Книга - Family Of The Year

Family Of The Year
Patti Standard


FAMILY OF THE YEAREven after a home-cooked meal no hungry rancher could resist, housekeeper Maria Soldata was told to pack her bags, her kids and go home. But after long talks led to forbidden kisses with her handsome boss, the single mom knew this was home…and that she was needed in more ways than one….Single dad Ben Calder could barely handle his own child, let alone Maria's brood! And having sworn off marriage, he definitely couldn't handle how enticingly close the beautiful woman's bedroom was to his. She simply had to go. Thing was, for a man so sure he'd never win any father-of-the-year contests, Ben had somehow formed the family of the year….









Table of Contents


Cover Page (#u76b72696-0372-561e-af4d-86e2e50dea03)

Excerpt (#ue6de3377-a013-5ac7-b3da-547f18f815b3)

Dear Reader (#ucad9a7ba-5d18-5c61-8f5e-d44f254ddf1f)

Title Page (#ud24cf660-784d-5d70-bea6-daa00b1000d6)

Dedication (#ub19256a3-a08d-50e7-a0b7-84336d84bcd9)

About the Author (#u71091cbc-8aff-5048-9bc0-496006a6ffbf)

Chapter One (#u09f4b2fe-8c55-5b68-8f7f-029ac1b0a2d3)

Chapter Two (#ufa4ae913-1a99-5baa-9e0e-21deb0b78ff7)

Chapter Three (#ufaa98f89-ec50-5dd7-bc2c-9786d45b2d74)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)




Ben Calder had made her aware of his masculinity within minutes,


and had made Maria aware of herself, too. She’d forgotten what it was like to have her heart beat when she met a man’s eyes; she’d forgotten the way her skin could tingle when she stood close to a man. It felt strange to notice the hair on a man’s arms, the strength of his fingers as he’d twisted that jar lid, to notice the beginning of five-o’clock shadow on a strong chin.



Strange, but very pleasant. It had just been so long. So long…


Dear Reader,



What better way for Silhouette Romance to celebrate the holiday season than to celebrate the meaning of family….



You’ll love the way a confirmed bachelor becomes a FABULOUS FATHER just in time for the holidays in Susan Meier’s Merry Christmas, Daddy. And in Mistletoe Bride, Linda Varner’s HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS miniseries merrily continues. The ugly duckling who becomes a beautiful swan will touch your heart in Hometown Wedding by Elizabeth Lane. Doreen Roberts’s A Mom for Christmas tells the tale of a little girl’s holiday wish, and in Patti Standard’s Family of the Year, one man, one woman and a bunch of adorable kids form an unexpected family. And finally, Christmas in July by Leanna Wilson is what a sexy cowboy offers the struggling single mom he wants for his own.

Silhouette Romance novels make the perfect stocking stuffers—or special treats just for yourself. So enjoy all six irresistible books, and most of all, have a very happy holiday season and a very happy New Year!



Melissa Senate

Senior Editor

Silhouette Romance

Please address questions and book requests to:

Silhouette Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, OnL L2A 5X3




Family of the Year

Patti Standard







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To Jim VanPelt and Walt Disney. Jim’s class gave me the tools; Walt’s videos gave me the times.

And to Jean R. Ewing, a superb Regency romance author, Thanks for the sheep.


PATTI STANDARD

lives in one of the most beautiful spots in Colorado-but can’t seem to stay put. She loves to travel, and she and her husband leave their engineering firm and take off for parts unknown as often as they can get Grandma to baby-sit. With three children, an assortment of pets, a yard with a life of its own, and a home business where clients are forced to wade through the remains of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to get to the office door, Patti needs regular vacations to keep her romantic batteries charged. She’s a die-hard Trekkie with a mad crush on Captain Jean-Luc Picard, and the heroes of her novels are always bald in the first draft.




Chapter One (#ulink_8f1efc35-7c93-5830-b277-5b2e094e3e0f)


Benjamin Calder stood on the steps of the ranch house and looked down the driveway. He’d followed the roiling cloud of dust for the past few minutes, watching it turn off what passed for the main road and head toward the house. The cloud thinned and almost disappeared for a moment where the road ran through a stand of cottonwood trees down by the pond, only to reappear again near the fenced pasture. The billowing dust came close enough to separate out a car, something wide and vaguely green.

He looked at his watch, a wide silver band with an unpolished turquoise set on each side of the scratched face. It was almost four-thirty in the afternoon, just when she said she’d be there. Prompt. That was good. She must not have had any trouble on the way up from Phoenix. But Ben’s guarded satisfaction with his new housekeeper was shortlived. The old station wagon came to a gravel-crunching stop in front of him and he caught a glimpse of the car’s interior through the dusty windows. He was instantly wary. The driver, dark hair tied back in a ponytail, had her head turned and was talking and gesturing toward the seats in back—seats that were filled with rows and rows of heads.

Too many heads, Ben thought with a frown.

The engine tried to die, coughing and choking as if the long, gritty drive had robbed it of breath. Just as the last sputter sounded, the dented door at the rear of the station wagon swung open and out tumbled two dark-haired, wide-eyed little girls. The doors in the middle opened and a dark-haired boy ran to join them. From the other side, he saw a young woman emerge, a bundle carefully balanced in her arms. She rounded the car to stand beside the children and Ben’s frown deepened as the bundle wiggled and a tiny arm began to bat at the air.

The passenger door opened next. An old woman, gray hair in a low bun, hoisted herself to her feet using the door’s armrest and a thick, carved walking stick for leverage. She was still shuffling slowly over to join the rest of the group when the driver finally got out, her back to him. She stretched, arching her slender back and then rounding her shoulders inward, twisting her head from side to side while she tucked the end of a yellow blouse into her jeans.

She turned to face him. Dark haired and olive skinned like the rest, slim, not much taller than the look-alike children, with brown eyes that took up her whole face, she moved to the front of the too-silent group. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. She took on a dignity that belied the dented old car and the tired lines around those magnificent eyes.

“I am Maria Soldata,” she announced.

“Benjamin Calder,” he replied, nodding his head in what amounted to almost a bow, unconsciously reacting to the measured formality of her tone.

“This is my family.” Another formal, grand statement as if the exhausted group surrounding her were being presented at court. “My mother, Juanita Romero.” The old lady graciously inclined her head. “My sister, Veronica, and her baby, Ashley.” The girl smiled, a beautiful young woman, but pale and tired looking. “This is my nephew, David, and my daughters, Tina and Trisha.” The children just stared up at him and he stared back, not bothering to remember their names. After all, they couldn’t be staying here long enough for it to matter—not all of them, anyway.

“Is that the guest house?” She looked inquiringly in the direction of the small, white-stuccoed building beside the main house.

“Yes, it is. But-”

But Maria Soldata had already turned, and the group turned with her. They dived back into the station wagon, all but the pretty girl whose arms were already full. They emerged simultaneously, hauling brown paper sacks that overflowed with food, dragging battered suitcases and boxes. The little boy, arms thin as matchsticks, struggled to lift a cardboard box with a sagging bottom. Ben was forced to hurry down the steps to help him before the bottom gave way completely and spilled what appeared to be an assortment of baby paraphernalia all over the gravel driveway.

He found himself, box in hand, with no choice but to follow Maria into the guest house while scurrying children flowed around him. Back and forth between the car and the house they went, each time their little arms straining with a load. And through it all, Maria’s voice, making it impossible for him to get a word in edgewise.

“David, you take that bed. Girls, you take that one.” She pointed through the open door to the two single beds in the small bedroom. “Mama and Veronica, you share the big bed.” She gestured to the double bed visible in the main bedroom. She handed a child the folding cot she had tucked under one arm. “Set this up for me against that wall over there, please, Trisha.” She rescued a portable bassinet the other girl was dragging over the threshold. “Thank you, sweetheart. Let me take that for you. We’ll put the baby in with Aunt Veronica and abuela, okay? Such a good helper!” She disappeared into the room only to reappear in an instant.

“Bedding?”

Ben was surprised to find himself addressed. He stood in the middle of the kitchen, still holding the box of baby things. He glanced toward the pantry closet door and started to speak, but she was already there. She pulled the door open and took down a stack of linens. Grimly, he closed his mouth.

“Girls, help your abuela make up the beds, please, and then I want all you kids in the bath.” She divided the stack between two waiting sets of arms, pausing only long enough to give each sweaty forehead a quick push-aside of bangs in a maternal caress.

“Veronica, can you—” But a loud squall from the bundle in the girl’s arms stopped her. “Never mind. Why don’t you hop in the tub with the baby now. You’ll both feel better once you’re cooled off and she’s fed. Maybe after you’ve gotten her to sleep you can help Mama get supper? There’s hot dogs and pork ‘n’ beans.” Quick kisses all the way around and Maria was heading out the door. “I’ve got to get Mr. Calder’s supper now and then I’ll be back to put you kids to bed. Love you.” She paused at the open door, a shadow outlined by the setting sun behind her.

“Mr. Calder? Coming?”

Ben sat the box on the kitchen table, feeling uncharacteristically overwhelmed. Damn that Vergie, anyway, he cursed his recently departed housekeeper. This was all her fault.

He’d begged her, pleaded with her. He remembered the conversation they’d had in this very room.

“You aren’t really going to do this to me, are you?” Ben had watched his housekeeper calmly pack the suitcase on her bed. “I mean, Pakistan? Can’t you save children around Wyberg or somewhere closer to home?” Vergie McPhearson had simply added another pair of new, khakicolored pants to the suitcase. “How about over on the reservation? Can’t you vaccinate kids there? Do you even know how to give shots?”

“They’ll teach me,” Vergie told him, her voice firm. “Mildred went to Bangladesh last year through this same relief agency and she said they’ll teach us everything we need to know.” Ben tried to imagine her and Mildred Swanson, both fiftyish and almost-fat, in a barren desert tent with rows of veiled mothers and naked babies—but he couldn’t do it. She’d been his housekeeper for three years and he’d never even seen her in a pair of pants!

She closed the suitcase with a click of finality. “Now, I’ll be back the last week of August.” She pushed around his frowning bulk to gather things from the dresser top and pile them into a blue nylon carryon. “A summer on your own won’t be so bad.”

“But it’s not on my own. You’re forgetting Connor will be here in less than two weeks.”

“The freezers are jammed and TV dinners aren’t so bad these days. You can manage those. And there won’t be much laundry with just the two of you. Try to remember to separate the whites and use bleach on them or your underwear will all be gray by the time I get back.”

The long, zipping sound of the closing carryall made Ben’s stomach sink. “What about the garden? The canning?” “Mr. Calder, you’ve known about my .trip for two months now.” Vergie sounded exasperated. “Maybe you can get somebody from Wyberg to come out a few times a week.”

“I’ve tried. Nobody wants to drive sixty miles one way just to can my tomatoes.”

“I told you to try Phoenix, then,” Vergie reminded him. “You could let somebody stay here.” She indicated the guest house with a sweep of her hand, setting the loose skin on the pale underside of her arm jiggling. “I wouldn’t mind somebody using my stuff for a while.”

“Who would want to move up here for a job that’ll only last for three months? I don’t want some college kid on summer vacation.”

“You never know. Phoenix gets mighty hot in the summer. Here—” Vergie handed him a notepad and pen from beside the telephone “—you write up an ad and I’ll phone it in to the newspapers down there before I go. If you said ‘Family OK’ you might get some nice single mother. That’d do the trick.”

Ben had stared at the blank paper in his hand. He envisioned a summer of TV dinners, vacuuming, ripening tomatoes…and Connor. A father shouldn’t feel such dread at the thought of seeing his son, he knew, but he couldn’t help it. Six weeks alone with a sullen seventeen-year-old and a boom box? He’d grasped the pen, lips tight with determination, and began to write.

And this is where it’d landed him, he thought with consternation as he followed the back of his new housekeeper across the driveway, up the wide stairs, across the porch and into his house. She hesitated only a moment in the doorway before heading unerringly in the direction of the kitchen.

“Well, Mr. Calder, what would you like for supper tonight? Do you have something already planned?” She stuck her hands under running water at the sink and soaped them with the bar next to the faucet. “Will it be just you tonight or do you have hired hands who eat with you? Do you—”

“Stop!” Ben slammed down the faucet lever. Maria jumped and then froze, hands still covered with soap. She looked up at him, dark eyes huge. Damn, he hadn’t meant to bellow like that! And here he was, towering over her, her head no higher than his shoulder. No wonder she’d jumped out of her skin. But Benjamin Calder, fourth generation owner of Calder Ranch, was used to being in charge of a situation, and so far his new housekeeper had treated him pretty much as if he was just one more of that passel of people out in his guest house. It was time to get to the bottom of this.

Maria held her breath. Here it came. He was going to send them packing. She ached, stiff and sore from the long drive up in the heat, the last twenty miles over a washboard dirt road that jarred the very teeth from her head. Her temples pounded from hours in a cramped car listening to children fight in the back. And now this man, the man who had the power to send them back to the purgatory that was Phoenix in the summer, had her pushed up against a sink—and didn’t look as if he planned to move anytime soon.

Benjamin Calder was big—tall and broad shouldered. He wore faded jeans and a denim work shirt with the sleeves rolled up away from his wrists. Every inch of visible skin was richly tanned and a sweat-stained cowboy hat covered dark brown hair. From hat to scuffed leather boots, he was sifted with a fine layer of the reddish dust that made up the earth in this part of Arizona, a dust that Maria could already feel on her, gritting between her teeth and itching in her nose. His physical presence was overpowering enough; it didn’t help that he glowered down at her, thick eyebrows joined to form a forbidding slash across his forehead.

“All those people out there—” he jerked his head in the direction of the window “—are they visiting?”

Maria slowly, consciously, let out her breath and tried to school her features into a look of innocence. “I guess you could say that. Sort of a three-month visit.”

“Now just hold on here! When I talked to you on the phone, you never mentioned—”

“The ad said ‘Family OK,’“ Maria interrupted. Quickly, she wiped her soapy hands on a rag and dug into the pocket of her jeans. She pulled out a folded scrap of newsprint and smoothed it open. “Look. ‘Household help needed for summer on ranch sixty miles outside of Wyberg. Hard work. Family OK.’“

“But I meant—”

“I specifically asked you on the phone—”

“But I didn’t mean—”

“And you specifically said it was all right to bring up my family.”

“I meant a kid or two. Not a station wagon full.”

“They’re my family,” Maria said simply. “I promise you, they won’t be any trouble at all. My mother and my sister will watch the children while I work. We’ve brought our own food, we won’t be any bother and we won’t cost you any extra.”

But Ben shook his head, making fine red dust motes sparkle in the afternoon sun coming through the kitchen window. “It won’t do.”

“Come on, now,” Maria chided, “what do you want for supper?” She shifted and reached out to turn on the water.

“I said it won’t do!” He grabbed her hand and spun her around.

They stood facing each other, eyes locked, his hand still on hers, wills engaged in a battle without words. Maria was uncomfortably aware of the breadth of him as he stood so close. He smelled of horse and sage and leather, male smells foreign to her city senses. His eyes were as gray as the haze against the mountains on a summer afternoon, and, even full of anger, they reflected an instinctive, masculine awareness of her.

She tried to pull her fingers from his grip, but her efforts were laughable. Although not painful, the calloused hardness of his hand only emphasized her fragile position. The silence lengthened. The fine dust spun between them, dancing on unseen currents. It was finally too much for her; her nose twitched, twitched again…and she sneezed, a short, sharp achoo.

Maria stared at Ben. In the startled silence that followed, the rumble of his stomach was very audible, long and distinct, fading away slowly like distant thunder.

Her laugh joined with his snort of mirth. He dropped her hand and moved back a step.

Maria smiled. “I tell you what, let me make you some supper and get the children a good night’s sleep, all right? Then we’ll see about being out of your hair in the morning.”

“Sounds fair.” He nodded, looking relieved. “Sorry for the misunderstanding.”

“That’s all right. No hard feelings.”

She moved to the refrigerator and peered inside, seemingly intent on its well-stocked contents, but Ben had seen the white lines of tension that had appeared around her mouth in spite of her smile and accepting words. As for there being no hard feelings, the look that had come into those expressive Mexican eyes was as close to panic as Ben Calder had ever seen.



“Are those crickets, Mama?” Tina asked, snuggling back between her mother’s open knees as they sat on the porch steps of the little guest house and listened to the sounds of a desert night.

“I think so.” Maria continued her rhythmic brushing of the little girl’s hair, the repetitive motion soothing to them both.

“They sound awfully loud for crickets. They aren’t so loud in Phoenix.”

“They get drowned out by the sirens.” Juanita Romero’s voice creaked through the darkness, drier even than the creaking of the rocking chair she kept in motion with an occasional nudge of her walking stick against the wooden floorboards.

Trisha, Maria’s oldest daughter, looked up at the night sky, her head tilted so far back her long hair touched the step behind her. “And there’s a lot more stars up here, did you notice that, Mama?”

“I think you might be right.” Maria’s eyes filled with a sudden rush of tears. She wanted crickets for her children. She wanted stars. They had to stay, there must be a way.

“Mama, not so hard! You’re hurting me,” Tina tried to pull her head away from Maria’s unintentional increase in pressure.

“Sorry, sweetheart.” Sighing, Maria resumed the gentle movement. Of course Mr. Calder was right, she admitted to herself. She knew she was stepping over the line to bring everyone up here and foist them on him. But what choice had she had? She was still haunted by that look on Veronica’s face that horrible morning last week. The cool evening around her faded, replaced by the interior of her Phoenix apartment, as Maria remembered.

“He’s gone.” Veronica had wearily leaned her head back against the top of the sofa, her dark hair fanning out to cover the worn spot in the avocado tweed. The baby she held in her arms listlessly nuzzled her breast, too hot to suckle.

“Tucson isn’t exactly the ends of the earth, you know.” Maria had tried her best to keep her tone low and soothing, both for her sister’s sake and not to disturb the fussy infant, quieted for the first time that morning.

“He won’t be back.” Veronica’s voice was as flat as her dark eyes. “I’m surprised he hasn’t bolted sooner. This family doesn’t have the best luck keeping men around.”

Maria’s lips turned up in a mirthless smile of agreement.

“He said the job’s just for the summer, but I know he’ll keep right on going.” Veronica shifted, trying to pull her blouse away from her sweat-sticky back. The movement caused the baby to let out a wail of protest and Veronica froze, then carefully leaned back against the sofa again. Both women let out a sigh of relief when the baby began to nurse. “Roberto loves you,” Maria insisted. “And you both agreed that he couldn’t pass up this job. You’ll need that money for his tuition this fall.”

God, she looks so tired, Maria thought as she watched her sister, pale and gaunt, run a finger along the rhythmically moving cheek of her infant daughter. The pregnancy had been very hard on her, and it hadn’t helped that she’d worked right up to the day she delivered, long shifts on her feet at the family’s restaurant. Maria still winced, remembering the sight of her sister’s swollen ankles.

She wished she could offer her some reassurance. Roberto did love her. But their first year of marriage had been difficult, marrying so soon after graduation and getting pregnant almost immediately. When Roberto’s uncle had offered him a summer job in Tucson at wages too good to turn down, he’d jumped at it.

For her sister’s sake, Maria had to believe he’d be back, in spite of the way his phone calls had suddenly stopped and Veronica’s letters went unanswered. Although, as Veronica had said, there’d hardly been a man in the family so far who’d stuck around. Was Roberto, barely twenty years old, going to be more responsible and mature than the rest?

“You know Linda’s losing her apartment?” Veronica asked.

Maria nodded at the mention of their older sister. “Mama told me they’re turning her building into condos. I said she could stay here while she’s looking for a new place but I don’t know where we’re going to put David. I hate to put him in the same room with the girls. It’d be hell trying to get three kids to sleep at night.”

“And he’s so hyper. He’s been giving Linda fits. Ever since his dad took off, it’s been one thing after another.”

They listened in silence while the swamp cooler growled ineffectively at the heat. Maria watched the water leaking around the edges of the old machine run down the wallpaper and drip into the pan on the floor, a faint round rust stain on the vinyl marking the exact spot for it.

“I guess I should get going. I told Mama I’d be home for lunch.” But Veronica made no move to rise.

Maria felt the sweat that had pooled behind her knees begin to trickle down the backs of her legs. She wiped at it with her hands, then rubbed her hands against her shorts. “I’ll fix you something, if you want.” Maria knew she sounded almost as lethargic as her sister, stupefied by the heat.

“I hate Phoenix in the summer.” But Veronica seemed unable to put any emotion into the words. “It’s supposed to get up to one hundred and five today.”

The noise of Maria’s girls squabbling in their bedroom began to grow more insistent and a siren rose somewhere outside. It would be nice to be able to leave Phoenix in the summer like most of their customers did, Maria thought. With college out, their little family restaurant was nearly empty most evenings, and not only was time hanging heavy but bills were mounting. Even a quick weekend up to Flagstaff was out of the question.

Little Tina came bursting into the room, waving a doll with long blond hair, her sister in hot pursuit. “Mama, I had it first! Tell her it’s mine! It’s mine!” Maria was engulfed by crying, angry girls, the awakened baby began to wail and the siren in the background got louder and closer.

Get out! something inside Maria screamed. I’ve got to get out! The words went around and around in her brain as she fought for a gulp of cool air in the stifling apartment. I have to get my family out of here!

Maria started, brought back to the present by Tina’s impatient wiggling. She resumed her brushing, staring into the dark over her daughter’s head. That ad in the paper had been like a sign. She would have said anything, agreed to anything, to get the job. Three months out here away from the city, with nothing but sandstone and sagebrush and fresh air and hard work—it was just what they all needed, adults as well as kids. She had to find a way to make Mr. Calder see it would work out.

But Maria remembered the way he’d glared at her in the kitchen, that stubborn look of a man used to getting his own way in eyes the same gray as the sage all around. Benjamin Calder had said no. Politely, yet firmly.

Maria listened to the incredible richness of sound of the quiet country night, surrounded by her family, all safe and happy for the time being. Benjamin Calder might have said no, she told herself, but Benjamin Calder was a man. And for Maria Soldata and the women she knew, men were something to be worked around, something to ignore as much as possible—something to survive in spite of.



The sound of laughter drew Ben to the kitchen window that looked out on the guest house. He walked over, shirt pulled out of his jeans and unbuttoned to the waist, and turned slightly so he could see through the crack in the sheer white curtains.

Two of the children tumbled about on the grass at the edge of the porch, somersaulting themselves dizzy. The old woman rocked in the chair Vergie always sat in to do her knitting, just a silhouette in the evening shadows. The girl was in the porch swing, her hand keeping up a steady patting motion against the back of the baby she held to her shoulder.

His about-to-be-ex-housekeeper, Maria Soldata, who had just finished fixing him the best meal he’d eaten in two weeks, brushed the hair of one of the little girls, Tony or Tiny or something like that, spotlighted by the yellow light coming through the open door behind them. He watched her hands move. First the stroke of the brush with one hand, followed by a smoothing caress of the other hand-smoothing, stroking, smoothing, stroking.

Their voices drifted across to him, low and indistinguishable, an occasional word of Spanish spicing the sound. Family talk. Ben thought of Connor, who should be there in two more days. Family.

He reached out to flip off the light switch and stood there in the darkened kitchen. He knew that the feeling that gripped him, held him by the window, was envy.



Ben woke to the smell of bacon and fresh coffee, the aroma tantalizing his eyes open. He rolled over and looked at the clock. Five-thirty. Damn that woman, anyway! That wasn’t playing fair. How’d she know he’d been eating cold cereal for the past two weeks?

He picked his jeans off the floor, swatted them a few times to try to remove some of the dust and pulled them on. They were his last clean pair—or least dirty pair, anyway. Thankfully, he still had a couple of clean work shirts in the closet. He took one from the hanger and shrugged into it, then picked up yesterday’s from the foot of the bed. Struggling into his boots, he took the shirt down the hall to the laundry room to add it to the overflowing basket.

Except the basket wasn’t overflowing anymore. The washer hummed and the dryer purred and neatly folded stacks of clean clothes covered both surfaces. Damn that woman, anyway. How’d she know this was his last pair of clean socks?

The spotless living room, two weeks’ worth of newspapers gone from the coffee table, annoyed him even further, and when he heard the sound of laughter coming from the kitchen…that was the last straw. How’d she know how much he hated waking up to a silent, empty house?

He stomped into the kitchen and glared at Maria and the man at his table.

“Morning, boss,” Harvey Wainright, his hired hand, greeted him, happily downing a plate of eggs and hash browns.

“It won’t work,” Ben announced, ignoring Harvey.

“So you said.” Maria indicated the table with the coffeepot she held in her hand and left the stove to pour him a cup. “How do you want your eggs?”

Grimly, he sat down in front of the steaming cup. “Sunny-side up.”

“That’s not good for you anymore, you know. What with salmonella in the chickens these days, you need to cook your eggs more. I’ll make them over-easy.”

“I said sunny-side up.” There she went again! Completely ignoring him just like last night, as if he was of no account. “Those eggs come from my chickens and my chickens don’t have salmonella and I’ll eat them raw if I want to!” “Easy there, boss,” Harvey said, his faded eyes opening wide in surprise. “You know, I read about that salmonella thing a while back. You can’t be too careful. And Maria makes darned good over-easy.” He smiled his gap-toothed smile at Maria.

“That’s okay, Harvey. If he grows his own chickens, then I’m sure sunny-side up will be perfectly all right.”

“You don’t grow chickens. You raise chickens,” Ben mumbled into his cup, annoyed by Harvey’s good mood. Frowning, he watched Maria crack the eggs into the pan, making the melted butter sizzle.

“It wasn’t necessary to do all this, you know,” he addressed her back. “Since it’s not going to work out, I mean.”

“It wasn’t any trouble.”

“I’ll pay you for your time so far.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“I insist.” He leaned forward to take his checkbook from the back pocket of his jeans.

Maria made no further protest. She slid the eggs from the pan onto the waiting plate, added a scoop of hash browns, some bacon and four pieces of buttered toast.

Ben propped the check next to the saltshaker, then began to eat in moody silence, only half listening to Harvey. His eyes strayed often to Maria as she cleaned up the kitchen.

When the clock reached six, Ben scraped back his chair and stood. “It’s time to get to work. I won’t be back to the house till noon so I guess I’ll say goodbye now. You’ll probably want to head out while it’s still cool.”

“All right. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye. Thanks for the meals and the laundry and all.”

Maria nodded.

“Anyway, uh, thanks.” Why did he feel as if he should apologize? The last thing he needed was a pack of kids running all over the place and a crying baby and a mean-looking old woman.

“Nice meeting you, Maria.” Harvey bobbed his grizzled head and the two men headed out the kitchen door, letting the screen door slam behind them.

“She did your laundry?” Maria could hear Harvey’s voice through the open window as they walked across the yard to the corral.

“Shut up, Harvey.”

“Real good cook.”

“Shut up, Harvey.”

“Pretty little thing, too.”

“I said shut up, Harvey.”

“Lot easier on your eyes than old Vergie, the vipertongued, rat-eyed…” Their voices faded away in the distance.

Maria finished the last of the dishes and went outside. The morning was glorious, golden and clean. She stopped with her hand on the doorknob to the guest house and turned around, surveying the red hills in the distance. Huge cottonwoods ringed the house in a circle of shade, the only sound the wind in their leaves, the clucking of chickens somewhere nearby, the faraway barking of a dog.

She pushed open the door and clapped her hands sharply together; the sound shot through the silent rooms. “Up and at ‘em!” She moved into the bedroom and began jiggling sleeping bodies, pulling back warm covers. “Up, everybody. It’s time to get to work!”



Ben swore as he bounced his pickup into the yard and came to a stop next to the green station wagon that was supposed to have been on its way back to Phoenix hours ago. He peered through the dusty windows, but the cracked vinyl seats were empty—no boxes, bags or packed suitcases. Damn, damn and double damn!

He took the porch stairs two at a time and strode through the door. His nose was immediately assaulted by the sickening-sweet smell of lemon polish, and his first step of booted foot on the throw rug sent him skidding, bucking across the mirror-smooth floor like he was riding a bull, his arms windmilling wildly for balance. He regained his footing with an ignominious grab for the coatrack, aimed a few choice words at the offending rug, then gave it a vicious kick back toward the door. It sailed effortlessly across the newly polished wooden boards to land in a wrinkled pile of woven cotton cowering against the doorjamb.

The smell of lemon wax gave way to the bite of bleach as he passed the open door to the bathroom. He smelled tomatoes as he stormed into the kitchen, bellowing for Maria. A pot of tomato soup simmered on the stove and a plate of sandwiches towered on the table, reflecting light off the clear plastic wrap protecting them. His check remained where he’d left it next to the salt.

“Maria!” he shouted again. Impatiently, Ben pulled back the curtain over the sink that looked out on the garden and the guest house.

He stared in dismay at the sight that greeted him. His garden had sprouted more than zucchini, it seemed. Three small children were on their knees, a growing pile of weeds beside each little figure. Veronica bent over the green beans, tying their slender tendrils to a string stretched above them. Maria had a hoe in her hands and steadily and methodically struck it into the ground around the ankle-high corn, neatly slicing the offending weeds out at the root. Ben watched her, fascinated by the smooth movement of her muscles as she swung the hoe, the strength in her long, tanned legs in their cutoff shorts, the way her bare toes dug into the dirt.

It was after one o’clock and the sun was high overhead and hot enough to have even the old lady, rocking in the shade with the baby propped against her ample stomach, wiping at her forehead. It was hard, backbreaking work he watched, yet all he heard was…happiness. High, childish voices made a nonstop background to the women’s talk, an occasional reprimand from one of them as a small hand mistook a plant for a weed, the squeals and coos of the contented baby.

And he was going to send them packing.

Another sound made itself heard, a jarring, out-of-place sound that ripped through the hot summer afternoon. It was an engine, open full throttle and roaring in protest; it was the sickening, tearing sound of a too-low undercarriage scraping over a high spot in the dirt road; it was the squeal of brakes and spraying of gravel.

Ben went out the kitchen door, not daring the slippery living room again. A sinking feeling grew in his stomach as he anticipated what he would find. He rounded the corner of the house and there, in his driveway, was a brand-new, shiny red convertible, its radio blasting out the annoying, repetitive beat of rap. Leaping from the car, not bothering to open the door, was his son, Connor Calder.

“Hey, Dad! What do you think? Isn’t she great?” Connor’s chest stuck out so far his shoulder blades almost touched in back as he preened in front of his car.

“She’s great, son.” Ben tried to swallow his dismay at his son’s day-early arrival. He saw the children appear and sidle up beside him. Their grandmother came, too, walking with heavy, slow steps, a baby in one arm and stick in the other. All were curious to see what caused the commotion. And there was Maria. They formed a warm, protective wall behind him, an insulating presence that helped absorb some of the roar and the rap and the blinding glare of the red sports car.

“Connor, I’d like you to meet Maria Soldata. She’s my housekeeper for the summer. And this is her family—they’ll be staying with her.”




Chapter Two (#ulink_c86b7c0e-90ab-5cef-a175-45d980a76832)


“Hey.” The boy’s bored, insolent greeting was accompanied by a flick of his head to move long brown bangs out of his eyes. They were the same sage gray as his father’s, Maria noticed. She wondered at the stiffness of the man beside her, and wondered even more at his sudden change of heart in letting them stay, and she wondered most of all what this boy had to do with it.

Suddenly, Connor snapped to attention. “Chaqui-i-i-ta!” he drawled. “Who’s the babe?”

Maria followed the boy’s eyes and saw that Veronica had joined the group. Barefoot, wiping her hands on her shorts, she looked young and lovely.

“Could you please turn off that music so we don’t have to shout,” Ben asked.

“Sure, man, chill out.” Connor leaned over inside the car and flipped a knob. “So who’s the hot tamale over there?”

Maria saw Ben’s fingers curl into his palm, making a fist tight enough to turn his knuckles white. He looked as if his hand itched with the need to connect with the seat of his son’s hole-filled jeans.

“This young lady is Veronica, Maria’s sister.” Ben stared pointedly at the boy. “And young ladies are to be spoken to with respect.”

“Respect. Absolutely. In fact, I think I’ve died and gone to heaven—respectfully.” Connor’s reverent gaze was fixed on Veronica.

Veronica rolled her eyes, but Maria saw the faint blush on her cheeks and the beginning of a smile she tried to suppress. Obviously, what sounded obnoxious to Maria didn’t strike her younger sister quite that way.

“I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow,” Ben said.

“Mom and Mike got me the wheels yesterday for my birthday.” He ran his hand lovingly along the door. “Man, it’s great having a stepdad who owns a car dealership, ain’t it? Oh, thanks for the check, too. I used it to get these mag beauties here. Great, huh?” Connor pulled his eyes from Veronica and leaned over to admire himself in one of the chrome wheels, frowning for a moment at the layer of dust it had accumulated. “Anyway, now that I’m mobile, I wanted a chance to test it out—so, here I am.”

With the self-centeredness of youth always sure of a welcome, he walked past his father and over to Veronica. “If you’re ever in the market for a car, I’ve got connections. I can get you something really sweet.” He flipped his bangs.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Veronica said dryly.

“Want to go for a spin?”

“No, thanks. I’ve got work to do.”

“Not me. I’m on vacation. Take a rain check on that ride, okay?” Connor persisted.

“We’ll see.”

“Right. Let’s plan on checking out Wyberg this evening.” Brashly assuming he’d just made a date, Connor headed toward the front door. “I’m starved. Got anything to eat?”

“Connor, don’t you have any bags?” Ben asked. Maria blinked at the dark tone of Ben’s voice, but the boy didn’t seem to notice.

“They’re in the trunk. I’ll get ‘em later. Or let the help bring ‘em up.”

“Connor!”

All eyes swung to Ben as his voice thundered out, and Maria found three children pressed close against her legs.

“All right, already. I’ll get the bags.” Connor loped back off the porch and pressed the trunk release on the car, lifting out a bulging duffel bag and a backpack. “Lighten up, Dad. You’re going to have a heart attack. You probably have a cholesterol count through the roof with all those eggs you eat.” With a toss of bangs, Connor bounded up the stairs and into the house, leaving the door hanging open behind him.

Maria felt sorry for Ben as she saw him take a deep breath to try and regain control. A contrast of anger and embarrassment chased across his face, but his eyes—his eyes remained constant. His eyes were bleak.

“Those weeds are growing inches while we stand here, kids. Better get back to work.” Maria tried to sound as if the scene she’d just witnessed was nothing out of the ordinary. She gave the children little pushes in the direction of the garden. “Go with Aunt Veronica and let’s see if we can finish up before afternoon cartoons come on.” Glad to get away from the tension they didn’t understand, the children ran, shouting and whooping around the corner of the house, followed by their aunt and very disapproving-looking grandmother. Maria was left alone with Ben.

They looked at each other for a moment. “I guess we’re staying, then?” Maria asked quietly.

“Please.”

One word, but said so fervently, Maria couldn’t help but wonder as she watched Benjamin Calder turn and walk into his house, closing behind him the door his son had left gaping open.

Ben stood at the stove, ladling out a bowl of soup. The plate of sandwiches had disappeared. Maria entered the kitchen and, without comment, went to the refrigerator, took out a plate of sliced meat and calmly began to fix more sandwiches.

Ben appreciated the silence and he appreciated the calm. He appreciated the two big sandwiches Maria sat on the table beside him a few moments later. He appreciated the way she went about gathering ingredients from the pantry and set to making what appeared to be the crust for a peach cobbler, her movements quick and efficient and without fuss.

“Do you know how to can?”

Maria seemed surprised by his sudden question. She made a moue of distaste while she worked at removing the ring from a quart jar of home-canned peaches. “I know how.”

“But you don’t like it?”

“It’s not that I don’t like it, it’s just that—” She paused, holding her breath while she exerted pressure once again on the jar, twisting at the circle of metal.

“Just what?” He got up and took the jar from her, closed a broad hand around its neck and twisted. “There.” He handed it back to her. “We do a lot of canning here.”

“Thanks.” She dumped the golden halves into a bowl and began to slice them. “Have you ever heard of gleaning?”

Ben shook his head and leaned against the countertop beside her, watching her fish the peaches from the thick syrup and deftly slice them into the waiting pan.

“In Phoenix, they have this government program where they let us go into the fields after the picking machines have gone through. You can have—free—whatever is left, the too-small vegetables, the imperfect stuff, as much as you can carry out. Doesn’t matter what it is—green beans, pumpkins, tomatoes—you fill as many bushel baskets as you can fit in your car, then you drag them home and you can nonstop for however many days it takes before the stuff begins to spoil.” Maria stopped and searched in the cupboard above her head for the cinnamon. “So, anyway,” she continued, measuring into a spoon, “it’s not that I don’t like to can, it’s more that I have unpleasant memories of the process.”

“Umm.” Ben nodded, showing his understanding without comment. But he thought about what it must be like for a woman like Maria to have to stand in the middle of a field in the Phoenix sun, probably surrounded by those same children out in his garden right now, to lug somebody else’s leftovers into that old station wagon, to know that you had days of canning over steaming kettles to look forward to. To know that you had to do it if you wanted to feed your children during the upcoming winter.

“I’m afraid the cherries will be ready any day,” he told her apologetically.

But she merely nodded. “I’ll be ready, too, then. What other chores are there?”

“Well, have you ever gathered eggs?”

“You mean those salmonella-free eggs that you can eat raw? I’m afraid not.”

Ben laughed out loud and, with a conscious effort, let his worries about Connor slip to the back of his mind.

“There’s not much to it. It’ll take about a week to figure out all the hens’ hiding places, then all you do is check every morning and gather up what you find.” “Sounds easy enough. The kids will probably get a kick out of doing it.” Maria unfolded the waiting crust over the fruit and began pinching the edges. “What else?”

“Mostly normal household chores, cooking, cleaning-you seem to have no problem with those things. Then there’s the garden—which you’re on top of. We’re pretty self-sufficient with most things. The freezers are full of Calder Ranch meat and we have our own milk cows.”

Maria looked up at him doubtfully. “Milk cows?”

“Don’t worry.” He smiled. “Harvey takes care of the milking morning and night. But you will have to skim off the cream and we do make our own butter.”

“You’re kidding!” Maria looked around the kitchen as if searching for anything resembling what she thought a churn might look like.

But Ben pointed to the food processor shining powerfully in a corner of the counter. “You pour it in there, hit the button, go do a load of laundry or something and when you come back, presto! Butter. You add a little salt, pat it into shape—” Ben made a snowball-making motion with his hands “—wrap it in some plastic and throw it in the freezer.

That’s all there is to it.”

“Hmmm.” Maria still looked skeptical. “I don’t have to bake bread, do I?”

“Do you know how?”

Maria nodded.

“Well, as much as I love fresh-baked bread, I don’t expect that.” He pushed away from the counter. “Follow me.” He waited while Maria slid the cobbler into the heated oven, then led her into the large pantry off of the kitchen. “I don’t know if you had a chance to explore in here yet, but I think you’ll find enough to feed a small army.” He walked over to the three freezers lining one wall and lifted the lid on each, leaving them propped open for her to peer in.

“Wow!” Maria exclaimed. One freezer was completely filled with meat, identical white-wrapped packages with words printed in black marker identifying the contents. One freezer contained fruits and vegetables, and the last freezer had several dozen loaves of store-bought bread, homemade pies and cakes and enough TV dinners to last for months.

“Didn’t you tell Vergie I knew how to cook?” Maria asked, indicating the alphabetically stacked TV dinners.

“Vergie believes in being well-prepared for any emergency.” He gave each lid a push closed. “I know it looks like a lot but we’re pretty isolated here in the winter. The main road is a mess when it snows so we try not to go into town more than once every couple of weeks or so.”

They went back to the kitchen. “I don’t think you’ll have any trouble getting the hang of things,” Ben told her. “But you be sure to ask if you need anything.” He looked down at her standing beside him and frowned as he realized again just how small she was in spite of the way she’d wielded the hoe in the garden. “It’s hard work, you know.”

“Vergie managed.”

“She’s strong as an ox.”

“When’s the last time you spent a summer in Phoenix?”

“You couldn’t pay me enough,” Ben said flatly.

“Exactly. This is going to be like a summer vacation for me.”

Just then the kitchen began to reverberate with the pulsing thrum of music coming from above their heads; the bass notes throbbed so violently Ben could feel them through the soles of his feet.

“Ah, yes, summer vacation.” Ben sighed, deep and heavy.

Maria smiled. “I guess I better help the kids finish the garden,” she said. “I’ll get them some supper, then I’ll be back to fix something for you and Connor. What time do you usually eat?”

“I try to finish up outside by six-thirty or so, so I have time to do my paperwork in the evenings.” A particularly intense beat caused the dishes to rattle in the cupboards. “Uh, I was just thinking,” Ben added casually, “why don’t you plan on eating supper with us from now on?”

Maria shook her head. “Thanks, but I like to be with my girls for meals.”

“Bring them, too.”

Maria still shook her head. “David’s missing his mom a little. That’s Linda, my older sister—she stayed in Phoenix to run our restaurant. I wouldn’t want him to feel excluded.”

“I guess he could come, too.”

Maria hesitated. “No, thank you, really, but I wouldn’t like to leave—”

“Veronica and the baby? Your mother?” he guessed impatiently. “Hell, let them all eat over here. It’s silly for you to have to fix two suppers every night.”

“But you were only supposed to provide room and board for me. Feeding my whole family wasn’t part of the deal. We planned on buying our own groceries.”

“So I’ll take something out of your pay,” Ben said with growing exasperation. Could the woman never do as she was asked? “Will that make you feel better.”

A plastic cup, jiggling in time to the bass beat, walked itself off the edge of the counter and fell to the floor. They watched it roll to a stop next to the refrigerator. He saw a look close to pity on her face. “All right. It will be more convenient to just cook one meal. If you’re sure the extra noise won’t bother you?”

The sound of the TV in the living room added itself to the music. “You’re kidding, right?” Ben said with a wry smile.

“You ready to go, boss?” Harvey stood at the door, peering through the open screen. He grimaced at the sound that assaulted his ears. “You having a party or something?”

“Connor” was Ben’s succinct reply as he picked up his dusty hat from the table and jammed it low on his forehead.

Harvey nodded, understanding. “Howdy there, Maria. I see you’re still here. The boss told me—”

“Shut up, Harvey,” Ben said, pushing him aside to go through the door.

“Hi, Harvey. I was expecting you for lunch.”

“I have my own place about ten miles down the road. You probably passed it on your way here. I take my meals there.”

“I see.”

“I like my independence,” Harvey told her.

“And Vergie won’t let him step foot inside her kitchen,” Ben added as he started down the steps.

“That’s true. She’s a mean-spirited woman. Of course, she’s always had a crush on me, you know.” Harvey gave Maria a wink before following Ben.

“She can’t stand the sight of you,” Ben corrected.

“It’s those squinty little pig eyes of hers, distorting her view, that’s what it is.”

“Shut up, Harvey.”

Maria stood at the door and watched the two men walk away, smiling as she listened to their nonstop bickering. She saw Ben pause at the garden and strained to hear what he was saying.

“I’ve never seen this old garden look so good, have you, Harvey? I think you ladies—and gentleman—deserve a break, don’t you, Harvey?”

Maria saw all heads look up expectantly.

“I bet a swim would sure feel good right about now. Why don’t you kids call it a day here and go for a swim down in the pond?” The children began to clamor with excitement. Ben turned and respectfully addressed their grandmother who rocked under a tree. “The water’s only three-foot deep in the middle so it’s safe for them, if it would be all right with you?”

The woman regally inclined her head, giving her seal of approval.

“Get going, then.” Ben made shooing motions with his hands. Maria saw he had a satisfied smile on his face as he watched them scamper out of the garden, unmindful of where their feet landed or what they squashed, followed more carefully, but just as eagerly, by the two women.

For several minutes, Maria stared into the now-empty garden. What possible problems could Ben have with his son that would force him to put up with a table full of strangers every night to avoid being alone with him? She thought about the man who’d just offered her and her family not only a summer away from the city but also food at his table and recreation on his property.

It was strange to consider a man…as a man. Maria hadn’t thought about a man, period, in the five years since her husband, Marcus, had died. But Ben Calder had made her aware of his masculinity within minutes, and had made her aware of herself, too. She’d forgotten what it felt like to have her stomach muscles tighten when she met a man’s eyes; she’d forgotten the way her skin could tingle when she stood close to a man. It felt strange to notice the hair on a man’s arms, the strength of his fingers as he’d twisted that jar lid, to notice the beginning of whiskers on a strong chin. Strange, not exactly unpleasant, but it had just been so long. So long.

Maria gave herself a mental shake. Enough! Ben Calder was a man, all right, and men were to be given a wide berth. Maria had learned her lesson about men as a child, learned it the hard way, when her father had walked out the door on her ninth birthday. Maria still remembered the look on her father’s face when her mother had told him she was pregnant again, pregnant with Veronica. His face had gone as white as the frosting on her cake, and even the glow of the candles couldn’t add warmth to the hunted look that came into his eyes. He’d sang “Happy Birthday” to her, he’d watched her open her presents, he’d kissed her and tucked her into bed, and then, sometime during the night, while she’d slept with her new birthday doll tucked under her arm, he’d left.

That’s what men did. They left. When the going got tough, they left. They left the women—and the children.

Her late husband had been different. Maria had made sure of that before she married him. Marcus Soldata had been a good man, a solid man, and if Maria had occasionally longed for a passion it was not in her husband’s nature to give, she stoically suppressed such longings. She had not married Marcus for passion. She’d married him because he would always be there. He had loved her and he had loved his daughters in a quiet, comforting way. Marcus Soldata would have never left his family and, indeed, it took a fiery car crash to take him away from them.

But Marcus appeared to be an exception to the men in her family, Maria thought wryly. Not only had her father found family life too much for him, but last year her brother-in-law had run off with his secretary, leaving her older sister, Linda, to raise David with little help or interest from him. The women had drawn their protective circle tight around the bitter Linda and bewildered little boy, and the restaurant had managed to keep food on their table—barely. Then when Veronica’s husband’s phone calls and letters had abruptly stopped coming from Tucson, well…Maria hadn’t been too surprised.

Benjamin Calder was just a man, Maria told herself sternly, starting out to the garden to finish the weeding. And she had best remember it.



The children were in high spirits at the supper table, fresh from their swim, and Maria tried to hush them as she began to pass the food. She cast a worried glance at Ben, but he didn’t seem to mind the noise. In fact, the only time a frown came to his face was when he looked Connor’s way.

Connor had disappeared into his room after his arrival, not to be seen again until he was called for supper. Now he sat at the table between his father and Veronica, the headphones of a portable CD player plugging his ears, nodding his head to a beat inaudible to the rest of them.

“Connor, could you take those off, please?” The polite tone was obviously a struggle for Ben. Connor’s head continued to bob. He tapped his fork against his plate, keeping time to his own private drummer as he waited for a dish of garlic bread to make its way to him.

“Connor!”

Connor helped himself to four pieces of bread.

Striking like a snake, Ben snatched the headphones from his son’s head. “I asked you to take these off. I don’t want to see them at the dinner table again.”

“Hey!” Connor pulled the thin piece of metal out of his father’s grip, cradling it protectively in his lap. “Mom always let’s me.”

“I’m sure she does” was Ben’s sardonic reply.

Connor shot his father a sullen look before reaching for the heavy platter of spaghetti Trisha struggled to pass to him, ladling a mound onto his plate without a word.

“A thank-you to Trisha would be appropriate, don’t you think?”

Ben’s request was an order and Connor gave a loud, persecuted sigh. “Dad, lighten up, will ya? You’re such a hard ass.”

“Watch your mouth. You know damned well I don’t allow you to use that kind of language.”

“Yeah, right. So you’re going to send me to bed without any supper?” The toss of bangs made the question a clear challenge.

Ben’s voice was icy. “That can be arranged.”

Maria watched father and son stare at each other, testing, identical gray eyes probing just how far each was willing to go this time. She glanced uneasily at the children, dismayed to find them watching the exchange with wide-eyed interest.

Connor was the first to look away. He straightened from his slouch and turned to the little girl. “Thank you very much.” Then he addressed Maria. “Mrs. Soldata, this spaghetti smells absolutely delicious. It’s one of my favorite meals. And I’m looking forward to some authentic Mexican food while I’m here. I’m especially fond of chicken enchiladas. Dad, would you care for some spaghetti?” He held the platter toward his father, smiling agreeably.

Maria couldn’t help herself. She laughed out loud. What a rogue! Connor’s smile became impish and, as he’d obviously planned, his father’s face relaxed and there even appeared a ghost of a rueful smile on it. From then on, Connor was absolutely charming, and Maria became more and more amused as she watched the skillful con artist wind everyone around his finger. Even Veronica, jaded as she’d become lately, was soon smiling and blushing at the boy’s outrageous flattery. And when he complimented their mother on her dress, the old woman had to struggle to keep her disapproving frown.

“I mean it, Mrs. Romero, that shade of brown is very attractive on you. A mature woman such as yourself should always wear classic colors.”

Ben listened to the baloney his son was dishing out and the way the women smiled indulgently at him and could only shake his head. Connor had always handled his mother in exactly the same way. Lori let him get away with murder and his stepfather blatantly bribed him to keep him out of his hair. The end result was a spoiled, willful, soon-to-be-man with a strong aversion to hard work. And Ben was at a loss as to how to change any of it.

“Come on, Veronica,” Connor was saying. “Let’s drive into Wyberg and see what they do for excitement out here in the boonies.”

“No thanks, Connor. Not tonight.”

“Come on,” he wheedled. “There’s no cable out here, you know. I’m going to go nuts without MTV.”

“I can’t. Ashley will wake up from her nap soon and I’ll have to bath her and feed her again.”

“Aw, let Maria take care of her own kids. You’ve done your baby-sitting thing for the day.”

The women glanced swiftly at each other. Ben was surprised when none of them volunteered to correct Connor’s mistaken assumption that the baby was Maria’s.

Veronica just shook her head.

The petulant look returned to Connor’s face in a flash. “Fine!” he snapped. He scraped his chair from the table. “But I’m not going to sit here and rot.”

With a flip of bangs and an insolent, “Later,” he slammed out the door. The roar of an engine and spurting gravel said his more eloquent goodbyes.

The room was uncomfortably silent, the adults making a studied effort to avoid each other’s eyes. A cry from the infant seat in the corner was a welcome diversion.

“Right on schedule,” Veronica said with false brightness. She picked up the crying baby, murmuring soft, comforting sounds.

“Kids, why don’t you clear the table?” Maria said in the same too-cheerful manner. “Trisha, make sure you rinse those plates before you put them in the dishwasher, okay?”

“Yes, Mama.” The children hopped from their chairs and began stacking plates and carrying them to the kitchen. Soon rattling dishes, running water and childish arguing could be heard coming from the next room.

Just an obedient “Yes, Mama,” and three children went to work? Ben thought in amazement. No whining. No back talk. He couldn’t remember the last time Connor had responded to the simplest request without some smart comment.

He put his elbows on the table and cleared his throat. “Uh, sorry about Connor. He’s been having a rough time of it since his mother and I divorced.”

The women nodded sympathetically. “It can be hard on kids. David’s still reeling from my sister’s divorce,” Maria told him. “I hope he manages to adjust pretty soon. How long ago was your divorce?”

“Six years.”

When Maria looked surprised, Ben realized what he’d said. “I guess six years is a long time to adjust. Maybe I can’t blame all of Connor’s behavior on the divorce. I mean, your girls seemed to be doing okay.”

“I’m a widow, though. Maybe that makes a difference.”

Ben was surprised; he’d assumed she was divorced. “I’m sorry.”

“It was a family tragedy,” Mrs. Romero’s voice unexpectedly crackled out. “Marcus was the only man in the whole bunch worth a centavo.”

“He was a good father,” Veronica agreed, patting Ashley with a wistful look.

“A good husband.” Mrs. Romero nodded.

“For our family, he was a saint,” Veronica said.

“He had that one problem, though.” The old woman looked very wise.

“What’s that, Mama?”

“He died.”

The three women’s eyes met. Maria’s lips were the first to twitch. Suddenly, they were all laughing. Rich, full laughter, laughter of shared tears and understood fears, the laughter of the women who were left, who held the family together, who made due, got by—who survived.

And Ben felt as excluded as if he were watching from the other side of a glass wall.



Ben padded in stocking feet into the kitchen and ran a glass of water from the faucet. He’d been working in the office, going over the accounts, but was finding it difficult to concentrate. The sounds of soft, feminine voices, accented by the higher notes of the children, coming through the open windows of the study had made him restless. Once again he found himself staring out the kitchen window, surreptitiously watching Maria and her family enjoy the evening from the porch of the guest house.

He strained his ears, trying to make out individual words, but he couldn’t. It was only rhythm, rising and falling, carried to him and past him on the cooling breeze, engulfing him and caressing him but never allowing him to be a part of it.

He managed to pick out Maria’s form where she sat on the steps surrounded by the children. Her long hair hung around her shoulders and seemed to flow and merge with the shadows, making her appear ethereal and without substance. But Ben knew how far that was from the truth. Maria was turning out to be the most real, solid and determined woman he’d ever met.

What kind of life must she have back in Phoenix that would force her to stay in a place where she’d been clearly ordered to leave? he wondered. What kind of desperation must she have felt to disobey him, knowing she faced an embarrassing scene when he returned?

Maria’s voice, lifted in a Spanish lullaby, came to him, the words incomprehensibly foreign and yet universally understood. Ben felt a protective surge of emotion well up from somewhere deep inside of him. He didn’t want her to have to fight so hard, to have to courageously face the enemy, even if the enemy was only himself. He wanted…He wanted…

Ben set down the glass and moved away from the window, away from the disturbing sound of her voice. As he made his way back to his office, he heard only silence, the loudest, loneliest silence of all—the silence of a parent waiting in the night for a teenager to return.




Chapter Three (#ulink_b471aae4-8a59-579b-b079-0f69dedd1020)


“One…Are you ready? Two…Hold your breath.” Ten toes curled into Ben’s shoulders as he gripped Tina’s thin legs, steadying her above him. “Three!” He launched her up and over his head, smiling as she splashed into the pond and came up wet and sputtering, dark hair dripping into her eyes, demanding to do it again.

“No! It’s my turn!” Trisha shouted, jumping up and down next to him.

“Stop that, you’re soaking me.” Maria laughed. She stood beside Ben, thigh-deep in the pond. The bottom of her blue shorts were wet, darkened almost to black, and her white flowered tank top was splashed with muddy pond water.

“This is the last one,” Ben warned the children as he lifted Trisha onto his shoulders. “You’re wearing me out. And watch my hat this time.” With a flick of his powerful arms, he flipped the girl into the water next to her sister and cousin, using one hand to clamp his cowboy hat to his head. Dressed only in ragged cutoff jeans and ever-present hat, Ben squinted into the late-afternoon sun, watching for her small head to bob to the surface. Satisfied, he turned to Maria with a whoop. “You’re next!”

Maria’s squeal was loud and unladylike as she ran for the edge of the pond, its muddy bottom sucking at her feet. She made the grassy bank and darted for the safety of the quilt they’d left spread on the ground next to the cedar fence that separated the pond from the horse pasture. Ben was only a step or two behind her as she collapsed onto the blanket. Laughing, trying to catch her breath, she tossed her hair over her shoulders and threw her head back to look up at him, supporting herself on her arms.

Ben let the sun warm his bare back while he appreciated the sight she presented. Maria’s hair was free from the braid she usually wore and reddish highlights shot through the dark chocolate mass. Her wet top clung to the swell of her stomach, emphasizing full breasts that raised and lowered with each quick breath. Water ran down her long, tanned legs and soaked into the blanket beneath them, and Ben couldn’t keep his eyes from tracing one particular drop that trickled along the curve of her calf and wrapped itself around a slender ankle.

Maria patted the blanket next to her. “Have a seat.”

Swallowing with a suddenly dry mouth, Ben lowered himself onto the worn quilt. He pushed his hat down over his eyes, ostensibly to ward off the setting sun but also to hide the uncomfortable turn his thoughts had taken.

“Thanks again for letting the kids use the pond,” Maria said. “They’ve been in it every afternoon this week.”

“I’m glad it’s getting some use. Connor’s sort of outgrown it, I guess. He used to practically live down here. If he wasn’t in it, he was next to it, catching frogs or grasshoppers or waterskippers.” “David already has a jar full of those horrible things.” Maria made a face. “They look like spiders to me.”

“The girls don’t seem to mind them.” Ben watched the three children who now squatted among the cattails near the edge of the water, trying to guide the leggy insects into David’s half-submerged mayonnaise jar.

“They’re a couple of tomboys, all right. Which is sort of surprising when you consider their father died when they were so young. Not much male influence in their lives.”

“How long ago did he die?”

“Five years,” Maria answered matter-of-factly. She rubbed her feet back and forth on the grass to try to wipe off some of the mud that covered their soles.

“They probably don’t remember him, then?”

Maria shook her head and Ben found himself suddenly curious. She certainly didn’t sound like she still grieved the loss of her husband.

“What happened?” he ventured, willing to probe a little.

“Car crash.”

“That’s too bad.”

“Hmm.” Maria nodded.

Ben turned his head to look at her from under the brim of his hat, trying to gauge her reaction to his questions. But she didn’t appear uncomfortable; in fact, she had a slight smile on her face as she watched the children begin a rowdy sword fight with broken-off cattails. “Did he work in your family’s restaurant, too?”

“No, he was an auto mechanic.” This time she volunteered more information. “He had his own shop. Marcus was a very good mechanic. A lousy businessman, but a good mechanic.” She spoke with wry affection. “He gave credit to every relative we had, and between the two of us, that’s most of south Phoenix. He was always helping some high school kid fix up his car for free.”

“He sounds like a good man. Your mother and Veronica spoke highly of him the other night.”

“They loved Marcus.”

Ben was surprised to find himself wondering if Maria had loved Marcus. “Tough for the girls, being so little when he died.”

“He was a wonderful father. Kind. Dependable. A good man.”

The gentleness in her voice had Ben shifting uncomfortably on the soft blanket. A wonderful father. No one could accuse him of that these days.

“Stop that, Trisha,” Maria called. “You’re going to put somebody’s eye out.” She jumped to her feet and started down toward the pond.

Ben watched her snap off the sharp, pointed ends of the heavy brown stalks before returning them to the children. Then, without warning, she broke off a stalk for herself and pointed it at David’s stomach. “En garde,” she challenged. The fight was on—shouting, splashing, tumbling children, with Maria right in the middle.

Ben remembered playing the same game with Connor years ago, and the memory brought a curve to his lips. It was good to hear childish laughter on the ranch again. Maria and her family had been there almost a week, and Ben was surprised at how much he was enjoying the children. Noisy meals, full of spilled milk and breathless chatter; tracked mud on the hardwood floors and smudged fingerprints on the refrigerator; shouts and giggles piercing the normally subdued, blue-gray evening sounds. And dark, excited eyes always smiling at him, happy to tell him about their day, eager and pleased to have his attention.

Ben’s smile faded.

Connor had looked at him like that, a long time ago. Then, bit by bewildering bit, Connor’s gray, loving eyes had turned sullen. They’d begun to skitter away when he’d try to hold them, until eventually they wouldn’t raise to meet his at all. And if they ever did, Ben would almost wish they hadn’t, because they would be filled with antagonism, resentment—dark emotions Ben didn’t even want to name. He didn’t think he could bear to watch it happen again with another child.

With determined movements, Ben pulled on socks and his dusty cowboy boots and started back toward the house without a word of farewell. Those long, dark legs that had tempted him all week came with two little girls attached, he reminded himself sternly. It was a package deal and he wasn’t going to touch it with a ten-foot pole.



“So where’s Connor?” Maria asked, picking out a pair of David’s dirt-encrusted jeans from the pile of clothes heaped on the floor and stuffing them into the sink.

“How should I know?” Veronica responded innocently.

“Yeah, right. Like he hasn’t been following you around like a lovesick puppy.” Maria added a splash of detergent to the jeans and turned on the faucet. “How much longer are you going to be able to keep from going to Wyberg with him? He asks every single night.”





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