged his hips forward. “I mean here.” He kissed her forehead, and between her breasts. “And here.”

Melanie arched her hips. “Caleb, please.”

“Let me in.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do.”

“It’s just sex,” she said.

“It’s not, and you know it.” He trailed kisses across one cheek, then the other. “We mean more than that to each other. We deserve more than that from each other. Let me in.”

“I don’t know how,” she cried in frustration, her eyes shut tight. If he didn’t move soon she was going to explode.

“Just let go. Stop trying to think your way through this and just feel. Just feel, Mel.”

“I can’t,” she cried, twisting her head away from his lips.

Caleb kissed his way down her neck, her chest, to the tip of one breast. She was so soft there, but for the hard tip. And sweet, like dark honey. “Just let go.”

And she did. Something inside her, a tight control she hadn’t been aware of, melted away under the heat of his mouth and in his eyes. Suddenly she was soaring.

“Caleb,” she whispered in wonder.

“Look at me,” he asked. “Let me see your eyes.”

She opened her eyes and met his dark brown gaze.

He saw there what he’d wanted to see. A new openness, mixed with deep emotion, something more than just heat. “Oh, yeah.” He took her mouth and devoured it, with lips and tongue and teeth. The need inside him burned, took over. His hands roamed everywhere, eager and greedy to feel every inch of her. His hips flexed, slowly at first, then faster and faster as she moaned and urged him on.

She took him higher than he’d ever been, meeting him thrust for thrust, gasping breath for gasping breath, pounding heartbeat for pounding heartbeat. Harder. Faster.

Melanie felt the pleasure and the pressure and the fire build until she thought she couldn’t bear it, yet she never wanted it to end.

But it did, with an explosion of sensation and emotions that started low and deep, where she and Caleb were joined, and radiated out in waves, taking her with it and flinging her off the edge of the earth. She screamed in sheer release.

And then he was there with her, Caleb was with her, thrusting deep inside with a mighty groan, holding her close, keeping her safe. Sheltering her as they tumbled through space together.

The warmth of the sun on his back tempted Caleb to lie there forever. Two things kept him from giving in and falling asleep. First was that he knew his weight must be crushing Melanie. Second was the dampness on his shoulder where she pressed her face.

“Melanie?” He started to push himself up, but she clung to him with a quiet sob.

“No,” she said. “Don’t look at me.”

“Mel…” He started to raise his hips, to pull out of her and relieve her of his weight.

“No.” She tightened her legs around him. “Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me yet.”

The words were so sweet to his ears, but for the tears in her voice. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

This time she laughed. “Nothing’s wrong. Nothing.” Her arms squeezed more tightly around his neck. Half laughing, half crying, she gave a final squeeze then threw her arms over her head. “Nothing has ever been so right.”

Caleb sagged with relief. “You had me scared. I thought… I don’t know what I thought.”

Inside, Melanie was shaking. Everything within her had shifted somehow, opened, leaving her feeling vulnerable to him in a new and frightening way. She couldn’t let him see. She had to put some distance between them at once.

Letting out a loud sigh, she scrubbed her face dry, then slapped him on the rear. “Let me up. I’ve got a lame horse to get home and tend to.”

Caleb rolled to her side. “I never knew you had such a romantic streak.”

She let out a snort, half laughter, half disgust, and rose onto her knees to start gathering her scattered clothes. “Romantic, hell. What’s the big deal? It was just sex.”

“The hell it was.” He took her arm and pulled her around to face him. “It was more than that, and you know it.”

Melanie shivered. There was more than anger in his eyes. Mere anger she could deal with. But hurt looked out at her from those brown depths. Hurt she had caused.

She felt small and mean. After what the two of them had just shared, there should have been soft words and lingering glances. But the fear in her was bigger than her conscience or her need for reassurance from her lover. Or his need for something from her.

“Okay,” she said, pulling her arm free and picking up her underwear from the grass. “It was really great sex.”

He yanked her panties from her grasp. “What are you afraid of?”

“Right now?” She grabbed up her jeans and tugged them on. “Sunburn. I said it was great sex. So great, in fact,” she added, picking up her bra and putting it on, “that after we get back and I take care of Jack, we can do it again, if you want.”

Her casual crude remark left Caleb speechless, but not for long. “I don’t believe you.”

“I’m sorry.” She whipped her shirt on, then sat down to put on her socks and boots, all the time refusing to meet his gaze. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I told you this was a bad idea.”

Caleb didn’t trust himself to speak, for fear he would say something he wouldn’t be able to take back. His best friend, the woman he had just taken as his lover, was lying through her pearly-white teeth. She must be badly shaken to be pulling a stunt like this.

Tight-lipped, he gathered up his own clothes. “If you’re in a hurry, don’t wait on me. I can walk back.”

“Don’t be silly. It was my horse that went lame. I’ll walk. It’ll only take about ten minutes.”

“Oh, yeah, right.” He put on his socks first, then tugged on his jeans while she put on her boots. “Like I’m gonna ride off and leave you afoot.”

“I don’t know why not.” She stood up and stomped her feet more firmly into her boots. “I would you.”

“We’ve already covered what a lousy liar you are, more than once lately, so give it a rest, will you?”

“Jack and I are walking back,” she said. “If you and Blazer want to walk with us, that’s fine.”

Melanie had been accurate about it taking only ten minutes to walk back to the house, out of sight until they topped the rise. Back at the barn, Caleb tied Blazer’s reins to the corral fence.

“You want me to saddle you another horse? We’ve still got time to bring the herd up here before dark.”

Melanie squinted up at the sun to judge the time for herself. It was nearly noon. She shook her head. “I’m hungry. I’ll decide after lunch. Go ahead and turn Blazer out in the corral for now.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Melanie eyed him carefully. Dammit, she’d known if they took their kissing any further they would gum up the works. Yes, ma’am, she mimicked silently. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” He untied Blazer’s reins and led him toward the barn to unsaddle him. “Nothing at all. You’re the one calling all the shots.”

“That’s right,” she said. “I am.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He took his horse into the barn.

Melanie followed with Jack and they unsaddled their mounts. Caleb rubbed down his horse while Melanie got the liniment from the tack room and spent nearly ten minutes rubbing it into Jack’s fetlock. Then she led him outside where she turned on the hose and ran cold water over the injury for another ten minutes.

“There, Jack, that will help, I promise. And we’ll do it again in a little while.” She would repeat the process three or four times a day for as long as three days if need be. If he wasn’t recovered by then she would have to talk to the vet about anti-inflammatory drugs.

Meanwhile, to help things along she went to the house and filled a large Ziploc bag with crushed ice. She took this out to the barn and tied it around Jack’s ankle. He probably wouldn’t leave it in place very long, but every minute it stayed on would help.

With the ice pack firmly in place, she gave him a rubdown and a handful of sweet feed.

By the time she and Caleb both finished, they had shared fewer than a dozen words, and each of them only out of necessity. And each one bitten off tersely.

When they finished, she turned toward the big barn doors. “If you want to eat, come to the house.”

Caleb would have told her to take her offer of food and shove it, but the cell phone clipped to his belt chose that moment to chirp.

One of them had just been saved, he thought, by the bell.

He unclipped the phone and answered. It was Justin.

“You coming home anytime soon?” Justin demanded. “Work’s piling up around here.”

“Work’s always piling up,” Caleb said easily. “What’s new since last night when Sloan told me everything was fine?”

“Cal just called. He’ll be here in an hour.”

Cal was their cousin from Georgia. “With the mare?”

“You got it. You coming?”

Caleb watched Melanie march stiff-backed toward the house. Stomped was more like it. A little more distance between the two of them seemed like a good idea just then. Besides, Cal was bringing in the new mare Sloan had been wanting. Big brother didn’t know it yet, but Caleb and Justin had gone together and bought her for him as a wedding present. They’d hoped to have her home in time to present her to Sloan and Emily at the party last Saturday, but that hadn’t been possible. Now that she was finally coming, Caleb had to be on hand.

“Yeah,” he told Justin. “I’ll be there in twenty.”

He ended the call, reclipped the phone onto his belt and caught up with Melanie in the kitchen.

“I’ve got to run home for a couple of hours,” he said.

“Fine. You don’t need to come back. I’m sure Daddy will be home this evening.”

Caleb ground his teeth together. “Are you deliberately trying to hack me off, or does it just come naturally?”

She raised her eyebrows. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Caleb stared at her and shook his head slowly. “We’re not finished with this.”

“Oh, I think we are.”

“Not by a long shot, pal. I’ll be back. Count on it. Meanwhile, do us both a favor and stick close to the house in case you get any more unwanted visitors.”

She smirked. “Are you kidding? I’m about to get rid of one.”

“Look.” He jabbed a finger toward her face. “I don’t know what’s eating you, but we’re going to have this out when I get back.”

He didn’t give her a chance to answer. He grabbed his wallet and keys from the counter, then spun on his heel and strode swiftly outside to his pickup. When he climbed into the seat he tossed his wallet down beside him.

His wallet. Where he kept his driver’s license, credit card, voter’s registration. And the condom he always carried, just in case.

Well, hell.

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Chapter Six

The minute Caleb drove across the cattle guard at the end of the PR drive—and Melanie knew when that minute came because she rushed to the front door and watched him drive away—she went to the kitchen sink to scrub away the stink of horse liniment. By the time she finished, her skin was raw. But the smell of liniment was gone.

The smell of Caleb, however, was another matter. He was on her skin, on her clothes, in her hair.

Oh, God, what had she done?

The tears came from nowhere, shocking her with their intensity. She hated crying, and here she was, for the second time in one day, sobbing her eyes out. Dammit.

But she couldn’t seem to stop. She wrapped her arms around her middle, for comfort, she supposed, and leaned over the sink, her tears so thick they blocked her vision.

He had overwhelmed her, made her open herself up to him, open her heart to him the way she never had before, not for any man. Not even for herself. And it hurt.

But she had hurt him, too, and she hadn’t known she could, not over plain, ordinary sex. Not even over spectacular sex. They were friends. They should not have been able to breach each other’s internal barriers.

And dammit, she thought with a sniff, she should not still be crying. Crying solved nothing; all it did was stop up her nose and turn her face red and splotchy.

After a few more sniffs she turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on her face. Jack had probably torn off his ice pack by now. She took a stack of gel cold packs from the pantry and put them in the freezer for use later, then went back out to the barn to see about her horse.

At the Cherokee Rose, Caleb parked beside the barn where Justin and Sloan stood waiting for him.

“About damn time you decided to put in an appearance,” Sloan said tersely.

“If you needed me,” Caleb said calmly, “you knew where I was.”

“I knew.” Sloan eyed him carefully. “What I want to know is why. What are you up to with Melanie?”

Justin elbowed his way between them and faced Caleb. “Are you taking advantage of her?”

“Oh, yeah, that’s right, jump on me. Get your minds out of the gutter, both of you.” Never mind that his own had been there for the better part of the week. “It so happens she’s all alone out there on the PR with no one to help her. I’ve been giving her a hand.”

“What do you mean, alone?” Sloan demanded. “Where’s her dad, where are their men?”

“They’re having trouble. Her dad’s gambling again and they had to let the men go. And that’s probably not for public consumption.”

“Why the hell didn’t she say something sooner?” Justin demanded.

“Why the hell didn’t any of us notice sooner?” Sloan asked with disgust.

“Well, it’s done.” Caleb shifted. He thought he heard the rumble of a truck engine approaching. “I’m helping out, and when Ralph Pruitt shows his face again I intend to straighten him out, one way or another.”

Justin gave a sharp tug on the brim of his hat. “You need any help in that department, I’ll be more than happy to lend a hand. He’s got no business leaving her with all that work and responsibility. But right now, we’ve got something else to do.”

“Who’s this?” Sloan motioned toward the pickup and horse trailer coming up the driveway. “Somebody must be lost.”

Caleb and Justin shared a grin.

“Not exactly,” Justin said. “I’ll go get Emily and Grandmother. They’ll want to see this.”

“See what?” Sloan demanded as Justin ran off toward the house. “Hey, that looks like… is that Cal? What’s he doing here?”

Caleb kept quiet until the others arrived and Cal stepped out of the pickup.

“Hey, guys.”

“Cal?” Sloan strode forward to shake hands with their cousin. “What the hell are you doing here? How long can you stay?”

“Save your questions, big guy.” Justin slapped Sloan on the back. “Let’s unload that trailer first.”

When Sloan saw the horse in the trailer, he didn’t have to be told who it was. He recognized the mare he’d fallen in love with last year in Kentucky.

“Cherokee Beauty,” he breathed. “Where are you taking her?” he asked Cal.

“Here,” Cal said.

“Here? What do you mean, here?”

Caleb and Justin shared a look, then laughed. “Happy wedding,” Caleb said, putting a hand on Sloan’s shoulder.

Sloan blinked. “What?”

“You heard me. She’s yours. Yours and Emily’s. A belated wedding present.”

Sloan appeared stunned. “Man. She’s ours? No fooling?”

It wasn’t often that Sloan Chisholm was taken by surprise. Caleb was pleased and proud to have been in on the surprise that so obviously held his brother in awe.

In Caleb’s book, Sloan was the best. He worked like a dog to make sure everyone he loved was taken care of. It felt good, damn good, to be able to do something good for him for a change.

Having just washed another application of liniment off, Melanie was standing with her back to the kitchen window, drying her hands, when she heard a vehicle drive up to the back of the house.

She groaned. She wasn’t ready to face Caleb yet.

Outside, a car door slammed.

Melanie threw her towel onto the counter. Ready or not, her time seemed to have run out. She turned toward the back door just as it flew open.

“I’m home!”

Melanie gaped. It took her a moment to fight her way through the shock, the relief, to find her voice. “Mama!”

“Baby!” Fayrene Pruitt swept her daughter up in a tight hug.

Melanie hugged her back, fiercely glad to see for herself that her mother was all right. In the brief glimpse she’d had before her mother reached her, Melanie had noted that even discounting the cosmetics, her mother’s color was good, her eyes clear and filled with delight.

Mama was okay. Thank God, Mama was okay, and she was home.

But as she stood there in her mother’s beloved arms Melanie became aware that something was different. Her mother had finally lost the extra weight she’d been threatening to shed for years. Melanie pushed back and grinned.

“Mama, you’re all skinny.” At least compared to her former shape. Fayrene had always been a little on the pudgy side. Now she was trim and curvy.

Fayrene grinned. “Well, not all of me.” She wagged her shoulders forward and back.

“Mama, you look great. You’re—” Then Melanie saw what was truly different about her mother’s shape, and she gaped. Her eyes felt ready to pop clear out of her head. “Mama! What have you done?”

Where once a nice, comfortable set of A-cup breasts had rested reliably, there now sat perched the grandest pair of D-cups Melanie had ever seen.

“Mama!”

Fayrene threw back her head and laughed. “You like ’em?”

“What have you done?”

Fayrene held her arms in the air and danced around in a circle. She wore blue jeans that looked painted on, a silver concho belt and a red, Western style blouse with white piping and, along the yoke, fringe, which only accented her new breasts.

“This is what you had done at the Scottsdale Clinic?”

Fayrene patted her new breasts. “They did a really nice job, too.”

All the worry, all the fear for her mother’s life, and she’d had a boob job? Melanie didn’t know whether to laugh, cry or throttle her mother.

She did all three. She started laughing, hysterically, then went for her mother’s throat. “I could strangle you.” Tears came through the laughter. “I thought you were sick or dying. Dammit, Mama, you scared the daylights out of me.”

Fayrene stepped back and gaped. “Why on earth would you think something like that?”

“What am I supposed to think when you charge ten thousand dollars on the credit card at a place called Scottsdale Clinic? And then you don’t return my phone calls? And while we’re on the subject, how in the hell are we supposed to pay that bill?”

Fayrene’s mouth opened and closed like a fish sucking air. “What do you mean?” she finally managed to say.

“Hell-o-o.” Melanie tapped a finger against her mother’s temple. “When you charge on the credit card, I have to come up with the cash to pay the credit card company.”

Fayrene shook her finger in Melanie’s face. “Don’t you talk to me that way, young lady. I’m still your mother.”

“I know you are, and I love you, and I respect you. But between you and Daddy—”

“What about your daddy?”

Melanie shook her head and turned away. “He’s—” She paused at the sound of another vehicle approaching the house. She glanced out the window.

“He’s what, baby?”

“He’s here,” Melanie said. “He just pulled up.” A man was in the pickup with him, and another man followed in a sedan.

Just great, Melanie thought. What a time for her dad to bring company home with him.

If she had been counting to ten she wouldn’t have finished before her father burst through the back door. “Mel?” Then he saw his wife. His eyes popped. “Good grief! Fayrene? Holy smokes! What the hell have you done to yourself?”

“Well,” Fayrene said, propping her hands on her hips and thrusting out her new, more-than-ample chest, “it looks like I finally have your attention. For once.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Ralph demanded.

“Wait a minute,” Melanie said, stunned. “You don’t mean to tell me that you did this just to get Daddy’s attention.”

“It worked, didn’t it?” Fayrene smirked. “Look at him. He can’t take his eyes off me.”

“He’s staring at your boobs.”

“Yes.” Fayrene’s smile was pure feline. “He is.”

“I am not.” Ralph jerked his gaze away from his wife’s chest for the first time since entering the house. “Okay, I was,” he grumbled. “Hell’s bells, look at ’em? Who wouldn’t stare?”

“Daddy, for heaven’s sake.”

“No, baby,” Fayrene said. “It’s quite all right. This is exactly how I’d hoped he’d react.”

“Good God, you did do it for him,” Melanie cried.

“Of course. Why else would a woman do such a thing?”

Melanie groaned in frustration. She and her mother had entirely different personalities and ways of thinking. Thank goodness.

Outside the back door the man who had ridden with her father started whistling.

Melanie’s father jumped as if jabbed by a cattle prod. “A couple of guys came with me.”

“I can see that,” Melanie said. “Who are they? Why are they here?”

“I made a deal.”

“You’ve been gambling again,” Fayrene accused.

Ralph glared at Melanie.

“Don’t look at me,” she declared. “I didn’t say a word.”

Fayrene huffed. “She didn’t have to. You look guilty as hell, the place looks run-down and our baby girl is griping about money. If that isn’t enough, I recognize a couple of goons when I see them,” she added, nodding toward the two men outside. “What have you got yourself into this time, Ralphie?”

Ralph pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped it across his forehead. “Look, you two. I owe these guys’ boss a lot of money, money Melanie says we don’t have. I made a deal with him to clear my slate, but you can’t talk about it, either of you, to anyone. Not ever, do you hear me? Not ever.”

Melanie had never seen her father so distraught. He looked as if he might throw up any minute. “Let’s sit at the table and have some iced tea while you tell us about it,” she suggested.

Ralph seized the idea like a lifeline. However, he wasn’t so distracted by his problems that he didn’t have the presence of mind to pull out the chair at the foot of the table for her mother before seating himself at the head of the table.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Ralph said to his wife as Melanie filled glasses with ice.

“I can’t believe you’ve been gambling,” Fayrene said softly.

While Melanie poured tea, her father stared down at his folded hands and blushed.

Good for you, Mama, Melanie thought. Maybe her mother could reach Daddy, when Melanie had been unable to.

“Okay,” Melanie said, giving them their glasses and taking a seat between them. “What’s this deal you made?”

Ralph stalled by taking a long, deep gulp of tea. Finally he put the glass down and swallowed. “I made a deal with Bruno.”

“Oh, God,” Fayrene cried. “You owe money to somebody named Bruno? I suppose his last name is Corleone or Gotti or something.”

Ralph rolled his eyes. “His last name, Miss Smarty-Pants, is McGuire. Bruno McGuire. Now just hush up, both of you, and let me tell this. Sometime late tonight somebody’s going to drive a pickup or truck or something in and park it in the pasture behind the barn. A little while after that, Bruno and some of his people will come, split up the cargo and leave. In a couple of weeks they’ll do it all again, and my debt will be wiped out.”

Melanie did not like the sound of this. “What kind of cargo has to be driven in and split up in the middle of a pasture, in the middle of the night?”

“I don’t know,” her father said. “I didn’t ask, and you won’t, either. We don’t need to know. All we need to do is stay in the house until it’s all over with.”

“What kind of trouble are you getting us into with this deal?” she demanded.

“I’m keeping my kneecaps whole,” he barked back. “Don’t give me any grief on this, little girl. Just keep quiet and go along with it.”

“What are the two goons outside for?” she demanded, far from satisfied with his response.

Ralph shifted in his chair and looked decidedly uncomfortable. “George is going to wait here so he can call Bruno when the shipment arrives.”

“What about the other one?”

Ralph flushed. “That’s Little Donnie.”

Melanie leaned sideways to look out the door at the two-hundred-fifty-pound ball of lard leaning against the front fender of his sedan. “Little Donnie?”

“Yeah, well. He’s gonna park out across the driveway and make sure nobody drives in except the truck they’re expecting.”

“Oh, that’s great.” Melanie slapped her palms onto the table. “That’s just great. In other words, we’re prisoners here. In our own house.”

“Now, little girl, don’t—”

George tapped on the back door. “Hi, folks. Mind if I come in?” Without waiting for an answer, he pulled open the storm door and let himself in.

Melanie glared at her father. Anger didn’t come close to defining the fury she felt at his bringing these goons into their home. Neither did terror. For all she knew, these guys were here to kill them once they got what they wanted from them.

The first problem arose when Melanie announced she was going to the barn to give Jack’s ankle another treatment.

George had other ideas. “Sorry, miss, but you’ll want to stay in the house for the rest of the day.”

“Look—George, is it?”

“That’s right.” The man grinned like an idiot.

He might very well be an idiot, Melanie thought, but he had mean eyes. And a windbreaker. Gray slacks and blue shirt, and a navy blue windbreaker. On television, the only reason a guy wore a windbreaker when it was warm enough to do without one was to hide a gun.

She shook her head, certain she was being ridiculous. Even if he did have mean eyes.

“Well, look, George,” she said. “I’ve got a lame horse out there who needs care. If I don’t get out there and tend to him once more today, then three times again tomorrow, he could become permanently lame. Since none of us wants that to happen, I’ll just go take care of him and be back in a half hour or so.”

George motioned to her parents. “Then we’ll all go with you.”

Melanie glanced down at the man’s shiny, black patent-leather shoes and smirked. “Suit yourself.” She’d have to be sure and find a nice fresh pile of manure for him to step in. Too bad there weren’t any cattle at the barn. A juicy cow patty would be just the thing.

George proved adept at stepping around the horse droppings in the barn, but there was nothing he could do to avoid the bits of straw and alfalfa that floated through the air and clung to his once-clean slacks.

And Melanie made sure to splatter a little water on his patent leathers.

She started to give him a nice dousing with liniment, but decided against it when she realized she might very well be stuck in the same house with him for hours.

She would like to send him packing. Getting herself and her parents into the house and locking George out would be simple enough. But her father had asked her to behave. He wanted to do this deal to wipe out his debt. Since she was the one who had cut off his cash, rendering him unable to pay up, she owed him her cooperation. And her loyalty.

Back in the house Melanie scrubbed liniment from her hands for the third time that day.

“You did good with Jack,” her father told her. “It’s not a bad sprain. He’ll be good as new in another day or two.”

“You think so?” No one knew more about taking care of animals than her father.

“Yep.”

The phone rang. Ralph picked it up. “Caleb. Howdy. Sure, she’s here. Hold on.” He held the phone out toward Melanie. “It’s Caleb, for you.”

The sound of his name. That was all it took to make her pulse flutter in her throat. “I’ll, uh, take it in my bedroom.”

After she picked up the extension in her room and her father had hung up the one in the kitchen, she closed her bedroom door.

“Your dad came back,” Caleb said.

“That’s not even the half of it.” She forgot, for a moment, that she was angry with him and the reason for it. Instead she remembered only their friendship, the safety and security she felt in being able to tell him anything and know he would never judge her. “Mama came home today, too.”

“She’s all right?”

Melanie chuckled. “Well, she’s healthy.”

“You must be relieved.”

“I would be more relieved if Daddy hadn’t brought two creeps home with him.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I wish. I—”

Her bedroom door flew open.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded harshly.

“You need to come out here with the rest of us.”

“Listen, you creep.” Oh, this man had way overstepped. “You get out of here right this minute and I won’t rip out your tongue. But you so much as look at my bedroom again and I’ll peel the hide off your face with my teeth.”

On the other end of the phone line Caleb stiffened. One of her father’s goons was in her bedroom?

“Melanie?” he said. When she didn’t answer, he repeated himself, louder.

All he heard was her sharp “Get out.” Then, incredibly, the line went dead.

Alarmed, Caleb hung up and redialed. The phone rang a dozen times without an answer.

Maybe he had misdialed. He tried again, his palms starting to sweat. He didn’t like this. Not one damn bit.

Still no answer.

“That cuts it,” he muttered. He grabbed his hat and started out the front door. “Something’s going on over at the PR. I’m headed over there.”

Melanie gaped, outraged. George had not only unplugged her bedroom extension from the wall, but he’d surprised her with a hard yank that jerked the phone from her hand.

“Hey!”

Before she realized what he was doing, he’d rushed through every room in the house—there weren’t that many of them—and gathered up all the phones. There weren’t that many of those, either; Melanie’s room, the kitchen and one on the desk in the den. He put them in a pile on the floor next to the sofa and announced there would be no more calls in or out, without his approval.

“Did you agree to this?” Melanie hissed at her father.

Ralph flushed and looked away. “Just go along with it. It’s only for this one night.”

“And another in a couple of weeks. What about the time in between? They’re going to trust us all that time, but not tonight?”

Her father opened his mouth, then shut it and shook his head, saying nothing.

Caleb broke every posted speed limit between the Cherokee Rose and the Pruitt Ranch. On the way he tried twice more to call her from his cell phone. There was still no answer. In frustration he tossed the phone onto the seat beside him and gripped the steering wheel.

He barreled up the PR’s gravel driveway and had to slam on the breaks when a brown sedan pulled out from the yard and blocked his way.

What the hell?

A short, round man—really round, Caleb thought—climbed laboriously from the car and waddled over to the pickup.

Melanie had said her dad had brought home two creeps. One was, or had been, in the house. Was this creep number two?

“Hi there,” the man said.

“Afternoon,” Caleb offered, barely refraining from swearing. “Mind moving your car?”

When the fat man chuckled, everything on him from cheeks to belly quivered. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. The family’s having a private evening together. They’re not accepting visitors just now. You’ll need to come back tomorrow.”

“Not accepting—no, never mind. I have business with them that can’t wait. I’m asking you, politely, to move your car.”

The man’s eyes narrowed, and Caleb saw the hard meanness in them. “And I’m telling you, politely, you’ll have to leave.”

Caleb glanced toward the house, tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “I guess we’re through being polite. Tell you what. You move your car and you can keep that nice pretty paint job. Because I’ll tell you, I’m going up to the house, whether you move your car or not.”

“Whoa, now,” the man said jovially. “No need to make threats, mister.”

“Threats?” Caleb bared his teeth in a parody of a smile. “That wasn’t a threat, that was a fact.” Without giving the man time for a reaction, Caleb spun his steering wheel to the right and pressed the gas pedal. There was almost enough room between the front bumper of the sedan and the barbed-wire fence a few feet beyond the driveway.

Caleb would be damned before he would take out a neighbor’s fence. His pickup could be repaired. He didn’t much care what happened to the sedan. He drove through. The force of the sturdy pickup shoved the sedan aside with an audible crunch and screech of metal on metal.

The fat man bellowed in outrage.

Caleb ground his teeth and slung gravel all the way to the back door of the house. Ralph Pruitt’s pickup was there, along with a car with Arizona plates. Fayrene’s, he assumed.

The fat guy was huffing and puffing his way after him, waving his arms and hollering.

Caleb got out of the pickup and strode purposely to the back door, intent on getting to Melanie as fast as he could. The door opened before he could reach for the knob.

The first thing he saw was the gun.

Chapter Seven

When Melanie saw Caleb walk through the door, urged along by George’s gun, her breath caught. She wished, desperately for his sake, that he had stayed home. She was chagrined, maybe even a little ashamed, to admit to herself how glad she was that he hadn’t. Just having him in the same room steadied her, made her feel safer, more secure.

In that moment when their eyes met and she read his concern for her, she forgot that she wanted him at arm’s length. She wanted him close. Wanted his arms around her.

But that couldn’t be. Not here, not now, not in front of her parents and the creep named George.

In all honesty, even if she and Caleb were alone— especially if they were alone—she wouldn’t let him get close enough to put his arms around her.

* * *

Caleb stood in the familiar kitchen where he’d had breakfast that very morning and silently cursed himself. Damn his hide. He’d known there was trouble at the PR, yet he’d been stupid enough to leave his pistol and his cell phone in the pickup abody Chapternd walk right into a trap.

The man with the gun was tall and lean, with olive skin and dark eyes that held that same mean look as the fat man’s had.

Caleb took a step forward and stopped. “Mrs. Pruitt, it’s good to…” Mercy sakes, she sure looked… different. Even with a gun on him he had to struggle to keep from staring at her chest. “… see you.” He gave her a nod. “Mr. Pruitt.” He nodded at Melanie’s father. “Melanie.” He nodded to her, too. “Is everybody all right?”

“We’re fine,” Melanie said.

Caleb eyed her. “I knew you were mad when I left earlier, but I didn’t think you were this mad.” He cut his gaze toward the gun still pointing in his direction.

Ralph Pruitt cleared his throat. “George, Bruno didn’t say anything about guns.”

“Let’s all go into the living room,” George said, “and have a seat.”

Caleb gave serious thought to tackling the man. If it had been just the two of them he might have done it. But that gun could easily go off. Melanie or one of her parents could get hurt.

He went to the living room with the others, as ordered. The first thing he noticed was the pile of telephones beside the sofa.

“All we have to do,” George told them, “is watch a little television and behave ourselves. Ralph’s new business partner has a little business to transact later on tonight. Little Donnie and I are just here to make sure nobody gets in the way and gets hurt. See? Simple. Now, sit.”

And so they sat. Ralph, Fayrene and George took the sofa, leaving the recliner and wingback for Melanie and Caleb.

“I told you not to come back,” Melanie muttered.

“What do you think of my new shape, Caleb?” Fayrene asked.

Melanie choked.

Ralph made a funny squealing sound.

George hooted.

Caleb chuckled and winked. “Looking good, Mrs. P. Real good. New hairdo?”

“Ha!” Fayrene laughed hysterically and slapped her knee.

Ralph scowled. “You blind, boy?”

“New hairdo,” Fayrene shrieked. “That’s a good one, Caleb.”

“Good grief.” Melanie snatched the remote control from the coffee table. “Give me that.” She called up the satellite-TV on-screen program guide to look for something to watch. There wasn’t a person in the room she was currently interested in talking to. They were all lunatics.

“I don’t suppose anyone wants to tell me what this is all about,” Caleb said.

“The less you know,” George told him, “the better off you are.”

“Now why,” Caleb said lazily, “did I know you were going to say that?”

After a long silence, during which everyone looked at everyone else, looked everywhere but at the gun in George’s hand, Ralph finally cleared his throat.

“What brought you here, Caleb?” he asked.

Caleb glanced to Melanie, but her expression was closed to him. Caleb shrugged. “I was on the phone with Melanie and we got cut off. I tried calling back several times, but got no answer. I was concerned.”

Ralph nodded and looked down at his hands. “It’s good of you to come all the way over here to check on us.”

“You should know,” Caleb said with another glance at Melanie, “that except for a couple of hours today, I’ve been here since Monday night.”

Ralph bobbed his head another couple of times, then snapped to attention, his eyes going wide. “Here?” he demanded. “Since Monday?”

“That’s right.”

George hooted again. “This is getting good. What happened?”

Melanie’s expression wasn’t closed now, it was disgusted.

“Alone?” Fayrene asked carefully. With a hint of craftiness that made Caleb wince. “You and Melanie have been here alone, together, since Monday?”

Caleb leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “That’s right.”

“Caleb.” Melanie’s voice was almost a wail. She flopped back in her chair and threw an arm over her eyes.

“This is better than a soap opera,” George offered with an eager grin.

Melanie lowered her arm and snarled. “Shut up, George.”

“Well, well.” Fayrene arched an eyebrow. Speculation danced in her eyes as she glanced from Caleb to Melanie and back again. Then she jabbed an elbow into her husband’s side. “Where have you been since Mon day?”

“I had business,” Ralph said defensively.

“So you went off and left our daughter alone with Caleb?”

“I didn’t know Caleb was here.”

“No,” Caleb agreed. “But you knew you were leaving her here to do the work of three or four men.”

Ralph gnawed on the inside of his jaw and eyed Caleb. “Did you get the hay in?”

“Daddy!” Melanie cried, outraged. “You ought to be apologizing for putting a neighbor to this much trouble, not asking how much work he got done.”

“We got the hay in,” Caleb said. “And the fence repaired. Oh, and we put a gate in between the PR and the Rose down in the middle of one of your pastures.”

Ralph blinked. He looked as if he was having trouble taking everything in. Caleb couldn’t say he blamed the man. A bookie’s goons bringing him home for some kind of shady business to keep his kneecaps whole, his wife showing up with a new… shape. His neighbor moving in with his daughter and making decisions regarding his ranch.

In the same place, Caleb would be having a little trouble taking it all in, too.

About an hour after dark George had to go to the bathroom. Because he would not leave the others alone, he took Ralph with him.

“If anybody’s missing when we come back,” George warned, “well, it wouldn’t go too good for poor Ralph, here, if you get my meaning. And no phone calls,” he added.

The instant the bathroom door closed, Caleb pounced. “What the hell is going on?”

Melanie dropped her head against the back of the chair. God, how much humiliation could one woman be expected to stand? With her eyes closed, she told Caleb what was happening.

“It looks like you were more right than you knew,” she told him, “when you called them goons.”

“So we’re just going to sit around and let this joker hold a gun on us all night?” he asked.

“You have a better idea? One that doesn’t get any of us hurt?”

“It wouldn’t be hard to—”

“And gets Daddy out of debt?”

“Oh, well, if you’re gonna get picky.”

“I’ll tell you what I’d like to do,” Fayrene said in a heated whisper. “I’d like to shoot that George character right between the eyes for threatening Ralphie, for making him let them do whatever it is they’re doing out there in the pasture tonight. And I’d do it, too, put a bullet between his eyes, but he’s got the key to the gun cabinet.”

“Mama, I don’t want to hear any more talk about shooting.”

Fayrene huffed and folded her arms beneath her breasts, making them look even larger.

Melanie dared a glance at Caleb and found him staring somewhere in the vicinity of the top of her mother’s head. Bless his heart, he was working diligently to avoid offending anyone by staring at her mother’s chest. Melanie, unable to avoid staring herself— it was, after all, quite a sight—had to admire his tact and control.

Maybe in about ten years she might get used to her mother’s new look. Maybe.

“We’ll just have to grit our teeth and wait this out,” Melanie said.

Caleb hoped it would be that simple, but he had his doubts. Why would George and his pals want to leave a bunch of witnesses who could identify at least two of them?

On the other hand, if things went according to plan, the only charge that would stick would be home invasion, if that was a legitimate charge, because Caleb and the others would never get near this so-called merchandise and wouldn’t know what it was. The only evidence would be tire tracks in the pasture.

So they seemed to be more or less stuck here, waiting it out, then letting the bastards go. Hoping the bastards would let them go.

He turned the situation over in his mind and thought maybe it wouldn’t be in this Bruno character’s best interests to leave a bunch of dead bodies around. He was obviously, in addition to whatever this business tonight meant, a bookie. How could he make any more money off Ralph if he killed him?

Then, too, if George was bent on killing them, why hadn’t he already done it?

One thing was certain. If they all got out of this alive, Caleb was going to butt his nose in and have a serious talk with Ralph. The man had no right to endanger his wife and daughter this way. Granted, he probably hadn’t know Fayrene was here, but he had deliberately brought George into Melanie’s home. Whatever Caleb had to do to see that such a thing never happened again, including tying Ralph up and tossing him in a closet, he would do.

* * *

The hours of the evening and night crawled by at a snail’s pace. It was just after one in the morning when two pairs of headlights cut across the backyard.

Ralph jumped to his feet. “Is that them?”

George waved him back. “Stay there. I’ll check on it.”

But when George moved to the kitchen, everyone got up and followed him. George opened the back door and looked out. Ralph and Fayrene followed him, while Melanie went to the window over the kitchen sink.

Caleb stood at her back and looked out over her head. He placed a hand on her shoulder for the simple reason that he couldn’t go another single minute without touching her.

When she raised her hand toward his, he knew she was going to push his hand away. But she didn’t. Instead she stroked his fingers, sending hot shivers up his arm. Then, with her back still turned toward him as she watched out the window, she threaded her fingers through his and squeezed.

Outside, a two-toned pickup with a white camper shell covering the bed drove beneath the utility light, then past the barn and on toward the pasture over the rise, down near the spot where Melanie and Caleb had made love that day. A small, light-colored car followed.

Out at the edge of the yard, near the mouth of the driveway, Little Donnie waved his flashlight. To signal back, George flipped the porch light on and off.

Several minutes later the small car came back from the pasture. As it passed beneath the utility light, two people were plainly visible where there had been only one before.

The car stopped for the driver to speak to Little Donnie, then drove away.

“Now what?” Melanie wondered aloud.

George shooed her parents back inside the house and pulled a cell phone from his pocket. He pressed a couple of buttons and put the phone to his ear.

“It’s George,” he said. “The truck’s here, and Hank’s bringing the driver to you right now. Yeah, everything’s fine here. The daughter’s boyfriend showed up, but he’s behaving himself. Okay, boss, we’ll see you when you get here.”

George ended the call and slipped the cell phone back into his pocket.

“Now what?” Melanie asked again.

“Now we wait.”

“We’ve been waiting,” she said tartly.

“And the first part is over. The goods have arrived. As soon as the driver checks in with Bruno, Bruno and some of the guys will come down and divvy up the goods, then we’ll all go home and you good people can have your lives back.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice,” Melanie muttered. “How long might this next part take?”

George shoved the back door shut and locked it. “It’ll take as long as it takes. Might as well make yourselves comfortable. In the living room, if you please.”

Fayrene heaved a huge sigh, which made her chest rise to impressive levels. George nearly drooled.

“Well,” Fayrene said. “If we’re going to be up and awake, we might as well have some coffee. Is it all right if I make coffee?” She smiled coyly at George.

Ralph pulled his gaze away from his wife’s breasts long enough to scowl at her.

“Sure thing, Mrs. Pruitt. I’d like some coffee.”

“Fine, then.” Fayrene all but batted her lashes at him. “You all just go right on and make yourselves comfortable. I’ll start the coffee.”

“All right, everybody, let’s go have a seat,” George said.

“I’ll stay and help Mama,” Melanie said, turning toward the coffeemaker on the counter without giving him a chance to object.

When the others had gone to the living room Melanie hissed at her mother, “What are you doing, playing up to that creep?”

“Just watch your mother, baby, and learn a thing or two.”

“What are you up to?” Melanie whispered.

“Shh. Get me a filter. Where’s the coffee? You’ve moved it.”

Together they managed to take twice as long to start the coffee brewing as Melanie would have alone. But it was so good to have her mother home that Melanie didn’t mind the added confusion in the least.

Melanie stared as the coffeemaker sent hot water streaming through the coffee in the filtered basket and out into the carafe. “We’ve missed you, Mama. Both of us.”

Fayrene stood next to her daughter and stared at the same sight. “I’ve missed you. Both of you. I’m sorry about the money I’ve been spending. I didn’t realize…”

Melanie frowned and looked at her mother. “How could you not realize? We’ve never had the kind of money you’ve been spending.”

Fayrene heaved a sigh. “Okay, I guess I knew that. I don’t think I cared. All I ever wanted was his attention, you know?”

“Oh, Mama.” Melanie wrapped an arm around her mother’s shoulders and laid her head on her shoulder. “He loves you. He’s been so lonely without you. I wish…”

“I know, baby, I know. I wish it, too. But don’t give up on us yet. I haven’t. So, what’s this I hear about Sloan getting married?”

Melanie straightened away from her mother. “He got married last summer. Where did you hear it?”

“I have my ways. What I want to know is why you didn’t tell me yourself.”

Melanie gave her mother a wry smile and took the sugar bowl from the cabinet. “Because I didn’t want to hear what you’d have to say about it.”

“I would have said I was disappointed in you. I always had such high hopes.”

“So did I, and I have no idea why. He never gave me any reason to hope. He was always honest with me. Emily’s perfect for him. I like her.”

Fayrene took five mugs from the cabinet and lined them up on the counter. “It was smart of you to go after Caleb, then.”

“I didn’t go after Caleb,” Melanie protested. “He’s just been helping me out. We’re just friends.”

“Mmm, hmm. If you say so, baby.” she said with a big smile and wink.

“No, Mama,” Melanie said firmly. “No, no, no. Caleb and I are friends. Best friends. Just like we’ve been all our lives.”

“If you say so.”

“What are you doing?” Melanie hissed.

Fayrene’s purse had been sitting on the counter where she’d put it when she’d walked in the door that afternoon. She reached into it and pulled out a bottle of prescription medicine. She shook three capsules into her hand.

“It’s time for someone to take a nap, don’t you think?”

Melanie’s eyes bulged. The dosage on the bottle said one capsule. “Is that for George? You’ll kill him.”

“Of course I won’t.” Then she frowned. “I don’t think three will kill him. No, three won’t kill him, I’m sure they won’t. Besides, we have to counteract the caffeine, don’t we?”

“Mama.”

“Shh. Just remember, the Transylvania mug is his.”

Melanie snapped her mouth shut. Their coffee mugs were all souvenirs from vacations, rodeos, cattle-buying trips, et cetera. When Melanie was in high school they’d gone through a little town in Louisiana named Transylvania. Everything in the town, she remembered, had a bat on it. The mug they’d brought home with them was no exception. A vampire bat.

“After all,” Fayrene said, “it’s as plain as Lucy and Ethel that he’s nothing but a bloodsucker.”

“Lucy and Ethel?”

Fayrene arched her back and stuck out her chest. “Baby, when they’re this big they deserve names of their own.”

“Mama, that’s—” Melanie snickered. “That’s awful.”

“Whatever. He works for a bloodsucker, and he is a bloodsucker.”

Melanie shook her head. Her mother had always had a sly, sneaky streak. “Shame on us. You pour, I’ll serve.”

It was all Caleb could do to keep from bouncing his knee in agitation. What were Melanie and her mother doing out there in the kitchen? How the hell long did it take to brew a pot of coffee, for crying out loud?

She was safer in the kitchen. If she stayed in the kitchen. But she was just crazy enough to try something foolish. What, Caleb couldn’t imagine.

A moment later he let out a quiet breath when she walked into the living room carrying two mugs of coffee. She handed the first to him, then turned away before he could say thanks.

“George?” She crossed to the far end of the sofa where their keeper sat. “Do you want cream or sugar? We don’t have cream, but we have milk and that fake powder stuff.”

“Black’s fine. Thanks. I really appreciate y’all taking this so well.”

“No problem,” she told him. “It’s almost over, right?”

She was much too nice and accommodating, Caleb thought. She was up to something.

George blew on his coffee. “That’s right. It’s almost over.”

Melanie turned away and went back to the kitchen. She returned a moment later with her own mug of coffee, and Fayrene followed with a mug for Ralph and herself.

Caleb nearly choked at the way Fayrene squirmed her rear in those skintight jeans as she sat down between her husband and the goon. He was almost positive that she brushed her breast against George’s arm. The man nearly dropped his coffee.

“This is good,” George said a moment later when he had steadied himself. “Everybody sitting around drinking coffee. This is good. I mean, it’s not like anybody’s being kidnapped or anything. I mean, Ralph here agreed to it, said it wouldn’t be a problem. Isn’t that right, Ralph?”

Ralph gave a grunt and took a sip of his coffee.

“Sure is good coffee, Mrs. Pruitt,” George said.

“Thank you, George,” she said with a little wiggle of her rear and shoulders.

“Kind of a nutty taste to it.” He turned the mug up and drained it.

“It’s a special blend I get in Phoenix,” Fayrene told him.

Ralph looked down into his mug and frowned. “Tastes like plain ol’ c-c-c—”

Fayrene twisted on the sofa until one breast rubbed against Ralph’s arm. His words stuttered to a halt.

Caleb’s head swam. Suspicious one minute, amused the next, he didn’t know what to think or feel.

Then he was just plain stunned when George let out a small snore.

Fayrene smiled serenely and took the mug from his hand before it fell to the floor.

Ralph leaned forward to peer at George, on the other side of Fayrene. “What the hell? George?”

Fayrene patted Ralph’s knee and pushed herself up from the sofa, George’s mug in her hand. “He can’t hear you, hon. He’s sleeping like a baby.”

“What have you done?” Ralph cried. “Good God, woman, what have you done?”

Fayrene gave a toss of her head. “I’ve fixed it so I can go to the bathroom in my own home without having to ask permission. That’s what I’ve done.”

Caleb nearly bobbled his mug.

Ralph gaped openmouthed as his wife left the room, headed for the bathroom.

“What did she do to him?” Ralph demanded of Melanie.

“She put sleeping pills in his coffee.”

“Good God.” He stared at the empty doorway another moment, then looked over at George, snoozing peacefully at the opposite end of the sofa. He shook his head. “Woman always was full of surprises.”

“Okay.” Fayrene had returned from the bathroom. She stood before the others in the living room and propped her hands on her hips. “Now what?”

“Are you out of your mind?” Ralph roared.

“Probably,” she said tartly. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“How long will he be out?” Caleb asked, hoping to avoid a personal argument between husband and wife.

Fayrene shrugged. “I take one pill and I’m out for eight hours.”

“How many did you give him?” Caleb asked.

She smiled. “Three. But don’t forget the caffeine he drank. And he’s bigger than I am.”

“Any way you figure it,” Melanie offered, “he’s down for the count. Or at least until we wake him. Mama, I’m so proud of you I could pop my buttons.” She threw her arms around her mother and kissed her.

“Proud of her? She might have killed this man,” Ralph protested.

“Proud of her because now we can get out to that pickup and find out just what kind of merchandise has to be delivered and divvied up in the middle of the night.”

“Are you going to argue about this?” Fayrene asked her husband.

“No,” Ralph said slowly. “No, I’m not. I never bargained to have all of you held here against your will like this. I want you all to know I’m sorry about this. I have to go through with the deal to pay off my debt. But none of you should have to be involved. Truth is, I wouldn’t have gone along with it at all if they hadn’t threatened to put me in the hospital, and Melanie right along with me. But I don’t see how we’re going to do anything about it, unless you plan on drugging Little Donnie, too. And then what do we do when Bruno shows up? I owe him money. He takes money seriously.”

“Relax, Mr. Pruitt.” Caleb placed a hand on Ralph’s shoulder and squeezed. “The rest of you stay here in case Little Donnie comes up to the house for anything. I’ll slip out a back window and go check out that pickup in the pasture.”

“Now wait just a minute,” Melanie protested. “When I said we could go out there, I meant that figuratively, not literally. I’m going.”

“There’s no need for you to go traipsing around outside in the middle of the night,” Caleb claimed. “You’ll stay here. I’m going.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

“You think just because you gave me the best orgasm of my life that I’ve suddenly become helpless? Or stupid? Or timid?”

“What?” Ralph bellowed. “Did you say… orgasm? As in sex?”

Fayrene fanned herself. “Oh, my.”

“Melanie,” Caleb pleaded, keeping one eye on Ralph in case the man decided to grab George’s gun and come after him.

“This time last week,” Melanie declared hotly, “when all we were was best friends, you would never have questioned my going out there. You probably would have sent me on my own.”

“I would not.”

“You damn sure wouldn’t have told me to stay in the house and keep safe, like some little idiot who can’t take care of herself.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he protested.

“That’s exactly what you meant. I used to be your friend. Now you see me as the little woman. Well, I won’t have it, do you hear me? You don’t tell me what to do, you don’t protect me, you don’t take care of my problems. You got that?”

He hated it when she was right. He was thinking of her differently. He couldn’t help it. He’d held her, kissed her. Been inside her. How could he not want to see her safe and protected?

But that was his male ego talking. Melanie, he knew, would have none of it. If he wanted to keep her friendship and stay close to her, he was going to have to respect her in the ways she required in order for her to feel respected.

“I’ve got it,” he told her. “You’re right. I’m sorry. We’ll go together.”

Melanie sneered. “Gee, thanks.”

“I don’t suppose you could come up with a couple of flashlights, could you?” He bowed from the waist and swept an arm out to his side. “That is, if you’re through being sarcastic?”

“Oh, I’ve only just begun.”

“And a big screwdriver or something to pry open the back of the camper. I’m assuming they locked it.”

With a curl of her upper lip, Melanie marched to the pantry off the kitchen and came back a moment later with two flashlights and an eighteen-inch-long screwdriver.

“You’ll need jackets,” Fayrene said.

Ralph took a couple of jackets from the coat closet and handed them out.

They looked out the kitchen window and could see Little Donnie sitting in his car puffing on a cigarette, plumes of smoke gushing from the open driver’s window.

“He’s not going anywhere,” Caleb muttered. “Let’s go.”

They left by way of the window in the den, which couldn’t be seen from the front, back or driveway. They kept their flashlights turned off and let the glow of the utility light over by the barn light their way. Keeping the house between them and Little Donnie, they made their way past the garden and into the edge of the woods.

It was quiet enough that every footfall seemed to echo through the night, but there were still enough frogs in the trees and out around the ponds, even this late in the year, to create enough noise to cover the sounds of their passage.

Once in the woods they turned on their flashlights and followed the fence line over the rise and down into the pasture. Then they cut north toward the pickup parked beneath an oak on the far side.

They stopped and turned off their flashlights. There was enough moonlight to see where they were going.

“We’re assuming there’s no one there,” Caleb said.

“Yeah.”

“You know what assuming does.”

“Yeah. It makes an ass out of u and me.”

But there was no way to sneak up on the pickup. There was nothing surrounding the tree under which it sat for a hundred yards in any direction except grass barely tall enough to hide a snake.

With no other choice, they walked openly across the pasture toward the truck filled with “goods.”

Ten feet from the pickup Caleb grabbed Melanie’s arm and put a hand over her mouth. Next to her ear he whispered, “Shh. Listen.”

Melanie tried, but her heart was pounding too loudly. She strained to hear over the thunder in her ears.

Then she heard it. “Voices.”

There were windows all around the camper shell, and of course the front and sides of the cab of the truck. Caleb and Melanie were approaching from the rear. Anyone in the camper would be able to see them.

But why would anyone be in the camper? That was where the goods, whatever they were, should be.

“Careful,” Caleb whispered.

She nodded, and they crept closer.

“What’s that smell?” she whispered. “Did something die?”

Caleb stopped and sniffed, then swore quietly. “I don’t think so. Come on.”

No shouts of alarm sounded as they neared the pickup. In fact, there was suddenly no sound at all, except, Melanie thought, the pounding of her heart.

They approached the back of the camper as quietly as possible. They checked the cab first and found it empty. They tried to see into the camper, using their flashlights, but the camper’s windows had been covered with a reflective material. If they wanted to see inside, they were going to have to open it up.

Caleb reached for the handle of the door, and Melanie held her breath. He gave a yank, but the handle was locked. He paused and listened but heard nothing. That bothered him. He had definitely heard voices earlier.

Using the screwdriver, he pried the lock free at the sides of the camper door. Then, nodding to Melanie, he gripped the handle and flung open the door.

Melanie hit the button on her flashlight, but the smell struck them in the face before the beam illuminated the interior.

What they found shocked them both to the core.

Chapter Eight

People. The camper shell was crammed with people. And from the smell of things, they’d been in there entirely too long. Days too long. The stench was unbearable.

Melanie gasped and stepped back, covering her nose and mouth with her arm.

Caleb coughed.

From inside the camper, no one made a sound. They stared out at Melanie and Caleb like terrified statues. Four women, eight men, three children under the age of ten. Each adult clutched a cloth bundle. Four clear plastic gallon jugs that perhaps once held water but now held, well, other liquid. One five-gallon bucket and a half-dozen empty toilet-paper rolls. All crammed into the small camper space like the proverbial sardines in a can.

But it was the hope on the faces, even behind the fear, that reached Melanie. A deep pity stirred inside her for the horrifying conditions.

Someone whispered, “Una gringa.”

One man at the far end leaned forward. “¿Los Estados Unidos?”

“The U.S.?” another asked. “Are we in the United States?”

Melanie and Caleb shared a stunned look. “Yes,” Melanie answered. “Oklahoma.”

“Oklahoma? Truly? In America?”

“Yes,” Melanie told the man. “Sí. In America. Where are you from?”

“Are you police?”

“No, no,” Melanie said quickly. “No police. How… how long have you been here, in the pickup?”

“Two days,” the man answered. “We come from Sonora, in Mexico. The man, he promise us jobs. Good jobs. We work for you?”

“Oh, uh, no, not for us.”

“But we must work to pay for being brought here.”

“What do you mean?”

“We each paid the man to bring us, but the cost was so high that none of us could pay it all. We work to pay the rest.”

“Is it a lot of money?” Melanie asked.

“Sí. It is very much money. We paid five hundred

U.S. dollars each, and now we work to pay the other two thousand.”

“Dollars?” Melanie squeaked.

“Sí.”

“Each?”

“Sí. We work for you now?”

“Not yet. It’s too soon. You’ve only just arrived. Why don’t you get out. If you want to.”

“Is all right? That we get out?”

“Yes, yes. Please. Get out and be comfortable.” Melanie grabbed Caleb’s arm and dragged him aside. “Jobs? The Bruno McGuire Employment Agency? I don’t think so. What’s going on? What are we going to do? He’ll find a way to use them and make their lives miserable.”

“What is this?” Caleb hissed. “For somebody who doesn’t like illegal aliens, you sound awfully concerned.”

“Oh, stuff it. These people are in trouble.”

“Maybe you’re the one who’s been running an underground railroad in the county.”

“Maybe you’ve been sniffing locoweed. Bruno’s going to turn these people into slaves.”

“I’m afraid it’s worse than that,” Caleb whispered.

“What do you mean?”

“The kids.”

“Yeah, I’m wondering about them, too. If he’s bringing in illegal aliens to work, why would he bring families with small children?”

“Because he can take the children and hold them hostage, make the parents turn over all their pay. And he can sell the kids. Or rent them by the hour to perverts.”

Melanie’s stomach churned.

“They talk about this sort of exploitation all the time on the news.”

“What are we going to do? We can’t just let him take them away and turn them into virtual slaves.”

“They’re on your land. What do you want to do?”

“Oh, great. Now you decide to let me make the decisions.”

“If you’re asking what I’d do, I’d get them out of here so Bruno can’t find them. They’re obviously il legals. It’s not like he can complain to the cops, right?”

“No, he can just break Daddy’s kneecaps.”

“There is that.”

“But not,” Melanie said thoughtfully, “if we complained to the cops.”

“You mean turn these people over to Immigration?”

Melanie swallowed. Of course, that was exactly what they should do. These poor people were in the U.S. illegally. Immigration would send them back to Mexico.

She looked at them, at their wretched condition, at the wretched conditions they’d suffered to find new jobs to feed their families. Yet they would work for Bruno for years and never pay off their debt, never even come close to the great American dream. Bruno’s interest rates made credit card companies look like Santa Claus.

“No,” Melanie said. “Not unless we have no choice. But there is such a thing as home invasion, and my home has definitely been invaded. Before we do anything, we need to move these people. Hide them.”

“Where? Why?” Caleb asked.

“We can hide them down at the hay barn,” she said. “As for why, because I’ll be damned if Bruno is going to use the Pruitt Ranch in his disgusting scheme.”

Caleb smiled. “That’s my girl.”

“Huh. In your dreams, pal.”

“There, too. But we also have to think about your dad. We interfere in this, Bruno will take it out on him.”

“I know.” She paced away, then back. “I know. Daddy went along with this to cancel out his debt.”

“He went along with it to avoid getting his kneecaps broken. And maybe yours, too.”

“I know, I know. But it’s not like Daddy can get police protection from his bookie.”

“No, but Bruno’s not just going to go away. He lets your dad get away without paying and anybody hears about it, he loses his reputation, then his business.”

“And I’d feel so sorry for him.”

“Me, too. But nobody named Bruno is going to let that happen. He’s going to come after your dad, or you’re going to go out to the barn some morning and find another goon waiting out there.”

Melanie threw her hands in the air. “What am I supposed to do about it?”

“The only thing you can do. The only thing he’ll settle for. Pay him.”

“I can’t afford it,” she cried.

“Melanie.” He took her by the shoulders and held her still. “Are we friends?”

“Not for much longer if you don’t get to the point.”

“I can pay him.”

“You cannot!”

“I can, and if you won’t take it as a gift from one friend to another, you can pay me back later, whenever it’s convenient.”

“Caleb!”

“Melanie.”

Melanie fought back a groan. “I can’t deal with this right now. Let’s just get these people out of here first. We’ll worry about Daddy and the money later.”

Melanie explained the situation as best she could, while those who spoke English translated for the others.

“The man, Bruno, who arranged to bring you here, is a bad man. He makes money off the misery of others. When he comes here in a little while he’s going to separate you into two or three groups. It’s possible he’ll separate husbands from wives, and there will be nothing you can do about it. It’s almost certain that he’ll take the children away from their parents.”

After the translations, one woman hugged her daughter close and spoke a rapid stream of Spanish that was far beyond Melanie’s high-school-Spanish vocabulary.

“She asks,” said the man who identified himself as Jorge, “why a man would do such a thing.”

“Because he can, then force you to work even harder and give him every cent you earn. He’ll tell you it’s to take care of your children. He’ll make you do things you won’t want to do. If you don’t do what he wants, he’ll say you’ll never see your children again. Meanwhile he’ll be selling your children to other men, making them do things no child should ever have to do.”

When Jorge translated, everyone spoke at once.

“Hitting them pretty hard, aren’t you?” Caleb asked.

“I want them to understand the kind of man they’re up against.”

“You’re scaring them.”

“I mean to.”

One woman started to wail.

“No.” Melanie grabbed Jorge’s arm. “Stop her. We have to keep quiet. Stop her now! They left a man, a lookout, just over the rise. We can’t let him know you’re out of the truck.”

“Shh, shh,” Jorge said, followed by a fast stream of Spanish.

The woman gasped and fell silent.

“Thank you,” Melanie said. “The man on guard has a gun and I’d hate for him to come out here to investigate.”

“A gun?”

“That’s right. The other men who will come for you will have guns, too.”

“What can we do? We came here to work, for our families. We want no trouble.”

“We can hide you until the men leave.”

Jorge looked around the empty pasture. “Hide us where?”

She pointed west. “There’s a hay barn not far away. You’ll be safe there.”

“The owner, he will not mind?”

“This is my family’s ranch. I’m one of the owners.”

Caleb stepped up. “If Bruno decides to look around, he could easily find them there. They’ll be safer on the Rose.”

“Are you sure?” Melanie asked. “You don’t mind?”

“What is this Rose?” Jorge asked.

“It’s my ranch. The Cherokee Rose. You’ll be safer there. It’s not far, but if you’re all willing, we should get moving.”

They were willing. Eager, even, to avoid the men with the guns who would come for them.

Melanie led the way across the pasture and down along the fence. The Mexicans moved slowly; they were exhausted and hungry and had little strength left. The children staggered with fatigue. One woman was so weak she could barely walk and had to lean on her husband. Caleb brought up the rear.

How was a man supposed to keep up with a woman like Melanie? Figuratively speaking. Much less understand her. A couple of days ago she’d been all hot under the collar thinking he’d been breaking the law by helping illegal aliens.

Now look at her, he thought. Leading this group of ragtag refugees like Moses shepherding the Jews out of Egypt. Except Moses hadn’t had a flashlight.

For this particular exodus, Caleb was grateful for the flashlights but wished they had a little more time. Or a little more speed. If Bruno and his men showed up and caught them out in the open, there was no telling what might happen.

The woman just ahead stumbled again. Her husband was getting weaker, having more trouble carrying her weight.

“Here,” Caleb offered. “Let me take her for a while so you can catch your breath.”

“Oh, gracias, señor, but I am able to manage.” He straightened and adjusted his grip around his wife’s back. The woman let out a soft moan.

Caleb fell back, but not too far, and followed, ready to leap forward and catch the woman if the man couldn’t hold her up.

He figured they were another ten minutes away from their goal. Melanie hadn’t said so, but he knew she was taking them to the gate she and Caleb had installed the other day. Trying to get these people through the barbed-wire fence, children included, without someone getting sliced up, would be nearly impossible. The gate would be much easier.

They finally reached the gate and made it through to the copse of blackjack trees on the Cherokee Rose on the other side. Caleb turned back to close the gate, and the woman who’d been having trouble let out a cry and sank to her knees.

“Maria!” Her husband fell to his knees beside her.

Caleb rushed over and dropped beside them. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s the baby, señor.”

“Baby? What baby?”

“The one that is coming.”

“Coming?” Caleb tried to swallow and couldn’t. Surely he’d heard wrong. “What do you mean, coming?”

“What’s all the noise about?” Melanie elbowed her way through the crowd surrounding the downed trio. “What’s going on?”

Caleb looked up at her. The sky was gone, blocked out by tree branches still thick with leaves. Why in the name of all that was holy had he not brought a cell phone? His was in the front seat of his pickup and Little Donnie might have spotted him retrieving it, but Melanie’s was in the pile of phones George had collected. Caleb’s only excuse for such a lapse was that he didn’t seem to think straight around Melanie these days. Didn’t seem to be able to think much at all around her.

Now, here they were, out in the woods in the middle of the night with a baby on the way and no way to call for help.

“Unless I miss my guess,” he answered Melanie, “we’re having a baby.”

“Oh my God.” For a moment, Melanie’s mind simply went blank. She dealt with birth on a regular basis on the ranch, of course, but not human birth. “How long has she been having pains?”

“I have no watch,” the man with her said. “But it has been since a long time before we stopped.”

“Are you her husband?” Melanie asked.

“Sí. I am Pedro Martinez. This is my wife Maria. This is our first baby.”

“Maria, do you speak English?”

“She does not,” Pedro said. “I am sorry.”

Melanie looked over at Caleb. “How far are we from the house?”

“About a half mile.”

She swore under her breath. “Too far to carry her.”

Maria cried out and arched her body against a contraction. When it subsided she spoke to her husband in halting Spanish.

“She says the baby comes now.”

“Oh, God. I don’t suppose anyone here knows about childbirth.” She looked up hopefully to the other three women.

Two women immediately shook their heads. They each took a child, one a young girl, the other a boy, by the hand and backed away. The third woman waited for Jorge to translate, then answered him.

“She says,” Jorge told Melanie, “that all she knows how to do is push one out. She does not know about the catching, but how hard can it be? That is her question, not mine, por favor.”

“How hard can it be,” Melanie muttered, trying to bite back her sarcasm. “Pushing and catching. Here’s hoping it’s that simple.” Unless something went wrong, it should be that simple. Most births went smoothly, didn’t they?

God, we could use a little help here.

“I can get to the house and have help back here within twenty minutes,” Caleb said.

Melanie shot him a desperate glare. “If you think you can leave me here alone and not suffer the consequences, think again. Before anybody goes anywhere, somebody needs to see how far along she really is.”

Caleb took a step back and raised both hands. “Don’t look at me.”

“Just like a man,” Melanie muttered. “Okay, first let’s make Maria comfortable. Caleb, give me your jacket.” She took off her own and used both jackets to create a makeshift bed for Maria. A hell of a place to have a baby, on the ground in the dark beneath the trees in a foreign land. In forty-degree weather. Fleeing from the likes of Bruno McGuire and his goons.

If that weren’t bad enough, it seemed the height of indignity to Melanie for a woman to have some stranger shine a flashlight up her skirt, but there seemed to be no help for it. Maria appeared to be in serious labor and Melanie had to see if the baby was crowning yet.

At least, she thought crowning was the word for what happened when the top of the baby’s head started putting in an appearance.

And that was exactly what was happening underneath Maria’s torn and filthy skirt when Melanie looked.

“I see the head,” Melanie said, hoping her voice was steadier than her nerves.

Pedro squeezed his wife’s hand and translated.

“Don’t push.”

“¿Señora?”

“Señorita,” Melanie corrected. “Tell Maria not to push. Not yet. Just pant through the pain. Don’t worry, Pedro, and tell Maria not to worry. Everything will be all right.” From her lips to God’s ears.

While Pedro repeated her words to his wife Melanie prayed she was right. She could see the next contraction contorting Maria’s abdomen. “Breathe,” she told the woman. “Little breaths. Pant.” And she panted with her. And so did Pedro. And everyone else in the clearing.

When the pain ebbed and Maria began to relax, the panting stopped and everyone looked around and laughed sheepishly.

“She can’t be moved,” Melanie told Caleb. “It’s too late.”

Caleb knelt beside her, but turned at an angle that would not allow him to see beneath Maria’s skirt. Melanie wondered whose modesty he was trying to preserve, Maria’s, or his own.

“You seem to be okay with this,” he said. “Where’d you learn about childbirth?”

“Never mind that.” She didn’t think anyone in the vicinity would appreciate hearing that everything she knew about childbirth she’d learned from the Discovery Health Channel.

“Looks like you don’t need me. I should go to the house for help.”

Melanie gripped his arm hard enough to cut off circulation in her fingers. “Don’t you dare leave me,” she hissed.

Maria groaned with another contraction.

“Pant,” Melanie reminded her. “Little breaths. Don’t push, don’t push. The head’s coming. Slowly, but it’s coming. Just let it come. There it is.” She held the baby’s head gently in her hands and beamed, her heart pounding ninety to nothing.

Caleb’s gaze was drawn to Melanie’s hands against his will. He couldn’t help but stare in awe at all that dark hair on such a tiny head.

Not, he thought, that Maria would consider it such a tiny head. Lord, what women had to go through to bring new life into the world.

When Maria’s contraction eased, Melanie had Pedro sit behind his wife, propping her up to a semireclining position to help her push the child from her womb.

“This time,” Melanie said, “when the next contraction comes, push as hard as you can. And don’t worry about being quiet. You tell her that, Pedro. Tell her she can scream as loud as she wants.”

One of the other women spoke to Maria, and Maria answered, gesturing toward the cloth bundle she’d been carrying. The other woman opened the bundle and pulled out a small blanket.

“For the baby,” Pedro said.

Melanie smiled at him, and at Maria. “It’s lovely. You’ll be needing it in just a few minutes.” She handed her flashlight to the other woman and had her aim the beam between Maria’s thighs.

Caleb felt the tension emanating from Melanie, but bless her, she didn’t let it show. Both her voice and manner were easy and calm. His admiration for this woman he’d known all his life rose to new heights.

How many new things, he wondered, could a man learn about a woman he thought he knew?

“Caleb?” Melanie said. “I need a hand here.”

A hand? She had to be kidding. He followed her line of sight and felt his throat close. The umbilical cord was wrapped around the baby’s neck.

“I’ll hold his head up,” she said. “You slip the cord over it.”

Caleb took a deep breath and felt a sense of calm settle over him that he had not felt in hours. Melanie needed him. This baby and its mother needed him. With a steady hand he slipped a finger beneath the cord and eased it up over the head. “There you go,” he said.

“Thanks. Okay, here we go, Maria. Push hard.”

Caleb stared in awe as Melanie held the baby’s head and a shoulder popped free. A moment later, accompanied by a strangled cry from Maria, the other shoulder emerged.

“I could use another hand here,” Melanie said.

Caleb leaned closer and put his hand beneath the baby’s shoulder while Melanie held the head. After that, the baby just seemed to slip right out into their waiting hands as if there had been no effort involved at all by anyone. It was the most miraculous sight Caleb had ever witnessed. He felt awed. Humbled. Exuberant.

“It’s a girl,” Melanie whispered, her voice filled with the same reverence that Caleb felt.

“Here.” Caleb gently ran a thumb and forefinger down the tiny nose to help clear out the mucus. He rolled the baby over in Melanie’s hands and tapped on her little back. The baby let out a small mewl of protest, then a loud, boisterous cry.

The small clearing in the woods erupted with laughter and cheers.

Caleb looked into Melanie’s eyes and felt a connection as deep as the one they’d shared when they’d made love.

Then the baby squirmed and broke the moment.

With a nervous laugh Melanie placed the baby on Maria’s belly and barely remembered the afterbirth in time to catch it when it came out a moment later. She tucked it up next to the baby and wrapped them both in the blanket Maria had brought for her newborn.

“Here she is, Maria, Pedro. Your daughter. Do you realize she’s a U.S. citizen?”

Pedro gasped. “Truly?”

“Truly. Born in the U.S.A. Right here on the Cherokee Rose ranch in the middle of Oklahoma, the center of the whole country.”

Quiet tears streamed down the new father’s face as he repeated this news in Spanish for his wife.

Maria held her daughter against her, with Pedro’s arms around them both, and cried tears of joy and exhaustion.

“You do good work,” Caleb told Melanie.

She squeezed his hand. “We do good work. I guess you can go for help now. We’ll need to cut the cord, but I’d feel better if Rose and Emily were here before we tried to move her. She needs padding and blankets and water and—”

“I get the idea. I’ll hurry.” Before he stood up, he leaned over and kissed her hard on the mouth. “You’re really something, you know that?”

She grinned. “So are you, pal. Now, get going. See how fast those boots can carry you.”

His boots carried him as fast as they could, but, damn, they were not made for running, particularly on rough ground. They were made for holding a man’s footing in the stirrups. They were made for dancing a two-step or the Cotton-Eyed Joe. They were made for kicking butt. And okay, they were made for looking cool. They were not made for running.

By the time he broke through the trees and saw the yard light ahead in the distance, he was starting to breathe hard. He had to crawl through one barbed-wire fence, then cut across the corner of a pasture. A final fence, then the gravel driveway to the house.

He let himself in the back door.

The house had four bedrooms upstairs and what they used to call the guest room downstairs behind the kitchen. Since Sloan and Emily married, Justin had moved downstairs to the guest room so Emily’s daughters, Janie and Libby, could have the room next to their parents upstairs. Caleb had the third room, and their grandmother the fourth.

Caleb went to Justin’s room first and woke him up, thankful to find him home and not out somewhere on an all-nighter.

“Wake up, kid, we’ve got a problem. Get dressed while I get Sloan and Grandmother.”

Justin groaned. “You’re gonna wake Grandmother in the middle of the night? Either it’s damn serious or you’ve lost your mind.”

“Probably a little bit of both.”

When he ran upstairs he made sure to make plenty of noise, clomping extra hard on the risers. He didn’t like surprising people in their bedrooms in the middle of the night. He preferred they hear him coming.

When everyone but Janie and Libby was downstairs in the kitchen, Caleb finally explained.

“I need your help. Melanie and I do. But before you agree, you have to know you’ll be breaking the law.”

Justin perked up instantly. “Do tell.”

“Is it a big law, this one we’ll be breaking?” Grandmother asked, straight-faced.

That pretty much broke the ice, as well as announced the family’s decision to help. Caleb had never been more grateful for and proud of his family.

He told them as quickly and briefly as possible about the Mexicans, the baby and the need for speed.

Rose stood and instantly began issuing orders for items to take with them to retrieve the Mexicans, and in particular the new mother and baby, and bring them to the house. She determined that Emily would be more useful helping her and Melanie with mother and child, but since someone had to stay home in case the girls woke, Justin was assigned that job.

He didn’t get a chance to protest being left out of the excitement before Rose gave him a list of instructions as long as his arm: gather all the blankets, extra clothes and anything else their guests might need. Start making sandwiches and don’t stop until he had three dozen.

There was more, but Caleb left it to Justin to worry about. He went out and started up the SUV they would use to bring Maria and her baby to the house. Sloan would drive the pickup to carry the others.

The baby would be called Rosa, after the American ranch where she’d been born.

When Caleb heard that upon his return to the woods, he smiled curiously at Melanie. “Did you think that one up?”

“Not on your life. It was Maria and Pedro. Caleb, you wouldn’t believe how excited they are that their daughter is an American citizen.”

Caleb took her hand and pulled her aside. “Won’t she have to have a birth certificate for that to be official?”

“I don’t know,” Melanie said. “But we’ll figure it out.”

He smiled. “We? You’re really getting into this, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, like you’re not? Like it doesn’t make you feel good to help these people?”

“I confess. Yes, it makes me feel good,” Caleb said. “But we better leave everything else tonight to my family, so you and I can get back to your family before Bruno shows up and finds his ‘goods’ have disappeared.”

“You know, if I thought about it too much,” Melanie said, “it could really scare me how often you and I think alike.”

Melanie introduced Maria to Rose and Emily and helped them clean her up and get her and the baby ready to move. Caleb then carried Maria through the woods to the SUV where he placed her, with the baby in her arms, on the blankets waiting for them in the back. Pedro climbed in beside her.

Melanie helped Sloan herd the others into the bed of the pickup he’d brought.

“What will happen to us now?” Jorge asked her.

“I don’t know,” she told him honestly. “But I don’t want you to worry. We’ll figure something out.” While Caleb had been gone, Jorge had told her that some of them had family in New Mexico, others in Texas. “Maybe we can find your families here in the States. Or help you find jobs.”

“Oh, that would be very good.”

Melanie hoped so, but she worried about how they would be able to avoid the long arm of Immigration. The one saving grace for the Mexicans was that Immigration had most of their attention focused these days on other nationalities.

When both vehicles were loaded and everyone was ready to go, Sloan stopped Caleb and Melanie.

“Are you going to need some help when this Bruno character shows up and finds these people missing?” he asked.

“We wouldn’t turn it down if you’re offering.”

“You don’t want to call the sheriff?”

“No,” Melanie said quickly. “No sheriff if we can help it. I’d rather nobody got a hint of these people.”

“All right,” Sloan said with a nod. “What do you want us to do?”

They discussed ideas and settled on the simplest. At a prearranged signal to Sloan’s cell phone, Sloan and Justin would rush in.

“Just the two of them?” Melanie said when she and Caleb made it back to the PR side of the fence beyond the trees. “Is this going to work?”

“I guess that’ll depend on how many men Bruno brings with him,” Caleb said.

“Which we won’t know until they show up and storm the house, demanding to know where their aliens went.”

“Don’t worry.” He reached out and took her hand. “We won’t be helpless. There are four of us even without Sloan and Justin.”

“Don’t worry,” she mimicked. “How can I not worry? Are we doing the right thing?”

“It’s a little late to ask that, isn’t it?” He squeezed her hand gently.

His hand surrounding hers, holding it, steadied her. “Yes, definitely too late. And useless. We are doing the right thing. The only thing we can do. When you showed up this afternoon I was mad at you for not staying home.”

“Were you?”

“I didn’t want you to get caught up in our problems. I wouldn’t have asked for your help.”

“Melanie.” He stopped in the moonlight and turned her to face him. “If I had a problem and you thought you could help, would you wait to be asked to help?”

“That’s—”

“Of course you wouldn’t. You saw a problem Saturday night at the party, and it was headed right at me.” He grinned. “You didn’t wait for me to ask for help, you just jumped to my rescue.”

“Yeah, and look where it got us.”

“I am.” He slid his arms around her waist and pulled her close. “It got us out here alone in the moonlight.” He dipped his head lower. “Just the two of us, right near the place where we made love this morning.”

“Stop it.” Melanie turned her head away and stepped out of his embrace. “All this sex business between us is just going to screw up our friendship. You’re my best friend, the only one I can really talk to. You’re the only person who believes in me and takes my side, no matter what. I don’t want to lose that for sex, no matter how great the sex.”

“Sex?” He took a step closer. “You think this is just about sex? Maybe for you, but for me it’s more than that.”

“I just think we need to take a big step back.” And she did just that, and hated herself for it. “Look how you tried to protect me earlier by telling me to stay at the house. You’re already treating me differently after just one time together.”

“I can’t help it if I want to keep you safe,” he claimed.

“You’re not in charge of my safety,” she proclaimed heatedly. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

Caleb felt her slipping away from him. It wasn’t only her words. Words could be argued with. But how did a man argue with hunched shoulders and eyes that wouldn’t meet his? “Dammit, Melanie, look at me.”

When she didn’t, he felt a sense of desperation that threatened to swamp him. He grasped her arms and said it again. “Look at me. This is me, Melanie. The one who’s been right beside you all this time. How many more years do I have to wait while you bounce from one man to another looking for something that’s been right in front of you your whole life?”

“What?” she demanded, clearly shocked. “Wait. Back up. How many more years? Who are you trying to kid? You haven’t been waiting on me for anything.”

“Haven’t I? I didn’t realize it myself until just recently.” Not until that day, in fact. Perhaps that very moment. “Yes, I’ve been waiting for you to look at me, to notice me. To love me.”

Chapter Nine

A shiver of sheer terror raced down Melanie’s spine. Love him? He was waiting for her to love him?

What was she supposed to do? How was she supposed to know what she was feeling? How was she supposed to know what love was and if it was real?

All those years she’d thought she loved Sloan, but whatever it was she’d been feeling—adoration, hero worship, puppy love—had not been the love a woman should feel for a man. She hadn’t been concerned so much that he be happy. Instead she had believed that having him for her very own would make her happy. That was not the basis for a lasting love.

Thinking about all of this, particularly now, in the midst of their present circumstances with the Mexicans and Bruno and her parents, was giving her a pounding headache.

She pressed her hands to her temples. “Why can’t we just be friends?”

Caleb knew she was afraid. Hell, so was he. But he also knew she felt more than friendship for him or she never would have given herself to him the way she did in the sunshine that morning.

Oh, she might have sex with a man now and then. A woman had needs, just as a man did. Then, too, she’d had to prove to herself and to whoever else she felt needed proof last year that she was, indeed, over Sloan. She’d spent the night with some joker from the next county, and then had never seen the man again. Caleb would be damned if she would dismiss him the same way.

But that wasn’t sex he and Melanie had shared that morning. No, they hadn’t had sex, they had made love, and she had cried in his arms because she’d been overwhelmed by emotion.

“Why can’t we be just friends?” he asked. “Because of this.” And he kissed her. Not a peck on the cheek or a friendly brush of lips, but an all-out liplocking, breath-stealing, mind-numbing kiss.

Melanie’s head reeled. It had been so long since she’d tasted him. Hours and hours since they’d shared a real kiss. She hadn’t known how much she had craved it.

It was weak of her, wasn’t it, to want a man this badly? Was she doomed to fool herself, to make a fool of herself for another ten or fifteen years over yet another Chisholm?

But she wasn’t a child this time. There was no one urging her to please him, to eat her vegetables, tie ribbons in her hair, rope that steer faster so Caleb will like her better.

This time there was only Caleb and her. Just the two of them, and she didn’t think she had the nerve to open herself to him the way he seemed to want. What if she opened herself, and there was nothing there?

She was afraid to find out.

He wanted too much from her. She wasn’t brave enough to love him. She got along just fine without being in love, didn’t she? Why did things have to change?

She pulled away from him and stepped back. Her chest was heaving, trying to supply air to her lungs.

“I’m going home,” she said. “We’ve been gone too long.”

He let her go, reluctantly, it seemed. She turned away, and in that last glimpse of him in the moonlight she saw in his eyes that she had hurt him.

She stopped, hung her head.

He walked past her and kept going.

“Caleb, wait. I’m sorry.”

“Me, too.” But he kept walking.

A new fear seized Melanie. What if she was wrong? What if these confused and confusing feelings she had for Caleb meant she was truly in love with him? What if this was her last chance with him? What if she hurt him, pushed him away one too many times and he let her put distance between them, let her hold him at arm’s length?

Was that what she wanted? To lean on him but never hold him again? To confide in him rather than kiss him? To shake his hand or slap him on the shoulder as one good friend might do to another, instead of making sweet hot love the way they’d done that morning?

Or, maybe, if she pushed him away hard enough and far enough, to lose him altogether.

Oh, God, no. She couldn’t imagine her life without him. Didn’t that mean something?

“Caleb, I’m sorry. Wait. Please?”

Ten paces ahead, he slowed to a stop.

Melanie rushed to his side. “Please don’t be angry with me,” she begged.

He let out a long breath. “I’m not angry.”

“I’m scared, Caleb. You want something from me I’m not sure I can give you.”

He turned and cupped his hands on her shoulders. “All I want is for you to be yourself, Melanie. Just be honest with me, and with yourself. That’s all.”

“No.” She smiled sadly. “That’s not all, but even if it were, it’s not so easy a thing you ask, for me to be honest with myself. That’s the part that scares me. Can we just…”

“Be friends?”

“I was going to say take it slow, so I don’t feel quite so much like I’m in over my head with you. I don’t want to hurt either one of us, and I’m afraid I will.”

He let out another long breath and slipped one arm around her shoulder and started them walking again toward her house. “Sure, we can take it slow. But, Melanie, the one thing I don’t want you to do is hurt yourself. I don’t ever want that.”

As they topped the rise and the house appeared two hundred yards ahead, the true meaning of his words sank in. He loved her that much, that he would rather she hurt him than herself. No man had ever loved her that much before. It made her feel all soft and quivery inside. Her eyes stung and her heart hurt.

What did a woman do when she was loved by a man like Caleb Chisholm?

That question echoed over and over inside her head as they crept quietly along the fence and came up to the house at the angle that would keep them hidden from Little Donnie.

She was still pondering the question as Caleb pushed open the window in the den and gave her a leg up. She crawled through into the room as quietly as possible, hearing nothing but the television from the living room.

It was as she straightened and turned back toward the window that the truth hit her, and when it came, it seemed so simple, so inevitable and natural, that it took her breath away.

Suddenly she leaned out the window. “Caleb?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she whispered, shaking her head. “I just wanted to tell you I love you, too.”

While he stood there and gaped, she ducked back inside the room and rushed out to find her parents before she had to face Caleb again. She’d said the words and meant them. But what if she’d been wrong and they weren’t what he’d wanted from her? What if he was standing out there right now laughing because she thought he loved her? He hadn’t actually said he loved her. He’d said he wanted her to love him. There was a big difference. Wasn’t there?

A woman could go crazy thinking about such things.

Okay, so she loved him. That didn’t have to change everything, did it? They could still be friends. They’d just be closer friends than before. Intimate friends.

That had a nice ring to it. Intimate friends. A little on the hollow side, but a nice ring, nonetheless.

Caleb stood outside the open window, too stunned for a moment to do more than stare at the empty spot that had, only an instant before, held Melanie’s face.

Had she really said she loved him, or had it all been in his head, because he’d had a sharp, burning need to hear those words from her.

There was only one way to find out. He practically dived through the window, only to find the den empty. He found her in the living room explaining to her parents what had been happening.

George was still slumped in the corner of the sofa, snoring lightly.

“And she had the baby right there on the ground,” Melanie said.

“In the woods?” Fayrene gasped. “That poor woman.”

“I’ll say. With nobody to help her but Caleb and me. Oh, Caleb, there you are. I was just—”

“What did you just say?” he asked carefully.

Melanie pursed her lips. “There you are?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Before that.”

“Maria had the baby on the ground in the woods?”

“Melanie.”

“Later.”

“Is there something the two of you would like to share with us?” Fayrene asked.

“No,” they said in unison.

Ralph shook his head. “Illegal aliens, right here on the PR. What was Bruno thinking?”

“That he was going to get away with it,” Caleb said.

“I’m sorry, Daddy, but we couldn’t leave those people there. That leaves you in a bad spot with Bruno.”

“Well, I’m not going to just lie down for him, now, am I?” He reached behind the sofa and hefted a shotgun. “I owe him the money, and I should pay him. But I should never have agreed to this. I won’t have my family threatened and held hostage. I won’t have my ranch used this way. I thought it would be stereos or computers or something, and that would have been bad enough. But people, no way.”

“You were coerced,” Melanie said.

“Threatened,” Caleb added. “Got another shotgun?”

“Oh, Lord.” Fayrene started fanning herself. “I think I might faint.”

“Faint, my aunt Fanny.” Ralph chuckled at her. “You’re the one who drugged the fellow with the gun.”

“Why, Ralphie.” Fayrene patted his arm. “You say that like you’re almost proud of me.”

“Of course I’m proud of you, darlin’.” He patted the hand she’d left on his arm and kissed her cheek. Then he passed a pistol to her and another to Melanie. “Now, we better be figuring out what we’re gonna do.”

After several minutes of discussion, during which they more or less decided they didn’t know what they were going to do, Ralph proclaimed that he was in charge. It was his house, his ranch and his debt. Therefore, his problem.

“While Sleeping Beauty here is still snoring away, I want the rest of you to sneak out the back, like the two of you did earlier, and stay away from the house until Bruno and his crew have come and gone.”

“And leave you here alone?” Fayrene cried.

“Shh,” he warned. “You’ll wake up George.”

“We’re not leaving you,” Melanie stated firmly.

“We can signal for help whenever we need it,” Caleb told him. “If you can talk the ladies into leaving, power to you, but I’m staying. You can’t take on George, Little Donnie, Bruno and whoever else he brings with him.”

Melanie narrowed her eyes. “Did I hear you just suggest—”

“That we all stay,” Caleb said in a rush.

Melanie beamed. “Smart man.”

“I’m learning.”

Ralph glanced across the room toward the kitchen. “Looks like talking time’s up. Here comes somebody.”

They rushed to the kitchen in time to see two pick-ups, each with a camper shell, drive past the barn and head toward the pasture.

“Well,” Caleb said. “Shouldn’t be long now.” If he said he wasn’t worried, he’d be lying. He pulled out his grandmother’s cell phone and called Sloan with the prearranged signal. It was time to line up the reinforcements.

Sloan and Justin had said they would head to the PR, by way of the back woods, as soon as they got their new guests back to the house. The signal was to let them know to hurry, in case they hadn’t left home yet. The plan was for them to slip into the house by way of the same window Caleb and Melanie had used, the window Caleb had left open.

Caleb’s brothers would come armed, but they knew to come quietly, stealthily, and not barge in without knowing what was going on. The last thing anyone wanted was for someone to get hurt, and with the number of guns already in the house, not to mention those that soon would be, someone getting hurt was an all too likely possibility.

Still, Ralph was right to have the guns ready. When a rattlesnake slithered into your house you didn’t wait to see what his intentions were before protecting yourself.

Having already taken George’s gun away from him, Ralph now walked over and kicked the man’s foot. “Wake up, George. Wake up. Bruno’s here.”

George blinked his eyes open and looked around, clearly confused. Slowly he pushed away from the back of the sofa until he was sitting upright on the edge. “What happened?” He scrubbed his face with both hands.

Ralph stood facing him on the opposite side of the coffee table. “You fell asleep.”

George stared up at him blankly. “I what?”

“Here.” Fayrene brought in a fresh mug. “Have some coffee. It’ll wake you up.”

When everybody chuckled, George frowned. He took the mug from Fayrene and stared at it. “Did I…? Never mind.” He took a sip, then nearly dropped the mug when he spotted the shotgun dangling from Ralph’s hand. “What the hell?” He looked this way and that, from his lap to the sofa to the floor, moving and jerking so fast he sloshed coffee over the back of his hand and yelped.

“If you spill any more of that I’ll make you sorry,” Fayrene warned. “I’ll not have my sofa and carpet ruined by the likes of you.”

“I’d pay attention to her if I were you.” Ralph smiled at George. “I learned a long time ago never to upset her when she’s armed.”

From his spot in the wide doorway between the living room and kitchen, Caleb shook his head and chuckled silently. The things a man learned about his neighbors when he popped in on them uninvited.

A few hours ago Ralph had looked like a whipped puppy. Now he was his old self again, steady and sure and not in the mood to take any crap from anyone. That was the Ralph Pruitt Caleb had known all his life. The man who’d raised Melanie into the intriguing, infuriating, marvelous woman she’d become.

The woman in question, with pistol in hand, strolled over to his side. “What’s that look mean?”

He smiled. “What look would that be?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Like maybe you just won the lottery.”

“Didn’t I?”

She smiled, then glanced out the window over the sink. Her smile faded. “We’ll discuss it later, if we’re still in one piece. Here they come. There’s three pick-ups now. They brought the one that was already out there.”

“Ralph,” Caleb called. “It’s time. Where do you want us?”

“George, you come with me. Have a seat there at the kitchen table. And keep your mouth shut.”

“Man, are you crazy?” George jumped up and rounded the coffee table to confront Ralph. “What do you think you’re doing? You’re almost home free with Bruno. Why do you want to go and mess it up?”

“You don’t need to worry about it.” Ralph raised the shotgun one-handed and motioned toward the kitchen. “Just get in there and sit down.”

“Bruno’s not gonna like this, Pruitt.”

“You think?”

“They’re driving out to talk to Little Donnie,” Caleb said, looking out the kitchen window. “I don’t suppose we could be so lucky as to have them all just drive away. Nope. Here they come.” When the three campers parked next to Caleb’s pickup, doors popped open, men piled out. “I count three,” Caleb said. “One’s staying in the pickup. Little Donnie stayed at the driveway. We’ll need to keep an eye on them so they don’t surprise us.”

“You people are toast,” George said with a growl. “All of you.”

No one bothered to answer him.

The back door burst open and in came three men. The one in the lead was the biggest, both in height and girth and hair. He stood about six foot two and weighed at least two-fifty. His carrot-orange hair stuck out around his head like a giant red afro. When he walked he rolled from side to side like a man striding the deck of a wave-tossed ship.

This, Caleb knew, had to be Bruno McGuire. He looked every bit as Irish as his last name indicated. To go with his orange-red hair he had blue eyes, fair skin and more freckles than an Appaloosa had spots. And he was definitely the man in charge. Or rather, thought he was.

“What the hell’s going on around here?” he demanded, gaping at the guns pointing at him.

Melanie stood in the doorway to the living room with her pistol. Ralph stood next to the kitchen table, shotgun aimed at Bruno. Caleb leaned against the sink. He covered the two men behind Bruno. Fayrene was their backup, standing hidden in the dark pantry behind the men who had just barged in, a big honking Colt 45 held steady in her hands.

“You look surprised, Bruno.” Ralph stared at his bookie dead on.

“There’s no need for guns, Pruitt.”

“Are you going to tell me you and your men aren’t armed? You all just keep your hands in plain sight.”

“I don’t want any trouble here,” Bruno said. “You and me had a deal, Pruitt. Are you welching?”

“I never welch on a bet,” Ralph protested. “I owe you money, and I’ll pay it. I don’t know how, but I will. You had no call to threaten me and my family into going along with this business tonight.”

“It was just a simple merchandise drop,” Bruno complained.

“Your man here,” Ralph said, nodding toward George, “held a gun on my little girl.”

“And his little girl,” Melanie said, sauntering forward, “didn’t like it. She also didn’t like what she found in the back of your pickup. She especially didn’t like your using this ranch to smuggle what amounts to slaves. I mean, stereos or computers or cigarettes I could have tolerated. But not people. Poor people desperate enough to believe the lies they were told about what waited for them here.”

Everything would have been all right, Caleb thought, if Melanie had stopped where she stood. Instead, she took one more step, putting her within reach of George, still seated where Ralph had ordered him, at the kitchen table.

Even as Caleb opened his mouth to warn her, it was too late. She put herself within inches of George.

George gave her a hard shove directly toward Bruno. Melanie’s gun went flying, hit the refrigerator and landed on the floor. Melanie landed against Bruno.

Not one to miss an opportunity, Bruno spun her around and twisted her arm up behind her back.

Melanie cried out in surprise and pain.

“Drop your guns,” Bruno ordered. “Or I’ll break her arm. Do it!”

“Just take it easy,” Caleb said. “There’s no need to get excited.”

“Excited? I’ve got two guns pointed at me.”

“Now you know how we felt today,” Ralph said.

“Put ’em down!” Bruno jerked Melanie’s arm again.

“All right.” Caleb couldn’t stand seeing her face contort in pain. “Ralph?”

“Yeah. Okay, we’re putting ’em down. Turn her loose.”

“Put ’em down first.”

Caleb and Ralph placed their shotguns on the floor. Caleb had no idea what Fayrene was doing, as the pantry was too dark.

The instant their guns were down, the two men with Bruno pulled pistols from beneath their jackets and covered the room.

“Okay,” Caleb said. “You’ve got control. Now let her go.”

“First, tell me where my merchandise is.”

“What?” George jumped up from his chair. “They’re—I mean it’s—gone? Are you sure?”

“What do you take me for, an idiot? The camper’s empty. The lock’s broken. From the outside,” Bruno added, glaring at Ralph. “What did you do?”

“What I did,” Ralph said, “was change my mind. Our deal’s off.”

“Off?” Bruno bellowed. “Off? Nobody backs out of a deal with Bruno McGuire and walks away.”

“I’ll just have to find some other way to pay you,” Ralph told him.

“You said you didn’t have any money.”

“I don’t,” Ralph admitted. “But I’ll find some somewhere.”

“Where’s my merchandise?”

“It’s gone,” Ralph said calmly.

“Gone?” The freckles on Bruno’s face stood out in sharp relief. “What do you mean gone? Gone where?”

“That’s not important.”

“The hell it’s not. You better tell me.” Bruno tightened his hold on Melanie. “And I mean right this damn minute, Pruitt. I’m through being nice to you. I want my merchandise, and I want my money.”

“You’re not getting them,” Caleb said.

“Who the hell are you? This is between me and Pruitt.”

Caleb clenched his fists at his sides. “Let her go.”

“Let her go,” Ralph said, “or you get nothing.”

“Take her, then.” Bruno shoved her away, hard.

She stumbled.

Caleb sprang forward and caught her. “Are you all right?”

Panting slightly, she nodded. “Just dandy.”

“Now, where’s my merchandise?”

Melanie had heard all she could stand from this bully. She turned around in Caleb’s arms and faced Bruno. “They aren’t merchandise, you bloodsucker, they’re people.”

“They’re mine. I want them back.”

“They’re gone,” she told him. “It’s not like you’re even out any money, considering what they paid for the ride.”

“Gone where? I want them back.”

Melanie stepped from Caleb’s embrace. He started to hold her back but didn’t want to start a struggle just then. But when she took another step toward Bruno, he had to fight himself to keep from leaping after her.

“You can’t have them,” Melanie hissed.

“If you don’t tell me exactly where they are, somebody here is going to get hurt.” For the first time, Bruno himself pulled a pistol from beneath his jacket. He aimed the gun at Melanie’s head. “You wanna be first?”

“Maybe you want to be first.” Fayrene appeared out of the darkness behind Bruno’s back, pressed the barrel of her.45 to the back of Bruno’s neck, and cocked the gun. “I don’t like men who threaten my baby. Gentlemen, your guns on the floor, please, or your boss is going have a real pain in the neck.”

Bruno sneered at Ralph. “You let your women do your speaking and your fighting for you?”

Ralph grinned. “Every chance I get.”

“That’s usually enough,” came Sloan’s voice from the living-room doorway, “but every now and then his neighbors like to get in on the game. Guns on the floor, gentlemen.”

Caleb’s knees nearly buckled in relief. Leave it to Sloan to have such perfect timing. Justin was with him, of course, but when their grandmother stepped up between them with her Winchester.30–.30 deer rifle, Caleb hooted.

Seeing the new firepower aimed their way, Bruno and his men dropped their weapons to the floor.

“And don’t expect any help from those two yahoos outside,” Justin offered with a cheesy grin. “They’re going to be tied up for a while.”

“Welcome, neighbors,” Ralph said. “’Preciate the visit.”

“You would do the same for us,” Rose said easily.

“Anytime,” Ralph said. “Anyplace.”

Before anything else happened, Caleb and Melanie gathered up all the discarded weapons: two shotguns and four pistols. Of the original two groups involved, Fayrene was the only one who managed not to be disarmed.

“Now see what you’ve done,” Bruno said to Ralph. “All you had to do was pay your debt in the first place and none of this would have happened.”

Ralph nodded. “You’re right, of course.”

“Who cares if he’s right?” Melanie said fiercely. “Just because you owed him money doesn’t give him the right to send his creeps snooping around in our barn when they think no one’s around.”

“When did this happen?” Ralph demanded.

“Never mind that,” Melanie said.

“Twice in the past few weeks,” Caleb supplied. “When she was here alone.”

Ralph flushed in anger. “I’m sorry, Mel. I wish you’d told me.”

“Forget that for now. Your debt didn’t give him the right to do that, and it didn’t give him the right to threaten you into letting him use this place to smuggle illegal aliens into the country.”

Bruno started blustering, but Melanie cut him off.

“Here’s how it’s going to be, Bruno. You’re going to get the money Daddy owes you, and you’re going to leave this ranch and never come back. You’re going to write off the Mexicans as a loss, even though you didn’t lose a dime, you actually made money off them. You’re not going to look for them, and if you accidentally find them you’re not going to threaten them or harm them in any way. Do you have a problem with any of that?”

“You’re damn right I do. I paid to have that merchandise brought in. It’s mine and I want it.”

Melanie remembered the hideous condition she and Caleb had found those poor people in. She walked to the counter where they’d placed all the weapons and picked up her revolver. She aimed it at Bruno’s head and said, “If you say one more word about those people, just one more, I’m going to shoot you between your shifty little eyes. Same goes if you or anyone you know comes near this ranch or my family or those people again.”

A trickle of sweat made its way down Bruno’s left temple, but he managed a credible sneer, looking as if his dearest dream was to get his hands around her throat. “You’re bluffing.”

With her right thumb, Melanie cocked the hammer on her revolver. “Am I?”

There was a taut moment of silence but for the hum of the refrigerator. Then Fayrene stepped forward and patted Melanie’s shoulder. “Heaven knows the cockroach deserves killing, baby, but think of the mess we’d have to clean up. You know how you hate to clean the kitchen.”

Always helpful, Justin piped up. “If you’re really set on shooting him, Mel, we can take him outside. That way you wouldn’t have to clean up anything.”

“And if you shoot him,” Sloan added, “you won’t have to worry about him anymore.”

Ralph chuckled. “As much as I appreciate all the suggestions, I guess we should stop teasing these fellows and send them on their way. The sooner I’ve seen the last of them the better I’ll like it.”

Bruno snarled. “You won’t see the last of me until I get my money and my—”

“Ah-ah-ah,” Melanie said. “You weren’t going to mention something that as far as you’re concerned no longer exists, were you? No, of course you weren’t. You didn’t get where you are today by being stupid.”

“Where he is right now?” Fayrene asked. “You mean, in the kitchen, being held at gunpoint by a couple of women?”

“All right, girls,” Ralph said. “That’s enough. Let’s let these gentlemen be on their way.”

Melanie heaved a sigh of disappointment. “Okay, Daddy, if you’re not going to let me shoot him.”

“That’s a good girl,” Ralph told her.

“But before they leave, wait just a minute.” Melanie dashed out of the room. She was back a moment later and handed Bruno a check.

“What’s this?” Bruno asked, incredulous.

“It’s what Daddy owes you. You’re all paid up now, so we won’t be seeing you again. Right?”

“A check?” he cried. “You expect me to take a check?”

“It’s good. It won’t bounce.”

Bruno laughed. “Honey, I’m a bookie. Bookies deal strictly in cash.”

“Well, this time you’ll take a check.”

“Cut your losses,” Caleb told him. “This is the best offer you’ll get around here.”

The family didn’t wait for Bruno to agree. They ushered him and his men out the door and kept their guns at the ready until all the bad guys had driven away.

When Bruno and his men were gone, Fayrene offered to fix breakfast for everyone, but Sloan, Justin and Rose thanked her and declined. They needed to get back to help Emily with the Mexicans.

Ralph offered his hand to Justin, Sloan, then Rose. “I can’t thank you enough for what you did for me tonight.”

Rose waved his thanks away. “Don’t think a thing of it, Ralph. That’s what friends and neighbors are for.”

“Still…” Ralph hung his head and blushed.

“Don’t go getting all embarrassed, Ralph,” she told him. “Not with me. A little gambling debt’s nothing to worry about. My grandfather was hanged for a horse thief.”

“I never knew that,” Melanie said.

“It’s true,” Rose declared. Then she turned to Caleb. “Are you coming home with us?”

“Not just now,” he told her.

“That’s fine, then.” She put her hand on Caleb’s shoulder and added softly, “She’ll make the perfect addition to the family.” She winked and walked away with his brothers.

“What did she say?” Melanie asked.

Caleb smiled. “Nothing.”

Melanie noticed her father’s dejected expression and decided to lighten the atmosphere a little. “Since when was your grandfather a horse thief?” she asked Caleb.

“Not my grandfather, hers. And he wasn’t a horse thief, he was just hanged for one. And he didn’t die, because the guys doing the hanging, who were his brothers, by the way, were drunk. They threw the lynch rope over a thin, dead branch, and it snapped. Which was good, because the next day they realized the horse they thought he’d stolen was his own.”

Seeing her father chuckle, Melanie thought about kissing Caleb right then and there. Instead, she shook her head. “I know you have a colorful family, but I don’t believe a word of it.”

“It’s true.” Caleb held up his right hand, palm out. “I swear.”

Melanie turned to her father. “Are you buying any of this?”

“Why not? After a night like this, I’d believe just about anything.”

“It has been a hell of a night,” Fayrene agreed.

“Well, I’ll tell you all right here and now,” Ralph said. “I’m through with gambling. I’ve learned my lesson.”

“That’s good,” Melanie said, “because that money I paid him is the last that will ever leave the PR coffers to pay off a gambling debt. I mean it, Daddy, not another penny, not ever again.”

Fayrene bristled. “Don’t you talk to your father that way. You be nice to him.”

Thinking to leave the room and give the family their first privacy of the night, Caleb straightened from where he’d been leaning against the counter and took a step across the floor. “I’ll just—”

Melanie put a hand on his chest. “Stay put, coward. We don’t have a single secret left from you anyway.” Then she turned to her mother. “You’re a fine one to talk. He’s your husband and you don’t even live with him.”

“How do you know I’m not changing my mind about that?”

The look of hope that sprang to her father’s face brought tears to Melanie’s eyes.

“Are you?” Ralph asked. “Do you mean it? Are you coming home?”

Fayrene propped her hands on her hips and thrust out her chest. Like steel filings to a magnet, Ralph’s gaze zeroed in. Fayrene smiled. “Under two conditions.”

Ralph swallowed, but his eyes were locked on the piping outlining the yoke of her shirt. “Just name them.”

“Number one, no more gambling. Not a single penny. Whatever you’ve got down on next weekend’s OU–Texas football game, you can forget.”

Ralph had the good grace to blush. He had, indeed, already placed a bet on the game. Still, he nodded. “Done.”

“I mean it, Ralphie. You go gambling again and I’m gone, for good this time.”

“You got it. You said two conditions. What’s the second?”

“That you don’t ignore me the way you used to.”

Ralph blinked in surprise. “Ignore you?”

“By working all hours of the day and night, dragging in way past dark, so tired you can’t hold your eyes open, let alone have a conversation. I’m your wife, and I want some of your time and attention. I want you to talk to me, watch a TV show with me now and then, maybe even go out to a movie or something. I want to be treated like a wife, not a live-in housekeeper.”

Ralph swallowed. “I guess you’re going to have to help me out on that. Remind me when I’m slipping up.”

“You can be sure I will. And the first thing you’re going to have to do is hire more help around this place so you don’t work yourself into an early grave. I’m way too young to be a widow.”

Melanie felt the need to butt in. “Mama, there’s no money to hire back the men we usually have, much less extra help.”

“It’s really that bad?” Fayrene asked. “I can’t believe that.”

“Believe it. I still haven’t figured out how we’re going to pay for Lucy and Ethel.”

“Who?” Ralph asked.

“Never mind,” Melanie said. “What I mean is, we’re broke.”

Caleb stepped forward. “If you’re going to make me stay for this conversation, then I get to contribute to it.”

“Go ahead,” Ralph told him. “Like she said, after tonight we sure don’t have any secrets from you.”

“You should take on a partner.”

“A partner?” He said it as though Caleb had suggested he grow an extra head.

“Someone to buy a share of the ranch for cash, and who would take part of the day-to-day workload off your shoulders. That solves two of your problems right there—cash, and more time to spend, uh, doing whatever.”

Ralph was already shaking his head before Caleb finished. “I’m not about to let some stranger buy part of the PR, come in here and tell me how to run my own ranch.”

“No, I didn’t mean it like that. You wouldn’t want to sell a controlling share. You wouldn’t want him to have a share larger than yours. Melanie owns half the ranch, doesn’t she?”

Fayrene blinked. “We really don’t have any secrets.”

“Ah, come on, Miz Pruitt, you know how close Melanie and I have always been. It’s not like she blabs

everything to everybody, but she talks to me. But she owns half, and the two of you have a fourth each. You could leave Mel with her half, then take the other half, that right now is split in two, and split it in thirds, instead. Or any other way you wanted to split it.”

Ralph crossed his arms. “Hmmph. Who would want to go along with a deal like that, buy into a broke ranch, then work it, to boot?”

“What about me?” Caleb offered. God help him, Ralph had just given up gambling, and Caleb was taking the biggest gamble of his life with this offer.

“You?” Melanie asked, puzzled.

“Why you?” Ralph asked, sharing a quick look with his wife.

“Because,” Caleb said, his heart thundering against his ribs, “I don’t figure Melanie will want to live on the Cherokee Rose after we’re married, so I’ll need to live here. As for the work, I have to have something to do all day, right?”

“Married?” Ralph asked, skepticism plain on his face.

“Married?” Fayrene’s face lit with hope.

“Married?” Melanie shrieked. “Who says we’re getting married?”

“I do. You said you love me. I love you, too. Marriage is the next logical step, right?”

“If that’s a marriage proposal,” she said heatedly, “it’s the dumbest one I’ve ever heard. I know you haven’t been kicked in the head lately. Maybe aliens came down from space and took over your body, because I don’t know you.”

Caleb sauntered over toward her. “Sure you do. I’m that other brother. Your best friend. I can’t do the bended-knee thing and give you a proper proposal because  that would mean I was treating you differently from when we were just friends, and you said you didn’t want that.”

The fluttering in Melanie’s stomach rose up to tickle the inside of her throat. Her hands shook, so she clasped them behind her back. “Maybe I’d make an exception. For this, I mean.”

If she laughed in his face and made a joke of it all, Caleb didn’t know what he’d do. But the look in her eyes, the fear tinged with a touch of what looked like hope, had him taking a deep breath and dropping to one knee.

“Melanie, will you marry me and be my best friend, my lover, my partner, for the rest of our lives?”

A tiny cry escaped before she clamped a hand over her mouth. Her eyes filled with moisture. She blinked rapidly so she could see him clearly. She wanted to remember this moment for the rest of her life.

“Well?” he demanded, growing concerned when she didn’t answer.

Melanie threw her arms wide and fell against him. “I thought you’d never ask!”

Caleb squeezed his eyes shut and held on to her for all he was worth. Damned if he would ever let her go.

“Did you hear that, Ralph? Oh, my. Our baby’s going to marry Caleb.”

“How about that,” Ralph answered. “How about that.”

Caleb heard them say something else, but he couldn’t make out the words over the pounding of his own heart. Something about somebody named Lucy and somebody else named Ethel, but since he didn’t know anyone by those names, he let it go.

“I love you,” he whispered to the woman in his arms. “I love you.”

“Oh, Caleb, I love you, too. Are we crazy?”

“Probably.” They rose with their arms around each other and he held her tight. “But who cares?”

“Surely,” she said, kissing his neck, his jaw, his cheek. “Surely somebody somewhere does.”

Caleb threaded his fingers into her hair and angled her mouth toward his. “To hell with them.” He took her mouth with his and drank deep and long. A need rose up in him, sharp and strong. He fed it, fed on her. She was his. She’d said yes. He still couldn’t believe it. Could he be dreaming?

He prayed not. Prayed that he was awake and this was real and they were really getting married.

“I want you,” he murmured against her mouth.

“Yes.” She sounded as breathless as he was. “Yes.”

He tore his mouth from hers and buried his face against her hair. “We’re in your kitchen.”

Melanie pulled back and blinked. “Oh. Yeah.”

“We’ve got a problem,” he told her.

She nudged her hips against his, putting pressure on his erection, and smiled slyly. “I’d take care of that for you, but as you say, we’re in the kitchen.”

“And your parents are home. But our main problem is, neither one of us ever left the damn nest.”

“Ah.” She didn’t need it spelled out. “I live with my parents, you live with your family.”

“I’m going to be taking a lot of cold showers between now and the time we’re married.”

She leaned up and rubbed her smooth cheek against his raspy one. “We’ll find a way. I promise.”

“A quick wedding date would solve the problem. After that, I’ll just have to get used to making love to you down the hall from your parents.”

Melanie chuckled. “I think for the next little while my parents are going to so preoccupied with each other that they’ll never notice.” body Chapter

Chapter Ten

It should have been a relatively simple matter, Caleb thought, to set a date, make arrangements, get married. It wasn’t the invasion of Normandy, for crying out loud, it was just a wedding. His wedding, Caleb acknowledged, and he wanted it done.

But that contrary woman he’d proposed to and who had accepted could think up more delaying tactics than fleas on a hound.

First, she and her parents needed a few days together as a family. After her mother’s two-year absence and her father’s recent disastrous gambling streak, Caleb was forced to agree a little family time for the three of them was surely called for. He couldn’t begrudge them a few days. A week.

Then she had to help her dad hire new men and spend a few days getting them acquainted with the PR and how things were done there.

Okay, Caleb could buy that. How could a woman think about picking a wedding date when she had all that on her mind?

Events at his home weren’t helping anything, either. It took nearly a week to get one group of the Mexicans settled in New Mexico with family members who had immigrated years earlier. Then they made arrangements for some to go to Texas where they said they had friends.

Most of the rest of the group decided to go to Tennessee where they heard that a food-processing plant didn’t care if their workers were illegal. They paid what to an American would be slave wages, but to the Mexicans was decent money for plucking and cutting up chickens.

That left only Pedro, Maria and little Rosa. They would have been gone by now, but Pedro had made himself practically indispensable taking up some of the slack caused by Caleb spending so much time at the PR of late.

Melanie might be having trouble deciding on a wedding date, but Ralph seemed downright eager to settle the details of the new partnership. They had decided that Melanie would, indeed, keep her fifty percent. Fayrene, Ralph and Caleb would split the remaining fifty percent equally among them, giving them each one-sixth of the Pruitt Ranch. When it came to ranch business, Melanie’s decisions would be final unless the other three partners agreed on a different course of action. Then they’d be tied, fifty-fifty, and nothing would get done, but what the hell. The point was that the ranch would always belong to Melanie. Caleb had no quarrel with that. He would work his fingers to nubs to make the ranch prosper for her and their children.

Children. There was another topic Melanie hadn’t found the time to discuss. She had always said she wanted children, so he didn’t know what the big deal was. If he could ever get her alone for five damn minutes, maybe he’d ask her about it.

But then, who was he kidding? If he got her alone for five damn minutes he wasn’t going to want to talk about anything. He was going to want to jump her bones.

“You look like you’re a thousand miles away.”

Caleb jerked away from the corral fence involuntarily as if shot. He hadn’t heard Sloan come up behind him.

“But I guess you’re just over on the next ranch.” Sloan punched him on the upper arm and chuckled.

“Actually,” Caleb said, “I was wondering how Earline’s enjoying her retirement.” It wasn’t a complete lie. He’d been thinking about Earline about an hour ago. Thinking how odd it was to walk into the house and find Maria doing all the things Earline used to do. The cooking, the cleaning, the general taking care of the house and family.

Earline had been keeping house for the Chisholms for more years than Caleb could remember. That she would finally retire to enjoy her golden years at home with her husband and all the grandchildren who lived near them shouldn’t have come as a surprise. But Earline had seen in Maria someone capable, eager, and in dire need of a home and job.

Earline’s recommendation alone would have been enough to guarantee Maria the job, considering how much Rose liked the young woman. But Pedro was equally well liked by Sloan and Justin.

Caleb hadn’t spent as much time with the man as his brothers had, but from what he’d seen, the Cherokee Rose would benefit from his presence. He wasn’t a rancher, but he was an excellent caretaker of buildings, equipment and animals. He could do all those pesky things Caleb and his brothers kept putting off because they couldn’t be done from the back of a horse.

And they were going to need an extra full-time person once Caleb made the move to the PR.

“If you ask me,” Sloan said, “she was just waiting for someone like Maria to come along so she could retire. She might have retired when she met Emily, but Emily made it plain that she wasn’t after her job.”

“Speaking of Emily,” Caleb said, “how is married life these days?”

Sloan chuckled. “Contemplating your future, are you?”

Caleb shrugged and turned back to watch Sloan’s new mare prance around the corral.

“Getting cold feet?” Sloan asked quietly.

“Hell, no,” Caleb said forcefully. “Not me.”

“Melanie, then.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because it’s been two weeks and the two of you haven’t set a date yet.” And because he knew his brother and didn’t want to see him brood, he asked, “Are you really going to like living with her parents?”

Caleb’s lips twitched. “Probably not. How do you think Emily likes living with all of us?”

“I’ll admit I was concerned about that at first.”

“Not anymore?”

Sloan shook his head and propped his boot next to Caleb’s on the fence rail. “Emily never had a family. As far as she’s concerned, the more people in this house the better she likes it.”

“What about you?” Caleb asked. “Wouldn’t you like a little privacy for the two of you now and then?”

“Not really. The honeymoon was great, don’t get me wrong. We did need that, and probably will again, maybe on a regular basis. But no matter how much we enjoyed our time alone together, we were both glad to get home. There’s a lot to be said for being surrounded by family.”

“Yeah, but all the time?”

Sloan laughed. “There’s always the lock on the bedroom door. And when we use it, we’re lucky enough to have somebody else in the house to look after the girls for us. If it was just us, Emily and me and the girls, our privacy would be even more scarce.”

“Melanie and I won’t have children to worry about. Not right off, anyway.”

“Oh, I don’t know. From what I hear, Fayrene and Ralph have been acting like a couple of teenagers in heat. They probably qualify as children.”

“Man.” Caleb shook his head and laughed. “Poor Ralph can’t keep his eyes off her. Or his hands, I imagine. He just about drools over that new chest of hers.”

Sloan shook his head. “Why’d she go and do that to herself? I mean, she looks great, but there was nothing wrong with her before.”

“She says she did it to get Ralph’s attention.”

“I’d say it worked.”

“She got her money’s worth, that’s for sure.”

“Is Mel still dragging her feet about a wedding date?” Sloan asked quietly.

Caleb let out a harsh breath. “Yeah. That sure seems to be what she’s doing, even though she denies it.”

“Have patience, bro. She’s just a little scared, that’s all.”

“I’ve figured that much out for myself. Every time I try to get her to talk about it she finds a way to dodge the subject. What I’m not sure of is what she’s afraid of. Me? Marriage? Marriage to me?” He shook his head.

Sloan worried that he might be betraying a confidence, but Emily had not asked him to keep it a secret, hadn’t mentioned Mel extracting any promise of secrecy from her. Caleb was his brother. He loved Melanie like a sister, but his loyalty went first to Caleb. Until the two of them married, he thought with a smile, then all bets were off.

For now, however, he couldn’t leave Caleb stumbling around in the dark if he had the means to shed a little light. He leaned his elbows on the top rail and watched his new mare.

“And here I thought you were the one who knew her the best,” he offered lazily. “She’s scared of herself. Unsure of herself.”

“I suspected as much, but I can’t get a handle on it. And Lord knows she won’t talk about it.”

“She thinks she’s, I don’t know, fickle or something. She figured out she didn’t really love me, and every man she’s been interested in since, she’s gotten bored with after a few weeks. She thinks that’s all she’s able to do. I imagine she’s afraid what she’s feeling for you won’t last.”

“She’s told me something similar. But she’s wrong. She’s got the biggest heart, and no one on earth is more steadfast.”

“I know that, and you know that. You’ve just got to find a way to make her see it.”

“Ha. Is that all? Get Melanie to change her mind about something?”

“You got her to change her mind about just being friends, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.” Caleb perked up. “I did, didn’t I.”

“So maybe you’re not as useless as I’ve always thought you were.”

“Hey, I resemble that statement.”

At the PR, Melanie wasn’t as amenable to advice as Caleb had been. She wished heartily that no one knew she and Caleb had agreed to marry.

Why did everyone want to talk about it all the damn time? First her mother, then her father, then her mother again. She was only glad there wasn’t anyone else around except two new hands who didn’t know her well enough to open their mouths to her about anything personal.

There must be a chart somewhere, she decided, that told her parents whose turn it was to corner her and oh so casually pressure her to set a wedding date. Pink square for Mama’s turn, blue square for Daddy. This evening must have been a blue square. He found her in the barn with their three boarder mares.

“No,” she said before he could open his mouth. “We have not set a date yet.”

“Did I say anything?” he cried. “I didn’t say anything. You’ve just got a guilty conscience, that’s all.”

“What do I have to feel guilty about?”

Her father shook his head. “From a female point of view, probably nothing.”

“What’s that mean, female point of view?”

“You women just live to make a man dance to your tune. Promise a man you’ll do something he wants real bad, then hold out as long as possible and make him sweat, just for the fun of it, before you finally make good on it.”

Melanie paused before turning away toward the tack room. This wasn’t about her. “This is about you and Mama, isn’t it? She promised you something and now she’s putting you off.”

“Damn woman.”

“You’re crazy in love with that damn woman.”

He stomped away three paces, then back again, his arms flapping at his sides. “Of course I am. Always have been. What’s that got to do with anything?”

“How did you know, Daddy? All those years ago, how did you know she was the one, that you two would stay together, that it would work out between you?”

“Work out? You call this working out? She’s driving me crazy.”

“Maybe, but she’s here, isn’t she? And you still love each other.”

“For all the good that does.”

Melanie snorted. “And you want to know why I won’t pick a date to get married?”

“Ah, hell, little girl, forget I said anything. Just because I’m miserable doesn’t mean you will be.”

Didn’t it? She had to wonder. “What did Mama promise that she won’t deliver on?” Then she held out a hand. “If it has anything to do with sex forget I asked.” Logically, she knew her parents were two warm-blooded people who adored each other. She couldn’t help it, however, if it seemed weird to her to know they were having sex.

Having sex, hell. They appeared to have been going at it like a couple of bunny rabbits since her mother’s return, if the number of times her father disappeared into the house each day was anything to go by.

“No.” He laughed. “It’s nothing that private. It’s just that she keeps stalling about sending for her things in Phoenix.”

“Why would she stall? She’s already said she’s home to stay.”

“My thoughts exactly,” he said with a sharp nod. “But if she won’t send for her things, maybe she’s thinking she might not stay after all.”

And it hurt him. It was easy to see in his eyes now that she knew what was going on. Her mother’s uncertainty was tearing her father apart.

“Oh, Daddy.” She slipped an arm around his waist and put her head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m sure she doesn’t mean it like that. Maybe she’s just scared.”

“She doesn’t trust me, that’s what it is. I promised I wouldn’t gamble or take her for granted anymore, but I’ve given her no reason to trust me in the past.”

“I’m sure that’s not it, Daddy. Maybe it’s herself she’s not sure of. She gave up on us before. Maybe she’s afraid she doesn’t… oh my God.” It all came clear to her, like a heavy fog suddenly lifting to reveal a sharp, clear landscape.

“What? What’s wrong, Mel?”

She shook her head and looked at her father. “Nothing. I just think maybe she’s afraid she doesn’t have what it takes to stick it out if everything doesn’t go smoothly in the future. Maybe she’s afraid she’s the one who’ll fail.”

The way I’m afraid, she thought with new clarity.

It wasn’t setting a date that scared her, or even marrying Caleb. What scared her was her own lousy track record with relationships. With the exception of chasing after Sloan all her life, she had never stuck with anyone for any length of time. She never let anyone get close. She never tried to get close to anyone.

Until Caleb. Even then, it wasn’t as if she had let him get close. He’d more or less barged his way into her heart and planted himself there. And now that he’d gone and made her fall in love with him, he thought they should get married. He’d asked, she’d said yes. And had dragged her feet in the two weeks since.

Was she hurting him the way her mother was hurting her father? Was Caleb making excuses for her the way her father was for her mother?

She searched her heart for answers but could find only one: yes. Yes, she was hurting him, and yes, he was probably making excuses for her behavior.

But there was another question, a harder one to answer. What was she going to do now? She couldn’t expect him to wait around forever for her to make up her mind. After all, she had told him she would marry him. She wanted to marry him. Didn’t she? She loved him, wanted no other man but him, wanted to spend the rest of her life with him.

But, maybe like her mother, she feared she didn’t have what it took to make a marriage work.

What she had to do now was make up her mind. She could set a date and pray like crazy that she didn’t screw up Caleb’s life by marrying him, or she could call it off and maybe, if she was very, very lucky, be his friend again.

Who was she kidding? Why would he ever want to be her friend again if she turned her back on him now? She had to marry him or let him go. There could be no in-between.

Later that evening Caleb stood before the mirror in his room and gave himself the once-over. Twice. Clean shirt and jeans, boots shined. Hair combed. Freshly shaved.

He would have to do. He rushed down the stairs and toward the door. “I’m going out,” he called. “Don’t wait up.”

Behind him, his grandmother, sister-in-law and two brothers shared a look and a knowing smile.

“Give our best to Melanie,” Rose said.

Caleb didn’t bother replying. There was no such thing as a secret in this house, he thought. But then, any idiot could have figured out where he was going, if the smell of his new aftershave was any indication.

Had he overdone the aftershave?

Hell with it. It was too late now, in any case. He jumped into his pickup and barreled down the driveway. He was a man on a mission.

He hadn’t called Melanie to tell her he was coming or ask if she was available. He didn’t want to take the chance that she might come up with an excuse to put him off. She hadn’t done that yet, but whenever they saw each other she seemed to be holding her breath to see what he wanted to talk about. Or she would start rambling about something that had nothing to do with anything, talking so fast that he couldn’t get a word in.

Not tonight. Tonight they were going to get to the bottom of the situation. If he was going to lose her, he would just as soon find out now.

Tough talk, he thought, for a guy crazy in love with a reluctant woman.

It was that reluctance he had to find a way to surmount. He didn’t know how he was going to do that, but he would think of something. He had to. He didn’t intend to spend the rest of his life without her.

* * *

Melanie gave herself a final once-over in the mirror above her dresser. She had looked better in her day, but an hour ago she had looked decidedly worse. Caleb knew her in all her looks, so she doubted her appearance would make much difference, but, as her mother had drilled into her head her entire life, it never hurts to look your best.

“Listen to me,” she muttered to her reflection. “Taking grooming advice from someone with fake boobs.” She shook her head. She would not fault her mother for getting breast implants. If implants made her mother happy, then power to her. To Melanie such things were nonsense. But then, she was pushing twenty-nine and had never been married, so that showed what she knew about getting what she wanted from a man.

Go figure.

What she wanted from Caleb, he couldn’t give her, but she owed it to him to be honest.

She was thinking about him so much, so hard, that when she stepped out the back door with her keys in hand, on her way to drive to the Rose to see him, and there he stood, on her sidewalk in the waning evening light, she thought she had conjured him up out of thin air.

“Hi,” he said. “Going somewhere?”

Honesty. Wasn’t that her goal? “I was on my way to see you.”

“You were?” He cocked his head to one side. “What for?”

“Can’t a girl come visit her guy without having to give a reason?”

He took her hand and brought it to his lips. “This girl can come see this guy whenever she wants.” He kissed the back of her hand. “For any reason on earth, or no reason at all.”

Melanie batted her lashes. “Why, Caleb Chisholm, I had no idea you were such a sweet-talking devil.”

He pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. “I’ve missed you.”

She started to laugh and remind him that it had only been two days since they’d seen each other. Instead, she laid her head on his shoulder and sighed. “I’ve missed you, too.”

With a finger beneath her chin, he tilted her face up toward him. “Have you?”

A lump rose in Melanie’s throat. If he had to ask, then she’d been right earlier—she had hurt him. “Oh, Caleb, I’m so sorry you feel the need to ask that.”

“Shh,” he whispered. “It’s all right.”

“No, it’s not.”

He smiled slightly. “Wanna fight about it?”

She tucked her head beneath his chin again. “No.”

“Come for a ride with me.”

“Okay.”

“If you’re hungry we can go to town and I’ll buy you a burger.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll bring you home whenever you say.”

She pulled back and looked at him. “I said okay.”

“Oh. Okay. Let’s go, then.”

“Let me tell Mama and Daddy so they won’t wonder what happened to me.” She ran back and stuck her head in the door, telling her parents she was leaving with Caleb and not to wait up. As if they would, she thought with a silent laugh.

“You two have a good time,” her father called.

“And set a wedding date,” came her mother’s demand.

Melanie cringed, hoping Caleb hadn’t heard the latter. She wasn’t ready for that conversation yet. Maybe that hamburger he promised would give her courage.

On the ride into town Melanie scooted over and sat pressed against Caleb’s side. She had a need to touch him, to feel him next to her as much as possible.

Caleb welcomed the warmth, both physical and emotional, of her nearness. Until she told him differently, they were still engaged to be married. That implied a certain level of intimacy, such as a man being able to rest his arm along his woman’s thigh, his hand just above her knee.

It felt good to touch her. Felt even better when she placed her hand on top of his and threaded her fingers with his.

This was something new for Melanie. She didn’t usually touch him in such a casual yet intimate way as holding hands. If he took her hand in his, that was one thing. But for her to make the move… it made his heart pound.

By the time they made the city limits of Rose Rock the sky was dark, the stars starting to pop out.

“What’ll it be?” Caleb asked. “Hamburger, chili dog or pizza? Or we could hit the café for a steak or something.”

“I’ll go with your original offer of a burger.”

“A burger it is.” He drove down Main to the hamburger stand and pulled in and parked. They got out together and placed their order at the walk-up window, then sat at one of the nearby picnic tables. The temperature was holding in the midsixties, so it was comfortable where they sat beneath the awning. They watched the cars drive by and waited for their order to be called. They didn’t talk much.

Caleb had plenty he wanted to say to her, but he got the impression Melanie had things to tell him, too, but that she wasn’t ready. It was hard for him not to push her. Still, he managed to bide his time. Whatever they ended up saying to each other tonight would be better said when they were alone. Here there were too many people coming and going, walking over to say hello, yelling out from their cars as they drove by.

He could wait a little longer. They would eat first, then find someplace private. Then, they would talk.

The problem was, even then they didn’t talk. After they finished their burgers they drove to the river a few miles outside of town. Caleb found a private place to park beneath the blackjacks and cottonwoods along the bank. He killed the lights, the engine, the radio, and they sat quietly, Melanie snug against his side with her head on his shoulder, their joined hands on her leg, and listened to the frogs and the rustling leaves and the river.

Caleb decided she was never going to speak. He would have to dive in and brave the waters. Then she surprised him by speaking first.

“I’m afraid, Caleb.”

He pulled her into his arms, turning her to face him, putting her back to the steering wheel. “I know you are. What are you afraid of?”

She lowered her gaze and centered it somewhere in the vicinity of his chin. “Of messing everything up. I’m so afraid of messing things up that I mess up trying not to mess up.”

“You know, I hate to admit it, but I actually understood that. I think.”

Melanie pinched his arm.

“Ouch!” He rubbed the sore spot. “What was that for?”

“I’m being serious and you’re making fun of me.”

“I’m being serious. But you’re wrong, you know. As far as I can tell, you haven’t messed up anything at all.”

“I’ve messed up something pretty good if you have to ask whether or not I’ve missed you.”

Caleb shook his head. “That’s just your self-defense mechanism working overtime. You think I don’t know that?”

“I wish you’d have told me. I’m just barely figuring it out for myself. I’ve hurt your feelings by not settling on a date.”

What could he say to that? She had him there. “Have you figured out why you’re not ready to set a date?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged and lowered her gaze. “I guess I’m afraid we’ll get married and then you’ll figure out I’m a fake and it’ll be too late and we’ll have to turn around and get a divorce.”

“There you go again, building up another disaster in your head.” He managed a small laugh.

“Yeah, I know. Dumb, isn’t it?”

“It’s not dumb if it’s something that scares you. But if you’re going in the door thinking divorce is just ahead, then it’ll never work. Why bother making the commitment if you’ve already got your escape route planned? There’s no need to even try to make things work if you’ve got one foot out the door before we start. If I could give you a guarantee that everything would be easy, Melanie, I would. I’d write it in my own blood if it would reassure you.”

“No,” she whispered, pressing her fingers over his lips. “No. This problem is in me, not you. I know there are no guarantees. I know that. I just need to stop being afraid, and I don’t know how to do that.”

“You need to believe in yourself, and I don’t know how to help you do that. In every other part of your life you don’t have a doubt in the world about who you are and what you want or where your place is in everything. I don’t understand why this, us, you and me, is any different, but I know for you it is. All I ask is that you be honest with me, tell me what’s going on. If you’re unsure or afraid or angry or anything, tell me. I might not be able to help, but I want to know. Need to know.”

Melanie trembled at his words and the depth of meaning behind then. He wasn’t asking for mere words. He was asking her to make herself vulnerable to him.

Let me in. That’s what he’d said the day they’d made love. That’s what he was asking now. That she let him in. Inside her heart, her head.

Did she have the courage to open herself to him that way, make herself completely vulnerable to him? Give him that kind of power over her again, only more so this time?

“Why does the thought of being honest with me scare you so much?”

“Who says I’m scared?”

“Hell, you should see your face. You can’t hide it from me. I don’t understand why you think you need to try. You’re an honest person. It’s not like you make a career out of lying. Talk to me, dammit.”

“What do you want me to say?” She threw herself across the cab to the passenger’s side. “That you’re the one person in the world who can hurt me? Is that what you want to hear? That if I don’t protect myself from you you’ll be able to tear me apart?”

He turned sideways and leaned toward her. “My God, Melanie, what is it you think I’m going to do to you?”

“See?” she cried, panic seizing her throat. “You tell me to talk to you, to be honest about what scares me, and when I am, you don’t want to hear it.”

Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew she was being irrational, she simply couldn’t stop herself. All her thoughts and fears and outrageous hopes swirled inside her in ever-tightening circles until she feared she might implode.

“I notice,” Caleb said after a long moment, “that you didn’t answer my question.”

Her breath came in fast little pants. “Take me home.”

More than stunned, Caleb leaned back against the driver’s door and stared at her. He’d never seen her like this. She was like a wolf caught in a trap, trying to gnaw off its own foot to get free. And he couldn’t bear to see her suffer this way.

“All right,” he said, his dreams turning bitter on his tongue. “All right, Melanie, you win. I’ll take you home.”

Chapter Eleven

“Holy smokes!” Ralph gaped at his daughter the next morning across the breakfast table. “What the devil happened to you? You look like you’ve been rode hard and put up wet.”

“Ralph!” Fayrene scolded. “What a thing to say to your own daughter. Comparing her to a horse. Although,” she added, giving Melanie a closer look, “you do look a little rough around the edges this morning, baby. What’s wrong?”

Rough around the edges, Melanie thought, was putting it mildly. She’d seen herself in the mirror. Her face was blotchy, her eyes swollen, her lips puffy. She looked as if she’d been crying all night. Probably because she had been.

“I didn’t sleep much,” she said to her mother. “I might be coming down with a cold.”

Fayrene pursed her lips a moment, then said, “If you say so. If you ask me, you’re complicating this whole marriage thing way too much.”

Melanie blinked her swollen, gritty eyes. “What?”

Fayrene stood next to Melanie’s chair and smoothed a hand down her daughter’s hair. “I know you, baby. You’re worrying too much. It’s only prewedding jitters, that’s all.”

Melanie sniffed. “It’s just a cold.”

“You’re just a little nervous at the thought of suddenly sharing your life with another person. But this other person, baby, is Caleb, and he adores you. All you have to remember is that when you love somebody, you want that person to be happy. You,” she said, pointing a long, manicured nail at Melanie, “love Caleb. You want him to be happy. You are the only person he’ll ever be happy with. It’s simple, see? Marrying him will make both of you happy.”

“As happy as a couple of clams,” Ralph chimed in.

Melanie sneered. “Clams don’t get happy, they get steamed. Then they get eaten and disappear. They no longer exist.”

“Oh, baby.” Fayrene smoothed Melanie’s hair back again. “Is that what you think is going to happen to you? No wonder you won’t settle on a wedding date.”

“No, Mama, I was just running off at the mouth. I don’t think I’ll disappear if I marry Caleb.”

“Whew. That’s good. For a minute there…” Then Fayrene laughed. “But how silly of me. Of course you’re not calling off the wedding.”

Melanie swallowed. Technically, her mother was absolutely correct. Melanie was not calling off the wedding. Caleb had pretty much taken care of that last night. At least, it seemed that way to her.

Of course, last night had been a complete disaster all the way around. She had ruined everything. She had tried to do what she thought was right, what he had asked of her. She’d tried to be honest and explain her emotions, her fear. But in doing so she had hurt him deeply. Maybe even angered him. Surely insulted him.

After all of that, there had been no need for her to call off the wedding. She had asked him to take her home, but his answer, when he’d said that she had won, had been about much more than her request to go home. He had given up. On her, on them.

“No, Mama,” she said. “I’m not calling off the wedding, but I’m afraid Caleb might.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” her mother cried. “That boy is crazy in love with you.”

“I know he is.”

“And you’re crazy in love with him. Any fool can see that.”

Melanie nodded without speaking. “But I hurt his feelings last night.”

“So?” her father said. “Apologize. Kiss and make up. Hell, making up is some of the most fun there is in life.”

Apologize. Could it possibly be that simple? Melanie didn’t see how. An apology wouldn’t keep her irrational fear from turning her into a raving lunatic again.

“I don’t mean to sound harsh, baby,” her mother said. “But it seems to me you need to make up your mind once and for all. That’s a fine man you’ve hooked up with. You need to either marry him or cut him loose.”

Cut him loose? The words jarred Melanie. She felt as if someone had just jerked her chair from beneath her and left her hanging in midair. Like the coyote racing off the edge of a cliff into midair. Then he looks down, realizes the ground is gone, and plunges.

Of course, after he crashed to earth he picked himself up and carried on. You could do that in cartoons. In real life, things were different. The ground was much less forgiving.

“A man like Caleb,” her mother went on, “needs a wife and family of his own. And he’s not getting any younger. If you’re not going to marry him, let him go so he can find somebody else to marry and spend the rest of his life with.”

Somebody else? Caleb, married to someone else? Melanie couldn’t conceive of it. But what else could she expect? He had proven to her last night that he wasn’t going to put up with being hurt and insulted and neglected for long.

Dear God, what had she done with all her waffling, her whining, her stupid fears?

“I’ve got to go.” She jumped from her chair, grabbed her keys from their peg by the back door and dashed out.

In the quiet wake of her leaving, Ralph chuckled. “Cut him loose? So he can find somebody else? Oh, Mama, you’re a mean one.”

“Well, it’s past time somebody gave her a shove. She’s dillydallying too much for my taste. I want a wedding. Grandbabies. We leave it up to her, it’ll be years before we get either.”

The sun was barely up when Melanie tore up the gravel driveway at the Cherokee Rose and skidded to a stop in front of the barn. Rose and her grandsons should be pouring out of the house any minute and heading out to work for the day.

Sure enough, just as she climbed out of her rig and started across toward the side door of the house, that door opened. But it wasn’t Caleb who came out, it was Sloan.

He was on the third step down from the porch to the sidewalk before he spotted her. He drew up short.

“Mel. What are you doing here this early?”

“I need to talk with Caleb. Thought I’d better catch him before he headed out for the day.”

“Good idea. And yes,” Sloan said darkly, “I think you do need to talk to him. He thinks the two of you are doomed, that you don’t love him enough to marry him.”

A huge, painful lump rose in Melanie’s throat. “He said that?”

“He didn’t have to. It was written all over his face when he came home last night. Came home much too damn early for having spent the evening with the woman he’s getting ready to marry.”

“Look, Sloan, this is between Caleb and me. I appreciate your concern, but—”

“Oh no you don’t. Don’t you dare tell me to butt out. Not after the way you stuck your nose in last summer with Emily and me.”

“You needed it.”

“I did. Yes.”

“You were being pigheaded.”

“You’re right, I was.”

“It’s different with Caleb and me.”

“I’m sure it is,” Sloan admitted. “I’m not sure what’s going on. I don’t think I need to know. I just want to remind you that you’ve looked all your life for a man to love you the way he does. I’m sorry it couldn’t have been me, but that’s behind us. No one knows the two of you better than I do and I’m telling you that you and Caleb belong together. So whatever this trouble is, fix it.”

“Fix it? That’s you’re great advice?”

“It’ll do. Fix it, kiss and make up, get married. You’ll never regret it, Mel. You won’t find a man better than him and you know it.”

“Dammit, I’m not looking for a man better than him.”

“That’s a relief to know.”

At the sound of Caleb’s voice behind her, Melanie gasped and whirled. “Where did you come from?”

“I was in the tack room. I thought I heard someone drive up.”

He looked so good to her in the early-morning light. In any light. “I’m sorry,” she said.

Caleb cocked his head to one side. “For what?”

He wasn’t going to make this easy. Fair enough. She didn’t deserve easy. “I’m sorry…” She peered out the corner of her eye. “I’m sorry that we don’t seem to have any privacy.”

Sloan tossed his hands in the air. “All right, all right. Sheesh. I’m going.”

“Let’s walk,” Caleb said. He turned and headed toward the creek beyond the house.

Melanie followed, not sure what to make of the lack of emotion in his voice and on his face. Then again, she’d known facing him wouldn’t be easy.

Beside an old cottonwood at the edge of the creek, Caleb stopped and turned toward her. “I admit I’m surprised to see you.”

“I guess you would be, after last night. Caleb, I hurt you last night, and that’s the last thing I ever want to do. I’m so sorry.”

“I asked for honesty, you gave it to me. You’re afraid I’m going to hurt you, so you’re keeping me at arm’s length.”

Melanie crossed her arms and glanced back toward the barn and corrals. “That’s pretty much what I said. Dumb, huh?”

“Not to you it isn’t.”

“Dammit, Caleb, stop it,” she cried.

“Stop what?”

“Stop being so damn nice, so understanding. What, are you bucking for sainthood? Saint Caleb, so understanding. Or maybe it’s martyrdom. Maybe that’s what you’re after. Just let me walk all over you. Stand by your woman no matter how much of a bitch she turns in to.”

“Pardon?” This, Caleb thought with a tingling along his spine, did not sound like a woman afraid of being hurt.

“Pardon,” she mimicked. “Don’t go all sarcastic on me. I didn’t mean to hurt you last night. I haven’t meant to hurt you however many times I’ve hurt you in the past couple of weeks. I’d rather cut off my right arm than hurt you.”

When he didn’t say anything, she started pacing back and forth in front of him, waving her arms wildly in the air.

“I’ve been a basket case, all right? Out of my mind trying to figure out if this marriage thing can possibly work. Not for me,” she added with a wave of her arm. “Hell, all I have to do is get within ten feet of you and I’m happy. But I figure you might want a little something more than that from me, and I’m not sure I know what that is.”

“Okay, hold it.” Caleb held a hand up to stop her. “You think I want something you can’t give, and that scares you. You think I’m going to hurt you, and that scares you. Have I got this much right?”

Wary of his dark tone, she nodded. “That’s right.”

“Then what,” he asked tightly, “are you doing here? Why are we even having this conversation? Why haven’t we just gone our separate ways?”

“Is that what you want? For us to go our separate ways?”

“Of course it’s not,” he offered earnestly. “But if you think I’m going to stand around and be the cause of you tearing yourself to pieces out of fear of what might or might not happen, then guess again.”

“Would you listen to the two of us?” Melanie scrubbed both hands up and down her face, then dropped her arms to her sides and faced him. “We’re both out of our minds. When we were friends we never even argued. No strife, no stress, no tension. Just friendship. Somebody to count on.”

“You don’t think you can count on me anymore?”

Her small smile nearly broke his heart. “Of course I can count on you. Always. You told me so, and I believed you.”

“Do you want to go back to being friends again?”

“You mean just friends?”

“Yes.” If she agreed, it would kill him.

She shook her head. “It’s way too late for that, Caleb. I do want us to be friends, but we can’t be just friends when we love each other this much.”

Caleb felt his heart simply stop. Then it started again with a hard thud against his ribs. “Then what is it you do want?”

“I want to feel like a sane person again, and the only way I can do that is if you help me. I love you, Caleb. Right now I’m a little bit wacky. I’m hoping that’ll pass, but if it doesn’t, then you’re stuck with a crazy woman. If you think you can’t handle that, then just say so.”

Caleb placed his hands on the balls of her shoulders. “If I knew what to do so you wouldn’t be afraid, I’d do it in a heartbeat.”

“Then marry me.”

“What?” He stared, dumbfounded.

“A week from Saturday. If the church isn’t available, we’ll try the VFW hall, or the rec center, or the barn for all I care. Just marry me.”

A slow smile spread across Caleb’s mouth as the weight of the past two weeks drifted away. “How come I had to get down on one knee and you don’t?”

In that instant, Melanie felt the icy fear that had been lodged in her gut for two weeks melt away. She felt like herself again. She was in love with Caleb Chisholm, and he was going to marry her. Just as soon as he got his pound of flesh.

All right, then, she thought. After what she had put him through lately, he’d earned it. She lowered herself to one knee. “Caleb Chisholm, will you marry me?”

“Say yes!” came a shout from the back of the house.

“Say yes!” came another from the corral.

“Say yes,” Melanie nearly growled, “so I can get up and go kill your brothers.”

He didn’t say yes. Instead, he pulled her up into his arms with a fierce “Come here to me.”

Melanie had feared many times in recent hours that she might never know again the feel of his arms around her. The sensation of warmth, of welcome and safety, overwhelmed her. “Is this a yes?” she whispered.

“This is definitely a yes.” He squeezed her tightly against him.

Melanie thought she had cried herself dry during the night, but suddenly she was wracked with deep, hard sobs.

“Oh, Mel, don’t cry. Please don’t cry. You’re tearing me up.”

“I’m sorry,” she sniffed. “I’m so sorry for all of this, Caleb. I love you so m-much, and I almost ran you away.”

“You couldn’t run me away at gunpoint,” he assured her.

She sniffed again. “Honest?”

Caleb kissed the tip of her tear-reddened nose. “Honest.” He kissed her cheek. “A week from Saturday, huh?”

“Is that a problem?”

“Not for me,” he swore. “But I guess we better go tell our families so they can make a big fuss. Oh, and I’ve been told to inform you that if we need any flower girls for the ceremony, I have a couple of new nieces who have experience in that area and who would be more than willing to help us out.”

Melanie laughed and hugged him. “This ought to set a few tongues wagging.”

“Why’s that?”

“Me, marrying you, with Sloan’s daughters as my flower girls. The gossips are going to love it.”

With his arms around her, he clasped his hands together at the small of her back and studied her face. “How is that gossip going to sit with you?”

“I could care less,” she said airily. “I know which Chisholm brother is the right one, and I’ve got him all to myself.”

“That you do.” He lowered his lips toward hers and kissed her. “That, you do.”

Epilogue

They were married a week from that next Saturday, in the late afternoon at the same Baptist church where only last summer Sloan and Emily had wed.

There was no large crowd this time. Melanie and Caleb hadn’t wanted one, and there hadn’t been time to plan for many guests anyway.

There was some gossip, as Melanie had predicted, about her not being able to make up her mind between one brother and the next. About her moving down the ladder to brother number two when brother number one was taken.

But mostly the gossip came from Alyshia Campbell.

Having become, by the virtue of saying “I do,” a mature married woman, Melanie decided to be magnanimous and ignore the barracuda instead of gouging her eyes out. After all, if it hadn’t been for Alyshia, Melanie might never have kissed Caleb that night at the party.

If she hadn’t kissed him, how would they have known that their worlds were not complete without each other?

* * * * *

The Cowboy on Her Trail

Prologue

Somewhere, sometime in his life, Justin Chisholm figured he must have done something incredibly right, and this night was his reward. He couldn’t fathom any other reason why he should be so lucky as to finally end up with Blaire Harding in his bed.

He knew she was in his bed because they had just made sweet, hot love together, and he was just now drifting down from a peak higher than he’d ever known.

The fact that it was the motel’s bed rather than his own didn’t faze him a bit. He was paying for the bed, so that made it his, right?

When a man lived in his family home with his grandmother, his brother, sister-in-law and two young nieces, not to mention the housekeeper, her husband, and their baby, he didn’t take a woman home to his own personal bed. Not if he expected any privacy. Not if he had any respect for his family and the woman, and this was a woman for whom he had plenty of respect.

He didn’t need to open his eyes to see the shape of her, sleek and curved in all the right places, lean where she should be, round where it counted. Behind his closed lids he could still see her dark blond hair, her golden brown eyes. The cute way the tip of her nose turned slightly upward, which she thought made her look like a Pekingese and he thought made her look adorably kissable.

He couldn’t remember a time in the past several months since she’d moved back to town when he hadn’t wanted her. She’d made him wait, she’d put him off, she’d kept him at arm’s length all that time.

But gradually she had let him get closer. A conversation or two. A developing friendship. Eventually, a ride to get her car fixed. A lunch with a bunch of their mutual friends. A dance or two at the local watering hole. Then another dance, and another, until finally she had agreed to go out to dinner with him. Then dinner and a movie.

No woman before her had ever made him work so hard to please her. But he wanted to please her, in every way he could.

Tonight she’d finally agreed to let them please each other.

With a low moan, he inhaled the fragrance of wildflowers in her hair. “You smell so good.”

Curled up warmly against his chest, Blaire Harding smiled and sighed. “Glad you approve.”

“Oh, I do.” He nuzzled his face against her hair. Then, when she expected something deeply romantic, or maybe a sweet word or two, or even a comfortable silence, he snorted in her ear.

Blaire burst out laughing and rolled away from him with a shriek. “Where’d he go? Where’d he go?”

“Where’d who go?” He sat up in bed and looked quickly around the room.

“Justin Chisholm,” she cried. “He was here just a minute ago, then all of a sudden there was a pig snorting in my ear.”

“Oh, ha-ha.” He pulled her back against his chest. “I don’t know how to coo like a turtledove, or whatever.”

“So you snorted?”

He reached over and turned on the bedside lamp. “Maybe that was an allergic reaction.”

“To what, me?”

“To wildflowers.”

Blaire squinted and tried to duck away from the glare. “Egad, that’s bright. What wildflowers?”

“The ones I smell in your hair.”

“You said it smelled good.”

“It does.”

“But it makes you snort?”

“Maybe.”

She laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I think you were just trying to be funny. And it worked, I guess, because it made me laugh.”

They lay nestled together, still feeling the afterglow of two thorough rounds of intense lovemaking. After several minutes Justin shifted and groaned.

“Uh, Blaire,” he said, “believe me, this is the absolute last thing on earth I want to say to you right now…”

Blaire’s stomach tightened. After months of denying herself the pleasure of accepting any of his numerous invitations, she had finally given in and spent the most incredible night of her life with a man she’d had a secret crush on forever, and he was going to tell her he didn’t want to see her again. She just knew it.

But Blaire knew how to be practical. Better to get the bad news over with and get on with her life. She pulled her arms from around his neck. She moved to push away from him, but he held her close.

“But you’re going to say it anyway,” she said tensely.

“Only because of an overdeveloped sense of honesty, which I often wish my grandmother had never drummed into me.”

She couldn’t look him in the face. Not if he was going to tell her he didn’t want to see her again. “Honesty’s never a bad thing. Why don’t you just spit it out and get it over with?”

“Okay.” He lowered his forehead to rest against hers. “You said you wanted to be home by two. It’s one-thirty.”

A wave of relief swept through her and left her limp in his arms. “Oh,” she managed.

Justin sensed that something wasn’t quite right. He frowned. “What did you think I was going to say?”

She turned her face away and shook her head. “Nothing.”

“Blaire? What’s wrong?”

“Wrong?” She managed a smile and rolled over to sit on the side of the bed with her back to him. “What could be wrong?” Holding a corner of the sheet over her breasts, which was a ridiculous attempt at belated modesty considering what they’d been doing to and with each other for the past couple of hours, she smiled at him over her shoulder. “It feels silly to say I had a great time, but I did.”

He sat up behind her and kissed her bare shoulder.

A shiver of remembered passion raced through her.

“It doesn’t sound silly to me,” he said.

Blaire noted the time on the clock on the cheap dresser across the room, 1:35 a.m.

When they’d made their date the other day she’d told him she wanted to be home by 2:00 a.m. and made him promise he would not try to get her to change her mind. She was pleased that he was sticking to that.

She had no pressing reason for getting home by two, except she wouldn’t have the luxury of sleeping late in the morning. Her father always opened the feed store at seven every morning, Monday through Saturday, and tomorrow was Saturday. Her job was to man the office, so she had to be there during business hours.

Without thought she glanced down at her wristwatch— the only thing she was wearing.

How odd, she thought with irritation. Her watch had stopped at 11:30 p.m. It had lasted through their first round of lovemaking, but not the second.

The implications suddenly struck her. She bolted upright. It couldn’t be. This had to be a coincidence.

“What’s wrong?” Justin asked, his lips moving over the back of her neck. “You’re all of a sudden stiff as a board.” He ran his hands up and down her arms. “I told you I’d get you home on time.”

“It’s not that. It’s nothing.” Her mind scrambled for something to say that would make sense and justify her sudden stiffness, which she could not deny. “Just a cramp in my foot.”

“Ouch. I hate it when that happens. Here.” He slid from behind her and knelt—naked—at her feet. “Which foot?”

He sure was pretty to look at, in all his naked glory. Flat stomach, hard, lean muscles, light bronze skin speaking of his Cherokee ancestry, with his face, neck and hands several shades darker from working outdoors all year on his ranch. Then there were those parts of him that declared he was a man. All man.

“Blaire?”

“Hmm? Oh. This one.” She lifted her right foot, ashamed of herself for lying, but what was a girl to do?

She glanced at her watch again. It hadn’t advanced a second. She noticed Justin’s watch lying on the nightstand. Desperate to prove to herself that her watch stopping at this particular time was merely a coincidence, she grabbed his and strapped it onto her wrist just above her watch. It was an old-fashioned watch with a face and a second hand, the kind of watch you had to wind. On the tightest notch of the brown leather strap it fit her like a large, loose bracelet.

“That’s a little big for you.”

“Mmm.”

She didn’t have a cramp in her foot, but his hands still felt like magic as they worked her instep. “Mmm.”

The smile he gave her, kneeling there at her feet without a stitch of clothing on, was pure devil. “Like that, do you?”

She smiled back. “What do you think?”

“I think if you keep looking at me like that, you’re gonna get mad at me for making you miss that two o’clock deadline you set for yourself.”

Blaire let out a sigh. “You just ruined the mood.”

He shook his head ruefully. “Damn my hide.”

The clock on the dresser said it was 1:45 a.m.

Her watch still said 11:30 p.m.

His watch, which a few minutes ago had read the same as the clock on the dresser, now read 1:42 a.m. The second hand was not moving. It had stopped, apparently, the moment she put it on.

Blaire swallowed. Hard. A fine trembling started in her shoulders and raced down her arms to leave her hands unsteady. She unbuckled the leather band and placed his watch back on the bedside table. She stared at it, and as if by her will alone, the second hand resumed ticking its way around the face.

Cold sweat broke out along Blaine’s spine.

Don’t panic. Stay calm. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just a family myth. A silly coincidence. There’s no way—

“Blaire?”

She jumped as if shot. “What?”

“Babe, what’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“What? Oh. Sorry. I…I must be coming down with something.” She pulled her foot from his grasp and bunched the sheet around herself as she scooted off the bed and started grabbing her clothes from the floor. “I’ve got to get home.”

What good she thought getting herself home was going to do was beyond her. If the family myth about watches not working turned out to be true, she was screwed. In more ways than one.

Justin watched her as she scrambled into her clothes as if her life depended on it. By the time she’d finished dressing, so had he. He grabbed his watch from the bedside table and strapped it on, frowning to note that it seemed to be slow when compared to the two dollar, digital alarm clock bolted to the dresser. He could have sworn they’d been in sync a couple of hours ago.

As he followed Blaire to the door he glanced around the cheap motel room and cringed. Maybe what Blaire was suffering from was a bad case of second thoughts. The room was clean, with fairly new although cheap furnishings, but there was no disguising it from the motel room it was.

She deserved better than this dinky room. They both did. But she hadn’t invited him to her place, and he didn’t have a “place.” Hell, he didn’t even have a back seat; he drove a pickup.

With her overcoat on to shield her from the chilly December wind, she reached for the doorknob, but he put his hand over hers and paused. “You going to be able to make it home? Do you need a doctor or something?”

“No, no, it’s nothing like that.” She gave him a small smile. “I’ll be fine once I get home. Please.” She removed her hand from the doorknob and placed it on his arm. “Please don’t worry. I had a wonderful night, and now it’s time for me to go home. That’s all.”

He studied her closely. Her color seemed more normal now than it had a few minutes ago. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Come on, then.” He opened the door and slipped his arm around her shoulders. “Let’s get you home.”

Chapter One

It was a chilly February night on the Cherokee Rose ranch in Central Oklahoma. Cherokee Rose Chisholm took a well-earned rest in her recliner before the big screen TV in the living room.

She could take the time to relax because she’d been in the saddle most of the day, and at the desk working on the ranch records and books half the evening.

Thank God, she thought, for Maria, who’d stepped into the position of housekeeper when Earline retired last month, and for Emily, who loved to oversee the house and meals and added a much-needed feminine touch to the house. Between those two women, they took a load of responsibility off Rose’s shoulders. And their daughters—six-year-old Libby and eight-year-old Janie, Rose’s new granddaughters, plus Rosa, Maria’s new baby, who was named for the ranch on which she was born. Rose had feared having a newborn in the house would wear them all out. At seventy-eight, Rose was quite certain that she was not up to sharing her home with a newborn.

But Maria was so good with the baby, and Emily helped her a great deal, that all Rose had to do was hold the baby and coo over her when she was sleepy and sweet-smelling.

With her two oldest grandsons married now, that left only Justin, and Rose was getting concerned about him. She’d thought he’d found someone special a couple of months ago, but lately he’d been moping around a lot, and moping was simply not in Justin’s nature.

If he didn’t snap out of it soon, she would just have to stick her nose in. She couldn’t bear to see one of her boys unhappy.

“Hi, this is Blaire. I can’t come to the phone right now. If you want me to call you back, leave a message.”

Justin resisted the urge to pound his head against the wall. He hung up without leaving a message. If he left any more messages he’d end up getting arrested as a stalker.

Two months. Two damn months he’d been trying to get close to Blaire again. Two damn months of excuses, of lost messages, of unreturned phone calls.

He had called her the day after they spent the night together to make sure she was all right, since she’d thought she might be coming down with something. She’d said she was fine, nothing a good night’s sleep hadn’t been able to take care of. She’d sounded fine, as far as that went. Until he’d asked to see her again.

The excuses had started with that first morning-after phone call. Her cousin in Ponca City was sick and Blaire was going up there for the weekend to help her out.

She couldn’t go out the next week because she and her mother were spending the weekend in Oklahoma City doing last-minute Christmas shopping.

She couldn’t go out the next week because she was going to spend the whole week with her grandmother down in Ardmore so the woman wouldn’t be alone over the holidays.

After that, her father had a bad case of the flu, so she had to help take up the slack at the feed store, and help her mother take care of her father.

When her father got well, her mother came down with it.

When her mother got well, Blaire came down with it.

Justin had to admit that as excuses went, she had some good ones. But they’d spent the night together in early December. It was now the first week of February. He was starting to get the message. It was finally coming in loud and clear. The woman wanted nothing more to do with him.

He wondered what it said about him that it took him two months for it to finally sink in, but he wasn’t used to rejection. It hadn’t happened often enough for him to easily recognize it.

And dammit, it stung, being rejected. He couldn’t say he cared for it.

“Whasa matter, Uncle Justin?” Six-year-old Libby, his brother Sloan’s new stepdaughter, leaned against the jamb of his open door. “You look all sad.”

“Who, me?” He clipped his cell phone back to his belt and stood up. “Naw, not me.”

Libby bounced into the room and straightened the bedspread he’d just been sitting on.

“Thanks, sweets.”

“You’re welcome.”

“What are you doing up here? I thought you guys were watching TV.”

“We are.” When she smiled, her whole face beamed. “Daddy’s making popcorn. Mama said to let you know so you could have some, too, if you wanted.”

“If I wanted? Of course I want. Let’s go.”

It still gave him a hell of a kick to hear Libby or Janie call his oldest brother Daddy. It probably tickled him almost as much as it tickled Sloan to have the new title.

Everybody around him was getting married, he thought as he followed Libby downstairs to the living room. First Sloan and Emily last summer, then his middle brother Caleb and Melanie, their nearest neighbor and lifelong friend.

Caleb and Melanie lived at her family ranch, Pruitt Ranch, over on the next section. Caleb had been there since their wedding back in December. It was the first time that all three Chisholm brothers had not lived under the same roof since the day they were born. It seemed odd.

But that in no way meant the house was quieter due to Caleb’s absence, Justin thought with a silent chuckle as he rounded the corner into the mayhem of the kitchen. Emily and her two daughters—all three with blond hair and blue eyes, amid a houseful of black-haired, dark-eyed Indians—more than made up for Caleb’s absence.

Especially since Emily liked to cook, and Caleb hadn’t.

And Emily would box his ears if he ever said such a thing out loud. That is, if Grandmother didn’t get to him first.

“There you two are.” Emily wiped her hands on the dish towel wrapped around her waist. “We were wondering what was keeping you. Is that popcorn almost ready?” she added to Sloan, who manned the microwave.

“Just relax,” Sloan said over the popping of the corn inside the microwave. “Some things can’t be rushed.”

“Oh, aren’t you funny.” Behind his back, Emily made a comical face at him.

Janie and Libby burst into giggles.

Emily darted them a look and placed a finger over her lips, asking for their silence.

“Counting down,” Sloan said.

The two little girls snuggled up on each side of him and counted down with the numbers on the microwave panel.

“Six, five, four, three, two, one. Ding!”

“Okay, that’s one. Here’s bag number two.” Emily tossed a second package of unpopped corn to Sloan.

Snack time—assembly style—on the Cherokee Rose.

Watching Sloan with his new family brought an ache to Justin’s belly that stunned him, dismayed him. Was there a part of him that wanted to get married and start a family of his own?

The idea wasn’t out of the realm of possibility, and it wasn’t as if the word marriage hadn’t popped into his head a number of times in the past several months, but always in regard to his brothers, never to himself. He was only twenty-eight, for cripes sake. He didn’t need to get in any hurry about it.

But whenever he saw what his brothers had, he got this funny emptiness, as if some part of him wasn’t yet finished.

A couple of months ago he’d thought maybe that had something to do with Blaire Harding.

Since she now wanted nothing to do with him, he figured if she did have anything to do with that empty spot inside him, it was going to stay empty for a long damn time.

“What’s with you these days, kid?”

Justin glanced around the room and realized he and Sloan were alone in the kitchen. He must have spaced out for quite a while, lost in his own thoughts, not to have noticed that Emily and the kids had gone back to the living room. Sloan leaned against the counter, his arms folded across his chest, one stockinged foot crossed over the other one. His gaze was like a laser, zeroing in on Justin with deep intensity.

“You’ve been moping around the place for days, maybe weeks, and that’s not like you. Wanna talk about it?”

Justin stuffed his fingers into his hip pockets. “Nope.”

One of Sloan’s eyebrows hitched up his forehead. “Nope?”

“That’s right. Nope.”

“Fine by me.” Sloan shrugged. “Just be aware that if you don’t talk to me about whatever it is that’s bugging you, Grandmother or Emily or both of them are going to be after you. They’re worried about you.”

Justin frowned. “What are they worried about? I’m here, I’m eating and sleeping just fine, I’m doing my work, pulling my weight. What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal,” Sloan said, pulling away from the counter to stand on both feet, “is that while you’re doing all of those normal, everyday things, you’re moping.”

“Moping?”

“And you’re starting to sound like a parrot.”

“Parrot?”

Sloan’s lips twitched. “Come on, give me something to tell them, or I’ll make something up.”

“Oh, yeah?” This should be good. “Go ahead, big guy, make something up.”

“Okay, I’ll tell them you’re pining away for a woman.”

Justin ran his tongue over his teeth. “A woman.”

“Sure. Why else would a fun-loving guy like you start looking all hangdog, like you just lost your best friend?”

“Is that the best you can do?”

“I suppose I could tell them you’ve got hemorrhoids.”

Justin whooped with laughter. God, he loved this brother of his.

“What’s all the noise in there?” their grandmother called. “You two are missing the movie.”

Justin slung an arm over his big brother’s shoulder. “We’re coming, Grandmother, oh love of my life.”

Rose Chisholm made a snorting noise. “If I’m the love of your life, no wonder you’ve been moping around the place for weeks.”

“Oh, but Grandmother!” Justin leaned over her recliner, bracing himself on the arms of the chair, and planted a wet, sloppy kiss on her cheek. “You are my sunshine. The light of my life. My reason for being. You’re the jam in my jelly roll.”

Libby and Janie giggled, while Rose tried to shoo him away like he was a pesky fly.

“Get on with you,” she said, her lips twitching.

“But Grandmother, I love you. Let me count the ways.”

“I’ll count your ways, young man. Sit down and hush up. Cruella’s about to get her hands on the puppies.”

Justin had casually claimed to Sloan that he was sleeping fine. At one o’clock that morning he kicked back the covers, realizing that, for this night at least, he’d lied.

Grandmother swore by warm milk. He didn’t think he could choke down warm milk, but a glass of cold might help. He stepped into his jeans and pulled on a flannel shirt against the nighttime chill of the house, and against the off chance of running into a female.

The place was crawling with females these days. His grandmother had always been there, of course. She had raised him and his brothers since their parents died when Justin was a baby. But no other femalehad lived under their roof until Sloan brought Emily home with him.

Then there was Emily, and her two little girls.

A couple of months ago, they’d added Maria and baby Rosa to the mix. They and Maria’s husband, Pedro, were living in the spare room downstairs, where Justin had moved when he gave his room upstairs over to the girls. Then Caleb had left, so Justin moved back upstairs and Maria, Pedro and Rosa moved in.

Musical bedrooms. But lots of females, and Justin liked it that way, even if it did mean he had to make sure he was dressed before he dared step out of his room or even open his door. A small price to pay, he knew, for the company of so many lovely women.

Who needed one specific, special woman, he told himself as he crept down the stairs in the dark, when he was surrounded at home by so many very special ladies?

One of whom he scared the fire out of when he rounded the corner into the kitchen and spoke.

“Emily?”

“Oh! God! Justin. You took ten years off my life.”

“I’m sorry. What are you doing sneaking around down here in the dark in the middle of the night?”

“Shh,” she said putting a finger to her lips. She turned on the small light over the stove. “You’ll wake Rosa and her parents.” Their room was down a short hall off the back of the kitchen. “And I could ask you the same question.”

“I couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d give a glass of milk a try. But I would have turned on the light once I got here. You didn’t. That’s why I didn’t know you were here, which is why I was so quiet, so I wouldn’t wake anybody up, when you were already awake and sneaking around—”

“Justin.”

“Huh?”

“I’ve never heard you ramble before.”

Justin took a deep breath and let it out. “I’m not sure I’ve ever done it before. I don’t know why I did this time.”

“Maybe so I wouldn’t ask you the inevitable question,” she said gently. She turned away and took the milk out of the fridge and poured them each a glass.

“Thanks.” He took a glass from her, then pulled a chair away from the table for her.

She took her seat, then he took his.

“You’re not going to ask me what question I’m talking about?” she asked.

Justin sipped his milk, then used his forefinger to wipe his upper lip. “A lot of questions are inevitable. I’m sure you’ll come up with one.”

“I’m sorry. I’m prying.”

“Oh, no.” He reached across the table and took her hand. “No, I didn’t mean it like that. Emily, I love it that you care enough about me to worry. I just don’t like to see you worry, because there’s nothing to worry about.”

She gave his hand a return squeeze. “Justin, how long have I lived in this house with you and your family?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Seven or eight months.”

“That’s right. Now, don’t you think during that time I’ve come to know you pretty well?”

“Okay, I can see where this is going. Yes, you know me pretty well.”

“Which means I can tell when you’re not quite yourself. And Justin? You haven’t been yourself for several weeks. I just want you to know that one of the perks of having a sister-in-law, especially one who lives in the same house with you, is that you can dump your troubles on her, and she’ll listen. She might even be able to give you the female take on things.”

“The female take on things?”

“Yes. You know what I mean. Let’s say a man and a woman are driving down the road and up ahead they see a nice restaurant. The woman says, ‘Oh, look. Do you want to stop there for dinner?’ The man thinks about it a minute, then says, ‘No.’ The woman gets her feelings hurt and sulks all night, then the man gets mad at her sulking, and before the night’s over, they have a whopping big fight, and neither of them has a clue what went wrong.”

Justin took another swallow of milk, thinking he was going to enjoy this late night interlude. Emily was so earnest in her effort to help him. He couldn’t wait to see what she came up with.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll bite. What went wrong? Seems to me she was too sensitive, getting her feelings hurt over a restaurant.”

“Well, yes and no. You see, when a woman asks if you want to eat somewhere in particular, or go to a specific place, or see a certain movie, she’s not simply asking your opinion. What she’s really saying is, ‘I’d like to eat at that restaurant. How about it?’ Or ‘I’d like to see this movie. Will you take me?’”

“I guess that makes sense.”

“Yes, but that’s not what a man hears. A man hears the words she uses, and not the underlying meaning. He hears a question that asks his opinion, and he gives his opinion.”

“So why doesn’t the woman say she wants to eat at that place instead of asking him if he wants to?”

“Because even in the twenty-first century, little girls are still taught not to put themselves and their wants forward. That they’re supposed to cater to everyone else’s wishes before their own. If someone else wants to see a movie you don’t care for, you go see it anyway. Particularly if it’s your date. If you don’t like the movie he picks, he might think that means you don’t like him.”

“Well, that’s just plain stupid.”

“You’re telling me.”

“Why do parents teach little girls to be submissive like that?”

“Because that’s how they were raised, I guess. But they’ve done studies, too, on young children going to school for the first time, and inevitably the girls are quiet and calm and the boys are loud and aggressive, demanding the teacher’s attention. Maybe some of it’s genetic—God forbid and cut out my tongue for even saying it.”

Justin chuckled. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

“Anyway.” She waved away the idea. “My point was—”

He grinned at her. “You had a point?”

She gave him a mock scowl. “My point in all this is that sometimes great big problems, or what seem like great big problems, can stem from the smallest misunderstanding simply because men and women use language differently.”

“I’m sure you’re right.”

“Take that one step further, and keep in mind that I’m a woman.”

“Oh, honey, I know you are.”

She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “I mean, I can give you the female perspective on a situation, should you happen to need it.”

“I appreciate it. I really do.”

“And if none of this is to the point,” she said, her lips twitching. “If you really don’t have woman trouble, there’s a tube of Preparation H in the bathroom medicine chest upstairs.”

Justin lowered his head to the table and groaned. “Do you think Grandmother would notice if Sloan just disappeared? I could tie bricks around his neck and stuff him in the pond. That’d work.”

Emily laughed softly in the dim light. “Stubborn, stubborn man. You’re not going to tell me what’s bothering you, are you?”

“Thank you,” he said, “for asking. For caring. You’re right, it’s a woman, but she doesn’t want anything to do with me, so that’s the end of that.”

“Who is it?”

Justin shook his head. “My lips are sealed.”

“Good for you. You get extra points for that.”

“I do?”

“You do. What makes you think she doesn’t want anything to do with you?”

Justin gave her a wry smile. “She won’t take my calls, won’t return my calls. When she sees me coming she heads the other way.”

Emily frowned. “What does she say when you ask her about all this?”

“Say?” he cried. “She doesn’t say anything, because I can’t get near her.”

“And you like this woman?”

Justin chuckled and shook his head. “Oh, yeah. I really like her. And that’s the thing, Emily. When we were together, I know she felt the same way. We were damn near perfect together.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, wow is right,” he said. “Then, poof. It’s all over, no word, no explanation, no nothing.”

“Wait a minute. She broke it off with you without saying anything?”

“Without one stinking word,” he said with disgust.

Emily reached across the table and placed her hand over the back of his. “Justin, if she hasn’t got the guts to tell you face-to-face that she doesn’t want to see you anymore, then she’s not good enough for you.”

“Ah, come on—”

“No, you come on. Think about it. Do you really want to tie yourself, even temporarily, to a woman who may or may not have a legitimate complaint against you, but who’ll never tell you?”

To this woman, Justin thought, yes. Yes, he did. He thought.

“She’s either too shy, too scared, or too self-centered to consider your side of things. Or, and believe me, I hate to say this, she simply doesn’t care what you think or how you feel.”

“No.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe that. Not of her. She’s not like that.”

“She’s not? Or you don’t want her to be?” Emily asked gently.

“Boy, you’re tough, lady.”

“No, I’m just not emotionally involved with her the way you are. I’m on your side, looking out for your best interests. You’re on her side. There’s a big difference.”

“Yeah, I know. But you don’t need to worry about me anymore. I’ve decided to give up and move on.”

“Have you?”

“I have. Honest Injun.” He held one hand up, palm out.

“Oh, bad.” She groaned and rolled her eyes at the tacky phrase he and his brothers—his Native American brothers, she sometimes reminded them, much to their amusement—tossed at each other whenever it suited them. “Bad, bad Justin.”

However, Emily admitted, when one of the Chisholm brothers said Honest Injun, it was as good as taking an oath with one hand on the Bible. They meant it.

Unless, of course, there was a certain look in their eyes, or a quirk to their lips, or their fingers were crossed behind their back. But then it was always meant in teasing fun rather than an out-and-out lie. Like saying, “Oh, yeah, suuure.” Wink wink.

She couldn’t see any of the telltale signs of joking on Justin now, and both his hands were in plain sight, fingers uncrossed. He must be serious. He really had decided to give up on this mystery woman and move on.

“Are you okay with that?” she asked.

“I guess I have to be, don’t I?”

And when Justin said it, he meant it. He was through beating his head against the brick wall of Blaire’s unexplained indifference.

Who needed her, anyway? She damn sure wasn’t the only fish in the sea, peanut in the can, cookie in the jar, straw in the damn bale. Woman in the world.

But damn her beautiful hide, he wanted to know why. And he wanted her to look him in the eye and tell him. And by Jove, she would do it.

Chapter Two

Blaire Harding surreptitiously wiped her damp palms against her wool skirt and followed her parents down the aisle and into their regular pew at the Rose Rock Baptist Church because she’d been unable to come up with a good enough excuse to stay home.

Not that she didn’t want to go to church. She enjoyed church. It uplifted her, helped her end one week and gird her loins, as it were, for the next.

But why did it have to be this church? The one where, every single solitary week, the entire Chisholm clan, which was growing by the month, filled the second center pew from one end to the other.

She was running out of excuses there, too. With Justin. Every time she thought of him she was swamped by a dozen different emotions. Pleasure. Arousal. Anticipation. Guilt. Hopelessness. Terror. Resignation. Yearning. And more guilt.

What was she to do about him?

Her mother entered the pew first, then her father. Blaire followed and sat next to him, her gaze drawn against her will to those broad, suede-clad shoulders belonging to Justin Chisholm five pews up. She knew exactly how wide those shoulders were. She’d felt them, every inch, front and back and all around, her hands against his hot bare flesh.

Any more thoughts like that, she thought, her cheeks stinging, and a lightning bolt was going to strike right through the beamed ceiling of the church.

In the second row from the front, Justin felt her gaze on his back as if she were stroking him. He stood it through the opening hymn, through the announcements, the opening prayer. But as the pastor began his sermon on sins of the flesh—why did the sermons always seem aimed at him personally?— Justin couldn’t take it any longer. He turned and glanced back over his shoulder.

She was there. He’d known she was. Her hair was pulled back and tied at her nape with a clip of some sort. The style gave her a soft, fragile appearance. Especially with that telltale blush staining her cheeks, the stark look in those golden brown eyes before she glanced away.

Guilt? Was that what he’d seen in her eyes?

By damn—sorry, Lord—he’d had enough of this. He was going to get answers out of her or die trying.

When church let out—at 12:25 p.m. because Reverend Conners didn’t know the meaning of “on time,” Lord love him—Justin made for the door as fast as he could without bowling anyone down, but he was still too late.

Blaire and her parents were gone.

Justin bit back a curse. This was Sunday; he should be able to do better with his language at least on Sunday. But dammit, he wanted to talk to her. He had to know what that look meant, because it had looked to him like the look a woman gives a man she wants to be close to.

“Justin,” his grandmother called. “Are you coming to dinner?”

“I’m coming.” Every Sunday after church the Chisholm family went to Lucille’s on Main for dinner. The Chisholms, and everyone else in town, it seemed. Caleb and Melanie were with them today. It was the only time during the week that they were all together as a family.

Family meant a lot to Justin. Maybe because he’d grown up without parents. His brothers and grandmother had been his family. They were everything to him. It seemed odd to him that Caleb no longer lived at home, but they were grown men now, not boys. It was time for them to see what they could make of themselves.

But Justin had always thought that the “making of themselves” would be done right there on the Cherokee Rose. That was home to him, to all of them. His soul was rooted in the land that first Chisholm had staked out after surviving the horrors of the Trail of Tears.

The ranch had changed in size from time to time, depending on the direction of the winds of fortune and the ability of any given generation to hold on through lean times and flourish in good times.

The Rose was Justin’s home.

When Caleb had moved to the PR with Melanie, it had been a jolt for Justin. He’d never really thought about any of them leaving the ranch.

Then, too, Melanie had been Justin’s running mate, his buddy, his playmate, for most of his life. She was still and always would be his friend, but he doubted if she’d want to help him TP the mayor’s house when that new city sales tax went into effect next month. In the old days, she’d have been the ringleader of such a gag. Now she was his brother’s wife.

But at least the PR was right next door, so to speak, so that wasn’t too bad. He could see Caleb and Mel whenever he wanted. Hell, they had even installed a gate in a stretch of fence common to both ranches, so they could get from one house to the other on horseback as the crow flies.

Yes, the Rose was Justin’s home.

So why was he starting to feel like the odd man out?

Lucille’s was packed, as was usual on a Sunday afternoon. But among the dozens of diners there was no Harding family.

Justin ground his back teeth together in frustration. Blaire and her parents used to come here every Sunday after church. He couldn’t remember the number of times he’d seen them there. Now, however, when he wanted to talk to her, they weren’t there.

“You look like you could chew nails.”

Justin jerked and knocked his elbow against Melanie’s arm. “Oh. Sorry. What?” Melanie Pruitt Chisholm was Justin’s newest sister-in-law. She and her parents had been their closest neighbors forever. Mel and Justin had been best pals their entire lives. Now they were family, and that was fitting. He had loved her like a sister for years. There was nothing they couldn’t say to each other, nothing they wouldn’t do for each other.

She nudged him back with her elbow. “You could scare little kids with that look, pal. You practice it in the mirror?”

“Did you rehearse that joke? Maybe try it out on the cows first before you take it out on the road?”

“Quick,” Sloan said from across the table. “Somebody separate those two before they start a food fight.”

Justin and Melanie gave him twin mock looks of innocence. Each put a hand to the chest and cried, “Moi?”

The conversation halted then because the waitress arrived with their orders. After the food was distributed and everyone dug in, Melanie gave Justin a smirk.

“So,” she said between bites of Lucille’s infamous spaghetti. “I hear you’ve got hemorrhoids.”

Justin nearly spewed a mouthful of tea across the table.

“Oh, I am going to enjoy getting even for that.” He included Melanie, Sloan and Emily in his warning. “You won’t know where, you won’t know when. You won’t even know how. But one day, suddenly you’ll realize that I got you back. All of you.”

“Oooh,” Sloan said in a high falsetto. “I’m shaking in my boots.”

“Yeah,” Melanie said with a sneer. “I’m gonna lose a lot of sleep over it myself.”

Emily merely shook her head and smiled.

By the next day Justin was more determined than ever to confront Blaire. That look he’d caught on her face in church had stayed with him all day Sunday, and he’d lain awake half the night trying to figure out what it meant, why she would look at him that way, yet refuse to speak to him.

He was tired of guessing. It was time she gave him some answers. Maybe then he could get her out of his system once and for all.

He pulled up around 9:00 a.m. at the feed store and went directly toward the office in back where Blaire took care of the store’s bookkeeping. Just outside her half-open door Justin was stopped cold by the furious voices coming from within.

“Don’t you go blaming this on me, by damn.” That was Thomas Harding, Blaire’s father, speaking. “Like mother, like daughter.”

“What are you saying?” This frigid response came from Nancy, Blaire’s mother.

“You know exactly what I’m saying. You got knocked up, now so has she. Like mother, like daughter. Her watch won’t even run on her arm anymore.”

Justin reached for the wall to steady himself. Knocked up? Blaire was pregnant? Watch? What watch?

“I got knocked up?” her mother shrieked. “Why you clueless, thickheaded piece of frog bait, who the hell was it who knocked me up? It takes two to tango, mister.”

“You shoulda been on the damn pill and you know it.”

“Oh, that’s right, it’s all my fault. You were just an innocent bystander.”

“I never said any such thing. I married you, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, and you haven’t let me forget it for one single day since.”

“I’ll tell you one thing, Nancy girl. If I ever find out who did this to our little girl I’m gonna tear him to pieces with my bare hands. Right after I’ve made sure they’re good and married. She’ll make a pretty widow.”

Justin gulped. Holly Hannah. Tom sounded like he meant every bloodthirsty word.

Discretion being the better part of valor, he decided it was time for a hasty—and silent—retreat.

Back out in his pickup, Justin sat a minute to catch his breath and let his head stop spinning.

Blaire was pregnant? Pregnant?

From what he’d seen of her in the past year or so—and he’d seen plenty, because he’d had his eye on her for at least that long—the only man who’d been near her in ages was…himself.

If she was pregnant, as far as he could tell, he was the father. They’d used a condom, but those weren’t foolproof.

Father?

He shook his head hard. His heart was pounding at three times its normal speed. It took him two tries to get his key in the ignition, his hand shook so badly.

There was no question now. He had to talk to her. And he would, if it meant tearing this whole damn town apart to find her.

She hadn’t been at the feed store. She could have been at her parents’ house behind the store for some reason, or at her apartment above their detached garage. But he didn’t see her faded red compact in its usual spot next to the garage, so he figured she’d gone out to run an errand.

It was early, but maybe she was meeting a girlfriend for coffee. He drove through the parking lot of Lucille’s, but her car wasn’t there. Neither was it at either of the other two cafés, or at the burger place.

He tried the grocery store, but didn’t see her there, either.

He was about to give up and go back and demand her parents tell him where she was when he spotted her coming out of the hardware store.

Considering how slippery she’d been for the past couple of months, he pulled up behind her faded red compact car and blocked her in so she couldn’t leave. He killed his engine and pocketed the keys before getting out.

The sky was crystal blue, the air almost balmy for early February, the temperature hovering in the mid forties. But the slight breeze out of the north had a little nip to it, warning of another cold snap on the way.

Blaire stopped next to her car and stared at him, a small paper sack clutched in one fist. Her chest rose and fell rapidly. Her tongue flicked out and moistened her lips. It was a gesture of nerves, that much was obvious. But it still made Justin want to follow her tongue with his own.

“Justin.”

“Blaire.” He rounded her car and stopped five feet away from her. She was just as beautiful as he remembered. Her dark blond hair turned honey gold in the sun, a shade that matched her eyes, narrowed now, and wary as they studied him, then darted away. She looked as if she might want to turn and run, but to her credit, she stood her ground.

“What do you want?” she asked.

Justin gave a harsh laugh. “Maybe if you’d returned any one of my dozens of calls during the past weeks you might know.”

“You’re upset because I haven’t called you back? Is that what this is about?”

“What do you mean, this? Can’t a man stop and say hi to a woman he once spent a remarkable night with?”

The blush that stained her cheeks did his heart good.

The way she glanced sharply around to see if anyone might have overheard knocked a hole in what was left of his ego.

“What do you want, Justin? I’ve got to get back to the store.”

He supposed if he wanted a straight answer about anything, he was going to have to ask a straight question. He stuck his hands into his coat pockets and clenched his fists. “Are you pregnant?”

Blaire gasped and took a step back. Her face turned ashen. “What?”

“I asked—”

“I heard you. I guess what I meant was, why would you ask such a thing?”

“Because I went to the feed store to see you and overheard your parents arguing over which one of them was to blame for your being pregnant.”

She closed her eyes and turned around, then leaned back against her front fender.

“So it’s true,” he said, his voice going husky. “Maybe you’ve got the right idea.” He stood next to her and leaned against her car, too. “I’m the father, aren’t I.”

She swallowed and nodded. “Yes.”

Justin took three long, deep breaths and kept his jaw clenched to keep from bellowing at the top of his lungs. When he thought he could speak in a rational tone, he said, “This is why you’ve been avoiding me. You weren’t going to tell me at all, were you?”

“Justin, I’m sorry.” She turned toward him with a plea in her eyes. “I’m sorry. I panicked. I didn’t know what to do. I’m still not sure. But I think when I figured things out, I would have told you about the baby.”

Justin shook his head. Dear God, he was going to be a father. “How long have you known?”

She glanced down at the ground and kicked a pebble with the toe of her cowboy boot. “Since the night we spent together.”

“Aw, come on. You couldn’t have known that soon.”

“Okay. If you say so.”

“Look, Blaire, this has taken me by surprise, and that’s putting it mildly. We need to talk about it.”

“There’s nothing to talk about, Justin. We spent a wonderful night together, but you don’t owe me anything. I don’t want or need anything from you, I don’t plan to make any demands of you. Don’t trouble yourself about me one little bit. I’ll be just fine. Now if you’ll move your truck, I’d like to get back to work. Daddy’s waiting on this part.”

Justin stood there for a long moment, unable to move, unable to think. All he could do was stare at her and hope the air would keep moving in and out of his lungs without his help, because he wasn’t capable of anything just then.

He was going to be a father. Blaire Harding carried his child. And she wanted nothing to do with him. Not one damn thing.

He turned around and climbed into his pickup and started the engine. The next thing he knew, he was parked at home in front of the barn without a single memory of the thirty-minute drive.

By the time Blaire drove the three blocks back to the feed store and home, she was shaking so hard she could barely get the car in Park.

She had hurt Justin. Not just today, but every time she hadn’t returned his call or gone out with him when he asked or spoken to him when they happened to end up in the same place at the same time.

And she had hurt herself. This entire mess was no one’s fault but hers. If she hadn’t given in and gone out with him in the first place, she would never have ended up in bed with him and none of this would have happened.

But he was so ruggedly handsome, so devilishly charming, and he had intrigued her for so many years. What was a girl to do? How did she keep saying no to his invitations time after time when all she’d wanted in the world was to say yes?

Then, when she had given in and gone out with him a few times, she had given in big time and made love with him that night at the motel.

She’d known before that night was over that she carried his child. She should have handled everything differently from that point on. She should have told him at once that she didn’t want to see him anymore instead of making up excuses, then avoiding his calls.

How childish of her. How cowardly.

But how was she to look him in the eye and tell him she didn’t want to see him anymore, when it was a bald-faced lie? She wanted very much to see him again. But she knew that couldn’t be. Not now, not ever.

With a heavy sigh, she grabbed the sack from the hardware store and climbed out of her car. She carried the part to her father, but he wasn’t behind the counter. Both her parents, she found a moment later, were in her office, yelling at each other.

So what was new?

“There you are,” her father snapped. “You get my part?”

“I did.” She tossed him the sack. “I have a bone to pick with the two of you.”

“Oh, do you, now?” her father said. “Going to take us to task, are you?”

“I don’t appreciate your discussing my private, intimate business in front of customers.”

“We would never—” her mother began.

“You did. Both of you. Just a little while ago. Justin Chisholm came in and overheard your argument. Thanks to you, he now knows I’m pregnant.”

“He what?” her father demanded. “You mean he sneaked in here and eavesdropped on our private conversation?”

“I mean you were shouting at the top of your lungs at each other. He was coming back here looking for me and couldn’t help but overhear.”

“Wait a minute.” Blaire’s mother narrowed her eyes and tapped a manicured nail to her cheek. “Did you go out with him here a while back?”

Here it comes, Blaire thought. She wouldn’t lie to her parents, because it would serve no purpose. “Yes,” she said.

“Is he the sorry bastard who did this to you?”

Blaire arched her brow. “Only if you were a sorry bastard when you ‘did this’ to Mother.”

“You watch your language, young lady,” he snapped.

“Huh,” Blaire said in disgust. “What you really want to know is if Justin is the father of my baby. The answer is yes. And now he knows about it.”

“Well, then,” her mother said cheerfully. “We better start planning the wedding. How soon do you think we can put it together?”

“There isn’t going to be any wedding,” Blaire said firmly.

“What do you mean?” her mother asked, shocked.

“Is that sorry scoundrel refusing to marry you? Well, don’t you worry about that. I’ll set him straight quick enough.”

“You’ll do no such thing.” Blaire glared at her father. “You won’t say a word to him, not a single word. Justin and I are not getting married, and that’s the way I want it. And that’s final.”

Her father bent forward and got in her face. “Don’t you be telling me what’s final and what’s not. I say that boy is gonna do right by you, and you’re gonna let him.”

“You think Justin and I should get married just because I’m pregnant?”

“What better reason is there?” her mother wanted to know.

“I don’t know, and it sure worked well for the two of you, didn’t it?” Blaire knew she was going too far, but this was one line she would not allow her parents to cross.

“Do you want the two of us to end up as miserable as the two of you?” she demanded, nursing her anger, feeding it. “You want us to wind up hating each other the way you do? Blame the child for every lousy thing that happens, the way you’ve always blamed me?”

“We have never blamed you for anything. You just mind what you say, young lady.”

“Every time one of you gets unhappy with the other, you’ve always said that if it wasn’t for me you wouldn’t have had to get married and none of this— whatever is happening at the moment, anything from plumbing leaks to hurt feelings—none of it would be happening if it wasn’t for me. Is that what you want? You want your grandchild raised feeling like an albatross around her parents’ neck?”

Her parents stared at her, speechless.

“What?” she demanded. “Did you think I haven’t noticed, from the time I was old enough to understand the word blame? Don’t try to tell me you never meant to make me feel this way, because this is exactly how you meant to make me feel. Responsible, to blame, for every bad thing that’s ever happened in your life.”

“Blaire, honey,” her mother began.

“Don’t, Mama. Just don’t say anything. I am not going to marry a man I don’t love, who doesn’t love me, and that’s final. The two of you are going to stay completely out of this, out of my business. If you don’t, if you start meddling, I’ll leave and disappear and I won’t come back. And that’s a promise.”

“Well, now,” her father said. “I think you’re being stupid.”

“We only want what’s best for you and the baby,” her mother said.

“Do you think it’s best for this baby or any other to have two parents who can’t stand to be in the same room together? Who fight all the time and don’t care what hurtful words they use in front of the child? Is that what you think is best for me and the baby?”

Chapter Three

“Where are you going?” Sloan asked Justin. “I thought you were going to help me work on this tractor.”

“You don’t need me for that,” Justin said. He needed something physical to do. Something hard and sweaty that didn’t require thought or care. “Cattle and horses will need more hay by tomorrow. Thought I’d go load the hay trailer.”

“If you ask me,” Sloan said, tossing a wrench into the toolbox and fishing out a smaller one. “I’d guess you’d probably rather have hemorrhoids.”

“Than load hay? I don’t mind loading hay.”

“Than have woman trouble. Which is what I figure you’ve got.”

“You figure that, do you?”

“I do. Now I’m trying to figure out which woman it is who’s got you so tied up in knots.”

Justin wanted, badly, to pour it all out to big brother and let Sloan tell him what to do next, how to handle the situation. But he was a grown man, and this was an intensely private matter for him and Blaire. He figured he was going to need some advice along the way, but right now he needed to keep things between him and Blaire. It wasn’t fair to go around revealing her condition before she was ready for people to know.

He shook his head at Sloan. “I’m not ready to say just yet, but I will be before long. Just let it be for now, okay?”

“Is it serious?”

“As a heart attack.”

Sloan studied his younger brother for a long moment, then decided he could either browbeat the kid until he spilled his guts, or he could keep his mouth shut—which for a caretaker like himself was extremely difficult—and let Justin run his own life.

He gave a slow nod.

Justin returned the gesture and turned to go.

“Justin?”

Justin stopped but didn’t look back. “Yeah?”

“I’m always here, whenever you’re ready to talk.”

Justin looked over his shoulder at the man who had been both father and brother to him all his life, even though there were only seven years separating them. “I know, Sloan. Thanks.”

There was something therapeutic about hefting one sixty-five pound bale of hay after another and slinging it onto the trailer. Usually. It was a handy chore to tackle when a man needed to work off a mad, or a little extra energy.

Today it wasn’t working. With every bale he lifted and tossed, he got madder. He had long since shed his coat, and now his shirt was getting damp. He’d worked up such a head of steam that the only way he knew the temperature was dropping was by the white cloud formed by each breath he huffed out.

If he was going to talk to Blaire again—and he damn well was—he’d better get this anger, this sense of betrayal under control.

He would like to say that she was the only one he was mad at, but it took two to make a baby, and he was the other half of this pair. If there was blame to be passed around, then it belonged to both of them. They’d even used a condom, both times. But condoms didn’t come with a guarantee, or the makers would go broke paying child support for millions of children.

That Blaire was pregnant was not what angered him. He couldn’t be angry about a child of his own making. But he could be and was angry that she knew and hadn’t told him. From all indications, she’d had no plans to tell him any time in the near future.

He tossed another bale then, shoulders aching from not pacing himself, he sat on the fender of the trailer.

If he looked at the situation from Blaire’s viewpoint— at least the best he could, considering that it wasn’t his body that was invaded, which would now grow all out of shape and make him sick and maybe leave scars and let’s not even think about the agony of childbirth.

Okay, so he couldn’t get a good grasp on her viewpoint. But he could guess that she might be upset about suddenly finding herself pregnant when she hadn’t planned to be. It might take a little getting used to.

Then, too, she would have to make certain she really was pregnant. They sold those test kits at every drugstore, grocery, and discount store in the country. Then maybe a visit to a doctor to confirm.

Justin had no idea what such a visit might entail, but he was pretty sure that it wasn’t a barrel of laughs unless a woman was eagerly looking forward to the good news of an impending blessed event.

He didn’t imagine Blaire had been any too eager to learn she was about to become a mother.

Justin had known her, although not well, for years. He’d been trying to get to know her better since last summer when she came back to town. He’d finally got her to go out with him, but only a couple of times before that night they’d spent together. Now she was carrying his child. She obviously was not happy about having this tie to him.

What a kicker, he thought. She was gorgeous, smart, sexy, and she was carrying his child. And she wanted nothing to do with him.

It was that last part that had him grinding his teeth and tossing hay bales.

Maybe it was just going to be too bad if she wanted nothing to do with him. She was going to need help throughout her pregnancy, and certainly after that. Financial help, emotional support, physical aid.

As the father of her child it was his duty—his right—to provide that help. She might throw it in his face, but one of the things he liked about her was her intelligence. She wasn’t stupid enough to turn down needed help. Unless her pride got in her way.

The next day he decided to find out. He drove to the feed store, determined to see her and talk to her.

First, he had to get through her father.

“You!” At the first sight of Justin, Thomas Harding vacated his stool behind the counter so fast that it clattered to the floor. “What are you doing here?”

Justin did his best to put out of his mind the fact that Harding kept a loaded shotgun behind the counter. “Mr. Harding.” Justin nodded. “I came to see Blaire.”

“Hmph. Way I hear it,” he said, something akin to hatred in his eyes, “you’ve seen more than enough of my little girl.”

Justin swallowed. “She told you.”

“She told us. You’re gonna do the right thing by her, Chisholm. I mean to see to that.”

“Whatever she wants, whatever she needs,” Justin said. “That’s why I’m here.” Whether she wants me here or not. “Is she in the office?”

“Yeah, but not for long. If you wanna catch her you better get back there. And when you’ve seen her, you and I have some more talking to do, boy.”

“Yessir, Mr. Harding. I imagine we do.”

“In fact,” Harding said as he started around the end of the counter toward Justin, “I think maybe we better do our talking right now, you and me.” The gleam in the man’s eyes promised retribution for the wrongs done to his daughter.

Justin held up both hands. “Now look, Mr. Harding—”

The bell over the front door jingled, announcing the arrival of more customers.

Harding stepped back behind the counter. “Go on,” he said to Justin. “I’ll get to you later.”

How clichéd was that? Justin wondered. He’d just been saved by the bell.

As he stepped toward the side door that led to the office behind the outer room, Mr. Harding mumbled something he couldn’t quite catch. It sounded a little like, “Keep your pants zipped.”

Justin halted and looked back. “Sir?”

Mr. Harding scowled. “It’s a little like closing the barn door after the horse is out,” he hissed quietly so the two customers at the other end of the room wouldn’t hear, “but keep your…hands to yourself around my daughter.”

Justin figured Blaire knew where she did and didn’t want him to put his hands, but he didn’t think her daddy would take too kindly to hearing that, so Justin merely nodded and went on his way.

At the door to the office, he stopped. “What the hell?”

Boxes were everywhere, on the desk, the chair, stacked on the floor. Boxes of file folders, office supplies and equipment, supply catalogs. It appeared that everything in the office was being crammed into boxes.

Blaire was on her knees emptying out a bottom file drawer and evidently had not heard him.

“Going somewhere?” he asked.

Blaire let out a squeak and slapped a hand over her heart. “You scared the daylights out of me.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I guess you were concentrating on what you’re doing. What are you doing?”

She flapped her arms out, toward the boxes on either side of her. “What’s it look like?”

“It looks like you’re moving the office.”

“You got it in one.”

“Where to?”

“To my old room in my parents’ house.”

He looked around the cramped space, which had been added on years ago for office space. “You don’t like it here anymore?”

She sighed and rose to her feet. “Why are you here, Justin?”

“I came to talk to you.”

“I told you yesterday, I don’t want or need anything from you.”

“I know you did. I happened to disagree. I think we should talk about it.”

She sighed again and rubbed her forehead. “I’m moving the office to the house because I don’t think the pesticide and herbicide fumes in this place are good for the baby.”

Her answer gave him pause. He’d been right that she was going to need help. This was one of what would probably turn out to be dozens of changes she would undergo during the coming weeks and months.

“I’m sure you’re right,” he told her. “Are any of these boxes ready?”

She looked at him with suspicion. “Why?”

He rolled his eyes. “So I can set fire to them. So I can carry a load over for you.”

“I can’t ask you to do that.”

“As far as I’m concerned you could have. For that matter, I think you should have. But you didn’t. I volunteered. I’ll go get the two-wheeled cart.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Why what?”

“I told you yesterday I didn’t want or need anything from you. Why are you here offering help?”

“Why are you afraid of accepting it?”

Her spine stiffened as if someone had replaced it with a steel rod. “I’m not afraid.”

“Fine.” But he could see in her eyes that she wasn’t sure if her statement was truth, or merely wishful thinking. “Then there’s no reason not to accept my help. If it worries you, pretend I’m just the hired help. Back in a minute.”

He turned and walked out before she could comment. She wanted to send him packing. He could read that much in her eyes. If he could get her to talk to him, trust him, maybe she would tell him why.

He found the two-wheeled cart in the giant storeroom next to the loading dock. How many times had he backed up to that very dock and helped one of Harding’s employees, or Harding himself, stack a load of feed in his truck bed? Too many to count.

Now here he was, manning the cart himself so that the mother of his unborn child could get away from the fumes that lingered in every feed store he’d ever been in.

Blaire’s father watched Justin’s every move with a jaundiced eye.

Blaire herself watched Justin with almost as much distrust, but her look was tempered with a touch of curiosity. She wasn’t sure what he was about. And that was fine with Justin. Better her uncertain curiosity rather than a more negative reaction.

He stacked boxes to the top of the handles on the cart, then followed Blaire as she led the way out into the storage room, down the loading ramp, and across the gravel drive to her parents’ two-bedroom red-brick house twenty yards behind the store.

Mrs. Harding held the door open for them and offered Justin a tentative smile. So far she was the only member of the Harding family who didn’t seem eager to see the last of him.

“It’ll be a tight fit turning into the hall,” she offered, “but we got a triple dresser in there, so these boxes should go all right.”

With a little back-and-forth maneuvering of the two-wheeled cart, he got the boxes to the front bedroom with no trouble.

The room had been stripped of everything except the blinds on the windows. He eyeballed the space and had his doubts about its adequacy.

“Are your desk and file cabinets going to fit in here?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “We’d never get that big desk of mine through the bedroom door. I’m going to work off a folding table for now, until we figure out something else.”

“Did you consider using the garage?” he asked.

“Yes, but we’d have to pipe in heat and air and put a wall up in place of the big door. This is only tem porary, anyway.”

“Is it?” he asked.

Blaire frowned at him. “You think I’m going to be pregnant the rest of my life?”

“No, but if breathing those fumes is not healthy for the baby, it can’t be healthy for an adult, either, even if a baby’s not involved.”

Blaire’s mother patted Justin on the arm, but she spoke to Blaire. “You picked a smart one, honey. He makes good sense.”

Justin could see the muscle flex in Blaire’s jaw as she obviously ground her back teeth together. “I haven’t picked anybody for anything, mother, so just stop it right now.”

“Now, honey, is that any way to talk about Justin?”

An explosion was definitely in the making, if the fire in Blaire’s golden brown eyes was any indication. Since he was, in this case, a coward, and didn’t want to witness a daughter annihilating her mother, or vice versa, he threw himself into the breach.

“It’s all right, Mrs. Harding.” He leaned down and whispered loudly, so Blaire would have no trouble hearing. “She’s not too happy with me right now. I’d just as soon give her a little time to get over that.”

Mrs. Harding’s eyes twinkled with delight. She whispered back. “Flowers.”

“No kidding?”

“A girl can never get too many flowers,” Mrs. Harding confirmed.

“I’ll remember that.”

Blaire rolled her eyes and headed out the door, leaving Justin and her mother behind. “You’ll be wasting your money,” she muttered.

“It’s my money to waste,” he called after her.

Mrs. Harding winked at him. “Let’s get these boxes unloaded so you can go after her.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He caught up with Blaire just as she stepped back into her office. “What’s next?” he asked, looking around. “How about a file cabinet or two?”

“Too much trouble. I can work out of boxes.”

“For the next year? Why?”

“Justin.” She heaved a sigh and shook her head. “Go home.”

“I don’t think so. I think I’ll just wheel this empty file cabinet over to your new office.”

“Justin.”

He tilted the file cabinet to one side and slid the two-wheeler beneath it. In a matter of minutes he had it standing pretty as you please in her old bedroom at the end of the driveway.

“Oh, thank you,” Mrs. Harding said. “That will make things so much easier on her. She’s so stubborn, that girl of mine.”

Since Blaire had refused to accompany him with the file cabinet, since she thought it was merely a nui sance to move it now, then have to move it back in a matter of months, Justin felt free to gather all the info he could about this woman who carried his child.

“Stubborn, is she?”

“Oh, my, yes. And smart. Don’t you think she’s not smart.”

“No, ma’am. I know she’s smart. That’s one of the things I like the most about her.”

“Justin Chisholm, you’re playing me like a fish, and don’t think I don’t know it. If you want to know something about my girl, you just ask me. Better yet, ask her.”

“I plan to ask her, but first I have to get her to talk to me. I’m working on that, too, since she thinks she doesn’t need anything from me.”

“That’s pretty much what she thinks, all right.”

“I better get back over there,” he said with a nod to the store, “before she sneaks out and I have to chase her all over town.”

Mrs. Harding tilted her head and studied him. “Yes,” she said thoughtfully, “I think you would do just that, wouldn’t you.”

“Of course. Oh, and by the way. If I was playing you, it was more like a fine violin rather than a fish on the line.”

Mrs. Harding threw her head back and laughed. “You go on now, and find my daughter. Make an honest woman out of her, see that you do.”

Justin made no comment, just wheeled his cart down the sidewalk and up the gravel drive. How was he supposed to make an honest woman out of a woman who didn’t want him around?

Besides, to his way of thinking, there was nothing dishonest about her to begin with.

He found her standing in the middle of her torn up office with her hands on her hips, her back to the door, rolling her head back and forth as if to relieve an ache.

“Have you been overdoing it?” He parked the cart beside the door and crossed to her.

She whirled to face him. “You’re back.”

“I’m back.” He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around. “Here.” He started massaging her neck and shoulders. “You’re one big knot of muscles back here.”

Blaire might have answered—surely would have thought of something coherent to say that would get him to stop touching her—but when she opened her mouth, all that came out was a low moan of pleasure and relief. His hands were magic. She should have remembered that about him. Had remembered, which might explain why she’d been so studious about keeping her distance from him.

She obviously wasn’t very good at that particular task, keeping her distance. Here he was in her office. He’d just been in her parents’ home twice, hauling her office stuff over there. Now he was giving her this mind-numbing massage that threatened to weaken her knees.

When he said, “Have dinner with me,” she was incapable of saying no.

“Okay,” she managed.

“Tomorrow night.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll pick you up about six-thirty. Is that all right?”

“Um-hmm. Fine. No.” She tore herself from his magic hands and whirled, staggering to catch her balance.

“What do you mean, no?”

Blaire swallowed. “I mean, I don’t think we need to be having dinner together. There’s no point in it.”

“How about eating? That’s a point. We both have to do it. Why not do it together?”

She shook her head. “There’s more to it than that. You want something from me.”

Slowly he nodded his head. “You’re right. I want something from you. I want conversation. I want us to talk with each other. You need me, whether you think you do or not. I can help you. Let’s talk about it and see if we can come up with a way to work things out that will satisfy both of us.”

Blaire wanted to say no. Her pride and her fear wanted her to stand on her own two feet with no help from him or anyone else. But thousands of problems were staring her in the face and she wasn’t sure she was up to handling them all on her own.

Maybe it was weak of her, but she finally agreed. “All right.”

“Good,” he said.

“I don’t think there’s any point to it, but all right. Dinner and talk. Nothing more.”

“I’ll see you at six-thirty.”

She watched him go, wondering if she’d just made a serious mistake.

Chapter Four

Justin felt as nervous as a school boy on his first date. He couldn’t remember the last time, even as a teenager, when he had tried on and discarded a half dozen shirts before deciding on one he liked. He would have said he was much too secure in his manhood, or some such self-affirming nonsense, except that the proof of his anxiety lay strewn across his bed. He checked his watch. It was too early to leave.

He checked his hair. It was combed to within an inch of its life.

He checked his boots. Polished to a mirror-bright sheen.

He checked his jeans. The crease was straight and sharp. Thank you, Maria.

He exhaled into his cupped palm, but couldn’t tell anything so popped a breath mint into his mouth for insurance.

Had he used deodorant? Yes, he had used deodorant, and he had on clean underwear, not that Blaire would know about the latter.

He was as ready as he would ever be.

He felt as if his entire future rested on this one single date. It probably wasn’t true. If he didn’t make any headway tonight on getting her to trust him, surely he would get another chance. By his calculations, he had seven months until his child—their child—was born to make certain that he would be a part of the child’s life.

But more than that was going on here. He wanted to be part of Blaire’s life, too. He just didn’t know how large a part or how it would work. They had a great deal to talk about.

And if he kept thinking about it he would end up being late to pick her up.

He wasn’t late. He parked his truck and climbed the stairs to her garage apartment at precisely 6:30 p.m.

When he knocked on the door, nerves had him knocking harder than necessary.

Inside the apartment Blaire flinched at the sudden pounding. She pressed a hand to her stomach and took a final glance in the mirror. He hadn’t said where they were going, so if he’d intended some place fancy, it would be his fault that they couldn’t go. She had opted to wear jeans. She didn’t want to go anywhere fancy. In Rose Rock, a person could eat anywhere, order anything from a corn dog to pizza to a giant, juicy sirloin and not be out of place wearing jeans. She wanted to wear hers as often as possible before she outgrew them in the coming weeks.

With a final nod and a brief prayer that she wasn’t making a terrible mistake in going out with Justin, she left her room and went to answer the door.

“Hi,” he said.

It was impossible not to return his smile. “Thank you for the flowers.” He’d sent her an arrangement of daisies in a decorative coffee mug, with a note wishing her well in her new office. It was cute and thoughtful, even if it had been at her mother’s prodding.

“You’re welcome,” he said. “I generally try to take a mother’s advice on these things.”

Blaire smirked, her bubble of good humor bursting. “You mean when she’s trying to help you soften up her daughter?”

“Absolutely. I’m just grateful to have at least one person on my side around here. Not that I think there should be sides,” he added quickly.

“But there apparently are,” she stated. “Do you still want to eat?”

“I want to spend some time with you. It happens to be dinnertime. I haven’t eaten, and I doubt you have, either. So, yes, I still want to eat. How about you?”

Her stomach chose that moment to growl. She blushed and realized that any answer other than yes would be laughable now.

“Let me get my purse and coat.”

She pulled on her coat and grabbed her purse, then stepped out her door with Justin. He pulled her door closed behind them and made sure it was locked.

The stairs were not wide enough for them to walk side by side, so Justin motioned for her to go first.

“No, wait,” he said. “I’ll go first.” He moved around her and took the first step down.

“Well, that was rude,” she said to the back of his head.

“No,” he said, pausing to look over his shoulder at her. “It’s called chivalry.”

“Excuse me? I thought it was always ladies first.”

“Normally, yes,” he admitted. “But think about it. A man is supposed to walk on the outside when a couple is walking down the street. That’s to protect her from getting splashed, or from some ruffian accosting them.”

“Ruffian?”

“Humor me. It’s all about the man protecting the woman. How can I protect you from falling down the stairs if I’m behind you?”

“What, you think I can’t manage the stairs without help? I’m pregnant, not incapacitated. Who’s supposed to protect me the other dozen times a day I go up and down these stairs? Or am I supposed to wait for some man—maybe you?—to come along and help me?”

“I was thinking of your safety,” he said with what sounded like strained patience. “Are we really going to stand here and argue about who goes down the stairs first?”

When he put it that way, it sounded foolish. “I’d rather not.”

“Are we both idiots?” His lips were quirking.

Her own twitched once or twice. “I can blame it on hormone imbalance. What’s your excuse?”

He smiled at her. “Hunger.”

He stood to the side and allowed her to pass and descend ahead of him. At his pickup he opened the passenger door for her and offered her a hand to give her a boost. It was a high step up into the cab.

When he pulled out onto Main Street, he turned away from town and headed the other way.

“Where are we going?”

“How does Mexican food sound? I thought I remembered hearing you say you liked it.”

“I do. So, where are we going?”

“Norman.”

Blaire blinked in the dimly lit cab. “But that’s thirty miles away.”

“Is that a problem? I promise not to make you walk home.”

Maybe he wouldn’t, she thought. But it certainly took away her option to walk home if she wanted to. Why would he pick someplace so far, unless he had something sneaky in mind?

“You do remember that we agreed on dinner only. Nothing else.”

“Dinner and conversation,” he said. “You don’t trust me enough to believe I mean it?”

“As crazy as it sounds under the circumstances, I really don’t know you all that well, do I?”

He let the country music from the dashboard radio fill the cab for a long moment before he answered. “You trusted me well enough a couple of months ago.”

“Don’t take offense,” she told him, “but that wasn’t trust, it was foolishness.”

“Ouch.”

“Oh, I think your ego is tough enough to take it.”

“You don’t know me well enough to know that, do you?”

She chuckled. “Okay, I had that coming. Sorry. All of this, us, you and me, just feels a little awkward, you know?”

“You mean because of the baby?”

“You don’t seem at all uncomfortable talking about it.”

“I’m not uncomfortable about it,” he admitted. “It wasn’t something either of us planned. In fact, we took steps to prevent it, but they didn’t work. It happened, and here we are. Now we have to deal with the situation the best way we can.”

“And how might that be?” She would dearly love to know how this was supposed to work, this pregnancy, this parenthood that she did not feel at all prepared for.

“Well, first you go out to dinner with me and we maybe get to know each other a little better. Maybe, if we’re lucky, we can be friends.”

She swallowed. “Friends? Is that what you want?”

“I think it’s a good place to start. Look,” he said. “I know you said you don’t need or want anything from me. Maybe you don’t, but I think you will. Need, at least. I want us to be friends so that if you do need something, you’ll feel comfortable enough with me to ask for it.”

This time she was the one who was quiet for several minutes. “You’ve put a lot of thought into this.”

“Not as much as you have, I’m sure, since I only found out yesterday.”

That, she felt, was a criticism of her, for not telling him sooner about the baby. She would give him that one, because she felt guilty for having kept quiet once she’d had her pregnancy confirmed.

But how was a woman supposed to tell a man she’d been out with only a few times that she carried his child? Oh, excuse me, but remember that night at the motel?

She hadn’t been up to the challenge of telling him. That would have to stop. She had a child on the way. She couldn’t afford to chicken out on things anymore. She had to take charge, first of her own life, then of her child’s.

He said he wanted to be friends. She could offer him that, couldn’t she? Perhaps polite acquaintances would do. It wasn’t her job to provide him with what he wanted. She had to look out for herself and the baby.

“By the way,” he said, breaking into her thoughts. “Something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

“What’s that?”

“Yesterday at the feed store, when I overheard your parents talking about…you and the baby and all, your mother said something about you knowing about the baby because your watch quit, or some such nonsense. Your dad seemed to know what that meant. What was she talking about?”

In the darkness of the cab, Blaire felt her left wrist, where she used to wear her watch. “My watch quit,” she told him. “That night we spent together. It stopped running right after the first time we…had sex.”

“Made love.”

“Whatever.”

“Made love,” he insisted. “Had sex sounds too impersonal for what we shared. So your watch stopped. It happens.”

“Yes. It happens to the women in our family, my mother, and my grandmother before her. And now me. When we conceive, something weird happens to our body’s electricity or electrical current or whatever, and a watch won’t run when we wear it on our wrist. My grandmother swears the antique watch she wore on a chain around her neck wouldn’t run.”

“You don’t believe that, do you?”

“I have to.”

“Maybe being pregnant makes you forgetful, so you don’t remember to wind the watch,” he offered.

“O ye of little faith. You probably don’t remember, but I put your watch on that night for a few minutes, after mine quit running. When you put yours back on when we left, it was a few minutes slow. It quit while I wore it.”

“The battery probably needs replacing.”

“Mmm,” was all she said.

“Look,” he said. “You can’t tell you’re pregnant by whether or not your watch keeps time.”

“It was verified with a few home test kits, and a follow-up visit to my doctor. I’m not making it up, Justin.”

“I never thought you were. It’s just, I don’t know, weird. The watch thing, I mean.”

“You’re telling me. Now I never know what time it is, and I’m a person who likes to know.”

“How about if I get you a new watch?”

“That would be nice, but it won’t keep time on my wrist until after the baby is born.”

“You’re not serious.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying. From conception to birth, a watch isn’t going to work on my arm. Don’t ask me to explain it. That’s just the way it is. The same thing happened to my mother, and to her mother. Feel free to ask them.”

“No, no. I believe you. I think.”

They fell silent for a time, and Blaire wallowed around in her own thoughts, buried so deep in them that she didn’t notice when he left the interstate and hit city traffic. Then he was pulling into a parking lot at the restaurant. It was the sudden silence from his killing the engine and cutting off the radio that finally got her attention.

“Earth to Blaire,” he said, waving a hand before her face.

Embarrassed, she offered a smile. “Sorry. I was lost in thought.”

“Well, come on, let’s go get lost in enchiladas.”

Before she could gather her purse from the seat beside her and reach for the door handle, he was out of the pickup, around the hood and opening her door for her. Playing the gentleman again.

She wondered how hard he had to remind himself to do the gentlemanly thing, or if it came naturally.

From what she knew of the way he and his brothers were raised, by their grandmother, Blaire thought maybe such behavior might be ingrained in them. Cherokee Rose Chisholm was a legend in the state of Oklahoma. She was known for her strength of character, her integrity and her livestock.

Blaire wondered what the woman would have to say about the feed-store owner’s daughter ending up pregnant by her youngest grandson.

She wondered if the woman already knew.

She wasn’t ready to face Rose Chisholm. Good heavens, she could barely face herself in the mirror each morning. Facing her parents had been a nightmare, Justin almost that bad. But facing Justin’s family? No way. She couldn’t do it. Not yet.

So much for her bravery, she thought as they stepped into the blasting warmth and rolling noise of the restaurant.

The food was hot and spicy, just the way Blaire liked it. The restaurant was crowded, the music loud and fast. The decor consisted of sombreros, serapes and piñatas. It was not an atmosphere for relaxing.

Justin had picked this restaurant deliberately so that Blaire wouldn’t think he was trying to seduce her, which, under other circumstances, he would most certainly do.

But in order to have any chance at a conversation, he had to sit next to her rather than across from her, and that raised her eyebrows.

“I just want to be able to talk,” he said, leaning toward her. “Without us having to yell at each other.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Your eyes did,” he told her.

“If you’re going to read my eyes, then I don’t need to talk at all.”

“I don’t remember you being this perverse.”

“Like I said,” she told him with a wry smile. “We don’t really know each other.”

“Oh, I know what that means. It means you were on your best behavior when we dated, and now this is the real you.”

For an instant she looked startled, telling him he’d hit close to home with his comment.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “Forget I said that. You’re right. We don’t know each other well enough. My favorite flower is the pansy. What’s yours?”

Blaire blinked, then stared at him. “What?”

“Your favorite flower. What is it?”

“You’re crazy, you know that?”

“I’ve been called that a time or two, but you don’t need to worry. I don’t think it’s genetic.”

She chuckled for a moment, then frowned. “Is there anything genetic I should know about?”

Justin twisted his head sideways, hunched one shoulder, and let his tongue hang out the side of his mouth. “Like what?” he asked.

She laughed.

He loved hearing her laugh. He didn’t mind making a fool of himself if it made the tension and nerves fade from her eyes.

“As far as I know,” he said, straightening up, “there’s nothing genetic from my family that should cause a problem. The kid will be part Cherokee, of course. I assume that’s no problem.”

She pursed her lips. “If it was, we wouldn’t be in this situation, would we?”

“Good point. So maybe you don’t have a favorite flower. What’s your favorite color?”

She shook her head. “You really are crazy.”

“You said we didn’t know each other. I’m trying to fix that. Come on. Give.”

She rolled her eyes. “All right. Purple.”

“Now we’re making progress. It’s mine, too.” He rubbed his hands together. “Here’s something we never talked about before. Why didn’t we ever know each other in school? I’m only three years older than you. As small as Rose Rock is, seems to me we should have run into each other a long time ago instead of just the last year or two.”

“We really are strangers, aren’t we?” she said. “We didn’t move to town until I was a junior. You would have graduated by then.”

“That’s right,” Justin said. “I remember when your dad bought the feed store. How did I miss seeing you there?”

“I don’t know. I remember seeing you.”

The news surprised him. “Do you, now?”

“I do.”

Those words…. They rang over and over in his head. Something about them filled him with both anticipation and apprehension.

“I bet things have changed a lot out at your ranch since both your brothers have gotten married in the past few months.”

“Yes and no,” he said. “The work hasn’t changed, it’s just been redistributed. We’ve taken on another hand, and Sloan and I have taken on more work, since Caleb’s over at the Pruitt Ranch now. Plus we have Pedro. He takes up some of the slack, too. And he does a lot of the things that just weren’t getting done. But the house, now that’s different.”

“You mean without Caleb?”

“Yeah, and with all the females.” He grinned. “We’ve got Emily and her two girls, Libby and Janie. And then there’s Maria, our new housekeeper, and her little baby Rosa. A man can’t turn around anymore without running into a female. And no, ma’am, that is not a complaint.”

“You like women.”

“All ages, all kinds. I just like people. Don’t you?”

She munched on a salsa-dipped chip and thought for a moment. “Not particularly. I guess I’m most comfortable with my own company.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” he said. “In fact, as much as I love my family, I’ve had my eye on one particular spot on the far side of the ranch where I’d like to build a house of my own.”

“And not live with your family?”

“This would be for a family of my own, eventually. It’s a little spot along a side road that doesn’t get much traffic. I’d build a house right between an old buffalo wallow and this little persimmon grove where the deer come in the fall to eat the ripened fruit.”

“For their sake, I hope they wait until it’s truly ripe.”

Justin laughed. “No kidding. You ever taste a green persimmon?”

She puckered her lips and made a face.

He laughed again. “You must have had Mr. Bollinger for Biology.”

“Yes, and it was hideous. That man should be shot for making us all take a bite from one of those things. I bet I walked around school with my mouth all puckered up for hours afterward.”

“You and me both,” he said with a shudder. “I’ve never tasted anything so sour before or since. Did he laugh at your class the way he did us?”

“Like we were all idiots for doing what he told us?”

“Yep.”

“Yes,” she said, laughing. “He did.”

They took their time with the meal, enjoying the food, the atmosphere, and, Blaire had to admit, the company.

Oh, she had certainly enjoyed his company in the past. That much was impossible to deny. But from what she saw of the world, once a guy got what he wanted out of a girl, he had no more use for her. It was time to move along in search of fresh game.

Such a thing had never happened to her, but she’d seen her friends and cousins treated that way time and again. She had no particular reason to trust men.

“Even if you didn’t move to town until I was out of high school,” Justin said as if the conversation had never lulled. “Why didn’t I know you until the past couple of years? Mostly the past few months, really, unless you count the few weeks you were in town summer before last, and now and then at holidays.”

She arched a brow. “Been keeping tabs on me?” The idea thrilled her.

“Now and then,” he offered with a grin. “Why didn’t I know you better before this summer?”

“Probably because I went away to college right after high school. I got my teaching degree and a job teaching in Oklahoma City.”

“But you’re not teaching here, are you? In Rose Rock?”

“No.” She shook her head and pushed the last few grains of refried rice around on her plate. “No, last June my mother fell and broke her arm. It was pretty bad. It took three surgeries to fix it. I came home to take over the office at the feed store for her and daddy. But she wasn’t well enough by the end of summer for me to leave, so I had to stay.”

“Will you be able to get your job back next year?”

She shook her head. “They’ve already said no.”

“Because of all the budget cuts statewide.”

“You got it in one try.”

“Do you miss teaching?

“Like I imagine you would miss your favorite horse.”

He winced. “That much, huh?”

“That much. But I’ll get over it. We do what has to be done, right? I’ll teach again someday.”

Justin decided they had tiptoed around the subject du jour long enough. He took a deep breath and dived in. “It’s not going to be easy being a single mother.”

“Believe me,” she said with feeling. “No one is more aware of that than I am.”

“You don’t have to do it alone, you know.”

“I think the term ‘single parent’ indicates one is parenting alone.”

“I mean,” he said with a quick smile, “that you don’t have to be a single parent.”

She looked at him warily. “What—no. No way. Don’t even—”

“Hear me out,” he said before she got any further in her rejection. “Just think about it, will you?”

“Think about what?”

“About you and me getting married.”

She pushed back in her chair and made ready to rise. “You’re out of your mind.”

“I am not. It’s a good idea, if you’ll just give it a chance.”

“Why on earth would you think it’s a good idea, when we’ve been agreeing all night that we barely know each other?”

“I want my child to carry my name and not be a bastard.”

She opened her mouth to retort, then shut it before saying anything.

He had to give her credit for that. But he would add more to the deal, to tempt her. “You wouldn’t have to work at the feed store or anywhere else if you didn’t want to. You wouldn’t have to worry about money or health insurance or a place to live or climbing up and down those damn stairs to your apartment when you’re nine months along. Unless you wanted us to live there together after we’re married.”

She stared at him as though he’d suddenly grown a wart in the middle of his nose.

“Is it my words you don’t understand?” he asked, “or my meaning?”

“You really are out of your mind. Of course I’m not going to marry—”

“Wait.” He stopped her before she could finish. “Don’t answer me yet. Think about it. Will you? Please? Just think about it. We like each other well enough, and I’m pretty easy to get along with. If it doesn’t work out, at least we should be able to hold it together long enough to get you and the baby on your feet, so to speak. Unless you want me to raise the baby.”

“What?”

“I said—” “Hell and damnation, I heard you! You can just get that thought out of your mind right this minute, Jus tin Chisholm. Nobody’s raising this baby but me.”

“I didn’t know, wasn’t sure how you felt about it.”

“How I felt?” she nearly shrieked. “How do you think I feel?”

“I don’t know. You’ve acknowledged that you’re carrying my child, but you’ve never indicated whether or not you want the baby.”

She crossed her forearms protectively over her abdomen. “Not want it? How can I not want my own baby?”

“Because you don’t know me very well? Because you don’t trust me at all? Because being a single parent doesn’t fit in with your plans? A lot of women aren’t too happy to end up in your shoes.”

“I’m not a lot of women,” she said hotly. “I would never give my child over to someone else to raise.”

He was starting to get a little steamed himself. “You say that like I’m some bum on the street. Like having me raise him would be like giving him to some stranger. I’m not ‘someone.’ I’m the baby’s father.”

“You think I can’t be a good mother? Is that it?”

“No, that’s not it,” he denied. “Of course that’s not it. If we get married we won’t have to argue over who raises the baby. We’ll both raise him.”

“Or her.”

“Or her. Just think about it. Don’t say no right off. Think about all the advantages. Sleep on it tonight, and I’ll call you tomorrow. If you need more time than that, just say so, but I’ll call you tomorrow anyway.”

Blaire wanted to tell him not to bother, because there was no way on God’s green earth she was going to marry a man who didn’t love her, a man she didn’t love, simply because doing so might make her life a little easier.

But she held her tongue. Still feeling guilty for his having to find out about the baby by accident, she felt she owed him. She would think about it.

She would say no, but she would think it through first.

She wasn’t sure where she would find the nerve to look him in the eye and turn him down, but she would have to manage. If she couldn’t do that, how did she think she could raise a child?

Chapter Five

Justin had told Blaire he would call her the next day. But when the next day arrived, he knew he couldn’t simply call her on the phone. That would make it too easy for her to say no. He had to see her in person. To look into her eyes when she gave her answer.

Good God, he had asked a woman to marry him. He couldn’t believe he was even remotely calm about it. Proposing marriage had not been in his plans when he’d picked Blaire up yesterday evening. At least, he hadn’t consciously thought about it.

But as the evening wore on, the idea just sort of seeped in a little bit at a time until it was just… there. A whole idea, as if it had always been there. Nothing startling or surprising or scary about it. Merely the most logical, practical thing for all concerned.

The few times in his life when he’d looked ahead and imagined himself married, logic and practicality had played no part in it. Nothing sounded more boring or deadly to him than a logical, practical marriage.

Wasn’t there supposed to be love? Respect? Passion?

He and Blaire had the passion. Or they’d had it, a couple of months ago. But he couldn’t imagine it not being there the next time he touched her. Last night he had deliberately kept his mind off such things, but the wanting had been there, under the surface, waiting to be let loose.

Respect? He respected what he knew of her. She’d gone to college, taught school, come to her parents’ rescue when they’d needed help. She had sacrificed her job for them. And upon finding herself single and with an unplanned pregnancy, she was not demanding Justin marry her or support her or anything else.

There was a lot to respect in her.

But love? Justin had never been in love, so how would he know? There was no getting around the fact that she was right about them not knowing each other well.

They knew each other well enough to make a baby, but then, that didn’t take much knowing, outside the biblical definition of the word.

But he liked her. Liked her a great deal. They were good together, on the dance floor and in bed. They were both adults. Surely they could figure out a way to make a marriage work, even if they weren’t madly in love. Maybe not having all that steamy emotion clouding the issue would be a benefit, helping them see their way more clearly.

He wanted to talk with her. If she hadn’t made up her mind yet, maybe he could convince her. Because the one thing he knew beyond doubt was that he wanted to be a part of his child’s life. No child of his was going to grow up without a father.

He wanted to talk with her, and he wanted to do it now.

But he couldn’t walk out on Sloan when there was work to be done. It had been he, himself, who had mentioned that the livestock would need hay. He’d even loaded the trailer. It was time to distribute it.

And so they set out, he and Sloan, with Sloan driving the pickup, pulling the trailer Justin had loaded with hay. Creeping along like an arthritic turtle because there were no paved or gravel roads heading into the back pastures, only rough tire tracks left by countless trips just like this one.

Sloan was driving the best he could, trying to keep the pickup from bottoming out in the potholes.

“Can’t you drive this thing any faster?”

“Oh,” Sloan drawled slowly. “I probably could if I put my mind to it.”

“Then do it, would you? Some people have other things to do today.”

“Next time one of us runs out of things to do, we need to hook up the box blade and grade this damn road,” Sloan said.

“Grade it so we can call it a road, you mean.”

“Whatever. Anyway,” he said, keeping the rig to the same slow, lumbering pace, “what’s your hurry? The cattle and horses aren’t likely to starve to death before we get to them.”

It was all Justin could do to keep from bouncing his knee up and down. He hated doing that, because he hated it when other people did it around him. It indicated impatience with the current situation, a nervous desire to do something else. Made him feel…superfluous. Worse, in the way.

“No particular hurry,” he said, forcing a slow, deep breath.

“How’d your date go last night? Who was the lucky lady?”

He was going to have to tell the family, and soon. They had a right to know that the youngest Chisholm was about to produce the youngest Chisholm.

Before he told them, however, he would warn Blaire of his intentions. She had a right to know that he was about to share their private news with his whole family.

“The date was fine. Mexican food up in Norman. I took Blaire.”

“Blaire Harding? No fooling?”

“Why?”

Sloan shrugged. “I don’t know. Seems like you’ve been hot after her for months. I remember you hooked up with her a couple of times a while back, but you haven’t mentioned her in weeks. Are you two back on?”

“More or less. Maybe. We’ll have to see.”

It was the middle of the afternoon before Justin could legitimately shake loose and head to town. He didn’t see Blaire’s car in the driveway of the feed store parking lot, but he didn’t worry about it. It could be in the garage.

He skipped the store and went straight to the house. Blaire’s mother answered the door.

“Justin, hello. Come in.” With a big smile, she stood back and motioned for him to enter.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“I think you better start calling me Nancy, don’t you?”

“If you say so. Nancy. I’d like that.”

“Me, too,” she said, patting him on the arm.

“I came to see Blaire. Is she here?”

Nancy Harding’s smile tightened. “Oh, dear. Well, to be completely honest, Justin…”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry, but, no, she’s not here.”

“Oh, okay. I can go get a cup of coffee at the café or something. When do you expect her back?”

“I’m afraid she won’t be back for a day or two. Maybe even a week.”

Justin felt his gut clench. “Did something happen? Where’d she go?”

“You have to understand, Justin, she’s under a great deal of stress these days.”

“I do understand that. I offered her a partial solution to help her out, and we were supposed to talk about it today. You mean she just took off?”

“She went up to Enid to her cousin Connie’s.”

“Enid?” He blinked, dumbfounded. “She went to Enid?”

“That’s right.” Mrs. Harding—Nancy—turned her head and gave him a sly look from the corner of her eye. “I could give you the address, if you’re interested. Something tells me you wouldn’t get very far by calling her.”

“Something tells me you’re right,” he muttered. “Okay, yes. I’ll take that address. Thanks.”

“I have it right here.” She picked up a piece of paper from the end table near the door, as if she’d known he would come and would need the information.

“You’re a peach, Mrs.—Nancy.” He leaned down and brushed his lips across her cheek.

Blushing to beat the band, Nancy beamed at him. “You go after my little girl, Justin, and you do right by her.”

“I’m trying, ma’am. Nancy. I’m trying.”

It was after dark by the time Justin reached Enid and located the address Nancy had given him.

He’d tried, very hard, to keep from losing his temper during the drive. First, because he tended to drive fast when he was angry, and second, he didn’t want to jump to any erroneous conclusions regarding Blaire’s sudden trip to Enid.

Maybe it wasn’t a sudden trip. Maybe she’d had it planned.

But she hadn’t said so, and her mother hadn’t indicated such. He was inclined to believe that either this was Blaire’s way of telling him she wasn’t interested in marrying him, or she planned to tell him no, but couldn’t face him. Or, he thought, she was running scared, not knowing what to do.

He hoped it wasn’t the latter, because that would mean his offer of marriage had added more pressure than it had alleviated. Adding pressure to Blaire was the last thing he wanted to do.

The polite thing to do now would be to get a room for the night and come back to her cousin’s house tomorrow, around midmorning.

But there was every chance that her mother would tell her he’d been by to see her and was coming to Enid. If Blaire would leave town knowing he was going to call, that he was expecting an answer to his proposal, such as it was, she would surely disappear on him this time, too.

He parked his pickup in the street and walked up the driveway, then the short sidewalk to the front door, where he rang the bell.

Behind the door a dog barked, a child shrieked and giggled.

A man about Justin’s age opened the door with a wriggling, giggling toddler under one arm. “Yes?”

“I’m Justin Chisholm. I’m looking for Blaire Harding. Her mother said I’d find her here.”

The man eyed Justin carefully. “Her mother sent you, you say?”

“Yes. Her mother. Is Blaire here?”

“Hey, Blaire,” the man yelled over his shoulder.

“Annie Bare, Annie Bare,” squealed the child.

“That’s Aunty Blaire,” the man explained. “I’m the local interpreter. Somebody here to see you,” he added over his shoulder.

Blaire came through the doorway from the hall, wiping her hands on a dish towel. At the sight of Justin she stopped dead in her tracks. “Justin.”

“Hi.”

“What are you doing here? Go on, Billy, I’ll handle this,” she said to the man with the toddler under his arm.

“Are you sure?” he asked, eyeing the tight look on her face.

“I’m sure. It’s fine. Go help Connie in the kitchen. She’d appreciate that, you know.”

Billy rolled his eyes and hauled the kid down the hall.

Blaire rushed over to the door and practically pushed Justin back out onto the porch. It was cold enough that their breath came out in white puffs.

“What are you doing here?” she hissed.

Justin eyed her a minute and sucked on the inside of his jaw. “The more pertinent question, I’d say, is what are you doing here?”

“I came to see my cousin, if it’s any of your business.”

“Any of my business? Last night we talked about getting married.”

“You talked about it.”

“You said you would think about it. We agreed I was going to call you today for your answer. You’re not home for me to call you, so here I am. Waiting for my answer.” He wanted those last words back the instant they were out of his mouth. He had just as much as dared her to throw his suggestion of marriage back in his face.

Which was essentially what she did when she laughed. “You mean you were serious about that?”

If she thought she could hurt his feelings and send him running off with his tail between his legs, she was sadly mistaken. If she thought he was buying this casual woman-of-the-world act, she was deluding herself.

“I had no idea,” she added.

Justin folded his arms across his chest and shifted his weight. “Bull hockey.”

She laughed. “Bull what?”

“Hockey. I’m about to become a father in a few months. I’m cleaning up my language. Are you going to marry me, or do you need more convincing?”

Shaking her head, she held her palm out toward him and backed away until her back was to the door. “Justin, don’t.”

“Don’t what? I realize it’s a big decision, but don’t you think sitting down and talking about it would be more productive than running away?”

She snapped straight, as if a drill sergeant had just called attention. “I wasn’t running away.”

“Sorry. My mistake.” He moved in closer to her to shield her from the north wind. “But that’s what it looks like from my view.”

“I can’t help what it looks like to you.”

“Can’t help, or don’t care?”

She threw her hands in the air. “What do you want from me?” she cried. “I knew there was a reason I didn’t tell you about the baby. You’re just going to pester me to do things I don’t want to do. I won’t be pushed around, Justin. I won’t be pressured.”

“That’s fair,” he told her. “I don’t make a habit of pushing people around, and I don’t intend to start with you. If taking you to dinner puts pressure on you, I’m sorry. If asking you to marry me to give our child legitimacy and the Chisholm name puts pressure on you, I’m sorry. You won’t be pushed around, I won’t be brushed off or ignored.”

“Hmph.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Ignoring you would be about like trying to ignore a mountain lion in your living room.”

“I don’t know,” he said, slipping off his leather bomber jacket and putting it around her shoulders. “You seem to be doing a pretty good job of it.”

“Don’t.” She slid his jacket off and pushed it back into his hands. “I’m going back inside.”

“All right. That’s probably a good idea. I don’t want you catching cold, and I don’t want you blaming me if you do.”

“Why would I blame you?”

“Because you’re not too happy with me right now, I’m guessing.”

“I don’t like the idea of your following me all the way here.”

“Why did you leave without telling me?”

She gave a toss of her head, but spoiled the gesture of defiance by sniffing and rubbing the end of her nose. “I don’t answer to you.”

“No, you don’t answer to me. But I wish you would answer me about us getting married.”

“All right, look. If you must know, I came up here so I could spend a couple of days not thinking about it.”

He gave her a small smile. “I guess I ruined that, huh?”

“I guess you did.” She shivered in an icy gust of wind.

Justin reached out and rubbed her arms, which were clad only in the thin cotton of her blouse. “Go inside before you freeze to death. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

She swallowed and looked at him a long moment, then nodded. “All right. But I don’t think I’m going to be ready to talk about any of this tomorrow.”

“I’ll call you. You can tell me then if you’re ready or not. Fair enough?”

She gave him a reluctant nod. “Fair enough.”

Against his will, Justin stepped back and watched her go back into the house. The door closed softly but surely in his face.

On his way to find a motel room for the night, he tried to decide if he’d made a mistake in coming after her like this. There were no promises between them, no ties, other than the baby. She wasn’t answerable to him or he to her.

But dammit, he wouldn’t have left town knowing she expected to talk with him without letting her know he was going. She should have had the courtesy to at least tell him she didn’t have an answer for him yet.

Instead, she had fled.

He knew she hadn’t left him a message on his cell because he had checked. When he’d called home to tell them he wouldn’t be home tonight he’d asked if there were any messages for him, and they’d said no.

He found a motel and checked in. The night passed slowly for him. He was tired, but his mind would not shut down. He kept remembering the last time he’d stayed in a motel. He hadn’t slept that night, either. But that had been because he’d been too busy making love with Blaire Harding. Busy creating their child.

A baby. She was having his baby. The thought left him awed. As if no man in the world had ever sired a child before.

When Justin had left Blaire at her cousin’s, Blaire had closed the door behind herself and leaned against it, closing her eyes for a moment to regain her mental balance.

She wondered if it was normal to feel like the only woman in the world to conceive a child outside of wedlock. Shouldn’t she feel guilty? Ashamed?

She felt neither of those things.

Instead, this sharp sense of anticipation, mixed with enough nerves to keep her careful and attentive, permeated her from head to toe.

“Was that him?”

Blaire gave a start at the sound of Connie’s voice a scant few inches away. In fact, she was right next to Blaire, peeking between the blinds on the living room window next to the front door.

“Wow.” Connie let out a low whistle. “Looks like a keeper to me.”

With a half snort, half laugh, Blaire gave her cousin and best friend a slight shove. “He’s not a damn fish.”

“Maybe not, but he still looks like a keeper to me. What’s he like? Oh, never mind. Sit down first, before you fall down. He really gets to you, doesn’t he?”

Sitting down seemed like the thing to do, so Blaire sat. It would have been too embarrassing to slide down the door and end up on the floor.

“What am I going to do, Connie?” Blaire buried her face in her hands and strove for calm. She could tell Connie anything.

There were four of them. They called themselves the Four Cousins. Or sometimes just The Four, or the Four Musketeers, or the Four Stooges. Whatever the occasion called for.

Connie, Sherry, Gayle and Blaire. They were all about the same age, and their mothers were sisters. The Four knew each other’s secrets, heartaches, triumphs. And phone bills, because they called each other all the time and ran up ridiculous charges.

Connie rubbed Blaire’s shoulder and made a humming sound in her throat. “What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know. How am I supposed to know? I can’t think straight around him. I can’t even think straight about him. When I think about him or get near him my heart starts pounding, my palms sweat, my lungs don’t want to work.”

“You’ve got it bad, don’t you.”

“I guess I do, whatever it is. When I’m with him and all these stupid things are going on inside me, he can ask me a reasonable question and I get all defensive and stubborn and stupid, and I know he must think I’m an idiot, but I can’t seem to help myself. What’s wrong with me?” she wailed. “Is this what I have to look forward to until the baby comes? Is this what it’s like to be pregnant? Raging hormones and all of that?”

Connie shook her head in commiseration. “That might be part of it, but what it really sounds like to me is something else entirely.”

Alarmed, Blaire straightened and stared at her cousin. “Is it bad? Can it harm the baby?”

“It’s only bad,” Connie said, “if it’s not reciprocated.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about love, dummy. You’re in love with the guy.”

“No.” Blaire jumped up from the sofa and started pacing the length of the living room. “Oh, no. Absolutely not. It’s impossible.”

“Why? You must have felt something for him at one time.” Connie got up and paced beside Blaire, bending over and peering up into Blaire’s face. “I know you, cuz. If you hadn’t cared a great deal about him, you never would have slept with him.”

“That’s beside the point. That’s lust, not love.”

“Um-hmm. Sure. Lust, that’s fine. It’s important. But it’s not enough to get you to strip down and do the deed with a guy you’ve been out with only a few times. You know I’m right.”

Blaire stopped pacing and made a face. “So what if you are right? So what if I felt something a couple of months ago? That doesn’t mean I’m in love with the man. Feeling something and being in love are a mile apart.”

“If you say so.”

“Now you’re humoring me.”

“Hey. You asked my opinion, I gave it. If you want my advice, I say grab on to him with both hands and don’t let go. He’s a Chisholm, for crying out loud. From the Cherokee Rose. You can’t do better than that. Those Chisholms have got honesty and integrity coming out their pores. I bet before another week goes by he asks you to marry him.”

Blaire heaved a sigh. “He already did.”

“What?”

Another sigh, this one of disgust. “You heard me. He asked me last night when he took me out to dinner. All the way to Norman, no less. He said he would call me today for my answer.”

“Ah, now I see.” Connie crossed her arms and tapped the fingers of one hand against the elbow of the opposite arm. “He was going to call you for an answer, so, logically, you got in your car and took off without giving him that answer. Good heavens, no wonder he drove all the way up here after you. The man wants to marry you!”

Blaire sat heavily on the sofa again and, with a groan, buried her face in her hands. “Only because he happened to accidentally get me pregnant. You know that doesn’t work.”

“Maybe it would. It could. He already likes you. Why wouldn’t he fall in love with you? And what if he didn’t? You could still—”

“Two words,” Blaire said darkly. “My parents.”

Connie stopped, nodded. “Okay. Fair enough. So what are you going to do? And you know, don’t you, that just because your parents—”

“I know, I know, I’m not my parents. But I’d be a fool, wouldn’t I, to ignore their lessons?”

A cry and a crash came from the kitchen.

“Oh, God. Billy. I left him alone in the kitchen.”

“He’s a grown man,” Blaire protested. “Whatever it is, he can handle it.”

“The last time he handled it, the fire department had to come put it out.”

Blaire choked back a bark of laughter and followed her cousin into the kitchen to see what disaster Billy had created this time.

“Dammit, Billy!”

“’Ammit, Beeowy!” mimicked their toddler.

“Here.” Connie plucked her son from his father’s arms and handed him to Blaire. “Get him out of the line of fire. Or, in this case,” she said with disgust, kicking at a clump of suds oozing out of the dishwasher, “the line of suds. It’s going to get bloody in here. He’s too young to witness what I’m about to do to his father.”

With her lips mashed together to keep from laughing at the look of panic on Billy’s face, Blaire hustled the youngster out of the kitchen.

Billy, it seemed, had used dish washing soap instead of dishwasher detergent in the dishwasher. An honest mistake—for an idiot—but for the fact that it wasn’t the first time for Billy. He’d been positive that the last time had been a fluke, that Connie had just given him a hard time because she had to clean up his mess. After all, what did he know about mops?

He’d actually thought he could get away with it this time.

“And you think I need a husband?” Blaire cried in mock horror.

Connie laughed. “Oh, but he has his uses.”

At ten o’clock Blaire hugged her cousin good- night and went to bed.

When the family arose the next morning, she was gone.

♥ Uploaded by Coral ♥

Chapter Six

“Gone?” Count to ten, man. Be calm. Don’t lose your temper, Justin told himself. “What do you mean, she’s gone?”

“Come in, come in.” Connie took him by the arm and led him into her house. “Have a seat. Can I get you a cup of coffee?”

“No, thanks.” She was gone. She had run out on him again. A smart man might start to get a certain message here. He blinked and looked around, not remembering how or why he was inside Blaire’s cousin’s house, seated on her gray and white sofa with a fuzzy kitten staring at him from the arm of the sofa and a stuffed purple dinosaur between his feet.

“Okay.” Connie let out a hefty sigh. “I’m going to butt in where I don’t belong.”

Justin eyed her. “You are?”

“She’s scared.”

“Blaire? I think I got that.”

“Two points for you, then. What are you going to do about it?”

He shook his head. “There’s not much I can do but back off for now and try later to get close to her again.”

Connie nodded and rocked back and forth in thought. “That might work. Eventually. Maybe by the kid’s tenth birthday.”

Justin stiffened.

“Yes, I know all about it. We’re cousins, Blaire and me. Close cousins. There are four of us. We’ve been best friends since our mamas plunked us all in the same wading pool together before we were old enough to talk.”

“Does that mean you have a suggestion?”

She thought for a moment, then gave a sharp nod. “Yes. My name’s Connie, by the way. You need to go after her.”

“If she’s afraid of me, I’m going to come off looking like a stalker.”

“It’s not you she’s afraid of. It’s your feelings for her. It’s her own feelings, her own judgment. She doesn’t trust them. She’s afraid of making a mistake that will hurt her and be bad for the baby.”

Justin cocked his head and studied the woman before him. “I’ve never had the impression that Blaire was afraid of much of anything.”

“Believe me, this is a biggie for her. She’s normally the most self-confident woman I know. But marriage and babies, that’s like her greatest fear.”

“She’s afraid of childbirth?” he asked sharply.

“No, no, I didn’t mean it like that. She’s afraid she won’t do a good enough job and the baby will grow up unhappy or something.”

“And why does she think that?” he asked.

Connie shook her head. “That’s for her to tell you. I’ve said too much already. But I think you need to go after her, show her you’re serious about getting married. You are serious, aren’t you?”

“As a heart attack.”

Connie grinned. “You’re in love with her.”

Justin jerked as if she’d slapped him. “Of course not. We barely know each other.”

“Oh, yeah.” Connie laughed. “Two peas in a pod. I expect an invitation to the wedding.”

Within a few minutes Justin was on his way to Cousin Sherry’s house in Ponca City, just over an hour away.

The sky was overcast and the temperature was dropping. He hoped that little old car of Blaire’s was in good condition.

It was late morning when he pulled up at the apartment complex Connie had directed him to. Two minutes later he was knocking on the door to number 317.

A woman about Blaire’s age, attractive with red hair and freckles, answered the door.

“Oh. Hello,” she said. The look on her face said she had a good idea who he was.

“Hi. I’m Justin—”

“Chisholm.”

“Right. Is Blaire here? I saw her car in the parking lot.”

Cousin Sherry, if that’s who this was, grinned at him. “Oops. There goes that excuse.”

“Would you tell her that all I want is about a half hour of her time? I could take her for a late breakfast or early lunch, or just a cup of coffee. Someplace where the two of us can sit down and talk.”

With a smile, the woman shook her head. “I’ll tell her, but I doubt she’ll go for it.”

“Just tell her to quit cowering in the corner and come out and face me,” he said with disgust. “She’s acting like I’m the friendly local ax murderer. I’m just the guy who wants to marry her.”

Sherry’s mouth opened, then formed a round O. She blinked a couple of times. “Wow. I’ll, uh, I’ll just go, uh, get her.”

“You can’t just keep putting him off and running away,” Sherry hissed at Blaire. “That man wants to marry you. You’re having his baby. Forget your parents, dammit. Quit being so stubborn and go for it. You can always divorce him later. And think of the alimony.”

“Sherry!” Blaire was appalled by the suggestion that she would want to live off alimony from Justin.

She refused to think about the first part of that, that the marriage could be temporary. At least, she tried to refuse it, but it somehow kept sneaking back into her thoughts.

Did she dare? Could they? Would he hate her?

She wasn’t going to worry about him. She had to look out for herself and the baby. The baby first.

But Sherry was right. Blaire knew she couldn’t keep running from Justin, couldn’t keep avoiding the question that hung over her head like a two-ton green elephant.

She grabbed her coat and purse and marched out of the bedroom and into the living room.

He looked good, she thought, her mind shooting off course and onto a side rail. He didn’t look terribly happy, but he looked good.

“I thought you went home last night,” she said.

“I thought you stayed at Connie’s today.”

Blaire took a slow, deep breath and allowed him the point. “Let’s go get a cup of coffee or something.”

Justin let out the breath he’d been holding. She was going to talk to him. She was probably going to say no, but at least she was talking.

They took his rig and drove to a nearby coffee shop. Having skipped breakfast, Justin was starving. He ordered bacon, eggs, hash browns and a short stack of pancakes smothered in butter and syrup.

It was a lot of food for someone as trim and lean as Justin, but Blaire didn’t question it. She knew he worked hard on his ranch. Working men needed fuel.

She ordered decaf and a Danish.

“I’m not going to marry you,” she said baldly.

Justin felt a wave of disappointment wash through him. “I guess I knew that was coming.”

“I’d like to tell you why.”

“I’d like to hear it.”

Blaire paused a moment to get her thoughts in order. Her cousins knew the story almost as well as she did. Some of them had even lived it in their own homes. But Blaire had never tried to explain it to anyone before. She supposed the best way to start was simply to start.

“My parents had to get married.”

“Because she was pregnant with you?”

“That’s right. They knew each other better than you and I do, but like us, they’d never talked about getting married. Never really considered it. Then, suddenly, there they were, expectant parents. It’s been a disaster ever since.”

“What disaster?” Justin said. “They’re still married, aren’t they?”

“And the good Lord is the only one who knows why,” she said with feeling. “There’s not a week that has gone by during my entire life that one or the other or both of them hasn’t thrown it up into the other’s face. If you hadn’t got pregnant…if you hadn’t knocked me up…every problem that comes up, health, financial, business, you name it, it’s because one of them caused them to have to get married. Now and then they get tired of blaming each other and they turn around and, oh, look, she’s the one. It’s her fault. If it hadn’t been for her we wouldn’t have had to get married and we wouldn’t be having these problems.”

Justin stared, sickened by what she was saying. “They blame you for their own troubles?”

“Constantly. When they’re not blaming each other.”

“That’s awful.”

“You’re damn right it is,” she said hotly. Then she paused and sipped her coffee to give herself time to calm down. “I’ve seen the same thing happen with two of my cousins whose parents had to get married. I won’t ever do that to myself, Justin, or to a child of mine. So you see why I can’t marry you.”

“You think that would happen to us? That we’d end up resenting each other, taking it out on the kid?”

“I think it’s highly likely.”

He shook his head. “I don’t see it that way.”

“That’s because you haven’t had to live with it the way I have my whole life.”

“But you’re not your mother, and I’m not your father. And now that we’re both aware of what could go wrong, we can take steps to avoid it. We could make it work.”

“You don’t know that.”

“You don’t know that we can’t.”

“I know that for me to marry a man I’m not in love with—no offense—who’s not in love with me, is just asking for trouble. Are you in love with me?” she demanded.

“I can’t say that I am. Right now. Who’s to say I won’t be in a few months?”

“You think, what, that my fried chicken will win your heart?”

“You cook? I guess I should have asked that before I suggested we get married.”

“Very funny, Chisholm. But don’t you see that I’m right? There has to be something other than a baby who’s not even born yet to bring us together, to keep us together. Expecting a child to keep us together, that’s not fair to the child. No baby should have to shoulder that kind of responsibility.”

“I agree.” He grinned. “There’s hot sex. That’d work for about the next fifty or sixty years.”

“Ha. How about the next three or four months. Until I start looking like a beached whale. See how much you want me then.”

“Look, Blaire, I understand why you’re reluctant to marry me.”

“Do you? Look at it this way. Asking me to ignore what my parents have done and marry you anyway just because you tell me to, would be like asking you to forget how your father died and drive home drunk, just because I told you to.”

“It’s not exactly the same,” he said tightly.

Blaire could have kicked herself for bringing up his father’s death. What was the matter with her? “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I think pregnancy puts holes in my brain.”

“That’s one of my points,” he said. “Pregnancy is going to cause a lot of changes for you. You’re going to need some help. A little moral support, somebody to rub your back, your feet. Somebody to pay the bills you wouldn’t ordinarily have. I can do those things for you. I want to do those things for you.”

“Oh, yeah, after you’ve been up since dawn, out working the cattle, planting hay, and all the other things you do ’til sundown every day. You’ll come in beat and hungry. You’ll be the one wanting your back rubbed.”

He nodded as if in agreement. “And when you’re through rubbing mine, and I’ve had my dinner and a couple of beers and watched the fights on ESPN, if you’re still awake I’ll rub your back.”

“I didn’t know you were such a comedian,” she said.

“Why don’t we do this,” he suggested. “You’ve said no to my proposal. I’ll accept that, for now. But I reserve the right to try to change your mind, and to ask again. Agreed?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Not from where I’m sitting. I like your cousins, by the way. The two I’ve met so far.”

“I’m glad. You’ll want to go to Connie’s funeral. I’m going to kill her for telling you where I went.”

“See? I’m not the only comedian around here.”

Justin drove Blaire back to Sherry’s apartment. They didn’t speak, but the silence was a little easier between them than their conversations had been lately.

Justin was preoccupied with what to do next. He knew, if given enough time, that he could change her mind about marrying him. He desperately wanted this settled between them before he went home. He had to tell his family what was going on before they heard it in town.

Damn. The feed store. Why hadn’t he thought of that? If Sloan or Caleb or Grandmother or anybody from the Rose or the Pruitt Ranch went in to the feed store, Blaire’s father was likely to jump down their throat, while her mother could very well hug them and welcome them to the family.

He needed to convince Blaire to marry him so they could stop keeping secrets.

“I’m going to ask you again,” he told her as he pulled up in her cousin’s parking lot.

“Justin, I’m not going to marry you.”

“You might change your mind by this time tomorrow. I’ll call you.”

“You’re welcome to call, but I won’t change my mind.”

“Maybe I’ll just call to see how you’re feeling. You are feeling all right, aren’t you?”

“I’m feeling fine. I’ll be feeling fine this time tomorrow, too. You’re not one of those guys who has to know where a woman is every hour of the day and what she’s doing, are you?”

“No. I’ll just want to know you’re okay, and if you’ve changed your mind about marrying me.”

“I can save you the trouble. I’ll be fine, and I’ll be single.”

“You’re going to be stubborn, aren’t you?” he asked.

“In a matter of months I’ll be giving up my independence and privacy for the next eighteen to twenty-one years of my life. For the next five or six, at least, I won’t even be able to go to the bathroom alone. I don’t plan to answer to anyone until then if I can help it.”

Justin quirked his lips. “I can’t say I blame you. I’ll see you in a few days.”

“Justin?” she said after he had helped her out of the pickup and was returning to the driver’s side.

“Yes?”

“Thank you for asking me to marry you. Even though I said no, and I’ll say no again, yours is still my first proposal.”

It occurred to Justin as he drove out of the parking lot, keeping his eyes open for a gas station before he decided if he was going home that day or not, that her second and third proposals were also likely to be his. In fact, the idea of anyone but him proposing to her didn’t sit well with him at all.

Ponca City was an oil refinery town. Finding a gas station was no problem. He picked one a block before the interstate and pulled up to the pump.

When he got out to fill his tank, the air felt definitely chillier than it had only moments before. He glanced up at the sky and was surprised that he hadn’t noticed before how dark and gray it had become.

The first snowflakes melted against his face before his tank was full, but as he drove away, it seemed the sky had changed its mind and decided to hold off on the snow.

The rest of the day did not turn out at all the way Justin thought it might. He’d thought he would either laze around a motel room if Sloan didn’t need him at home, or drive back to the ranch if he did.

It turned out that Sloan did need him, but not at home.

“Where are you this time?” Sloan asked, aggravation clear in his voice.

“Ponca City.”

“Still not going to tell me why?”

“It’s personal.”

“A woman? You’re running all over the damn state, letting your work pile up by the hour, because of a woman? Kid, you must have it bad.”

“I’ll tell you about it when I get home.”

“And when might that be?”

“If you need me, I’ll come home right now,” Justin offered.

“Naw,” Sloan admitted. “We’re fine. Did you say you were in Ponca City?”

“That’s right.”

“Maybe you could do us a favor and run over to the Ledbetter Ranch up by Blackwell. You remember the place, don’t you?”

“Sure. What’s there?”

“They’ve got a young Hereford bull they’ve been bragging about, but they’re asking a pretty penny for him. Maybe you could take a look at him, check out his pedigree, see if you think he’s worth it.”

“Sure, I can do that.”

“I’ll call and set it up.”

Sloan made the arrangements and Justin drove up to the Ledbetter Ranch near Blackwell. The bull was good, but not good enough to justify the price, in his opinion.

By the time he finished there it was the middle of the afternoon. He could still drive home, get there just after dark. Or he could stay in Ponca City and go see Blaire the next day rather than merely call her.

He winced at the idea. No, he wouldn’t go to Sherry’s apartment looking for Blaire. He would call, as he’d said he would. He would give her that much space, at least.

He ate a lonely dinner and spent a boring night watching cable TV in his motel room.

Was he crazy, chasing all over the state after a woman who didn’t want him around?

But was that true? Did she really not want him around, or was she only afraid to take a gamble on him?

And why shouldn’t she be leery of such a thing? What had he ever done to earn her trust?

Around and around in circles his mind went until he came up with the conclusion that he had no business following her around from cousin to cousin this way. It made him feel like a jerk. A desperate jerk, at that.

Blaire tossed and turned half the night, wondering if she was doing the right thing. Maybe she should be practical and say yes to Justin.

No. No. She refused to allow herself to end up like her mother, turn Justin into a bitter man like her father. Make their child feel as if he or she is to blame for everything that goes wrong.

That way lay disaster.

Perhaps her mother wouldn’t have made it on her own. Maybe she’d had no real choice but to marry.

But Blaire was not her mother. She had a college degree, a teaching certificate and good references. Once the baby was born she would surely be able to find a new teaching position. If not, she was more than capable of doing other work.

She didn’t need to be married to survive. She was a firm believer that marriage solely for the sake of the children was one of society’s most horrendous mistakes.

But it was hard, turning away a man she’d been attracted to since she’d been in high school.

Remembering their conversation at the Mexican restaurant the other night, she smiled. He had wondered why they hadn’t met years ago. That they hadn’t had been Blaire’s doing. He didn’t remember her, but she would never forget him.

She’d been so shy back then, the new girl in a small school, when her dad had bought the feed store and moved them to Rose Rock. Justin had been out of school by the time she came to town, but she saw him anyway. He came to high school football games, rode in the county rodeos, played on local softball teams, bought feed and supplies at her father’s feed store. She’d seen him everywhere. She had followed him with her eyes, and her young heart.

She hadn’t had the nerve to introduce herself or do anything to draw his attention.

He hadn’t wanted for female attention, however. There’d been a different girl on his arm every other time he showed up in town. In between each new girl, there was always Melanie.

Melanie Pruitt of the Pruitt Ranch. It was public knowledge back then that Melanie had her sights set on the eldest Chisholm, Sloan. But while the girl waited for Sloan to come to his senses and fall in love with her, she told her troubles to Caleb, and ran around with Justin. Melanie and Justin were a twosome as often as not.

If anyone had asked Blaire, she would have said Melanie was out of her mind to pine after Sloan when Justin was there and available. Not that there was anything wrong with Sloan, but Justin…well, be still, her heart.

By the time Blaire finished high school she’d conquered her shyness, and set her puppy love for Justin Chisholm aside. That man wasn’t about to go anywhere without his best friend Melanie.

It seemed to Blaire there might be a lot more going on between those two than mere friendship.

Blaire had gone with other boys, moved away to college, found a good job in Oklahoma City, had a full life.

Then her mother had broken her arm and Blaire had come home. She would never forget that first day back in town, standing in the middle of the feed store office, where her mother normally ruled, staring in shock at the mess her father had made in the few days her mother had been out.

She’d heard the bell over the store’s front door jingle, announcing a customer. She needn’t worry; her father was out there to take care of business.

Then she’d heard that voice, so deep and smooth and clear. She hadn’t realized she had been carrying his voice around inside her all those years, but there it was. Justin Chisholm was in the store.

She had sworn to herself that she was not going to peek around the door frame. She would have been entirely too mortified to live if he caught her.

It hadn’t been too many weeks, however, before she realized he was eyeing her, checking her out. She’d been astounded. Delighted. And suddenly shy again, the insecure new kid.

It wasn’t lost on her that he and Melanie were, as always, the closest of…companions.

That being the case, Blaire hadn’t for a moment thought he meant to pay her any serious attention, so she had swallowed her shyness and played it cool. If every girl in town fell at his feet—and they did—and if he had Melanie for backup—Blaire would play hard to get.

Not that she thought for a minute that it would get her anywhere with him, but it might keep her from ending up with a broken heart.

She’d been wrong. About several things.

Melanie, it seemed, was never in love with Justin, nor he with her. She’d given up on Sloan some time in the past, and early in December had up and married Caleb, the middle Chisholm brother.

Justin did not seem in the least heartbroken. In fact, he seemed pleased.

Since that was the case, Blaire had decided to stop playing so hard to get. She let herself be caught.

Now she carried his child, and he wanted to marry her for all the wrong reasons. She was bound to end up with a broken heart, one way or another, before they settled things between them.

He’d said he would call her tomorrow. If he ran true to form, he wouldn’t call, he would show up at the door. If she ran true to form, she wouldn’t be there.

Chapter Seven

Eventually they both ran true to form.

Blaire left Sherry’s apartment before it was light, headed to Stillwater, just over forty miles south down the two-lane blacktop, to her cousin Gayle’s. The grass was covered with snow, and the white stuff was starting to stick to the pavement.

But she had only forty miles to go. No problem.

She pulled out of Sherry’s parking lot and went on her merry way. Sneaking out, again, like a thief in the night, running away from a man she thought more and more might be the one she should hold on to.

Justin saw the snow when he got up. He shrugged. Not enough to worry about, especially since he would be taking the interstate most of the way home.

It was too early to call Blaire, so he walked across the street to the restaurant for breakfast. Afterward he went back to his room to check in with Sloan, noticing on the way that the snow was getting heavier.

At home Sloan said that the snow was heavy and piling up fast.

Justin swore at himself. He should have gone home last night, damn his hide. He would call Blaire, as he’d promised, then head back.

Simple plan.

Not so simple in application.

Blaire was gone.

Dammit, why hadn’t he seen it coming?

“Did she say where she was going?” he asked Cousin Sherry.

“The note she left said she was going to stop in on Gayle before heading home. Is something wrong?”

He glanced out the window of his motel room at the snow that was starting to swirl in the increasing wind.

“Have you looked outside lately?” he asked tersely.

There was a rustling sound, then the slight clink made when someone shifted a few slats of window blinds up or down. “Oh, my,” she said. “There must be two inches already, except the wind’s blowing it sideways, so it’s hard to tell. Wow.”

“Sherry,” he snapped. He had the feeling if he didn’t stop her, she’d go on and on about the snow for another ten minutes. “Blaire? What time did she leave?”

“Oh. Blaire. I don’t know, really. We were going to sleep late, so that’s what I did. I woke up just a few minutes ago. She could have been gone an hour, or three. But she was only going to Stillwater. I’m sure she got there before things got this nasty.”

“Will you do me a favor and call this other cousin and see if Blaire made it? Or give me the number and I’ll call.”

“Oh, I’ll call. I can tell you’re worried, so I’m getting worried, too. Call me back in five.”

The line went dead in Justin’s ear.

Four minutes later he redialed Sherry’s number.

“What did they say?” he demanded.

“Okay,” Sherry said. “Now I’m worried. She isn’t there yet. In fact, nobody’s there. There was no answer, and Blaire hasn’t called or anything.”

“Wouldn’t she have called Gayle before going down there?”

“No. Not calling, that’s no big deal. We show up on each other’s doorsteps all the time in this family. But it’s less than an hour’s drive from here to Gayle’s. Maybe Blaire stopped to eat on the way. I’m sure she’s fine.”

“Does she have a cell phone with her?” He could have kicked himself for not making that his first question ten minutes ago.

“Blaire’s one of those Neanderthal throwbacks, meaning she doesn’t have a cell phone. How anyone can function in this day and age—”

“Sherry.” The girl was nice enough, but she had the attention span of a gnat. “Tell me how to get to Gayle’s. The way Blaire would go.”

He got the directions and address from Sherry and said he would let her know when he found Blaire.

“Do you think she’s all right?” Sherry asked, concern plain in her voice.

“I’m sure she’s fine,” he said, not sure at all. “She’s a smart lady. She can take care of herself.”

“That’s right,” Sherry said. “She’s real good at that. But still, I’ll feel better when I hear from her, or you. You promise you’ll call?”

“I promise. As soon as I find her.”

Justin wasn’t worried about negotiating the snowy roads in his pickup. His tires were new, and he carried an extra four hundred pounds of sandbags in the bed all winter just for such occasions. That weighed him down enough that he didn’t slip and slide as much as a pickup with an empty bed.

But he didn’t have as much confidence in Blaire’s little red compact. That thing was a tin can on wheels, and he had no idea how much tread she had on her tires. Hell, a good gust of wind, and there were plenty of those today, could blow her off the road.

He drove the distance between Ponca City and Stillwater via U.S. Highway 177, the route Sherry said Blaire would take. There was considerably more traffic than there should have been, considering the weather, and it was creeping along at a snail’s pace. Except for the idiots who passed them going eighty on snow-slicked roads, sending up a rooster tail of snow and slush flinging across each windshield they passed, effectively blinding every driver for long, long seconds.

Justin thought longingly about the shotgun he’d left at home. He was sure the other drivers on the road would vouch for him that it was justifiable homicide.

He passed three vehicles off in the bar ditch, but they all looked abandoned, and none was a little red two-door with the mother of his unborn child huddling inside.

All in all it took him an hour and a half to drive the forty miles from cousin number two to cousin number three. If anyone asked his opinion, he would have to say that the north central part of Oklahoma was being hit now by a full-fledged blizzard. The snow was razor sharp and blowing sideways.

Judging by the condition of the snow on the ground, Justin was the first person to drive on Cousin Gayle’s street in some time.

He told himself that if Blaire had left early enough this morning, she could easily have gotten here before the storm worsened.

He pulled up at the house whose number matched the one Sherry gave him and felt his hopes fade. No little red car sat in the driveway.

When you visited a cousin, did you park in her garage? None of his cousins would have let him take their protected space. In any case, there were no telltale depressions in the snow of the driveway to indicate anyone had driven on it at all.

He got out and made his way to the front door, where he rang the doorbell, then pounded and pounded and got no answer.

Back in his truck, he unclipped his cell phone from his belt and called Sherry.

“Nobody’s home,” he said tersely. “Have you heard from her?”

“No,” Sherry said. “I haven’t heard from anybody. You say nobody’s home?”

“No one answers the door.”

“That’s odd. Is there a green SUV in the driveway?”

“Nothing in the driveway but smooth snow. Nobody’s driven on it in a while.”

“Then Gayle’s not there, and if she’s not there, nobody’s there.”

“Where would Blaire go if she got here and found Gayle gone?”

“She’d either come back here, or go back to Connie’s, but that’s not likely. She might just go home. She said she was going home tomorrow anyway.”

Fear was not something Justin felt often, but now it was here and it was huge. Blaire was out there driving around in this damn blizzard in a tin can on wheels, with no cell phone to call for help if she needed it.

“What are you going to do?” Sherry asked.

“I’m going to find her.”

But which way to go? he wondered after disconnecting the call. Back north toward Ponca City, or west toward the interstate? Surely if she headed home it would be via the interstate. It had to have been snowing by the time she made it to Gayle’s. She wouldn’t have stuck to the back roads and two-lane highways in this weather.

Would she?

No. He’d told Sherry that Blaire was smart, and she was. He had to assume that she would use her head.

But since she had left Sherry’s this morning instead of waiting for the call she knew he would make, then she was running partly on emotion.

Had she been afraid he would show up, as he had at Connie’s and Sherry’s? If that’s what she thought, and she hadn’t wanted to talk to him anymore for the time being, then she would have left without a qualm. Or with only a few qualms, at the most.

After driving to Stillwater, with bad weather starting, she would have no reason to go back to Ponca City, where she’d known him to be.

No, he thought, starting his engine and driving out of the quiet, snow covered neighborhood. Blaire was headed home.

Justin intended to follow.

Blaire gripped the steering wheel so hard her knuckles threatened to break through her thin leather gloves. The blinding snow was bad enough without having a car or truck whiz past her in the left lane and stir it all up even worse.

The road was a solid sheet of ice. Driving conditions hadn’t been this bad just five miles back down the road when she’d left Stillwater and headed west for the interstate. It had apparently been snowing out here longer. Already there were snow drifts along the shoulders.

She was getting worried about what kind of shape I-35 would be in when she finally reached it. She had only another ten or fifteen miles to go, but it was going to take her forever. Her car was not designed for driving fast under these conditions.

She was an idiot and a coward. She should have stayed at Sherry’s and let Justin call or show up, whichever he planned. But no, she’d had to run. Again.

Not wanting to wake Gayle if she’d worked late last night, Blaire had stopped on the outskirts of Stillwater and called. She’d gotten no answer.

She didn’t know where Gayle was, but Blaire had decided it was just as well that she wasn’t there. It was time to go home. The snow wasn’t bad.

She would have checked the weather on her radio, but her radio hadn’t worked in months. A bad mistake, not getting it fixed. She knew that now. Knowing that they were in for a genuine blizzard, she would not have left Stillwater, unless it had been to go back north to Ponca City and Sherry’s.

But she hadn’t known, had misjudged, and now had to fight to keep her car on the road.

She saw in her rearview mirror the tractor-trailer rig racing up behind her as if she were sitting still. Alarmed, she started easing toward the shoulder.

At the last instant the semi swerved into the left lane to avoid hitting her.

It missed hitting her, thank God, but the gust of wind in its wake was enough, when coupled with the slick road and the fact that the tires on the right side of Blaire’s car were on the shoulder instead of the highway, to send her off the road completely.

Blaire cried out and fought the need to slam on the brakes, which would only make her skid and lose control altogether.

As if she had any control to lose, she thought with growing panic. The left tires, still on the pavement, had nothing to grip but ice and snow. Her right tires sank in the snow to the muddy grass beneath and pulled her completely off the road and down the slope, sliding nose-first toward a snow-filled ditch.

She tried to steer away. She tried tapping the brakes to slow her decent. Nothing helped. In desper ation she jerked the steering wheel. The action slammed her passenger door against a tree. She jerked the wheel in the opposite direction, knowing even as she did that she shouldn’t.

The car swerved on the slope, turned completely backward until she was facing back toward Stillwater, but sliding sideways down the slope.

She came to a crashing halt with her driver’s door slammed against the far side of the ditch, her car tilting at a forty-five-degree angle, driver’s side down.

Justin drove the main streets through Stillwater on his way to the highway that would take him to the interstate and home. He kept an eye out for Blaire, but didn’t see her. Seeing farther ahead than twenty yards was getting more difficult by the minute.

Other than a few semis, there was little traffic on the highway heading west out of town, but lack of visibility made the going slow. Justin drove slower than necessary so he could keep a close eye out for any little red car that might have slid off the icy-slick pavement.

He nearly slid off himself a time or two. He couldn’t imagine driving in these conditions in that toy she called a car.

The highway here was four-lane divided. He stayed in the righthand lane, but tried to watch the median, too, in case she’d gone off there.

Of course she might not have had any trouble at all. She might be halfway home by now, or holed up in some snug motel along the interstate, or even at one behind him in Stillwater, although he doubted the latter.

A tractor-trailer rig barreled past on Justin’s left, blinding him for long seconds in the backwash of snow kicked up by all eighteen wheels and thrown directly onto Justin’s windshield.

He almost missed it. Just before the world outside his truck turned completely white, he thought he caught a glimpse of a red fender sticking up out of the ditch at the bottom of a slope off the right shoulder.

Justin gripped the steering wheel and eased off the highway and to a stop on the shoulder. When the solid cloud of snow generated by the passing semi cleared, leaving only the blizzard—enough of a visibility reducer on its own—he was about fifty yards beyond where he thought he’d seen the red car, but he couldn’t be sure because he couldn’t see fifty yards. He couldn’t see twenty.

He backed up a few yards, then had to stop when he spotted a cut in the shoulder where a culvert ran beneath the highway for drainage.

He parked, killed the engine, and after bundling up, hiked back to see if he’d been imagining things.

He hadn’t been imagining things. There was, indeed, a little red car stuck driver’s side down in the ditch at the bottom of the steep slope.

Justin’s heart took a leap and lodged halfway up his throat.

* * *

Blaire sat huddled inside her car trying to think positive thoughts. Surely someone would see her car before it became completely buried in snow. Surely.

But what were the chances?

Still, she had hope.

As near as she could guess, she’d been stuck where she was for less than thirty minutes. Cold was seeping into the car, but it wasn’t deadly. Yet. She would start the engine in a few minutes. She was a little hesitant about that, because she didn’t know if her tailpipe was clogged with snow or not. If it was, deadly carbon monoxide fumes would fill the car and she would never know it. She would just get sleepy, then die.

She would have gotten out and flagged down help, but she couldn’t get out. Her car lay at a forty-fivedegree angle, with the weight of it resting on the driver’s side, her door pressed into the bank of the ditch.

The car was small enough that she could get to the passenger door, but her earlier encounter with the tree rendered the door useless. It was good and dented and stuck. The window wouldn’t roll down, the door wouldn’t open.

If no one came to her aid soon, she would have to try to kick out the windshield, or the back window, or the passenger window. She wondered if she could even do it. Sneakers weren’t the preferred shoe for such a stunt.

Still, she would try, because she had no intension of sitting here and freezing to death.

She wondered where Justin was. Nowhere near here, that was for sure. He was either up at Ponca City or halfway back to the Cherokee Rose by now. And he was probably ticked at her for running out on him again.

She was none too pleased with herself for doing it, but it was a done deal now. And look where it had gotten her.

If the damn forecasters had given a little warning on last night’s newscast, she might have been a little more prepared to survive the day. As it was, she had a medium weight coat, thin leather gloves, and that was it. Her feet, in her sneakers, were going to freeze when she got out. If she got out.

No. Not if. When.

So be it. Her only other option was to sit and wait for the spring thaw.

She was saying a brief but sincere prayer for the well-being of her baby, when suddenly a large chunk of snow covering her windshield disappeared. A face loomed there.

Blaire screamed.

The face jerked away. “Blaire!”

Justin? That couldn’t have been Justin’s voice.

“Blaire!” His face reappeared. It was Justin!

“Justin?”

“Blaire! Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she assured. “I’m just trapped in here. I can’t get out.”

“Are you hurt?”

“No. No, I’m fine. What are you doing here?”

“I’m looking for you. What happened? Were you hit? Are you hurt?”

His obvious concern warmed her heart. Some of that had to be for her, Blaire, not just for the mother of his unborn child.

“I’m not hurt,” she assured him. “I was driving along just fine, slow, but fine, when some joker in a semi whizzed by and rocked my poor little car like it was a toy.”

“Well?”

“Hey, don’t you make fun of my car.”

“You can finish your story later,” he said. “Gather what you need and let’s get you out of there.”

“How? The passenger door is jammed.”

“Are you sure?” He gave the door a tug and nothing happened.

“I couldn’t get it open,” she told him.

“Hang on.” He tried it again, and still, nothing happened. “All right,” he said to the door. He braced his foot on the frame beside the door and pulled with all his might.

The door popped open.

Justin went sprawling, disappearing from Blaire’s view.

“Justin!” she cried. She scrambled up the slope of the passenger seat until she could see out the newly opened door. “Justin?”

“I’m here.” Disgusted, he pushed himself to his feet and brushed snow from his hair, his coat, his jeans. Dug it out of his ear.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” he snarled. He had snow down his back. He hated getting snow down his back. And it was easier to deal with being angry about falling down than the fear he’d tasted when he had spotted her car down here in this ditch.

“Pass your bags or whatever out to me,” he called.

He heard a grunt, then a curse, then a midsize duffel bag appeared in the open door, followed shortly by a smaller overnight case, then by Blaire herself.

For the first time since spotting her car, he was able to take an easy breath. He could now see for himself that she was all right.

“Hold on.” He propped the duffel and overnighter on the front fender, then reached for her. “Let me help you.” He grasped her beneath her arms and lifted her out of the car. It took all his strength to stand her beside him on the snowy slope and release her, when what he wanted to do was hold her close and make sure she stayed safe.

But he did find the strength, he did release her. He grabbed her bag and case and motioned for her to start up the slope ahead of him. “It’s slick, so take it slow.”

She took it slow, but that didn’t stop her from sliding back down into his legs. He went down, and the two of them ended up in a pile against her car.

When the grunting, groaning, and swearing was over with, they took stock.

“Are you hurt?” he demanded, helping her stand.

“No.” She shook snow from her head. “You?”

“I’m fine.” But he wondered how many times a pregnant woman could be bounced around—hit a tree, slide into a ditch, tumble down a slope—and still be truly fine. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m sure.” She put the strap of her shoulder bag over her head and turned to face the slope. “Ten bucks says I make it this time.”

“No bet. Let’s just get up to the road and into the pickup before my nose freezes off.”

Through the blowing snow she tossed him a grin over her shoulder. “Wimp.”

Justin started up after her, telling himself that if she could grin at him under the current circumstances, she couldn’t be hurt too badly. In fact, she didn’t appear to be hurt at all. It was only his own worry that nagged at him.

They made it to the top of the slope and the shoulder of the highway this time, Blaire more easily because she could use her hands to help her climb up, while Justin was hampered by her duffel and overnight case. Still, he was only a couple of minutes behind her.

“Justin?” She turned toward him and squinted against the blowing snow. She had to shout to be heard over the howling of the wind now that they were up and out of the relative protection of the ditch. “Where’s your pickup?”

“Up there.” Justin nodded toward where he had parked, then realized that visibility was even worse now than it had been a few minutes ago. He couldn’t see his pickup at all. “I think.”

He slogged his way up the shoulder through the ever deepening snow, over the culvert, and there, abruptly, sat his rig. He let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“Here we are,” he shouted. He led Blaire to the passenger door and helped her up into the cab. He tucked her bag and case around her feet, then circled the truck and climbed in. He started the engine and cranked the heat up to high.

“I vote we go back to Stillwater and get a room until this blows over.” Justin glanced over at Blaire to measure her reaction.

She sat huddled in on herself, her feet stretched out toward the hot air blasting from his heater.

“Blaire?”

“As long as it’s warm and comes with something hot to drink, and I’m trying to stay away from caffeine because of the baby.”

“A warm room, and something hot to drink. You got it. Anything else?”

“Not that I can think of. And Justin?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t know how you found me or what you were doing on this highway, but thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he told her. “I was looking for you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” he asked, surprised by the apology.

“For causing all this trouble. Can I ask you a question?”

“You can ask me anything. We’re trying to get to know each other better, aren’t we?”

“I suppose.”

“What did you want to ask?”

“This morning. You were going to call me again?”

“Yes.”

“Did you? Call I mean. Or did you go to the apartment?”

He smiled slightly. “I decided it was time to act like a grown-up and call, the way I said I would. So that’s what I did.”

“Oh.” Her face fell. “While I ran off, acting childish again.”

“That’s not what I said. And it’s not what I meant,” he assured her. “Anyway, acting like a grown-up nearly killed me.”

She smiled slightly. “That’s comforting.”

Justin pulled in at the first decent motel they came to. The parking lot was filled with snow-covered cars. The chances of a vacancy looked slim, but Justin went into the office anyway to check.

Blaire stayed in the pickup, trying her best to soak up the heat from the heater. She could barely see Justin through the layer of ice covering the motel window. He was filling out a form or card or something, so he must have gotten them a room.

Blaire was relieved. She was no sissy when it came to driving in bad weather, but this was simply too dangerous. Plus, the stress of her accident had somehow sapped all her energy. She felt as limp as a noodle. And cold clear down to the marrow in her bones.

Inside the motel office, Justin was told that because of the storm, he was getting the last available motel room in town.

He doubted it was the very last one in town, but it appeared to be the last one in this motel, and he wasn’t inclined to drive from motel to motel to look for one with two vacant rooms.

Blaire hadn’t said she expected a separate room and he hadn’t offered one. But it would have been nice if she’d had a choice. Now she would have none. She would have to share with him.

Maybe, if he behaved himself, they could use the time together to get to know each other better.

“I’m sorry,” he told her when he got back into the pickup. “I tried to get two rooms. I thought you might prefer your privacy. But they’re full up because of the storm. They had one room left.”

“It’s all right, Justin. We’ll manage.”

For her part, Blaire was not surprised to find herself sharing a motel room with Justin again. A little nervous. Okay, maybe a lot nervous. But under the circumstances, it seemed inevitable. He had trailed her all over the state, and now they were stuck in a blizzard nearly two hundred miles from home.

There was a deeper concern at work in the back of her mind: Had she fled to Enid hoping he would follow?

Ridiculous. She’d had no reason to think he would come after her. Why should he do such a thing?

Why did he do such a thing?

She sat next to him as he followed the manager’s directions to their room and parked near the end of the building.

Blaire gathered her duffel bag and overnight case in her arms and prepared to get out.

“I’ll get those,” Justin said tersely.

She had accepted more help from him lately than she had ever accepted from another soul. It made her uncomfortable. “Thanks,” she said, “but I’ve already got them.” She opened the passenger door and climbed down before Justin could stop her.

He joined her on the sidewalk with his own belongings carried in two blue Wal-Mart shopping bags.

“Nice luggage,” she teased.

“Like it?” He tucked one bag under his arm and unlocked the door to their room. “After you.”

Blaire stepped into the room and placed her luggage on the only bed, a king.

Justin followed her and plopped his two sacks on the dresser. “When I left home I thought I was only going to town. I had to do some shopping in Enid. I didn’t even have a toothbrush with me. Now I have everything I need.” He patted the blue plastic. “Are you warm yet?” he asked her.

“Yes. Thank you. The heater in your pickup is great.”

“Then I guess the next thing we need to see to is feeding you. I assume you’re hungry.”

“Starving.”

“There’s a restaurant right next door. You may think I’m crazy, but I think we should drive. It’s far enough over there to freeze your nose off on the way.”

“I vote we drive,” she said.

“It’s unanimous then. Just let me call home first and let them know where I am.” He reached for his cell phone. “Do you want to call your parents?”

“No, thanks.” She shook her head. “I don’t think my father would appreciate hearing I’m sharing a motel room with you.”

“Well, I would hope you wouldn’t put it quite that way.”

“They think I’m with one of my cousins. I’ll just let them think that for a while longer,” she said.

He made his call, then called Sherry, then they went back out into the storm and climbed into the pickup. Blaire was grateful for the ride, as the snow was even heavier, the temperature lower than it had been only a few minutes earlier.

Over a meal of pot roast, mashed potatoes and gravy for her and beef stew and corn bread for him, Justin entertained Blaire with stories of growing up on the Cherokee Rose the youngest of three brothers.

An excellent swimmer herself, Blaire winced at the story of how Sloan and Caleb had taught Justin to swim at the age of three by throwing him headfirst into the stock pond.

“You could have been killed. Drowned, broken neck, water moccasin, anything,” she cried in protest.

“Naw,” he said. “We were in the middle of a five-year drought. The water was only about two feet deep. I could have suffocated in the mud and the muck, but they dragged me out.”

Blaire shuddered. “Remind me not to let our child around its uncles until after he or she learns to swim.”

“Not to worry,” Justin told her. “When Grandmother found out what they’d done she made them go down by the creek and cut their own willow switches and gave them a licking they still talk about in whispers. Besides, they’re older and wiser now. Well, older, anyway.”

Blaire chuckled as she knew she was meant to. Then she wondered aloud. “Do they know about the baby? Your brothers, I mean. The rest of your family.”

“No.” He shook his head. “They know something’s going on, but not what.”

Blaire frowned. “What do they think’s going on? What have you told them?”

“I haven’t told them anything. They’re just observant, that’s all. They know that for the past couple of months, when you wouldn’t take or return my calls, much less go out with me again, I’ve been miserable.”

Blaire started, blinked. “Really?”

He shrugged. “My brothers read me pretty well, but there’s no hiding anything from Emily. That woman knows everything. She’s amazing. Scary, even.”

Blaire hadn’t been questioning his family’s ability to determine his moods, she’d been astounded to hear him state so matter-of-factly that he’d been miserable— because of her.

Wow. That merited some serious consideration. Did he perhaps care for her, a little? During those two months he said he’d been miserable, he hadn’t known about the baby. If he had indeed been miserable, it could only have been because of her. Couldn’t it?

Unless he was stringing her along. Men did that to women all the time.

Oh, she could drive herself crazy trying to read his mind. Or know his heart.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Nothing. Sorry. My mind wandered.”

“I must not be much of a conversationalist.”

“It’s not that,” she said quickly. “I’m just tired. I didn’t get much sleep last night, and today’s been a little on the stressful side.”

“When we get back to the room you should take a nap.”

“Thanks.” She gave him a wry smile. “But that won’t work.”

“Why not?”

“I can only sleep if it’s quiet and dark. Unless you want to sit in the dark without making any noise, I won’t get any sleep until tonight. Don’t worry about it. Maybe we can find a good movie on TV to pass the time.”

“I’ve probably got a deck of cards in the glove box of my rig.”

“That might come in handy.”

“We’ll figure it out,” he told her. “Besides. After this meal, I may want a nap myself. You’re not the only one who hasn’t had much sleep lately.”

The look he gave her told her she was the reason for his recent lack of sleep.

Was he serious? Did he mean it?

Why couldn’t she just take a man—this man, at least—at his word, take his words at face value? Why did she have to question everything, doubt him and herself, fear lies and deception where none were intended?

“How about dessert?” Justin suggested.

If it would delay the time when she would have to be alone with him… “Yes. Please. That sounds great.”

Not that she didn’t want to be alone with him. That was the problem. She did want to. But she was so afraid of making a fool of herself that she feared to even try.

“You’re zoning out again,” he said.

“Sorry.” She shook her head. “I guess I’m more tired than I thought.”

“Are you sure it’s not something else?”

The look in his eyes said if she gave him half a chance he could read her mind like an open book.

“Something else like what?”

“Like maybe you’re not feeling well?”

“No, I’m fine, honest.”

He let it go, and the waitress came and took their dessert order. A few minutes later the woman delivered Justin’s carrot cake and Blaire’s peach cobbler.

“How do you feel,” Justin asked, “about my spending a little money on you?”

Blaire frowned. “You want to buy me something?”

“I want to get you a cell phone. If you’d had one today you wouldn’t have had to wait for someone to come along and help you.”

“You want,” she said slowly, “to get me a cell phone?” The idea was too logical to argue with. She needed one. But she wasn’t prepared to start accepting gifts from him. She scrambled around in her head trying to figure out a way to afford not only the phone but the monthly service.

“And the monthly service that goes with it,” he added, as if, indeed, reading her mind.

Letting him buy her a phone was one thing, she thought, but allowing him to pay for the monthly service, too? That would give him a hold over her that she wasn’t quite comfortable with.

“You’re right that I need the phone,” she told him. “I’ll check into getting one when I get home.”

“Meaning you don’t want me to take care of it?”

“Meaning I’m not prepared to let you start spending money right and left on me.”

“I guess I can understand that,” he said. “But if I want to spend money on the baby, you’re going to find it impossible to stop me.”

She smiled. “The baby’s a little young to have his or her own phone, don’t you think?”

Justin let out a long breath and shook his head. “Are you going to let me pay for this meal, or did you want to handle that yourself, too?”

She might have taken offense at his remark, or thought that he was serious, but she saw the twinkle in his eyes.

“I don’t mind if you buy us a meal. You are indirectly feeding the baby, after all.”

“That eating-for-two stuff, is that true?”

“Pretty much. Eating for two, sleeping for two, peeing for two. I can’t wait to see what the next seven months bring.”

“And after that, things’ll get really interesting,” Justin predicted. “For about the next thirty years.”

Chapter Eight

When they returned to the motel room, Blaire hung up her coat in what passed for a closet area, then sagged on the bed.

“Kick your shoes off and stretch out for a while, why don’t you?” Justin suggested. He didn’t like the look of those dark circles that were forming beneath her eyes.

She sighed. “I think I’ll do just that. What about you?”

“I’m going to join you. I think I feel a nap coming on.”

She smiled at him and toed off her sneakers. “You’re humoring me so I’ll take a nap.”

“Am I?” He hung his coat next to hers.

“But it’s okay.” She let out another sigh and lay down, punching the pillow beneath her head until it was comfortable. “I don’t mind. This time.”

Justin studied her, tilting his head in thought. “You’re not uncomfortable sharing a room with me like this?”

“No.” She arched a brow. “Should I be?”

“No, you shouldn’t be. But I guess, with the way you’ve been running off to visit one cousin then another rather than sit down and talk to me, I thought you might be uncomfortable stuck in close quarters with me this way.”

“Since you put it that way, I guess maybe I should be. But what can happen? We’ve already talked, you’ve asked, I’ve said no. And I’m already pregnant. What’s left to happen?”

He stared at her for a long moment then snapped his gaping mouth shut. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Of course not. What do you mean?”

Justin shook his head. “You think because you’ve said you won’t marry me, and because you’re already pregnant, that I all of a sudden don’t want you anymore?”

Her eyes widened. “You don’t…what?”

“I think you heard me.”

“I think I did, too, but I’m not sure I understand.”

“I’m not sure I do, either. Is that what you think? That you’re already pregnant so why bother making love anymore?”

“Oh, boy.” She sat up, sat cross-legged on the bed and, groaning, buried her face in her hands. “Does that sound as stupid to you as it does to me?”

Justin sat in the lone chair, which occupied the corner beside the window. “I’m not sure I would use the word stupid, but then, I don’t know what word I would use. Alarming, maybe.”

She chuckled.

“So maybe you could explain to me what you really meant,” he said.

Blaire sat there another minute, breathing in, breathing out. What had she meant, if not the obvious, that she didn’t expect him to want her anymore? He wanted to marry her, didn’t he? Why would he want to marry her if he didn’t want to sleep with her anymore? And sex was the most basic way to bind a man and woman together. At least for a while. So it stood to reason that he would want to sleep with her.

So why was she so comfortable sharing a room—a room with one bed—with the man she was highly attracted to? What enormous conceit made her think she could keep him at arm’s length if he wanted her?

What idiocy made her even think of keeping him at arm’s length in the first place?

“Okay.” She raised her head and looked at him. “I take it back. I’m not all that comfortable sharing a room, and a bed, with you.”

Justin dropped his head against the wall behind his chair. “That wasn’t exactly the outcome I was hoping for.”

“Oh, really? Just what were you hoping for? An invitation? Did you expect me to pat the bed?” She patted the bed at a spot right next to her hip. “Come on over here, big boy? Let’s have a good time? Is that what you thought would happen?”

He let out a bark of laughter. “No, that is not what I thought would happen. It’s not what I expected. It’s not even what I hoped for.”

She smiled slightly. “How deep do you want to dig this hole you’re in?”

He stared up at the ceiling. “I can’t win now, no matter what I say.”

“True, but I’d like to see how you think you can get yourself out of it.”

He took a breath and raised his head to meet her gaze. “I was hoping we could act like two mature adults who happened to be sharing a room through no design of either of them. I was hoping we could try being friends. I was not hoping to get you naked in bed.” He held up a hand to stop her from interrupting. “That does not mean I wouldn’t very much like to get you naked in bed, because I would. But that isn’t why we’re here.”

“Unlike that night a couple of months ago, right? You got that motel room for the specific purpose of getting me naked and in bed.”

“No, but even if I did, where else were we supposed to go for privacy?”

“You had the room booked before you picked me up that night.”

“And you think I did that because I planned from the beginning to get you into bed?”

She tilted her head and frowned. “Didn’t you?”

His lips quirked. “I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it. I did have hope, but that wasn’t why I booked that room. You think I was that sure of myself?”

She shrugged and looked away. “I thought maybe you were that sure of me.”

“What?” he cried, rising from the chair. “Sure of you? Woman, I have never been so unsure of anything in my life as I have been of you from the very beginning. Why would I think you were willing to go to bed with me?”

“Because I was? That’s exactly where we ended up, isn’t it?”

“You think I knew that was going to happen?”

“If you didn’t,” she said carefully, “how did we end up in a motel room you had already booked?”

“Damn, Blaire, has that been eating at you all these weeks? Everybody in town knows that none of us in my family drives home if we’ve had more than two beers to drink within two hours of going home. Any more than that and we stay the night in town.”

Blaire felt heat sweep up her face. “Because of your father.”

“That’s right. You didn’t know? I thought everybody knew. It’s been a topic of conversation around town for years. I can’t tell you how many times one or all of us have ended up the butt of some yahoo’s stupid joke.”

“But you’re all live butts.”

“Exactly. It’s a pact between us, and we never break it.”

“A pact? Like, what, a blood oath?”

“A blood oath is just what it is. I imagine Sloan and Caleb had one between the two of them when I was little. But when I turned about twelve, we made a pact among the three of us that we would never end up wrapped around a telephone pole like our dad did when I was a baby, from driving when we’d had too much to drink. We vowed we would never do that to each other. And by damn, we’ve kept that vow, and we always will.”

“And you knew, that night before you picked me up, that you’d be drinking because we were going to hear that rock and roll band, Squatty and the Bodies, at the Road Hog.”

“That’s right. There’s a law or something against listening to sixties rock in a bar and not drinking beer.”

“I’m sure there is. I had a few that night myself.”

“And we got closer as the night went on,” he said, his voice softening, deepening. He moved to stand next to the bed so he could touch her cheek with the tip of one finger.

The touch went all through her, a hot shiver that raised gooseflesh along her arms. She was grateful for her long sleeved sweater, so he could not see what he did to her.

“I remember telling you I had a room,” he said, “asking you if you would go there with me.”

“Yes.” Her mouth and throat dried out. She remembered every second of that night vividly. Her body remembered, too.

“When you said yes,” he whispered, “I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.”

Her smile may have wobbled, but it was still a smile. “When you asked, I thought the same thing.”

He tilted his head back and closed his eyes. “I know I said that I wanted this time, in this room, to be friendly, but if we don’t change the subject real quick…”

Realizing how right he was, that they were treading on shaky ground, Blaire swallowed. “As soon as we get home,” she said in a rush, “I’ll check the prices on cell phones and service plans. If I need help paying for it I’ll let you know.”

He took a step away from the bed and stuffed his hands into his hip pockets. “Thank you. About the phone, and for the change of subject.”

“You’re welcome, for both. And thank you, for the warning. I think I’ll try that nap now.”

“Okay.” With a nod, he took another step back. “Will it bother you too much if I read the paper?”

She shook her head. “I probably won’t sleep anyway, so don’t worry about it. Resting will be enough.”

She was still, her breathing even, in fewer than ten minutes, despite the occasional rustle of the newspaper coming from the corner where Justin sat in the stiff, uncomfortable chair.

But Justin, too, was tired. From lack of sleep, lack of physical activity. He wasn’t used to sitting around all day, and that’s all he’d done for the past couple of days.

Carefully, and as quietly as possible, he folded the newspaper and placed it on the small table next to his chair.

Blaire lay curled on her side on the far side of the bed, her back to him and the rest of the room. If she opened her eyes, she had nothing to see but a blank wall barely two feet from the bed.

Even without being able to see her face, he knew she didn’t open her eyes. Her breathing was deep and regular. The stiffness had gone from her shoulders.

He hadn’t realized how tight her shoulders had been until he now saw them relaxed.

She was sound asleep.

So much for her not being able to sleep unless it was dark and quiet.

Of course, the only light in the room was the hanging lamp over the table in front of the window, right next to him. And the only sounds had been his rustling of the paper, and the monotonous roar of the room heater that struggled to blow enough warm air to keep the freezing outdoor temperatures from seeping through the thin walls.

Snippets of their previous conversation ran through Justin’s mind. He shook his head, certain he would never understand the female thought processes.

But whatever she’d been thinking about the two of them sharing this room, she was apparently okay with it. Again. Or still. Or whatever.

Because she thought he didn’t want her anymore?

Fat chance of that. The way he felt right then, he’d still be wanting her when he was ninety.

Want, but not necessarily understand. Who could understand a woman who would run, literally, half the length of the damn state, to avoid talking about marriage, then calmly share a motel room with one bed with the same man she’d been running from.

Across the room, on the far side of the bed, Blaire was not asleep. From the moment she had lain down she had heard every breath Justin had taken, every creak of the chair as he had shifted his weight, every rustle of his newspaper.

Now she heard him fold the paper and set it aside. She felt his gaze travel over her, from the back of her head, down her shoulders, her back, her legs.

She wished she had pulled the bedspread over herself. Had she done so, she wouldn’t now feel quite so exposed.

She wondered what he was thinking, sitting over there staring at her. He was probably shaking his head, thinking she’d lost her mind, running from him in the morning, sharing a motel room that afternoon.

In truth, she didn’t know what she was doing. Maybe pregnancy really did make a woman stupid. It would be nice to be able to blame it all on raging hormones.

In her case, however, it was due more to her own insecurities than hormones. At least, she thought so.

When the subject of marriage arose, she panicked. Marriage terrified her. She was so afraid of ending up like her parents that running to Enid, then Ponca City, then Stillwater, then heading for home just to keep some sort of distance between her and Justin made perfect sense.

So did sharing a motel room with that same man.

Go figure.

They’d already shared a motel room, she was already pregnant. Nothing else bad could happen.

Not that she thought of being pregnant as bad! Unplanned or not, she wanted this baby, welcomed it with her whole heart.

She was utterly comfortable sharing a room with Justin. She was completely uncomfortable discussing marriage.

There. That made perfect sense to her.

Behind her she heard Justin rise and walk to the bed. The mattress dipped with his weight. It took him a minute to tug off his boots, then she felt him stretch out beside her.

She concentrated on remaining relaxed. He thought she was asleep. If she tensed up he would know she was faking it. That would be too embarrassing.

A few minutes later his breathing grew deep and even. He was asleep.

Or he was faking it, as she was. She smiled at the thought of the two of them sharing a bed and pretending to sleep.

That was not what they’d done the last time they’d shared a bed. Nobody had faked anything that night.

At the memory, a deep warmth rushed through her and settled between her legs. It was all she could do to swallow the moan that threatened.

He wasn’t even touching her. She couldn’t even see him. Yet still, she wanted him in the worst way. She wanted to feel his hands, hard and callused from work, on her bare flesh. Wanted to feel his warm, naked skin, surprisingly smooth, beneath her fingers. She wanted to taste him, smell him, take him inside and hold him there as he filled her so that she felt as if she would never feel alone again.

She let herself drift on images of him until she imagined she lay facing him and could feel the hard dips and bulges of the muscles in his arms and shoulders beneath her hands. The warmth of him drew her closer. The breadth of his chest invited her to snuggle.

Oh, it felt so good to be close to him this way, even if it was only in her imagination.

She let herself drift further, until she imagined his arms surrounding her, pulling her flush against him. His heat was incredible, and yet she knew the two of them would generate more, until they both went up in flames.

She wanted that. That mindless pleasure, the likes of which she had felt with no other man.

Sure, she’d had orgasms before, but none so sharp and intense as when she was with Justin.

His hand slid around her ribs and up to cup one breast.

Ahh. Such warmth, such pleasure. Then she pictured his thumb flicking across her nipple and she whimpered. Even in her imagination she felt the sharp pull of pleasure reach down to the core of her and make her squirm.

She wanted to feel his flesh, but there was fabric in her way. A shirt. Why was he wearing a shirt?

With nimble fingers she unbuttoned several buttons until she could slide her hands inside and feel his chest muscles flex under her touch.

She wanted to taste him. She stretched up and started at his neck. With lips and tongue and teeth, she indulged herself. Never had her imagination been so real. She could swear she tasted the slight salty flavor of his skin, and farther up, over his jaw and onto his cheek, the slight rasp of a day’s worth of whisker growth. She loved his whiskers, the way they rasped against her hand, the way they made her lips tingle.

She wanted better access. She pushed him onto his back and straddled his hips. This was her fantasy, wasn’t it? She could do whatever she wanted.

But when she leaned forward to kiss him, his hands pressed against her shoulders and stopped her.

“Blaire?”

Blaire blinked and looked down in shock. Justin lay beneath her while she straddled his hips. One of her hands was inside his unbuttoned shirt. His chest was heaving. Her loins were throbbing. Her nipples were erect and hard.

“Oh, Justin!”

“It’s all right.”

“No! I’m sorry.” She tried to scramble off of him and away, but couldn’t seem to move. “I didn’t—”

“Shh.” He placed a forefinger across her lips. “Look at me. Blaire, look at me.”

Realizing she had her eyes squeezed shut, Blaire forced herself to open them and look at him.

“It seems to me,” he said, tugging on her arms to pull her down to his chest, “that you and I were having the same dream.”

She saw it then, in his dark brown eyes. That look of heat, of passion. Of a man’s attention focused solely and intently upon one certain woman.

It was a look that took her breath away. He pulled her down until her breasts met his chest. The same chest she had bared and run her hands across in her imagination. In her sleep.

The most natural place for her mouth to settle was against his.

“Justin,” she said on a sigh.

Their lips met with an explosion of soft heat. Blaire felt every bone melt right there inside her own body. It had been weeks since she’d been this close to him, kissed him, tasted his heat, felt his hands on her.

How she had missed being with him this way.

Was that the same as missing the man? She feared it was. There was so much more to him than simply a great lover, but in that particular moment, she put it all aside and enjoyed. She might never have a chance to be with him again this way, so she would take advantage of it while she could.

His lips were soft yet firm, hot and slick. His tongue dove into her mouth and danced with hers. She tasted salt, and coffee, and Justin. With a moan, she deepened the kiss.

With an answering moan Justin wrapped his arms around her and rolled until Blaire lay on her back and Justin lay nestled right where he’d longed to be for weeks and weeks, in the cradle of her thighs.

“Let me,” he whispered against her mouth. He reached between them for the snap on her jeans. But he didn’t free it. He raised his head, breaking their kiss, and waited until she looked at him with eyes of liquid golden brown. “Let me,” he asked again.

Blaire didn’t give him a verbal answer. Instead she used one hand to pull his head down again until their lips met. With the other she helped him unsnap and unzip her jeans.

It was answer enough for Justin. Within seconds he had her jeans opened and his hand cupping the heat of her, nothing separating him from the core of her but a thin layer of silk.

At his touch Blaire’s hips rose. With a gasp she thrust herself hard into his hand. Oh, she had missed this. Missed the way he touched her, the way he could drive her to the brink so easily. Their one night together had not been nearly enough.

Their last time together, they had liked each other, certainly. But mostly they’d been driven by hot blood and hormones.

This time, she knew him a little better, and what she knew made her want him more, made her care about him more. Was she in love with him?

He removed his hand from between her legs.

Blaire moaned in protest, forgetting entirely her emotional dilemma in favor of the more pressing physical one: whether or not to lay back and beg for his touch, or reverse their positions, straddle his hips as she had done earlier, and take what she wanted from him.

Justin didn’t give her time to make a decision, had her mind been capable of such a feat just then. He pulled the bottom edge of her sweater up and over her head, forcing her arms upward in the process. And he left her that way, with her arms stretched over her head, trapped in the sleeves of her sweater.

She began to struggle to free her arms. She wanted them wrapped around him, wanted her hands on him, not all tangled up in a sweater.

Justin stilled her with his hands on her arms. It wasn’t his gentle touch that caused her to cease her struggles as much as it was the look in his eyes. A smile lurked there, a devilish one, along with heat and a promise of more pleasurable things to come.

“Be still,” he whispered, “and let me.”

Blaire’s heart raced. “Let you what?”

He leaned down and flicked his tongue along the upper edge of her bra. “Do anything I want.”

Blaire sucked in a sharp breath. Flames of anticipation teased her from nipple to loins and back again. “I guess,” she managed, her lungs suddenly struggling for air, “that would depend on what you want.”

He smiled slowly. “For starters…” With the fingers of one hand he flipped open the catch on her front-closure bra. He dipped his head and took one nipple gently between his teeth.

Blaire sucked in another sharp breath. Her breast seemed to swell to meet his mouth.

His teeth teased and nipped almost, but not quite, to the point of pain. His lips and tongue joined in and drove her so wild that she cried out and arched her back clear off the bed.

Her reaction drove Justin closer to the edge of control than he wanted to be. He didn’t want to rush this. He knew she wanted him, but when her brain kicked into gear again she was going to come up with all sorts of reasons why they shouldn’t do this.

When she did, he was going to have to come up with answering reasons why they should. Why they should love each other. Why they should get married. Why they should raise their baby together.

Baby. The two of them had already made a baby together. The breast beneath his lips would nourish that child through infancy. Was it his imagination, or was it already fuller than it had been, in anticipation of the new life it must feed? Women’s breasts became more sensitive during pregnancy, didn’t they? He thought he’d read that somewhere.

He raised his head and looked at Blaire. “Am I hurting you?”

Blaire blinked. “What?”

He cupped her breast in his palm. “Your breast. I was wondering if you’re more sensitive here, if maybe I was being too rough.”

Blaire’s heart turned over in her chest. “No.” Her vision blurred. “You weren’t hurting me. Except by stopping.”

He grinned. “Liked it, did you?”

Blaire studied the ceiling and shrugged. “It was all right.”

“That’s all?” He leaned down and swiped his tongue across her nipple again.

Blaire could not hold back another sharp breath.

Justin chuckled. “That’s what I thought.” He kissed his way down her breastbone and into the vee of her unzipped jeans. He pressed his lips against her yellow panties and blew hot air through them and onto her skin.

“Hear that, kid? Your mom’s a big fibber.”

In that instant when he spoke to their child snuggled safely in her womb, Blaire felt a connection snap into place in the vicinity of her heart. Until right then, she was the only person alive to ever speak to the baby, to acknowledge that it was a real person. Now there were two of them.

Blaire knew she was suddenly in serious trouble. She might have been able to resist, had Justin not spoken to the baby, but he had. She was a goner. If she’d had doubts before—and she had—they were gone. Whisked away by a few simple words spoken by a man she wanted to trust but didn’t know how.

Yet her inability to trust didn’t seem to matter to her heart. She had just fallen totally, completely in love with the father of her child.

Chapter Nine

Justin looked up and saw not laughter in her eyes, but some other deeper emotion. It filled her eyes and glowed from her face and made something inside him go all soft and tender, even while another part of him hardened.

He couldn’t take his gaze from hers. Clothes that should have required effort to remove seemed to fall away with ease, then they lay together, flesh on flesh, muscle to muscle, chest to breast, hip to hip. Breath to breath.

Blaire raised her knees to make more room for him, to grip his hips and hold him close to her.

Wordlessly Justin accepted the invitation. He joined his hands with hers, and then his body, entering her slowly, one hot, slick inch at a time.

Blaire felt him stretch her, fill her. It was as if she was being completed, made whole when she hadn’t realized any part of her had been missing. She welcomed him inside, urged him to go deeper. Slowly at first, until slow was no longer sufficient to ease the terrible wanting that consumed her. Then faster, harder. She met him thrust for thrust, knowing that in the end he would hold her and they would fly off the edge of the earth together.

And they did.

The first thing Blaire became aware of minutes later was the heat and pressure of Justin’s glorious weight covering her as if shielding her from the cold, cold wind howling outside their door.

Justin was also aware of his weight and feared he might be crushing Blaire or the baby or both. As the strength returned to his limbs he pushed himself up on his arms and started to shift his weight off her.

Blaire made a tiny sound of protest in the back of her throat. It was about all she was capable of at the moment. She wanted to raise her arms and hold him there, but her arms were too limp. But she did manage to press her knees against his hips.

“No,” she whispered. “Don’t go. Not yet.”

Justin eased his weight onto his elbows. “How is it,” he asked, cupping her face in his hands, “that you and I are so damn good together?”

“Luck?” she answered.

He shook his head and kissed the tip of her nose. “Fate.”

“You believe in fate?”

“I believe some things are meant to be,” he said quietly. “Don’t you?”

Blaire found that she could no longer meet his gaze. “I believe the conversation is turning a little more serious than I’d like.”

Justin gave her a quick smile. “Coward.”

“That’s me.”

“It is not,” he objected. “But I’ll let you off the hook anyway.”

They got dressed and spent the rest of the day watching old movies on television. Blaire might have felt awkward—she expected to, after their lovemaking— but Justin proved so easy to be with that awkwardness was impossible. Throughout their movie-watching they argued about the on-screen action, debated the merits of different characters, cracked jokes about all of it, then eventually they got hungry again. The snow was deeper than it had been by a couple of inches.

“Why don’t you stay here and I’ll bring our dinner back to the room?” Justin suggested.

“Because the food would freeze before you got back with it. I vote we bundle up and walk.” Blaire peeked out between the edges of the drapes. “The parking lot’s pretty full, and I bet it’s slicker than glass.”

“Meaning you think I’ll run into something if we drive?”

“Well, no offense, but…”

He laughed. “None taken. Under these conditions, walking would be safer. But it’s damn cold out there. I don’t see any reason for you to freeze your tush off. They can wrap the food so it won’t get cold in the few minutes it’ll take me to get back with it.”

Blaire crossed her arms and pursed her lips. “If you think I’m going to sit here all snug and warm and play the little woman while the big, bad man forges his way out into the wilderness in a blizzard to bring me something to eat, you’re sadly mistaken.”

“Aw, come on.” He gave her a look that said she was being unreasonable.

Blaire objected to that look. She objected to his making decisions for her. She objected to his assuming she would simply go along with him, stay when he said stay, come when he said come.

And she thought she loved him?

“It’s freezing out there,” he protested with a wave of his hand toward the door. “Why do you want to go out in that?”

“I don’t, particularly, but I’m hungry, and I want out of this room for a while. If that means wading through snow in a blizzard, then that’s what I’ll do.”

With a scowl on his face, Justin pulled her coat from its hanger and held it. “I suppose if I try to help you on with your coat I’ll hear all about how you’ve been putting on your own coat all your life and don’t need help now.”

“See there?” She beamed at him. “We’re getting to know each other real well.”

He tossed her coat to her and grabbed his own. “Have you always been this stubborn?”

“Yes.” She slipped her arms into her coat. “But if you want to offer to bring me food and run my errands in a few months when I’m big and fat I probably won’t be.”

The thought of her big and fat, because of his child, made him pause with his coat half on. He shook his head as if to clear it. “I can’t picture it.”

“Picture what? Me fat?”

“That, and agreeable,” he said.

“Oh, you.” She snatched a pillow from the bed and threw it at him.

With a laugh, Justin ducked and threw his arm up. The pillow bounced harmlessly back to the bed.

When they stepped from their cozy motel room into the blizzard, the wind was so sharp and cold it sucked the tears right out of their eyes. Out in the parking lot they sank past their ankles in snow. For Justin, in his boots, it was no problem as long as it wasn’t too slick. But Blaire had on sneakers. Cotton socks were all that protected her ankles. She walked as fast as she could to lessen the duration of her exposure.

The world they traipsed through was nothing more than a swirling whiteness lined on either side with glowing street lights and the occasional set of headlights creeping past at a slow pace.

The restaurant, when they stepped inside after traipsing the fifty yards from their room, was a sharp contrast of light, loud voices, and heat that seemed excessive.

Justin and Blaire took their time ordering, and eating, neither in a hurry to return and lock themselves away in their motel room again too soon.

But they couldn’t dawdle forever, so eventually they made their way back.

“Is the wind dying down?” she asked when they were about halfway back to the motel. “Or is that just wishful thinking on my part?”

“No,” Justin said, sticking his nose into the air. “I think you’re right.”

“Here’s hoping it’s not just a temporary lull,” she said, huddling down farther into her coat.

“Dare I say you could have stayed in the room?”

“Depends on how lucky you’re feeling,” she told him, grateful they didn’t have far to go but not willing to admit it.

“Oh,” was all he said. But he smiled when he said it.

The room they had so eagerly left no more than an hour earlier now looked welcoming to them.

They had left the lamp and television on, a habit Justin had developed long ago. He felt that if anyone was up to no good and snooping around, hearing the television would probably send them off to find a quieter, darker room to break into.

Now Justin opened the door and ushered Blaire inside. “Home at last,” he said.

Blaire smirked. “I wouldn’t go that far, but at least now I can take my shoes off.”

“Your feet must be frozen.”

“If you say so.” She hung up her coat, then toed off her sneakers. “I can’t feel them enough to tell.”

Instantly concerned—as if he hadn’t been worried enough about her all evening—Justin hung his coat beside hers. As soon as he’d tugged off his boots— not an easy task without a bootjack—he made her sit on the bed. He drew the chair up and sat before her.

“Give me your feet.”

Blaire blinked. “What?”

“Your feet.” He patted his thighs. “Put ’em here. I’ll warm them.”

“Now there’s an offer I’ll take you up on.” Blaire sat on the edge of the bed and placed one foot on Justin’s thigh. “If I give you both feet I’ll fall over backward.”

“And your point is?”

Blaire laughed. “Okay. Since I ate like a pig, stretching out sounds inviting.” She leaned back and braced herself on both elbows and gave him her stockinged feet.

Justin pressed the bottoms of her feet against his abdomen and rubbed the tops with both his hands.

It took only a few seconds before Blaire felt the heat seep through her socks and into her icy skin.

She moaned in relief. “Oh, that feels good.”

“I’m glad you like it.” He rubbed vigorously until his hands felt hot. Then slowly he pulled off one sock and held her bare foot in his hands.

It was so damned small, Justin thought, and pale compared to his hands. Just like the entire woman. Dainty and white, while he was…not. He was a big man, dark skinned, not particularly graceful except when on horseback. Not that men should be graceful, but she was, and her grace simply emphasized what a big, clumsy clod he was.

Hell, maybe she was right. Maybe they had no business getting married. What did he know about raising a child? Guiding another human being from infancy to adulthood and have them turn out to be not only a productive member of society, but a genuinely good person. Because that’s what he wanted for this child of theirs, that he or she be, above all else, a genuinely good person.

For that matter, what did Blaire know of raising children? Surely no more than he did, except women seemed to be born with some secret well of knowledge about children. Sort of like men being born understanding car engines and electrical wiring. It was genetic.

And that was bull.

Besides, marriage was first and foremost about a man and a woman and their commitment to each other. Children, even ones who were already on the way, came after the making of that commitment. At least, that was the way Justin thought things should go. For it to work and last, the marriage and commitment had to be genuine for their own sakes, not merely for the sake of the child.

Didn’t they?

God help him, how was a man supposed to know what to do? Why didn’t Blaire seem to be struggling with this subject? She seemed to know exactly how she wanted things to go, and her plans didn’t include him.

Maybe she knew better than he did, but Justin wasn’t ready to accept that. Never mind that he wasn’t sure how to do what needed to be done. He knew what was right. He knew what needed to be.

He would have to rethink his strategy. He had to find a way around her reluctance.

First, he would warm her feet. Then he would decide what came next.

He removed her other sock.

Blaire closed her eyes in relief and pleasure. His warm, strong hand enveloped her cold foot and sent heat seeping through her toes and up her leg.

Who knew, she wondered as the heat rose farther and farther up her leg, that a foot could be an erogenous zone?

She opened her eyes to see if he realized what he was doing to her and knew instantly that his mind was a million miles away. And then he blinked, and his gaze focused on her like a laser targeting its mark. A deep shiver wracked her. She felt his hot gaze over every inch of her.

With their gazes locked, he pulled his shirttail from the waist of his jeans and tucked her feet underneath, pressing her bare soles directly against his bare abdomen.

It was impossible to say who sucked in the deeper breath, as they both gasped at the contact. And not merely because her feet were cool and his flesh was hot.

Justin rubbed the tops of her feet, then stroked them with his fingertips. Then he stroked up to her ankles, and up beneath the hem of her jeans until he couldn’t reach any farther.

“Are your legs cold?” he asked, his voice low and rough, their gazes still locked.

“Do I get to rub them against your skin if they are?”

A slow smile curved his lips. “Is that what you want to do?”

“My legs,” she offered, reaching for the zipper of her jeans, “are freezing.”

“Well, then.” Justin reached up and helped her tug down her jeans. “We can’t have you being cold.”

“Nor you.” She reached for his shoulders and urged him onto the bed with her. “That’s better.”

In sharp contrast to the fast-paced action adventure movie on the television, Blaire and Justin moved together as if performing a slow ballet, one graceful motion at a time, first by her, then him. Hands stroked, lips tasted, clothes drifted away one article at a time.

There was no cold flesh, as heat moved from him through her and back again.

There was no hurry, no rush to reach that peak of pleasure. They knew it was there, waiting for them. They knew it would be all the sweeter for taking their time in getting there.

On the television, tires screeched and bullets exploded from guns.

On the bed, breaths held in pleasure, then came out in soft sighs. Touches lingered, gazes smiled.

When Justin entered her Blaire felt her own completion in the most profound way. This was right, the two of them together, with the child they created between them.

Her vision blurred. His name left her lips softly, with deep emotion.

Justin was humbled by the tears in her eyes and the depth of emotion in her voice. For his part, he felt as if he had finally come home, there in her arms. He had felt this way only three times in his life. Every one of those times had been when he was buried deep inside this one woman.

He knew that had to mean that they were meant to be together, but just then he couldn’t concentrate enough to turn the thought over in his mind. The pressure in his loins was building, and Blaire was urging him faster, harder, deeper.

Together they climbed that steep slope and slid quietly yet unmistakably over the edge into the mindless world of colors and breathless wonder.

They slept that night in each other’s arms, flesh to flesh, heart to heart. Four times, now, they had made love, and they had napped together earlier that very day. But they had never fallen asleep in each other’s arms, knowing they need not wake until morning. It was a luxury and a gift, and Blaire closed her eyes and reveled in it.

Justin woke once to turn off the light and television. So much, he thought with a smile, for Blaire’s belief that she could only sleep in the dark and quiet.

Outside the wind had died. He lifted one edge of the drapes and peered out, noting that the snow had finally stopped, leaving everything covered in a thick blanket of white.

When he crawled back beneath the covers, Blaire’s arms welcomed him, even while she slept.

Now that, he thought, had to mean something. In her sleep she wanted him, trusted him, welcomed him. Surely she could learn to do those things when awake, couldn’t she?

He tried to wrap his mind around a way to make her want to marry him, but he felt so loose and relaxed that he found he couldn’t string two coherent thoughts together. Within minutes he was once again asleep.

When Justin opened his eyes, Blaire was staring at him with a bemused smile. There was enough light seeping in around the edges of the drapes across the room behind him that he knew it was daylight.

“Good morning.” He gave her a smile of his own. “I could get used to this, waking up with you. I think you should change your mind and marry me.”

A funny look crossed her face. Her lips mashed tightly together, her eyes widened, and her cheeks bellowed. Her skin looked a little on the green side.

“Blaire?”

She slapped one hand over her mouth, made a strangling noise, and leaped from the bed and toward the bathroom. A second later Justin heard the clank of the toilet lid being thrown back and the unmistakable sound of a woman tossing her cookies.

Alarmed, he dashed after her, feeling more helpless than he could remember ever feeling. All he could do was kneel at her side and hold her hair back and away from her face. He nearly got sick himself watching her heave into the commode again and again.

Finally she sat back on her heels, eyes closed, and panted.

Hurriedly Justin wet a washcloth at the sink and wiped her face. “Hell, darlin’, if you didn’t want to marry me, a simple no would have done it.”

Blaire, still a little nauseated, more than a little humiliated at having him witness her throwing up her guts, took the washcloth from him and covered her face with it in time to muffle a burst of laughter. “Don’t be silly.”

Then, in an abrupt turnaround of mood familiar to pregnant women everywhere, she burst into tears.

“Aw, come on, honey, don’t cry.” He started to take her in his arms, but she sucked in a sharp breath and made another dive for the toilet.

Nothing came up this time, for which Justin was grateful. He wasn’t sure how much more he could take without dropping to his knees and joining her.

After another few minutes, when Blaire felt steady enough, Justin helped her back to bed. He smoothed the covers over her shoulders and kissed her nose. “What else can I do? What do you need?”

Blaire sniffed. “You’re being awfully sweet about this.”

“Why wouldn’t I be? I assume this is morning sickness caused by the baby, but even if it wasn’t, you can’t help it if you’re sick. I’ve been sick a time or two. I always like somebody to lend me a hand. Do you want some water?”

She rolled her head slightly from side to side on the pillow. “Crackers. In my coat pocket.”

“You carry crackers in your coat?” He reached into the pocket of her coat and came up with a cellophane package containing two saltine crackers.

“They came with my salad,” she explained at his questioning look.

“Is this enough?” He tore open the package and gave her a cracker. “Just these two little crackers? I can get you more.”

Nibbling on the cracker, Blaire smiled. “I won’t need more, at least until tomorrow morning.”

Justin shuddered to think of having to go through, day after day, what she’d just gone through. “Does it happen every day?”

“Almost,” she said, reaching for the second cracker. “But it goes away pretty fast.”

“That’s something,” he said. “I guess. How long is this supposed to last?”

She shrugged. “It’s different for every woman. But with any luck it should go away in another few weeks.”

“Weeks?” He felt his stomach turn over at the very thought.

She finished her cracker and traced a finger across his cheek. “It’s sweet of you to care.”

“Care? It’s our baby that’s making you sick. Of course I care. And I meant what I said earlier. I do wish you’d change your mind and marry me.”

She smiled up at him sadly. “Are you in love with me, Justin?”

Her question startled him. Had she been reading his thoughts from the day before? “I…”

“Don’t you think we should be in love with each other before we get married?” she asked.

Dammit, she was making his own argument for him. Now he had to argue the other side.

“I admit,” he said slowly, “that that’s how it should be, but we’ve kinda put things out of order, you and I. And anyway, I don’t know if I even know what love is. I’ve never been in love before, Blaire. I know I feel things for you I’ve never felt for another woman, but is it love? I suppose I could lie and say yes, but I can’t lie to you. The God’s honest truth is, I don’t know.”

Blaire swallowed a hard knot of disappointment. She shouldn’t have been surprised; she’d known he wasn’t in love with her. Just because she loved him didn’t mean he had to return her feelings.

“We could still make a go of it,” he said.

“A go of it?” She felt dazed, bruised. Heaven help her, had she harbored some hope that they would fall into each other’s arms and swear their undying love for each other?

Nonsense. She pushed herself up and leaned against the headboard, tucking the sheet beneath her arms.

“Yeah,” Justin said. “I mean, just because we’re not madly in love doesn’t meant we can’t make it work. As long as we respect each other’s feelings, and we’re polite and honest and considerate with each other, how many problems could we have that we couldn’t see through?”

She was shaking her head no before he finished speaking. Probably, she thought, because his words made such uncommonly good sense for two people in their situation.

“Surely we could get through the next few months, until the baby’s born, without doing any lasting damage to each other,” he offered. “If we’re not happy with each other by then, we can go our separate ways. Meanwhile the baby carries the Chisholm name and the two of you get taken care of and don’t have to worry about the future.”

“Justin, I’m honored that you want to marry me, honest I am. But I told myself a long, long time ago that I would marry for love—mutual love—or not at all. I won’t try to cut you out of the baby’s life, and I won’t turn down your help—when I need help. But none of that means we need to get married.”

Justin scrubbed a hand over his face in frustration. “I’ll ask again,” he warned.

“Not for a while, please,” she said. “Just let it go for a few weeks. Please?”

Justin let out a long breath. “All right. If that’s the way you want it. But I can’t keep this from my family for much longer.”

“No,” she said. “That’s no fair. My family knows. There’s no reason you can’t tell yours.”

“You don’t mind?”

“No. They’re the baby’s family, too.”

“Do you want to be there when I tell them?”

She gave him a crooked smile. “At the risk of proving what a coward I am, no. If we were announcing that we were getting married—”

“Fine by me.”

“—that would be different. But since we’re not, I’ll let you tell them without me.”

“They’ll probably all show up at the feed store, one at a time, to see you.”

She nodded and stared at her hands in her lap. “I’ll be ready.”

Justin laughed and used one forefinger to nudge her chin up so she would look at him. “They wouldn’t be coming to point fingers and make faces. They’ll be coming to see how you’re doing, if you need anything. They’ll probably start bringing baby presents the day after I tell them.”

“Oh, they wouldn’t.”

“They would, and neither you nor I will be able to stop them, especially my grandmother. This will be the birth of her first great-grandchild, so brace yourself.”

By noon Justin had sat still in the motel for as long as he could. The storm was gone, the sun was shining, the snow was melting rapidly, especially on the roads.

Still, he wouldn’t take chances with Blaire’s safety. He waited another couple of hours to let the traffic and the highway department do the work of clearing the roads.

He called a local garage and arranged to have Blaire’s car towed in and checked out. They promised not to do any actual repairs without her permission.

“As soon as it’s drivable,” Justin told Blaire, “I’ll drive you back up here to get it.”

Blaire merely hummed, not disagreeing, but not specifically agreeing, either. She had agreed to accept his help, but only when she needed it. Her mother was more than capable of driving Blaire to Stillwater to get her car. Her father was certainly able, if not particularly willing, to handle the store without either of them for a few hours.

It was with relief that she joined Justin in the cab of his pickup for the drive home.

At least, she told herself it was relief. But she would probably dream for the next month about falling asleep and waking up in his arms. About his tender care of her when the morning sickness hit. About his thought-provoking solution to marriage when there was no deep love.

The roads were already mostly clear, but snow-packed and icy patches waited to send the careless off into the nearest ditch. A few miles out of town that was where she spotted her little red car—in the ditch. It was only identifiable because the sun had melted the snow enough that the red roof of the car was exposed.

She hoped the car would be all right until it was towed to safety.

Then she faced forward, and looked toward home. It was time to get back to reality.

Chapter Ten

The reality Blaire returned to was anything but pleasant.

Everything was fine when Justin pulled up at her garage apartment and carried her things upstairs for her. He didn’t stay. She didn’t ask him to. Somehow on the way home the silence between them became less and less comfortable until the air in the cab felt thick with tension.

Still, their parting was friendly enough. And she did remember to thank him for rescuing her from the ditch, and for taking care of her when she’d been sick that morning.

“You don’t need to thank me,” he’d protested.

“Maybe not, but I do anyway,” she told him. “Will you let me know how it goes when you tell your family about the baby?”

“Sure.” He smiled and brushed a finger down her cheek. “But there’s not going to be a problem, as long as they know I’ve asked you to marry me,” he added.

Blaire stared at him. “Is that why you’ve been asking? Because your family will expect it?”

“If you think insulting me will get me to stop asking, you’re sadly mistaken.”

“I wasn’t insulting you,” she protested. “I was seeking information.”

“Your question was insulting. I’ve been asking you to marry me because I want to marry you. For me. For myself. And for the baby. The rest of my family has nothing to do with it, and no say in the matter.”

“You’ll explain that to them, won’t you?”

“Yes.” He gave her a sharp nod. “I will.”

Okay, Blaire thought when he drove off a moment later. That could have gone better.

Before she could stew about it or even cry, which was what she wanted most to do, she squared her shoulders and headed for her office in her parents’ house. Her mother’d had to handle the books— which, after all, had always been her job anyway until she broke her arm last summer—for several days in a row. She was probably ready to chew nails.

Yet when Blaire entered the house she found her mother sitting on the couch in the living room, with her feet up, watching a soap opera.

“You’re home,” she said, her face registering surprise when Blaire walked into the room.

“I called and said I was on the way.”

“I know, sweetie, I just didn’t expect you so soon. So, tell me.” Using the remote, she turned off the television and patted the spot beside her on the sofa. “How did it go?”

Blaire shrugged and took the offered seat. “It went great, until the blizzard. I got to see Connie and Sherry, but Gayle wasn’t home. I know, I know.” She held up a hand to forestall anything her mother might say. “If I had called first I would have known that. But I had a good time visiting with Sherry and Connie, anyway.”

Nancy Harding tsked and shook her head. “You never used to be so dense, dear. When I asked how it went, I meant with you and Justin.”

Blaire narrowed her eyes. “Oh, yes, you’re the one who told him where I was and how to find me.”

“And?” her mother asked expectantly.

“And, what?” If her mother wanted information, Blaire was going to make her work for it.

“You know ‘and what.’ What happened when he found you? Are you getting married?”

“Mother, I’ve told you before, Justin and I are not getting married.”

“But he asked you, didn’t he?”

“He did. And yes, I said no.”

“But, why?” Her mother looked truly baffled.

Blaire, however, was the baffled one. “How can you ask that? I’ve told you and told you that I will never willingly put myself in a position to end up with a marriage like yours and Daddy’s. The two of you bicker and snipe at each other all the time. I don’t want to live that way.”

Her mother popped up off the sofa as if on springs. “Now you listen here, young lady. I’m getting sick and tired of your constantly criticizing our marriage. It’s not your place to approve or disapprove how your father and I are with each other.”

Blaire closed her eyes and turned her head away. “I know that. I’m sorry, Mama.” Taking in a deep breath, she faced her mother. “I know it’s not my place, and I don’t say these things to hurt you or make you angry. But I see how unhappy you both are so much of the time, and now you’re telling me I need to make the same bed for myself.”

“Seems to me, missy, you already did make the same bed for yourself. Made it, spent some time rolling around in it, if your condition is anything to go by.”

“Mama!”

“Well? You feel so free to criticize me and my marriage, I’m just laying out the truth for you to see with your own eyes.”

Blaire groaned and pushed herself up from the sofa. “This is getting us nowhere. I came over to check on the bookkeeping.”

“Fortunately for you, but not your father, business has been slow because of the snow. The books are all up to date and ready for you to take over. And while I’m standing here glancing out the window,” she added with a frown, “where’s your car?”

Oops. “Uh, well, it’s kinda…”

“Oh, I know that look,” her mother said. “What have you done? Where is your car?”

“All right. It’s in a ditch a few miles outside Stillwater.”

“A ditch?” her mother shrieked. “How bad was it? Were you hurt? Are you all right? The baby?”

“We’re fine.” It warmed Blaire’s heart that her mother seemed to care so much about the baby. “Both of us. I slid off the road in the blizzard and slid down an embankment into the ditch. It was no big deal, except I couldn’t get out. Justin helped me, and my car’s being towed to a body shop as soon as the tow truck can get it out.”

Her mother pursed her lips and crossed her arms, a calculating look coming into her eyes. “You ran off the road during the blizzard.”

“That’s right. What are you getting at?”

“When did this happen?”

“Yesterday morning, when the blizzard hit. Why are you looking at me that way?”

“What way?”

“Like you think I’m holding out on you or something.”

“Aren’t you? Justin rescued you yesterday?”

“That’s right.”

“And where have you and he been since then?”

Blaire rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “Oh, Mama, give it a rest. Just because we shared the last available motel room in Stillwater—because it was too dangerous to travel—doesn’t mean a thing.”

“I’ll tell you what it means,” her mother said sharply. “If you’re not interested in marrying the man, you should at least stop sleeping with him. Otherwise, somebody—like maybe Justin himself—is going to get the idea that you think he’s good enough to sleep with but not good enough to marry.”

“Mama! What a terrible thing to say.”

“You mean that’s not the way it is?”

“Of course not.”

“If you say so,” her mother told her. “If you say so, sweetie. In which case, I’m afraid your father and I are going to have to insist that you and Justin get married.”

Blaire blinked. “I beg your pardon.”

“It’s the only right thing to do. For you and for the baby. You have to think about the baby, Blaire, and not just yourself, you know. It’s time to grow up and face the consequences of your actions.”

Blaire swallowed against a knot of bitterness in her throat. “Is that what I’ve been to you? The consequences of your actions?”

“Don’t sass me, young lady.”

“You tell me to act like an adult, yet I’m supposed to be an obedient child and do as I’m told. You can’t have it both ways, Mama. If I’m an adult, and I assure you I am, then I make my own decisions.”

Her mother’s face stiffened. “As long as you’re living under our roof—”

“Now wait just a minute. You can’t pull out that old trick. First of all, I live over the garage, and the apartment is part of the pitifully low salary the store pays me since you broke your arm. I gave up my apartment, my job, my life, to come home and help you around the house and Daddy around the store. If I’m living under your roof, it’s because you’ve asked me to.”

“That’s right. Throw my injury in my face.”

“Mama,” Blaire wailed. It was going to be a long, long night.

Justin didn’t have time to wonder how Blaire’s homecoming with her parents was going; he had his own family to deal with. He called a last-minute family meeting for supper that night. It was the only way to assure that Caleb and Melanie would come.

A dinner invitation could be declined. Notice of a family meeting could not.

“What’s this all about, Justin?” Caleb asked when he and his bride of fewer than three months arrived.

Justin cut his gaze toward Sloan’s stepdaughters, Janie and Libby, then back to Caleb. “Can’t a guy want to see his brother—not to mention his newest sister-in-law—without everybody getting so suspicious?”

Caleb caught on immediately to the fact that Justin didn’t want to talk about the purpose of the meeting in front of the two young girls.

“So.” He punched Justin in the shoulder. “Trying to make time with my wife, huh?”

“Hey,” Justin protested. “You think I’m stupid? I only do that when you’re not around, not when I’ve invited you to supper.”

“Yeah.” Melanie rubbed her husband’s arm and smiled up at him. “He only tries to make time with me when you’re not around.”

Caleb rolled his eyes and snorted. “Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

Justin smirked. “I usually do.”

After supper, while Pedro took care of some final chores out in the barn, Maria asked Janie and Libby to help her with baby Rosa. The request was a surefire guarantee that the two little girls would be busy for some time, since they both adored Rosa.

The rest of the family gathered in the living room.

“Now,” Rose said firmly. “Perhaps Justin will tell us what this is all about?”

“Yes, Grandmother.” Justin shuffled his feet a time or two and stuck his hands into his back pockets while trying not to look anyone in the eye.

“What have you done?” Sloan demanded.

Justin frowned. “What?”

“You’re acting guilty as hell about something,” Sloan said. “Come on, just tell us. It can’t be that bad.”

“No,” Justin protested. “It’s not bad. At least, not as far as I’m concerned. To me it’s good news. Great news. The best—”

“Then tell us what it is,” Caleb snapped.

“Yes, Justin, please do.” Rose smiled quietly. “Some of us don’t have as much time left on this earth as others.”

“Oh, very funny, Grandmother,” he said. “But I think you’ve got enough time left to be here when my son or daughter is born next September.”

The silence that fell across the room was complete and thick.

Finally Rose nodded slowly. “So this is what has been on your mind these past many weeks.”

“Actually,” he admitted, “I’ve only known about it for a couple of weeks.”

“And are you going to tell us who the mother of your child is?”

“Blaire Harding.”

Cherokee Rose Chisholm felt her heart swell. There was pride and love in her youngest grandson’s voice when he spoke the name of the woman who carried his child. No one could ask for more than that. Justin was a good boy, a good man, with a heart as big as the world.

“I assume there’s a wedding in the planning?” she said.

“Uh, well…”

Sloan straightened away from the wall he’d been leaning against. A hard light came into his eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re not going to marry her.”

“It’s more like she won’t marry me,” Justin countered with no small amount of self-disgust. “But I’m working on her.”

“You do that,” Sloan said. “Just see that you do that very thing.”

“Now, Sloan.” His wife, Emily, patted his arm and gave Justin an encouraging smile. “You know Justin will do his best. Blaire will come around once she realizes what a terrific guy he is.”

“Is that the problem?” Melanie doubled her fists and frowned. “She doesn’t think you’re terrific? Where is she. Give me five minutes alone with her—”

“Pardon me,” Justin said to Caleb. Then he grabbed Melanie and planted a big, sloppy kiss right on her mouth, while she was still talking.

Melanie sputtered into silence, albeit a short-lived one. “Well, hell. Isn’t that just like you? I’ve known you my entire life, and you wait until after I marry your brother before you kiss me. No wonder Blaire won’t marry you. You’re an idiot.”

Feeling as if his wife had effectively put his little brother in his proper place, Caleb folded his arms across his chest and smiled.

Justin raised his eyes to the ceiling as if seeking help. Then he shook his head. “Blaire has said that she doesn’t want to get married, but that she has no intention of keeping me out of the baby’s life. Before any of you say anything, yes, I plan to do my best to change her mind about marrying me. But that’s for the two of us to work out. I don’t want any of you putting any pressure on her about it, or bugging her about it, or anything else.”

“Does she know you’re telling us?” Emily asked.

Justin nodded. “She knows. Her parents know about it, and her cousins, but that’s about it, I think. I would just as soon we all leave the spreading of the news up to her.”

It was quiet for another moment as everyone stared at Justin. Then Cherokee Rose Chisholm let out a war whoop that any old-time Cherokee would have been proud of.

“Justin’s going to be a father! We’re having a baby!”

The room erupted in cheers and laughter and congratulations.

Later that night, lying in his lonely bed and wishing Blaire was there beside him, Justin called her number to tell her about his family’s reaction to their news. The phone rang several times. Just when he thought she wouldn’t answer, she did.

“Did I wake you?” he asked.

At the sound of his voice Blaire sniffed. “No. No, I’m awake.”

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “You sound funny.”

She sniffed again. “Nothing’s wrong. I’ve just been crying, that’s all.”

“Why?” he demanded. “What’s happened? What’s wrong? I can be there in twenty minutes.”

“Only if you break every speed law in the county.” Her mood lightened considerably. “But thank you for the thought. Nothing’s wrong. It’s just a hormone thing.”

“Nothing’s wrong?”

“Nothing new, anyway. Nothing that made me start crying, except these crazy hormones.”

“Damn, honey, does this happen often?”

“Often enough,” she said, relieved to have this latest crying jag behind her. “Did you tell your family?”

“I did. Tonight after supper. I called a family meeting, so Caleb and Mel were here for the news.”

“Dare I ask?”

“How they took it? Oh, you know, lots of cheering and patting me on the back and asking how you’re feeling and when the baby’s due.”

“Oh.” Dammit, here came the tears again. There was nothing she could do to stop them. She hadn’t been prepared for such acceptance from Justin’s family.

Of course, she thought, sniffing back her suddenly drying tears, their reaction had probably been for his benefit, because they loved him. How they would act toward her, particularly if Justin wasn’t around, might be an entirely different story.

“That’s sweet,” she added. “I’m glad they took the news so well.”

“Are you kidding? They’re ecstatic,” he said.

Hesitantly, she asked, because she couldn’t help herself. “What did they say about us not getting married?”

He was quiet for a moment, then said, “I won’t lie to you. They’re disappointed. But they promised not to interfere, or pressure you.”

Well, she thought, that was something, at least. However, all she had to do was see one of his family and she would feel pressured. But there was nothing anyone could do about that.

“Blaire?”

“Oh, sorry. My mind wandered. I’m glad they’re taking all this so well.”

“Of course they are. We’re talking about the next generation of Chisholms. A new cousin for Sloan’s girls.”

“You mean his new stepdaughters?”

“Step, according to Sloan, is only a word. He believes it’s what’s in the heart, not the DNA, that makes a family. Those are his girls, and there’s no two ways about it.”

“Your brother,” Blaire said in awe, “is a very special man.”

“He’s not as special as I am,” Justin claimed.

She smiled. “If you say so.”

“I do, and don’t you forget it. So, I’ll bet your folks were glad to see you.”

Blaire groaned. “Come on, Chisholm, we were having a nice, pleasant conversation here. Don’t ruin it now.”

“Trouble?”

“Nothing new,” she said. “Just more of the same, and no, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Are they after you to marry me?”

“I said I don’t—”

“Was that a yes, or a no?” he asked.

“It was neither. It was, it’s late and I’ve got an early day tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “So do I. My horse probably forgot what I look like, I’ve been gone so long.”

“If you’d stayed home instead of following me all over the state, you wouldn’t have that worry.”

“If I hadn’t trailed you nearly to Kansas, you’d still be sitting out there in that ditch in that little red tin can you call a car.”

“I did thank you for rescuing me.”

“Yes,” he said, his voice turning deliberately suggestive. “You certainly did.”

“Good night, Justin.”

“Good night, Blaire. Say good-night to my kid for me.”

Blaire hung up the phone and pressed a hand over her womb, feeling tears well up in her eyes again. “Oh, baby, what am I supposed to do about this daddy of yours? And what am I going to do about your Chisholm uncles and aunts and your great grandmother?”

It was the latter, Cherokee Rose Chisholm, who worried Blaire the most. The seventy-eight-year-old woman was a legend in the state of Oklahoma and beyond. She was known not only for her top-notch cattle and horses, but for her honesty, her generosity, and her loyalty, yet it was no secret that the lady didn’t take any crap from anybody. How did she really feel about this new Chisholm not being raised in the Chisholm family?

Blaire got her chance to find out the next morning. At around ten o’clock a shiny silver SUV pulled up in the parking lot. The way the sun reflected off it, there was no way Blaire could miss it, sitting as she was, before the front window in her makeshift office in her parents’ house.

The matriarch of the Chisholm clan stepped out of her vehicle as regally as any queen from her carriage. She even had a crown of sorts: her long black and iron-gray hair had been braided and the braid wrapped around her head. Her blue jeans were clean and crisp, her Western shirt piped in red and tucked into the waistband of her jeans, cinched by a brown leather belt with a big oval silver buckle. Her boots were hand-tooled and shined to within an inch of their lives.

In a deliberate, moderate stride, she crossed the parking lot and entered the feed store.

Sometime during the next few minutes Blaire realized that her fingernails were digging gouges into her palms. She purposely relaxed her hands, but a few seconds later realized they were knotted into fists again as she stared anxiously out the front window.

What was Rose Chisholm doing in there? What would she say to her father about the baby? What would her father say in return?

Blaire winced at the thought of the latter. He would have plenty to say, and all of it blaming Justin. Blaire would have to set the record straight as soon as she found out how much damage her father was doing to the Harding-Chisholm family relations.

A few minutes later Mrs. Chisholm came out of the store with a flat of yellow pansies.

Justin’s favorite flower, Blaire noted. But she, herself, would have chosen purple, his favorite color, were she planting flowers for him.

Of course, Mrs. Chisholm was undoubtedly not planting to please her youngest grandson. More likely she planted to please herself.

The woman stashed the flowers in the back of her SUV then headed across the lot toward the house.

Blaire swallowed. There was no place to run, no place to hide from Justin’s grandmother. If there was a way to postpone this meeting, or avoid it altogether, Blaire would do it. She had seen Mrs. Chisholm dozens of times over the years, but they had never held a conversation, or even spoken to each other, as far as Blaire could recall.

It looked as if that was all about to change.

At the sound of the doorbell Blaire jerked from the window. All right. She squared her shoulders and wiped her sweating palms down the thighs of her jeans. It was time to meet her child’s great grandmother.

With her breath locked somewhere near the bottom of her lungs, Blaire made her way down the hall, into the living room, and to the front door. She opened the door and blinked. Up close, Rose Chisholm was even more striking. Her bronze skin was smooth and amazingly free of wrinkles, giving her a youthful appearance. Her deep brown eyes, which could have been hard or cold, smiled at her.

“Hello, Blaire.” Mrs. Chisholm held out her hand. “I’m Rose.”

Blaire let out her breath and accepted the handshake. “Of course. Come in, please.”

“I suppose I should,” she said, stepping in when Blaire moved aside. “Since I used checking on our account as an excuse to get your father to tell me where you were.”

“If you really want to talk about your account, we can go to my office, otherwise, the living room is much more comfortable.”

“Then let’s be comfortable,” Rose suggested with a smile. “Besides, since Sloan got smart and married Emily, she handles most of our bookkeeping now. The girl is a godsend. For several reasons, bookkeeping being only one of them.”

Blaire led Rose to the sofa and motioned for her to be seated. “Can I get you something to drink? My mother makes a fresh pitcher of iced tea every morning.”

“No, thank you, my dear. I won’t stay long. I just wanted to come by and let you know that Justin told us last night about the baby.”

Blaire sank to the cushion beside Rose. “Yes. He called and told me.”

Rose peered at her closely. “He said you knew he was telling us. Is that right?”

“Yes.” Her lips twitched. “He asked my permission to tell you.”

Rose nodded. “That’s my Justin. I’m glad he hasn’t forgotten his manners.”

“Oh, no.” This time Blaire smiled easily. “Justin is nothing if not polite.”

Rose nodded again. “I’m glad to hear it. You’ll pardon me for sticking my nose in, but I’m an old woman, with no guarantees of another year.”

Blaire gasped and pressed a hand to Rose’s forearm. “You’re not ill, are you?”

“What? Oh, no. How sweet of you to ask. No, I just meant that I’ve already lived most of my life, so I don’t like to dillydally around with what little time I’ve got left. Which is why I’m going to ask—did Justin ask you to marry him?”

Blaire felt heat sting her cheeks. She found she could not hold the woman’s gaze. “Yes, he did. More than once. Please don’t blame him for the two of us not getting married. It’s my fault. I have my reasons for turning him down.”

“And I won’t ask what they are. I’ll leave you that much privacy, at least,” Rose added with a slight smile. “But don’t be surprised if Justin tries to change your mind.”

“No,” Blaire said. “I won’t.”

“Is there anything you need?” Rose asked. “You or the baby? Whether you marry Justin or not, the child you carry makes you part of our family, and we take care of our own. We want to help in any way we can.”

Blaire heard the sincerity in Rose’s words, in her voice, and was humbled by it. “Thank you. All I really need right now is to get my car out of the shop, but it’s not fixed yet, so no one can help with that.”

“You’re feeling well?” Rose asked. “You look as if you do.”

“I’m fine, truly.”

“Any morning sickness?”

Blaire rolled her eyes. “Yes. I’m afraid I gave Justin a demonstration of it yesterday morning.”

Rose smiled widely. “Good for you. I always said women should share more of the joy of pregnancy and childbirth with their men.”

Chapter Eleven

How ironic, Blaire thought that evening, that the only person who accepted her right to make her own decision about marriage was the grandmother of the very man Blaire refused to marry.

Oh, to have such acceptance from her own parents!

But that, Blaire knew, was too much to hope for.

Rose had stayed only a few minutes, but in those few minutes Blaire felt as if she’d found a true friend. Someone she could confide in, perhaps, who would not judge her.

Blaire wasn’t fool enough to believe that Rose Chisholm would befriend anyone who hurt one of her own, though, so this tentative friendship could be temporary, indeed, if Blaire and Justin couldn’t come to an amicable agreement regarding the baby. But Blaire felt they could. Hoped, prayed they could.

The dust had yet to settle from Rose’s departure from the parking lot when Blaire’s father flew out the back door of the store and marched across to the house.

“Well?” he demanded. “What did she want? Is she going to make that boy marry you?”

“Daddy!” Blaire stared at her father in shock. “You know perfectly well that Justin has asked to marry me, several times. I’ve told you that myself.”

“Then why aren’t you married, little girl?”

“Because,” she said tightly, “I said no. No more!” She held her hand up to stop whatever he’d been about to say. “I’m not going to talk about it. Rose Chisholm trusts me to make the right decision. You’re going to have to trust me, too.”

Without waiting for her father to remark, Blaire spun on her heel and left the house. “I’m taking an early lunch.” She dashed across the driveway to the garage and climbed the stairs to her apartment. There she slammed the door and locked herself in. And the world out.

What she wanted most in that moment, she realized, was Justin. And that realization appalled her. She had always winced in embarrassment whenever one of her girlfriends felt like running to a man so he could take care of things for her. Even her own mother was prone to expecting her husband to solve her problems for her.

Blaire refused to become that kind of woman, dependent upon a man to get through the day.

Good grief, she’d had an argument with her father and she wanted to run to Justin and cry on his shoulder? When had she turned into such a weak-kneed, lily-livered wimp?

On the other hand, she thought, what was wrong with a person wanting a little comfort, someone to take her side of things? The need for a little emotional support now and then didn’t constitute a weakness. Did it?

To be on the safe side, when her phone rang that night, she did not answer.

No one left a message on her answering machine, and she didn’t have caller ID, but she was sure it had been Justin. No one else would call her at ten o’clock at night.

The next night no one called. Neither did anyone call the night after that, nor the night after that. In fact, Blaire’s phone did not ring for a solid week.

It was amazing, Justin thought, how much strength and energy and willpower it took not to make a phone call. Not to hop in his pickup and drive into town.

Not to grab his grandmother by the neck and shake her until she told him what went on at the feed store that day.

He must have it bad, not to be able to make it through a single day without talking to Blaire, seeing her. Being near her.

All he’d managed to learn was that yes, Grandmother had gone to the feed store, and yes, she had spoken with Blaire. Blaire was a nice girl and it seemed as if she had a good head on her shoulders.

As for anything else that might have been discussed between the two most important women in his life, Cherokee Rose Chisholm’s lips were apparently sealed. With superglue. The woman was flat not talking.

That, Justin could probably have lived with. But that new twinkle that had been in his grandmother’s eyes since her return from town was driving him crazy.

“I will say one thing,” his grandmother told him as she stopped before her bedroom door on her way to retire for the night. “That young woman needs a break. She’s under a great deal of pressure from her parents, you, even herself. Everyone, including you, needs to back off for a few days and give her a chance to breathe, a chance to think for herself instead of being told what she should or shouldn’t do.”

“You think I’m pushing too hard?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“If you aren’t, I know you would like to.”

Justin chuckled and kissed his grandmother’s cheek. “You know me too well. I’ll give her some time and space, but I’m not about to let her get away from me.”

“No.” She kissed his cheek in return. “I never thought you would.”

He watched her enter her room and close the door, then he closed himself into his own bedroom. He would do his best to keep his word to his grandmother, for Blaire’s sake, because he knew his grandmother was right.

But he couldn’t just not call. He’d left her with the impression that she would hear from him today. One call, that would be all, and then he would back off for a while.

She didn’t answer. He let it ring and ring and ring, and she didn’t answer.

Maybe she was ready for that breather now instead of later.

A man who couldn’t take a hint was at best a nuisance. At worst, a creep. All things considered, he would just as soon the mother of his child not think of him as a creep.

But as one day turned into another he began to wonder if maybe he really was in love with her. Why else would he feel this need to be with her, to hear her voice? Why else would he feel this constant yearning?

How was a man to know?

After three days of not calling her and not going to town, he still didn’t know if he was in love, but everyone else came to believe he’d lost his marbles. He rode his horse out to the middle pasture, but came back without the calf he’d gone out there to get.

At supper that night six-year-old Janie was confused. “How come Daddy said Uncle Justin was out to lunch? It’s suppertime, and he’s not out, he’s right here.”

Her big sister, older by two years, rolled her eyes in disgust. “It’s an expression, silly.”

“Libby,” Emily cautioned her daughter. “No name calling.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Well, what’s it mean?” Janie demanded.

“It means,” Libby said in her my-sister-is-an-imbecile tone, “that he’s cuckoo.”

“Oh.” Janie slurped up another strand of spaghetti between pursed lips. “You mean like this afternoon when he tried to use the paintbrush to fix the flat tire on his pickup?”

“Yeah,” Libby said. “Like that.”

Justin made a face. “Didn’t anybody ever tell you two it’s not polite to talk about people when they’re sitting right here?”

“Well, golly.” Janie’s little eyebrows lowered. “If you can’t talk about people when they’re right here, and you’re not supposed to talk about ’em behind their backs, when can you talk about them?”

Emily cleared her throat to get the attention of her daughters. “I believe the lesson there is that it’s not polite to talk about other people at all.”

Libby’s eyebrows climbed up her forehead. “If we can’t talk about people, what are we gonna talk about?”

There was the unmistakable sound of muffled and choked laughter as Sloan picked up the large bowl of mashed potatoes and started it around the table.

A full week after Justin had brought Blaire home from Stillwater, he finally gave in and drove to town. If asked, he would swear that his pickup turned off Main into the parking lot of the feed store all on its own. Surely he himself had more willpower than to play the lovesick high school teen and drive by his girl’s house.

Hell, he thought. At least he hadn’t driven by and honked.

Of course he hadn’t. He’d parked and gotten out, walked into her father’s store without proper mental preparation. And Tom Harding was waiting for him with both barrels, metaphorically speaking.

“Why haven’t you married my girl yet?” Harding demanded.

Justin glanced around to find himself the only customer inside. The others, who belonged to the other vehicles in the lot, must have been out in the warehouse. It was a common place to run into friends and hang around for a visit.

“Well?” Harding barked.

How was he supposed to answer? The simple truth was, he would marry Blaire in a heartbeat, had asked her several times, but she had turned him down. If he said as much to her father the man was likely to take it out on her in some way.

In the end, Justin shrugged. “That’s something Blaire and I will have to work out between the two of us.”

“Well, get to working it out, before the kid graduates high school.”

“Thanks for the advice.” Having completely forgotten the excuse he had used to come to the store, Justin turned and left.

Outside, he stepped off the porch-cum-loading dock and drew to a halt. Beyond his left shoulder stood the Hardings’ house, where Blaire was probably working at that very moment. Straight ahead sat his pickup.

To the left, possible—probably—humiliation, because he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from asking her yet again to marry him, and she would once again turn him down.

Straight ahead, escape.

From the window in her office, the same window from which she had watched Rose Chisholm arrive nearly a week ago, Blaire saw Justin standing in the parking lot.

She’d seen him arrive about ten minutes earlier, had still been at the window when he left the store. Now he simply stood there, as if trying to decide what to do.

Blaire smoothed her hair and unrolled the sleeves of her shirt. Her makeup could use a little refreshing, but she didn’t have time. He would be knocking on the door any second.

This is, if he ever decided to move, she thought with a frown. What was he doing just standing there? Oh, he looked good. The weather was mild enough that he wore a flannel shirt with no jacket or overcoat. The breeze was strong enough to ruffle his hair back from his face and redden his cheeks.

She had missed him. She could admit that to herself, privately. She had missed his face, his phone calls, his laughter.

Why was he just standing there? Why wasn’t he coming to the house to see her?

Whatever she’d eaten for lunch—and for the life of her, she couldn’t remember what it was even though she’d eaten it less than an hour ago—must not be agreeing with her, because she felt a burning ache beneath her ribs. It had come on sharply the instant she’d realized Justin was not coming to see her.

This was…well, it was wrong, that’s what it was. He wasn’t supposed to ignore her, and if he did, she certainly wasn’t supposed to ache because of it.

The man was turning her life upside down, making her want him, giving her a child, expecting her to marry him, sending his grandmother to see her. Then, ignoring her?

No, this wasn’t right. Tugging on her cardigan sweater, Blaire marched out of the house and across the parking lot. She was twenty feet away from Justin when he turned and took a step toward her. Only then, after he’d turned and moved in her direction, did he seem to notice her.

“Blaire.”

She stopped about five feet away. “Justin.”

“Hi.” He stuck his hands in his hip pockets. “How are you doing?”

“Just fine.” Not that he’d bothered to call and find out all week long, she thought with an odd mixture of pain and anger and sadness. And maybe just a touch of peevishness, but that was neither here nor there. Then she went and ruined her aloof act. “I thought maybe you would have called this past week.”

He dragged his boot heel through the gravel beneath his feet. “I wanted to.”

She wasn’t going to ask. It would sound too pitiful, too needy. She wouldn’t give him that much of an edge over her. Then she did. “Why didn’t you?”

He glanced out at the cars going past on Main. “You asked me for breathing room. I said I’d give it to you.” He nodded toward her compact parked beside the garage. “I see you got your car back. I thought you were going to call me for a ride back to Stillwater to get it.”

“They called yesterday. Mama took me.”

“Oh.” He stared down at his feet, then glanced back up at her. “Did they fix everything?”

“It looks fine. Now all it needs is painting, but I’m in no hurry for that.”

“I can—”

“No, you can’t,” she told him. “But thank you for offering. I got a cell phone yesterday.”

“That’s…” It did her heart good to see him look both relieved and disappointed. She knew he’d wanted to get it for her himself. “…great.”

“Have you got something to write with? I’ll give you the number,” she offered.

He had a small notebook not much larger than a business card, and a short pencil stub in his shirt pocket. She gave him the number of her new cell phone and he wrote it in his notebook.

They stood there another few minutes, looking everywhere but at each other.

“Justin, what’s wrong?” she finally asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you’re acting like we’re strangers or something. Are you angry with me?”

“Why should I be angry with you?”

She shrugged and hugged her arms around her middle. “Because I won’t marry you?”

“Ah,” he said with a slight smile. “There’s where you’re wrong.”

“Wrong?”

“I think you will marry me. You just haven’t realized that’s what you want to do yet.”

“Ah,” she mimicked. “There’s that ego we all know and love. I’d wondered what had happened to it.”

He chuckled. “Just like a woman. Give her what she says she wants and she wonders what’s wrong. Have lunch with me tomorrow. Maybe we can regain our footing with each other.”

“All right.” She didn’t even have to think about her answer. Not with the way her heart lifted at his invitation.

For their lunch date the next day, the weather decided to be their friend. The temperature soared to sixty, the air barely stirred, and the sun shone true and bright. A two-shirt day at the most.

Blaire dressed in jeans, shirt, boots, and an oversized red flannel shirt as a jacket.

To Justin, when he pulled up and she stepped out of her apartment and started down the stairs toward him, she looked adorable. But then, she always looked adorable to him.

He rounded his rig and opened the passenger door for her. Before he could offer her a hand up, she climbed in unaided.

Okay, he thought with reluctance. She’s not ready to be touched yet. That was a shame, because he certainly was, as long as the person doing the touching was her.

All of this obsessing he’d been doing lately, thinking of her, dreaming of her, wanting her. It had to mean something, didn’t it?

“Where are we going?” she asked when he jumped into the driver’s seat and pulled out of the parking lot.

“It’s a surprise.” And a gamble, he thought. A gamble for him.

“Oh? Okay.” But her agreeable tone turned wary a moment later when he took the road out of town. “Justin?”

“Hmm?”

“You did say we were going to lunch, didn’t you?”

“I did, and we are. Just trust me. You’ll like it.” He hoped.

He stayed on the highway for several miles, then turned off onto a secondary road before reaching the main gate to the Cherokee Rose Ranch. He followed the secondary road for a mile and turned to drive along the back side of the ranch until he reached his favorite spot.

He pulled off onto the narrow shoulder and parked.

By this time Blaire had her arms crossed over her chest as if to protect herself, but she was looking around with interest.

“I thought you might enjoy a picnic, since it’s so nice today,” he said.

She studied the landscape outside her window. “This is the place you told me about, isn’t it.”

“Yeah,” he confessed, wondering what she thought of it. “Yeah, it is.”

She opened her door and got out. She walked over to the barbed-wire fence and looked around. Justin got out and followed her. The land sloped gently up from the fence to crest about fifty yards away from where they stood. The Bermuda grass was winter brown now, but in the summer it would be a thick green carpet, broken here and there by the occasional scrub oak.

“I guess I don’t know what a persimmon tree looks like,” Blaire confessed. “Or a buffalo wallow, either, for that matter.”

He couldn’t say how pleased he was that she had remembered his description of the place. “Come on, I’ll show you.” He crawled through the fence, then pushed one strand down with his boot and held the one above it up with both hands while Blaire climbed carefully through.

Then, because he had opportunity and a good excuse, he took her hand in his as he led her toward the small grove of tall, rather narrow trees at the far end of the clearing with scarcely a leaf left on them anywhere.

“These,” he said with a wave of his free hand, “are persimmon trees. Although, I can’t prove it because the deer picked them clean months ago.”

“It’s just as well,” she said. “But I’m wondering if a ripe persimmon is as awful as a green one.”

“Ripe ones are sweet,” he told her. “You can try one out next fall.”

He could have kicked himself for referring to the future that way, when they might not have a future together at all. But she didn’t protest, and she had yet to pull her hand from his, so he held on and led her up the slight incline to the crest and over.

“Have you ever seen a buffalo wallow before?” he asked her.

“Not that I know of,” she answered. “If I have I didn’t know what it was.”

He stopped at the lip of a ragged depression in the ground, perhaps two feet deep at its deepest in the center. “It looks pretty much like that.”

“That? That looks like erosion.”

“I guess that’s what it is. Erosion caused by years of big heavy animals rolling around on their backs in the same spot. They wear it down, the rain comes along and helps things along a little more, and there you have it.”

She cocked her head and studied the wallow. “Has anyone ever tried to fill one in?”

Justin shrugged. “I’m sure they have. We haven’t. Haven’t had a need to.” He stepped off the edge, taking Blaire with him, and walked inside the ten-footwide depression. “The ground in here is so hard-packed not much will grow. Besides,” he said looking around at the pasture. “With all the buffalo gone—most of them, anyway—I kinda like leaving this here, a reminder of the huge herds that used to roam here.”

“It’s good,” she said. “That you want to preserve it.”

Justin had never cared much one way or another whether people outside his family approved of him or not, but the approval Blaire had just given him made his chest swell.

Still holding her hand, he led her up and out of the wallow and back along the crest to the center of the hilltop.

“Here,” he told her, “is where I want to build a house.”

“The view would be spectacular,” she observed.

“It will.” He looked out over the countryside and imagined seeing it from his very own porch. With Blaire at his side. And a child at their feet.

The picture in his mind of the three of them on their porch was so powerful it nearly brought him to his knees. He knew, in that instant, that his life, the home he hoped for, his entire future would be sadly lacking without Blaire. He was in love with her.

Why hadn’t he seen it sooner? Why hadn’t he understood his own feelings?

Now what did he do? Blurt it out? By the way, Blaire, I was wrong. I really do love you.

Sure, she would believe that. What woman wouldn’t?

He could give her flowers, but he didn’t have any. This time of year he couldn’t even come up with any wildflowers. The only flowers he’d seen lately were the yellow pansies his grandmother had planted a few days ago. He doubted she would approve of his picking them, and Blaire might not appreciate stolen flowers anyway.

“Justin?”

He pulled himself out of his musings to realize that he’d been crushing her fingers. “Damn. I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”

“I’m fine,” she assured him. “Is something wrong?”

“Wrong? No, of course not. What could be wrong?”

Blaire didn’t know, but something was going on. She felt a sudden new tension in and around him.

“I think I promised you lunch,” he said.

“I think you’re right. You did.”

“Then lunch it is. I’ll be right back.”

“Back?” she protested as he started down the slope toward the road. “You’re leaving me here?”

“I’m just going to the pickup,” he called back to her.

Blaire watched as he sprinted the last few yards. She flexed her fingers, then folded them against her palm, still feeling the warmth of his hand against hers. Still wondering what had gone through his mind a moment ago when his face had gone blank and his fingers had squeezed hers.

In a way, it was gratifying to realize that something bothered him. He always seemed so sure of himself and positive about what he wanted. He’d brought her here to show her where he planned to build his home one day.

His home. Not theirs. This had been his plan for a long time and had nothing to do with her or the baby.

Why that should disappoint her, she didn’t know. What a stupid thing for her to feel, particularly when she’d been pushing him away for weeks.

Look at him, she thought. He even walks like a man who knows exactly what he wants.

He climbed through the fence and circled around to the driver’s side of the pickup. From behind the seat he pulled what looked to be an old quilt. From the bed he retrieved an ice chest and a gallon sized Thermos.

Blaire met him at the fence and took the quilt and jug so he could use both hands to carry the large ice chest.

After climbing through the fence for the third time that day, Justin eyed it critically. “Need a gate here,” he muttered.

They carried their load up the slope and Justin picked a spot that he hoped would one day be the center of his front yard. There he spread out the quilt.

“Lunch,” he said, placing the ice chest on one corner of the quilt, “is served, m’lady.”

“Why, thank you, kind sir.” She dropped to her knees before the ice chest and opened the top. “What are we having?”

They were having fried chicken, potato salad, coleslaw, fruit salad, and for dessert, fresh, homemade brownies, with iced tea to wash it down.

“If you tell me you cooked all of this yourself,” she told him as she licked chocolate from her fingers, “I might change my mind and marry you after all.”

She meant it as a joke, but he didn’t laugh. The best he had to offer was a half-smile.

“I can’t even take credit for the ice cubes. We have an ice maker. But I’ll give you a better reason. Last week when you asked me if I loved you I said I didn’t know. Now I know. I do love you, Blaire.”

Blaire’s heart started pounding against her ribs.

“I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you,” he said. “I want us to build a home here on this hill, but if you’d rather live in town, I can go along with that. As long as you marry me, because I really do love you.”

Blaire’s hands were shaking, and so was her head. “You don’t mean that.”

“Of course I mean it,” he claimed.

“No.” She shook her head harder and scooted away from him. She couldn’t let herself believe him. “No one else in my life has ever loved me. I’m supposed to believe you just because you say so?”

“How can I prove it to you?” he asked.

“You can’t. You could take out a sign with two-foot letters and I wouldn’t believe it. All you want to do is control me.”

“Dammit, Blaire, I’m not your father, and you’re not your mother.”

“‘Get a cell phone,’” she mimicked. “I got one. ‘Get a safer car.’ I didn’t. I like my car just fine. ‘Stay out of the cold.’ Ha. You like telling me what to do. I don’t like being told.”

“I don’t want to control your life, dammit, I want to share it. I love you. I want us to become a family. You, me and the baby.”

But Blaire was not hearing him. Her fear had turned his words into a buzzing in her ears.

Chapter Twelve

Blaire scarcely remembered the ride home from her picnic with Justin at the Cherokee Rose, and that was more to her shame than her credit.

For one brief second, when he’d first told her he loved her, Blaire had allowed herself to believe.

Then a sharp picture of her parents had intruded, and reality came crashing in around her head. She could not afford to believe. She couldn’t let herself be rushed or pressured into marriage. No matter what he said, it was all still because of the baby, and that was no reason for them to tie themselves to each other.

As if to prove her correct, that night her parents lit into each other again, over nothing, as far as Blaire could tell. But their argument ended with the usual accusations of whose fault it was that they were stuck with each other.

No, Blaire would not believe Justin. She would not marry him. She would not live her life the way her parents did, and she would not expose her child to such bitterness as theirs. If that left her feeling sad and lonely, as if she might be making the biggest mistake of her life…. No. She couldn’t afford to think like that.

All she had to do now was make Justin believe that she would not change her mind, that he should give up on her and get on with his life. They would work something out regarding the baby, because she had meant it when she’d said she didn’t intend to cut him out of the child’s life. Her child would know its father. She would make sure of that. But her child would never be made to feel responsible for its parents’ problems. Not as long as Blaire had breath in her body.

Justin was not as lucky as Blaire. He remembered every second of the rest of their time together that afternoon. The painful, echoing silence. The terror and anger emanating from her.

He thought he understood the terror, although the strength of it surprised and worried him. But the anger was new and, to him, inexplicable.

She had told him she would not marry a man who didn’t love her. Now he loved her, and her reaction was anger? It didn’t make sense.

Maybe it was time for him to face the fact that she didn’t return his feelings. She most especially didn’t share his desire for marriage.

What if he got lucky and was finally able to convince her to marry him? It seemed to him that they ran the risk of making her feel trapped somewhere down the road. Did he want to marry a woman who needed her arm twisted, so to speak? Would she one day turn into her mother and throw it back in his face that getting married had never been her idea?

God help him, he was going crazy. Was it time to push harder, or let go?

Let go, hell. He didn’t think he was capable of that. He was nowhere near ready to give in. Which was why, two days after their picnic, he called her and asked her to lunch.

“Indoors, this time,” he added quickly. “With a waitress and everything. No barbed-wire fences, no buffalo wallows.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she told him. “I didn’t mind the fence, and I liked the buffalo wallow.”

“You did?”

“I did. But as for lunch—”

“Tomorrow, around noon?” he asked.

“I can’t, Justin.”

“How about the day after?”

“No, thank you. I’m sorry. I have to go.”

Justin was left listening to a dial tone.

On the other end of the line, Blaire dropped the phone into its cradle. Her hands shook so hard she couldn’t have held the receiver another ten seconds if her life had depended on it.

She had blown it. Justin had presented her with the perfect opportunity to tell him not to ask her out again, not to call her any more. But she had panicked and hung up.

The next time, she promised herself. If he asked her out again, she would be firm and honest and explain that she was never going to change her mind.

But when he pulled into the parking lot two days later, her first instinct was to run so she wouldn’t have to face him.

“When did I get to be such a total coward?” she wondered aloud.

“Did you say something, honey?”

Blaire slapped a hand over her heart to keep it from leaping from her chest. “Mama! I didn’t know you were there.”

“Sorry.” Nancy Harding laughed. Then she glanced out the window of Blaire’s office and her eyes widened. “Oh, look! There’s Justin.”

“Yes.” Blaire swallowed around the knot of nerves that rose in her throat. There was no way she could talk to Justin with her mother hanging on every word. “I was just going out to say hi. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Oh, but don’t you want to invite him in? I’ve got a full pitcher of tea, but I could make coffee if he’d prefer that.”

“Never mind the tea and coffee.” Blaire brushed past her mother and headed for the front door. “I doubt he’ll be staying.” In fact, it would be Blaire’s mission to see that he didn’t want to stay. That he didn’t want to return, or call or anything else.

She squared her shoulders, screwed up her courage, and marched out to the parking lot, where she met him before he’d made it five feet from his pickup.

“Hi.” He smiled and pulled off the cowboy hat he’d been wearing.

“Hi.” She resisted the urge to wipe her sweaty palms on her jeans. “Justin, I—”

“Sunday after church the whole family eats at Lucille’s,” he told her. “I was hoping you’d join us this Sunday. It’s public, so you’d be able to get up and leave any time you wanted. I thought that might make your first meal with the whole clan a little less stressful.”

“Justin, this isn’t going to work.”

“What isn’t going to work?”

“None of it,” she said earnestly. “You and me. We’re not going to work.”

He stared at her so long that she shifted her weight several times from one foot to the other.

“We’re not?” he asked.

“No.” She swallowed again. “I’m sorry. But I can’t marry you, and I won’t change my mind.”

He moved a step closer to her. “You don’t care that I’m in love with you? It means nothing?”

“It might, but I don’t think you do love me, Justin, and I don’t trust myself enough to be able to tell. I can’t risk it.”

“You can’t risk it? This is our lives we’re talking about. Our child’s life. Life doesn’t come with guarantees.”

“I know that,” she cried. “I’m not asking you for one. I just have to feel it, down deep inside. Feel that I can trust myself, trust you, and I don’t feel that. To be honest, I think I’m too scared to feel it.”

“Scared of what? Of me?” he cried, incredulous. “You think I would ever knowingly hurt you? I couldn’t, Blaire. I simply couldn’t. I love you.”

She shook her head hard and backed away from him. “Justin, please.”

“Please what? Please don’t love you?”

“Don’t push me. The harder you push, the more I want to resist.”

“I’ve noticed,” he said harshly. “I supposed now you’re going to run.”

“Run?”

“That’s what you do, isn’t it? When things get uncomfortable. Which cousin will you go see this time?”

The fact that she had been contemplating doing just as he accused sent heat rushing to her cheeks.

“Aha!” He pointed a finger at her face. “I’m right, aren’t I? It’s right there on your face.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. If I want to go visit my cousins, I’ll go, and you don’t have anything to say about it. Go home, Justin, and don’t call me anymore. The baby’s not due until September. I’ll let you know when it comes.”

“September?” His eyebrows rose at least an inch, his voice at least an octave. “If you think for one minute I’m going to stand back and not involve myself in your life until after the baby is born, you’ve got another think coming.”

Blaire closed her eyes and tried to pull her hair out with both hands at her temples. “I didn’t mean that we wouldn’t have any contact. I didn’t mean it like that. You make me crazy. I won’t go out with you, I won’t date you, I won’t spend the night with you. I won’t marry you. I will talk with you, about the baby, but I don’t want you calling me every day, or even every week.”

“Sometimes, sweetheart, we don’t always get what we want.”

Blaire would have demanded to know what he meant by that, but for a moment she was too astounded by his words to speak. By the time she found her voice and her wits, he was back in his pickup and pulling out into the street.

By the time Justin got home he had a red mark on the outer edge of his hand from pounding his fist against the steering wheel in frustration.

How could he have been so stupid as to push her the way he had? And that stupid parting comment of his—Sometimes, sweetheart, we don’t always get what we want. Where the hell had that come from?

But he knew the answer there. It had come from his gut. She said she didn’t want him. For one knife-edged moment, he had believed her, and that knife-edge had sliced deep.

Then he’d seen the lie in her eyes. It wasn’t that she didn’t want him, it was that she was afraid to trust. Not him, but herself. She still had it in her head that the two of them would end up bickering for the next thirty years the way her parents did.

Justin shuddered at the thought. It couldn’t happen, because he wasn’t a man to bicker. He had never played the blame game, or griped about his problems. He was more into practical jokes and tending his cattle and horses.

But Blaire didn’t know that about him. She didn’t know much of anything about him, he realized. How could he expect her to simply take his word that things would work out between them?

Before that would happen, she had to believe that he truly loved her.

You could take out a sign with two-foot letters and I wouldn’t believe it.

“Blaire Harding, you’re gonna eat those words.”

In less than an hour, Justin had a full-fledged plan for convincing Blaire that his feelings were true. But he wouldn’t be able to do it alone. He enlisted both of his brothers and his two sisters-in-law. His grandmother agreed to take care of Janie and Libby for the night.

On the Internet he found the company he needed, located in Oklahoma City. He called in a rush order, then drove to the city to pick it up. When he got home late that night, that’s when he would need his brothers and their wives.

It was going to be a long night.

His entire future rested on the outcome.

He was scared spitless that it wouldn’t work, but he’d be damned if he could think of anything else to do.

Blaire cried herself to sleep that night. If she had been uncertain before, there was no question left now in her mind or heart. She was in love with Justin Chisholm.

He said he was in love with her. Why couldn’t she take him at his word and accept his proposal? Why did she have to think up all these damn problems that might not ever arise between them? Why did she work so hard to convince herself that he didn’t really love her?

What did she think, that he was lying? Simply trying to get her to marry him so he could get his hands on their child?

What kind of sense did that make?

Sure, she knew family was the most important thing to a Chisholm, but would he really go to the trouble of lying to her and marrying her just to have a family of his own?

The only other alternative to support her theory that he didn’t actually love her, if he wasn’t outright lying, was that he didn’t know his own mind and heart.

That was much more likely, to her mind. Both of his brothers had married in the past few months. He was wrapped up in the romance of weddings and babies and thought he was in love with her.

That wasn’t enough for her. She would not take advantage of his kind heart and his sense of family. Those two things were not enough upon which to build a marriage.

She was going to prove him right, much to her shame. She was going to show her cowardice by leaving town, just as he had predicted. If not for the health insurance coverage she enjoyed by working for her father, she would leave town permanently. But she could not afford to lose her insurance with a baby on the way. She wasn’t that big a fool.

When dawn came the next morning her eyes were red streaked, red rimmed and swollen. Her morning sickness attacked with a vengeance.

She was growing to hate that toilet. When she was good and done with morning sickness she was going to have it replaced. Maybe she’d get a pink one this time instead of the utilitarian white she’d been hugging every morning lately.

A new duffel bag—maybe even an actual suitcase —would soon be in order if she continued to travel so much. She was going to Gayle’s in Stillwater this time. She had called her last night to make sure her cousin would be home and could accommodate her.

Telling her parents she was leaving had been difficult. Like climbing Mount Everest might be difficult.

Insurance or no insurance, Blaire had some serious thinking to do about how she was going to raise her child out from under the influence of her parents. She wanted them to be a part of her child’s life, but not every day, and not in a way that gave them the idea that they had some sort of say over the baby. She had no intention of fighting that battle every day of her life, and knowing her mother, it would be a battle royal.

But first things first, and that meant getting out of town long enough to let her parents and Justin know that she meant business.

She was putting the last of her things into her duffel when her phone rang. Surprised, she glanced at the clock. It was barely 8:00 a.m. No one she knew would call that early, except family. Or maybe Justin, she thought with a frown.

She thought about letting her answering machine get it, but finally grabbed up the receiver. “Yes?”

“Blaire, is that you? It’s Nadine. Nadine White.”

“Nadine?” They’d been in the same class in high school. Nadine now ran a beauty shop on Main near the grocery store. “What’s up?”

Nadine laughed. “That’s what I want to know. Have you been outside yet this morning?”

“Outside? No, why?”

Nadine shrieked something into the phone that Blaire didn’t quite make out.

“What? Did you say something about a banner?”

“On Main. Go! Get your butt out the door and down the street, girlfriend. You won’t believe it! Or maybe you will, but it ’bout knocked my socks off.”

“Nadine, what are you talking about?”

“I’m taking about the banner strung across Main Street. Get out there and have a look. Then call me back and tell me what the devil’s going on that I’ve been missing out on.”

Before Blaire could comment, Nadine had hung up. No sooner had Blaire replaced the receiver than the phone rang again. This time it was Blaire’s mother.

“Bunny Gonzales just called.”

“And?” Bunny Gonzales worked at the hardware store and had been her mother’s best friend for years. A call from Bunny didn’t usually cause the quiver of excitement Blaire heard in her mother’s voice, nor did it require that Blaire’s mother report to Blaire.

“Before you leave town,” her mother said breathlessly, “you need to drive east down Main until you can see the water tower.”

Blaire frowned. “Whatever for?”

“Just do it! And take your camera!”

“Mama, what are you talking about? I’m not going to drive around looking at the stupid water tower.”

“You will if you know what’s good for you. There’s not a girl alive who won’t be pea green with envy of you. Now you go look, and then you come back here and tell me what you think.”

As with Nadine, the phone went dead in her ear.

What was the matter with everyone? Had they all gone crazy? What could they possibly be talking about?

Truly curious now, Blaire pulled on her coat, then grabbed her duffel and overnight case. There was no sense coming back upstairs just to get them after she’d seen the stupid water tower.

She was halfway down the outside stairs when she glanced at her car and noticed someone had stuck a piece of white paper beneath her windshield wiper.

It gave her a shiver to think that someone had been right there at the foot of her stairs during the night and she hadn’t been aware of it.

For that matter, she thought, coming to an abrupt halt at the foot of the stairs, someone had done a whole lot more than put a piece of paper under her wiper blade. A row of signs, about two-foot square, each on a wooden stake about three feet tall, marched from the foot of her stairs, along the edge of the parking lot, clear out to the street.

There must have been…six. She counted six signs, all white with red lettering, all saying the same thing:

JUSTIN LOVES BLAIRE

Blaire’s heart gave a little leap in her chest. Justin had done this? He had come to her apartment during the night and planted these signs like a teenager trying to impress his girl?

She slapped a hand over her mouth and blinked.

Oh, Justin.

With knees trembling, she walked around her car and set her duffel and overnighter on the ground. Her fingers weren’t as nimble as they should have been when she plucked the paper from beneath her wiper blade and unfolded it.

BLAIRE, I REALLY DO LOVEYOU. JUSTIN

She pressed the note to her lips and looked around frantically, wondering if he was there, somewhere close, watching her reaction to his outrageous deeds.

“Oh, my God, the banner! The water tower! He wouldn’t!”

Scrambling in her purse for her keys, Blaire jumped into her car and tore out of the parking lot, completely forgetting the belongings she’d left sitting in the gravel.

“Justin,” she muttered to herself, “what have you done? What are you doing, you crazy man?”

She was three blocks from the center of town when she saw the banner. Strung across the intersection three blocks ahead, it was three feet high and white, with giant purple letters.

JUSTIN LOVES BLAIRE

Blaire braked to a halt in the middle of the street and stared, her mouth hanging open. Someone drove by and honked, but she couldn’t look away from the banner to see who it was.

What had she said to him that day of the picnic? You could take out a sign with two-foot letters and I wouldn’t believe it.

“Oh, my God.” Justin had done her one better. Those letters had to be taller than two feet.

“The water tower!” Oh, good heavens! She stomped on the gas pedal and ran the red light without a care. There were sometimes more important things than obeying traffic laws, and this was one of those times. Besides, she looked first and there were no cars coming from either direction. This was Rose Rock, after all, not the big city.

Neither the water tower nor Justin Chisholm let Blaire down. Way up there on the tank at the top of the town’s only water tower, in three-foot purple letters painted over the silver tank:

BLAIRE, WILL YOU MARRY ME? JUSTIN

“Oh!” She sat in the middle of the side street that gave her the best view of the tower and felt tears stream down her cheeks. She couldn’t stop them and didn’t try. If ever there was a time for tears, this was it.

“Oh, Justin.” How could she possibly think he wasn’t really in love with her now? What was a woman to do with a man like him? She must have hurt him terribly yesterday when she’d essentially told him to get lost.

“Oh, Justin.” From her purse she pulled out her new cell phone and called the Cherokee Rose Ranch. Emily, Sloan’s wife, answered.

“This is Blaire Harding.”

“Blaire! Hello. It’s so good to hear from you. I’ve been meaning to get into town to visit you, but haven’t been able to get away lately. How are you doing?”

“I’m doing fine. I’m looking for Justin. Is he around?”

“No, he’s out and about somewhere. I notice his pickup is gone, so there’s no telling where he is. Did you try his cell?”

Blaire felt like an idiot. He’d given her his cell number. She should have called it first. “No,” she told Emily, “but I will. Thanks.”

She didn’t give Emily time to say anything. She had to find Justin.

But he wasn’t answering his cell. She left him a message and asked him to call her back.

With nothing else to do but wait to hear from him, Blaire drove home, astounded to find her duffel and overnight case sitting in the gravel, where she’d left them. She parked her car and carried her bags back upstairs.

When a half hour went by and Justin hadn’t called, she tried his cell number again. Still no answer. “Call me, Justin. Please?”

But another half hour went by and he didn’t call.

Suddenly Blaire couldn’t wait around any longer. She knew what she had to do.

She went outside and crossed to the warehouse. From there she loaded the items she needed into her trunk.

“If Justin calls or comes by,” she called to her father in the warehouse, “tell him I’ve gone on a picnic.”

“A what?” her father yelled back.

“A picnic!”

“Now?”

“Now,” she called back. “Just tell him.”

Blaire pulled up at the spot where Justin wanted to build a house and felt her chest tighten. He wasn’t there. She’d been so sure, after she’d driven out of town, that this was where she would find him. That he would be waiting here for her to come and say she was sorry she hadn’t believed him when he’d said he loved her.

Well, there was no sense sitting around feeling sorry for herself. He wanted to make her sweat, that was his right. She had turned him away how many times?

She tugged on an old pair of leather work gloves, popped open her trunk, and got to work.

It was midmorning before Justin worked up the nerve to listen to the voice mail on his cell phone.

No relief there. “Call me.” What the hell did that mean? Did it mean she believed him now? Or did it mean she was going to take out a restraining order against him if he went near her again?

Her second message wasn’t much better, but at least on that one she’d said please.

There was no help for it. If he wanted to know how she was taking his little messages, he would have to go see her, face-to-face. If he could manage to avoid running into anyone he knew. He was going to take a serious ribbing for this, he knew. But if it won him Blaire, it would all be worth it.

But when he pulled in at the feed store, her car wasn’t there. By God, if she’d left town without even seeing what he’d done—

Not possible. She would have seen the signs along her driveway and the note under her wiper blade. If she left town after that, the banner and the water tower wouldn’t have mattered. Her leaving would mean she didn’t care.

Gritting his teeth, he used his cell phone to return her call. When she answered, he asked, “Where are you?”

“Where am I? Where are you? I’ve been calling all over looking for you.”

“And I’m calling you back, aren’t I?”

“You took your own sweet time about it,” she complained.

“Blaire, where are you?”

“I’m working on a landscaping project.”

“Since when are you a landscaper? And what the hell do you plant in February?”

“Well,” she said slowly, “since I’m planting it at your place, you should probably come see for yourself.”

“My place? The house?”

“There’s no house here yet, but I expect there will be before long.”

Justin’s heart gave a giant thud. “Don’t move. You hear me, Blaire? Don’t you move. I’m on my way.”

He made the thirty-minute drive in twenty-two minutes. He found her on the other side of the fence, on her knees in the dirt. When he pulled over onto the shoulder and killed the engine, he was gratified by the way she darted through the fence and ran to greet him.

Perhaps, he thought as she neared, gratified was too tame a word. Overjoyed. Ecstatic. Grateful.

“Justin!”

He held out his arms and she ran into them as though she’d been waiting to do just that for her entire life. “Justin, I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”

He took her by the shoulders and held her slightly away from him so he could see her face. “Do you believe me now?”

She gave him a smile that wobbled. “How can I not?”

“And what is it that you believe?”

Her lips pursed. “Is this a test?”

“I just want to make sure we’re on the same page.”

“I believe,” she told him carefully, “that you love me. Maybe as much as I love you.”

That stopped him. He’d thought she loved him, but she’d never said so. “You love me?”

“I love you.”

“Then what are we going to do about it?” he asked.

“Well, first you should kiss me.”

“I can do that.” He kissed her, deeply and slowly, until they were both breathing hard. “Now what?”

“Now, we get married.”

Justin tried to swallow past the sudden, huge knot of emotion in his throat and couldn’t. “Married?” he managed.

“Married. If you’re still willing.”

With his knees turning weak, he leaned back against his pickup and pulled her with him. “I’m more than willing. How fast can we do it?”

Blaire threw her head back and laughed in sheer joy and relief. She hadn’t ruined things with her fears. He still loved her, and she felt her love for him well up inside and fill her to the brim.

“We could elope,” she said, “but our families would never forgive us.”

“You’re right. Two weeks?” he asked. “How does that sound?”

“It sounds like a lifetime,” she told him. “But I doubt we can get it done any faster. Justin?”

He pulled her close and hugged her. “What is it?”

“Will you tell me again?”

“Tell you what?”

“You know.”

“That I love you?” He peered down into her golden brown eyes.

She nodded. “I need to hear it again.”

“You’re going to hear it until you’re sick of it, and then you’re going to hear it some more. For the rest of our lives. I love you, Blaire. I love you.”

“And I love you, Justin. Be my husband, help me raise our child. Help me raise purple pansies.”

“What?” he frowned and blinked.

“Pansies.” With a huge grin Blaire motioned toward the flowerbeds she had been planting with his favorite flowers. “Purple ones.” His favorite color.

Justin swallowed around the huge lump in his throat. “I would be honored to marry you and raise babies—and flowers.”

Epilogue

In the end it was three full weeks before they were able to stand before God and their families and exchange their vows.

The whole county was buzzing about how all three Chisholm men had taken the plunge in a matter of months.

The general consensus seemed to be that when those Chisholms fell, they fell hard and fast.

The Chisholms in question could find nothing in that statement to argue against.

During the three weeks that Blaire spent holding her mother back from putting on a huge production instead of the small ceremony Blaire and Justin wanted, Justin was not idle. He purchased—with Blaire’s approval—a three-bedroom mobile home and had it moved in near the persimmon grove. He’d purposely left the crest of the hill vacant, so the builders could get to work as soon as Blaire and Justin had picked out the plans for the house they wanted.

It also being calving season, Justin was kept more than busy. Since the calves didn’t stop being born just because the youngest Chisholm got married, a honeymoon would have to wait. But Blaire was not disappointed by that. She moved into the mobile home and continued to work at the feed store, but only part-time.

The new house was finished in July, leaving plenty of time for Blaire to outfit the nursery before the baby came.

As summer drew to a close, Blaire, now covered under Justin’s insurance plan, left the bookkeeping at the feed store once again to her mother, for good this time. Blaire had more than enough to do to put the final decorating touches on the house and get ready for the baby. And think about her new teaching job next year.

One of the local elementary teachers just found out she was expecting her first child. Come next February she planned to quit working. The school board offered the mid-year position to Blaire, who snapped it up.

Knowing how much she missed teaching, Justin fully supported her decision to go back to work next winter. By February they might have a handle on this baby business. Maybe.

The baby chose Labor Day weekend to put in an appearance. The entire Chisholm clan, plus Blaire’s parents and cousins, were on hand for the blessed event.

Justin proudly played catch during the birth and got to make the announcement: “It’s a boy!” If there were tears in his eyes, that was okay, as they went with the ones in his voice.

Blaire could barely tell through the sheen of her own tears.

They named him John, after Justin’s grandfather, and Thomas, after his great-grandfather.

Upon learning that her first great-grandson was being named for her husband John and her father, Thomas, Cherokee Rose Chisholm cried.

“Hello, John Thomas Chisholm,” she whispered. “Welcome to the world.”

* * * * *

All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention.

All Rights Reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Enterprises II B.V./S.à.r.l. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.

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This collection is first published in Great Britain 2009.
Harlequin Mills & Boon Limited,
Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR

THE CHISHOLM BROTHERS: FRIENDS, LOVERS… HUSBANDS? © Harlequin Enterprises II B.V./S.à.r. l 2009.

The publisher acknowledges the copyright holders of the individual works, which have already been published in the UK in single, separate volumes, as follows:

The Daddy Survey © Janis Reams Hudson 2004 The Other Brother © Janis Reams Hudson 2004 The Cowboy on Her Trail © Janis Reams Hudson 2004

ISBN: 978 1 408 91004 7