Книга - The Magnificent Seven

The Magnificent Seven
Cheryl St.John


A life with you just isn't possible.Heather Johnson had never intended to return to Whitehorn, Montana. But restoring an inherited ranch seemed the perfect way to pass the summer with her three kids. The moment she hired carpenter Mitch Fielding, though, his motherless twin daughters in tow, those short-term plans suddenly went awry. Mitch was the first man in her life who truly seemed to notice her. And as his skillful hands restored the ranch and ignited a passion she'd never known, her fragile heart began to heal, as well. For once in Heather's life everything seemed magnificent. And that scared her. Because the future she wanted–and the past she'd run from–were forever in Whitehorn….












Stories of family and romance beneath the Big Sky!

What had just happened to her?

More than once, Heather had found herself looking at Mitch Fielding with preposterously sexy thoughts. She’d never mused in that feverish manner before.

Remembering the way Mitch’s simple touch set her skin tingling, she closed her eyes and relished the memories. The strength of her reactions frightened her. Looking at him, smelling him…Heather’s heart fluttered.

She was the almost-thirty-year-old mother of three children. She’d been married. And she’d never had these overpowering feelings toward a man before.

Her body remembered his touch. His kiss. The intoxicating loss of control and the frantic desire to possess, be possessed. The lack of restraint terrified her.

And thrilled her.

The question was, how much courage did she really possess?











The Magnificent Seven

Cheryl St.John





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




CHERYL ST.JOHN


A peacemaker, a romantic, an idealist and a discouraged perfectionist—these are the words that Cheryl uses to describe herself. The award-winning author of both historical and contemporary novels says she’s been told that she is painfully honest.

Cheryl admits to being an avid collector, displaying everything from dolls to depression glass as well as white ironstone, teapots, cups and saucers, old photographs and—most especially—books. When not doing a home improvement project, she and her husband love to browse antiques shops. In her spare time, she’s an amateur photographer and a pretty good baker.

She says that knowing her stories bring hope and pleasure to readers is one of the best parts of being a writer. The other wonderful part is being able to set her own schedule and have time to work around her growing family. Cheryl loves to hear from readers! E-mail her at SaintJohn@aol.com.


In memory of Carol Backus, aka Suzanne Barclay.

This book is lovingly dedicated to the newest darling in our family: Elijah.

I praise God that he is fearfully and wonderfully made.




Contents


Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One




One


M itch Fielding led his twin six-year-olds, Taylor and Ashley, through the lunch crowd at the Hip Hop Café as though he were guiding them through a minefield. Taylor narrowly missed knocking over a gray-haired gent’s cane that was leaning against a table edge, and Mitch clamped his hand firmly over Ashley’s mouth as soon as he noticed an overweight woman shoveling chocolate-cream pie between her lips.

He got them settled into a booth and released his breath. “There.” He picked up the plastic-coated menu and scanned for something nourishing the twins would eat without pitching a fit. “They have hamburgers and chicken fingers.”

“Yuck. I want a chocolate malt and a pickle,” Ashley pronounced.

“I want skettios,” Taylor said.

“They don’t have skettios,” he replied to one daughter, then turned to the other. “And you can have a chocolate malt if you eat a hamburger.”

“Gross. I don’t want a hamburger.” She folded her arms over the front of her Teletubbie T-shirt. “I want a pickle.”

“You can have a pickle with your hamburger. Taylor, they have spaghetti.”

“Don’t like spaghetti.”

“Of course you do. It’s the same stuff that comes out of the cans, only real.”

“Uh-uh-uh,” she said in a singsongy voice with a shake of her head. “It doesn’t taste the same.”

He resisted the urge to argue or bargain in public, which always made him feel as if his daughters were getting the upper hand anyway. How long could a child survive on pickles, malts and canned spaghetti? It was his job as a parent to see that they were well nourished, but how did he go about it? Some nights he dropped into bed mentally exhausted, feeling lucky to have gotten several bites of anything into them.

A waitress appeared at his elbow, and Mitch glanced up to see the slim blonde in a blue T-shirt proclaiming Breakfast Served All Day give him a curious once-over. Everyone in Whitehorn, Montana, seemed to know each other, and he obviously stuck out as a newcomer. A quick scan confirmed that a dozen eyes had zeroed in on him and his daughters.

“Afternoon,” she said pleasantly. “I’m Janie Austin. Which one of Garrett Kincaid’s grandsons are you?”

“Mitch Fielding,” he replied self-consciously. “How did you know?”

She cast him a friendly smile. “In Whitehorn everybody knows everybody else’s business. Anticipating each grandson’s arrival has been the hot topic for quite a while.”

He didn’t know how well he liked being the subject of gossip, but this young woman seemed friendly and accepting enough. Apparently everyone already knew he was one of six illegitimate grandsons the old man had summoned to his ranch. Garrett was still searching for a seventh.

She touched his shoulder in a brief gesture of greeting that put him at ease. “Nice to meet you, Mitch.”

He returned her neighborly smile. “These are my daughters, Taylor and Ashley.”

“Look at that pretty blond hair. What’ll you have, girls?”

He gave her their orders, amid objections from his daughters. Taylor waved her arm to get his attention and knocked the ketchup bottle into the salt and pepper shakers. Pepper spilled on the laminate tabletop, and she promptly blew it into her sister’s face.

Ashley sneezed and her eyes watered. She grabbed for the rolled paper napkin that held her silverware and sent the metal utensils flying across the table and onto the floor.

Mitch picked up the utensils, handed them to the astonished waitress and admonished the girls to sit on their behinds.

By the time their food arrived, everyone in the room knew Taylor had to go to the bathroom. He took them to the women’s room, standing outside until their food was cold. Finally he rapped on the door.

Thank God it was a one-seater, because he had to go in to dry their hands and pull them out. So that the next person wouldn’t slip and break her neck, he mentioned to the waitress that the rest room floor was flooded.

“My spaghetti’s cold,” Taylor complained loudly.

“So’s everything else.” With a sigh, Mitch picked up his cold burger and took a bite, just as Ashley knocked over her malt.

Twenty minutes later he released their hands to get his wallet and pay the cashier. He ran back to leave a generous tip at the table for the patient waitress.

A bulletin board on the wall by the cash register caught his attention and, ignoring the yanks on his hands, he scanned the notices of cars and household items for sale. He was particularly looking for someone to watch the girls for him so he could line up a few jobs. Most of the Want Ads had been placed by junior and high school students; the twins needed someone more experienced. Much more experienced. A warden, perhaps.

One notice caught his eye. Handyman Wanted. He released a small hand to tap the card with his forefinger.

“Know anything about this one?” He directed his question to the gray-haired waitress in orthopedic shoes standing near the cash register.

“That’s Pete Bolton’s ranch,” she replied. “His daughter was in here a couple of weeks ago, looking for someone to help her fix up the place to sell.”

That sounded like just the job for him. A couple of months back he’d had to sell all of his contracts, to take care of the girls. His mother had been caring for them, but one calamity after another had pulled him from work sites, until it wasn’t fair to his customers or his subcontractors for him to continue. While trying to figure out what to do, he’d decided that Garrett Kincaid’s invitation was just the solution.

This had been the perfect time to do some traveling, and he’d been eager to spend more time with, and get to know, this grandfather he’d never known existed until last May.

“Do you have some paper I can write the number on?” he asked.

“Sure, sugar.” She fished in her pocket, came out with her order tablet and a pen, and scribbled the phone number, tearing off the sheet and handing it to him.

The bell over the door clanged and he turned to see one of his daughters dash outside.

“Thanks.” He stuffed the paper into his shirt pocket and pulled the other child out the door behind him.

Lily Mae Wheeler got up out of her permanent seat in the first booth and walked over to Charlene, her gaudy jewelry clanking at her wrists and weighing down her bony chest.

“Heard he was at Garrett’s ranch,” she said to let Charlene know she’d been the first to hear. “Nobody knows much about him yet, ’cept his wife died when those two were just babies. Those children are holy terrors, have you ever seen the likes?”

“Must be difficult for a young father to raise two girls alone,” Janie said sympathetically, coming up beside them.

“They need a good paddling, if you ask me,” Lily Mae scoffed.

“Be interesting to see what happens at the Bolton ranch this afternoon, wouldn’t it?” Charlene said with a devilish smile.

The three exchanged amused glances.



Engaging her ten-year-old daughter’s help, Heather Johnson tackled the stack of dishes from lunch and breakfast.

“We need a dishwasher, Mom.” Jessica dried a chipped plate and stood on tiptoe to place it in the cupboard.

“I didn’t think we were going to be here long enough to need one,” Heather replied with a regretful sigh. She turned and glanced at her sons who sat on the worn linoleum floor with coloring books. With his tongue angled out the side of his mouth, five-year-old Patrick studiously labored to keep the purple crayon inside the lines on the page. Two-year-old Andrew spent more time chasing the crayons under the table and tasting them than he did coloring, but at least her boys were temporarily occupied.

When she’d brought her children to the ranch after her father’s death, she’d planned to take a two-week vacation, go through her father’s personal belongings, and sell the property. A neat-and-tidy plan, something that should have gone smoothly.

Now, two and a half weeks later, she still hadn’t been able to make any progress on selling. She hadn’t planned on all the repairs that the real estate lady had suggested be made to get a decent price. Heather hadn’t been back to Whitehorn in years, and the property had deteriorated more than she’d imagined. Her father obviously hadn’t paid any more attention to the house than he ever had to her.

She shrugged off the depressing thought and gave Jessica a smile. “Thank you, angel. You are a big help to me, you know that?”

Wiping another plate, her daughter nodded in a grown-up manner. “Can we do something fun after this, Mom?”

A little pang of regret snagged Heather. She knew it hadn’t been much fun for Jess to help with the boys all morning while Heather went through boxes and trunks and years’ worth of accumulated junk. “What would you like to do?”

“Catch turtles in the pond?”

Heather wrinkled her nose. “Who’s going to wade out there with the net?”

“You’ll help, won’t you?”

Heather had to admit she’d been appreciating this much-needed time with her kids. She loved her public relations job in San Francisco, and the sense of self-worth it had always brought, but she often felt guilty about the time she missed with her children. This time with them had been enjoyable, even though it had to be spent here—the last place on earth she’d choose to vacation.

She tapped Jessica on the nose with a sudsy finger. “Okay, I’ll help you catch a turtle.”

Jessica grinned that knockout smile, revealing dimples that would one day drive young men crazy. Heather’s heart gave a sad twinge at the thought. She wasn’t too concerned about her daughter’s future. She’d tried her best to ensure Jessica wouldn’t make the same mistakes Heather had made.

Patrick jumped up and ran to the screen door that overlooked the long gravel drive. “Somebody’s coming! It’s a way cool truck!”

Andrew got up, crunching crayons beneath his red-and-blue tennis shoes in the process, and followed his brother. “Thumbody coming!” he mimicked.

Heather dried her hands and moved to the door. She’d been expecting the man who had called earlier about interviewing for the handyman job. The blue-and-silver duel cab Silverado pickup leaving a dust trail must belong to him.

“This is the appointment I was expecting.” She hung up the towel. “We’ll be discussing business in the other room. I want all of you to play quietly in here until we’re finished.”

She waited for the children’s nods of understanding, then stepped back to the door.

The driver parked in the gravel area behind the house, but instead of getting out right away he turned toward the back seat. Heather noticed a couple of heads she hadn’t seen at first. He’d brought children to a job interview? One big strike against him.

She stepped out onto the back porch, the age-splintered boards creaking precariously beneath her feet.

He exited the truck at last, closing the door and glancing over his shoulder.

He was tall, she noticed right away. Maybe thirty, with sandy-brown hair and a golden tan attesting to hours working in the sun.

The jeans he wore encased long legs and slim hips. A navy-blue, button-down knit shirt, work boots, and a slim black folder with a clipboard completed the classically sexy look of a handyman. Heather could picture him with a tool belt around his hips and smiled to herself. Certainly nothing wrong with his appearance.

He neared the porch. “Mrs. Johnson?”

She composed her face and nodded.

“Mitch Fielding.”

She reached to shake his hand. He had calluses on his palms. Hardworking. Steadfast. Where had that come from? It had been a long time since she’d noticed a man the way she noticed this one. Perturbed, she released his hand. “We can talk inside.”

He glanced uncomfortably over his shoulder.

“Your children?” she asked.

He nodded. “They’re supposed to sit there until I get back.”

She wondered again why he’d brought them along. It was completely unprofessional. “Would you like to let them come in and color at the kitchen table?”

“No,” he said immediately with a shake of his head. “I don’t think so.”

She glanced at the truck, seeing he’d left the windows partially down. It wasn’t a hot day and this meeting shouldn’t take more than a few minutes. The children would be safe.

She led the way through the kitchen, reminding her own to play quietly until she was finished with her business.

“Your kids?” he asked, turning his head to observe the trio at the table.

She nodded.

They entered the sparsely furnished room her father had used for an office. Pushing aside a drawer she’d been emptying, she sat in the cracked leather chair and Mitch took the wooden one.

“Sorry about your father,” he said, catching her off guard.

She fumbled with her thoughts for a moment before realizing he meant Pete Bolton’s recent death. “Thank you. I came here nearly three weeks ago to sort through things and sell the ranch, but the house and outbuildings are in terrible condition, as you’ve seen. The Realtor wants me to fix up the property. She suggested updating the house, but I don’t know if I want to go to that much trouble and expense, and I don’t know the first thing about how to go about it.”

“I’m a contractor,” he said. “That’s what I do for a living. You could leave all that up to me.”

“I didn’t see you in the directory.”

“I’m not from Whitehorn. I’m here visiting my grandfather.” When she didn’t comment, he opened the folder he’d brought and presented her with several sheets of paper. “These are my references and specs on similar projects.”

Heather glanced through the impressive details, not questioning his ability. “I don’t have funds for a big undertaking.”

He nodded understandingly. “I don’t require a retainer. You wouldn’t have to pay me until you’ve seen the work in progress. Sometimes I can get suppliers to delay billing until after the sale goes through. I could work on that. If not, I’ll handle the cost until the place is sold.”

That sounded encouraging. Still, there was the eventual expense of his fee, which would be considerable, with all the hours needed to get the place in shape. Remodeling would be ideal and bring the best price, but a quick fix was about all she could afford.

He glanced at the desk and back up. “Are you home all day long?”

She nodded, wondering why he’d asked. Did he think her children would get in the way of construction projects? “Unless I go into town to shop.”

“I might have a solution for both of us.”

She’d been studying the papers, but she glanced up, caught off guard by the way the navy shirt sculpted his solid-looking chest and arms. She focused deliberately on his face. His disturbingly sensual lips pursed for a moment, then opened as he spoke. The odd little tremor in her stomach must have been caused by too much coffee that morning.

“Maybe we can work something out. I’ve been trying to find someone to keep my girls for me, so I can work. I would lower my bid considerably in exchange for you taking care of them while I do the job.”

Heather dragged her distracted thoughts from his arresting appearance and mulled his suggestion over. It did sound like a wise arrangement. And she was here anyway.

Childish shrieks caught their attention at the same time. Heather listened, but Mitch immediately jumped off his seat and shot out of the room, surprising her with his agility. She followed.

Her three children had gathered at the screen door to see what was going on outside. They gave Mitch wide berth as he bolted past, then followed Heather out onto the porch.

The shiny Silverado, which had been parked on the gravel behind the house only minutes ago, now rolled slowly toward the corner of the corral, gaining momentum.

Heather watched in horror. Her gaze immediately searched for whoever had been in the back seat. Thank goodness, two blond-haired girls stood on the grass, clinging to each other, jumping and screaming as the truck crunched into the wooden coral fence, flattened the corner sections with a crack, and kept going.

Mitch had reached the girls, checked them over for injuries, then ran after his truck, which was now on the grassy slope leading to the pond. Heather followed in dismay. The screen door slammed forgotten behind her.

By the time she reached the edge of the pond, the pickup had come to a stop, the entire front end submerged in the green water, the tailgate pointing toward the horizon.




Two


M itch Fielding stood on the bank and sank the fingers of one hand into his hair in frustration. He splayed the other hand on his hip.

Heather came up behind him in time to hear the curt expletive whistled from between his rigid lips. He turned quickly. “Sorry.”

She absently waved his apology away. They both turned and gaped at his partially submerged truck. Behind them, the girls continued to howl shrill cries of terror.

A little anxious over what this stranger’s reaction might be, Heather glanced at his profile. He stared in disbelief, and she couldn’t help feeling sorry for him.

“You think it’ll sink more?” a childish voice asked.

Heather turned to see that her own kids had followed and now stood beside them. Patrick had asked the question and gazed wide-eyed up at Mitch. Heather readied herself to hush him or move her children safely back.

Mitch studied the situation and replied calmly, “I don’t think so. Probably hit a rock or something that’s holding it there.” He turned to Heather. “You have a truck or a tractor?”

“There are both in the machine shed,” she answered with relief at his composed reaction. “I’ll get you the keys.” Taking a few steps, she turned back. “Need some help?”

“I need some help, all right,” he muttered, following her up the incline.

Mitch couldn’t believe this had happened. He’d had a perfect chance at a job; now this woman would never hire him. As he neared the girls, Ashley gaped at him with wide blue eyes, her tears subsiding. Taylor threw herself on the ground and wailed.

“Which one of you did this?” he asked.

“I told her you’d be real mad,” Ashley said. “I told her we should stay strapped in just like you said.”

“No, you din’t!” Taylor whined, halting her histrionics long enough to sit up and argue. “You took your seat belt off first!”

“How did that truck move?” he demanded to know. “I had the engine turned off and the key with me.” He stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out his key ring, dangling it in front of them, but assuring himself. There was no way he would have left the key in the ignition, and the gearshift wouldn’t budge without the key.

“Taylor got the ’mergency key. I told her not to.”

“No, you din’t! You said maybe we could drive back home!”

He groaned. He’d had a magnetic holder under the front fender, with an extra ignition key, in case he ever locked himself out. But he hadn’t figured they’d known it was there. He should have known better than to underestimate their uncanny ability to find something they shouldn’t and wreak havoc. “How did you know that key was there?” he asked, bewildered.

“You took it out and gave it to the man who fixed the horn. That day we got a borrowed truck.”

Sure enough, he had. And they’d seen him do it. How careless of him. But he’d never imagined—

“Here.” Heather Johnson had returned from a trek into her house and dangled a key ring out in front of him. “I really don’t know what’s what on here, but I think that’s the tractor key there. I’m not sure how it runs or if there’s gas in the tank. If not, there’s a pump beside the barn.”

“Thanks.” He looked down at his daughters, lost for a suitable punishment, stunned by his own incompetence. Sometimes life was just so overwhelming, he didn’t know which way to turn.

“I’ll keep an eye on them,” the unsuspecting woman said kindly.

Mitch cast his daughters a look that would blister paint and bent over them to ensure intimidation. “You be quiet and nice until I get my truck out of the water. Then I’ll deal with you.”

Four watery blue eyes riveted on his face and two identical chins quivered. The girls nodded solemnly.

He located the tractor, an amazingly well-kept old Alice Chalmers that would probably bring a small fortune at an antique auction, checked it for gas, and lifted a tow chain down from the wall.

He drove the smooth-running tractor to the pond and waded out to the Silverado, lamenting his beautiful cab filled with scummy water. Noting that the gearshift was in Neutral, he made his way back to dry ground.

Hooking the chain to the truck axle, he climbed onto the seat and slowly eased the tractor forward, pulling the truck out. Murky green water streamed all the way up the incline. He stopped the tractor in the gravel parking area and got down to secure the pickup. Water dripped from beneath the hood and from the bottoms of the doors. A long crease marred the front fender where it had scraped along the fence post. He’d sure been fond of this truck.

He opened the driver’s door and a gush of water hit his already soaked boots. He glanced around and found the girls sitting on the porch with the Johnsons, the entire group watching the proceedings with apprehensive interest.

He placed the gearshift in Park and opened the other door, though not hopeful of the interior drying out anytime soon. At least Taylor and Ashley were all right. That was what was important, he told himself, gritting his teeth. It was, after all, just a truck. A very expensive truck.

Heather Johnson and the children walked toward him. She’d picked up her youngest and carried him on her hip. Her eyes held a mixture of apprehension and curiosity, and for some reason he didn’t care for the fact that she was a little bit afraid of him.

“You gonna keep that turtle, mister?” The oldest child questioned him with wide hazel eyes, eyes very different from her mother’s.

Mitch followed her gaze and discovered the turtle that had been swept out of his cab on that last rush of pond water. The creature had poked head and feet out of its shell and was lumbering slowly toward the grass. “No.”

“Hey, look, Mama!” she said, hurrying over to kneel near the animal, who stopped and tucked its head into the shell. “You won’t have to find us a turtle now! The man caught us this one. Thanks!”

The rest of the kids gathered around the turtle and touched its shell.

“No problem.” He raised his gaze to the woman’s and found her studying him with those golden-brown eyes that still revealed a hint of mistrust. “Sorry about our interview. And about—” he glanced around and felt tingling heat climb into his cheeks “—this. I’ll fix your corral right away.”

“How long do you suppose it will take for your truck to dry out?” she asked.

No doubt she wondered how soon she could be rid of him. He didn’t blame her. “At least a day—just to see if it will start.”

The seats and carpet would never look—or smell—the same. Wondering if his insurance would cover this, his shook his head.

“I’ll give you a ride back to Whitehorn,” she offered, at once very businesslike.

“I don’t want to get your car wet or dirty,” he said, gesturing at his soaked jeans and boots.

“I’m sure I can find you something of my father’s to wear home.” Apparently his actions had satisfied her fears, and he appreciated her consideration.

“I’m hungry,” Taylor said.

His anger simmered anew at her words. She hadn’t eaten three bites of her meal at the café. “You can wait.”

“No, I can’t. I’m starving!”

Embarrassed, he moved toward her.

“Why don’t I fix everyone a snack while you’re changing?” Heather’s no-nonsense voice stopped him. He glanced over and found those disturbing eyes on him. “You can shower if you’d like. The upstairs bathroom has ancient plumbing and one of those old cast-iron tubs, but it gets the job done.”

He took a calming breath. His jeans were cold and clammy and getting out of them sounded too good to pass up. “She probably won’t eat anything. They’re both picky eaters.”

“Well, I’ll see if I can’t find them something.” She ushered the throng toward the house, brought Mitch clothes and a towel, and directed him to the upstairs bathroom. He couldn’t help watching her walk away, her denim shorts a mere teasing cover-up for a softly rounded backside. Once she’d disappeared down the hallway, he discovered a pair of faded boxers tucked between the folded jeans and shirt.

She’d been right. The fixtures were old and the room outdated, but it was an enormous space, with a window overlooking open pastureland. He imagined the room with a Jacuzzi tub and a skylight. What he’d seen of the house so far was sound and spacious, merely sadly outdated. It would make a good family home for a relatively small investment.

Showering in the old tub, he found himself wondering how much land went with the house. Garrett wanted to give him a section of the Kincaid ranch, but right now the details were hung up in court. If Mitch had the money and the inclination to stay in Montana, this would be a good spread to look into.

Heather’s father had been as tall as Mitch, but wider, so the jeans hung precariously on his hips. He wrapped his wet clothing in the towel he’d used and carried them down to the kitchen.

“I’ll wash those and you can get them when you come back for your truck,” Heather said, reaching for the bundle.

“No, you don’t—”

“Don’t argue,” she insisted. “A few more things won’t make a dent in the amount of laundry I do.”

“Well, thank you.” He released the bundle, but not his grip on his waistband.

“Here.” She fished in a drawer and came up with a length of twine.

Mitch thanked her and tied the cord through the belt loops, then glanced toward the kids.

Taylor and Ashley sat at the round oak table with her children, nearly empty plates in front of them.

“We never got around to proper introductions,” Heather said. “This is my daughter, Jessica, and these are my sons, Patrick and Andrew. Children, this is Mr. Fielding.”

“Mitch, please,” he corrected, appreciating her cordiality. She had every right to think him the biggest loser in history. Times like this, he would agree. “And you met Taylor and Ashley.”

Heather nodded.

Had she ever. “They ate something?”

“Just a small snack. Grapes and raisins and a few cubes of cheese with crackers, nothing to spoil their dinner.”

Spoil their dinner? As if! He marveled at the concept of them eating the nourishing fare she’d provided. The food she described was more than they ever ate for dinner! How had she done it? He wanted to ask, but he didn’t want to appear even more incapable in her eyes.

“Children, wash your hands and use the bathroom. I’m going to get the Blazer.” She opened a cupboard and took out a small purse.

Her children obediently carried their plates to the counter and washed their hands at the sink. Jessica pulled out a chair and helped Andrew. Mitch watched in awe.

The twins miraculously fell in behind and washed their hands without a complaint, then took their turns in the bathroom. They were still in shock over the truck incident, waiting to see what horrible punishment was going to befall them, otherwise they’d have been their usual contrary selves.

He would enjoy this compliance while it lasted, he decided, and followed the children out to the Blazer Heather had pulled up to the back porch. She got out and locked up the house, checked all the riders for seat belts, then returned to the driver’s seat. Her delicate scent, something fresh and feminine, drifted toward him, and once again those disturbing eyes touched his face. This time her gaze was like a breezy caress that fingered across his brow, along his jaw.

His imagination had gone into overdrive. He looked away, and she changed gears.

“I appreciate this,” Mitch said, though she really hadn’t had much choice once he’d been stranded in her backyard. Get them to town or have them on her steps, he guessed.

She drove toward the county road.

“About the job…” he dared.

“I don’t think that’s going to work out,” she replied, firmly crushing any scrawny hope he’d held.

“I had a great idea for that upstairs bath,” he said, anyway. “Of course you need one downstairs, too.” He explained his concept of the bath he’d envisioned. “If you change your mind, I’ll be glad to work out the details with you. Like I said, I can delay payment, and I know I could keep costs down.”

“Thanks,” she said, not giving him any encouragement. “I’ll keep that in mind. Where am I taking you, anyway?”

“The Kincaid ranch,” he replied. “Know where it is?”

“You’ll have to point the way.”

He nodded. “I suppose you’ve heard all about the grandson roundup.”

“No.”

“Garrett Kincaid is my grandfather.” He studied her profile, then let his attention drift to those shapely legs.

She glanced over and caught him looking. King of Cool here, he scoffed at himself. “I’ve only been here two and a half weeks. I live in San Francisco. I don’t plan on sticking around, and I don’t really know anyone in town anymore.”

He’d grown used to everyone knowing his business, so the fact that she hadn’t heard all the local gossip was refreshing. For some weird reason, he found himself wanting to tell her his side of the story. “My mother is from here,” he explained. “I grew up thinking I had no family on my father’s side. Hearing from Garrett last year was a surprise. My biological father was Garrett’s son, Larry. When he died, he left quite a few descendents—to my grandfather’s surprise. Seven of us, to be exact.”

“Wow.”

“Wow is right.” He kept his voice low. “He was married when he had an affair with the nanny—my mother. Apparently Larry gave her money for an abortion, but she kept it and moved to Minnesota. She told me she sent him a photo and a letter after I was born, but he never responded, so she went on with her life. Married my stepdad, had more kids.”

“You don’t sound upset or bitter.”

“People do what they have to do. My mom did the best she knew how. My grandfather never knew about me—about any of Larry’s illegitimate children—but once he found out, he did what he thought was right. Well, six of us, anyway. He’s still looking for the seventh. He got us all together and is working to give us each a piece of Kincaid land.”

“He sounds like a nice man.”

“He is.”

“And Larry?” She cast Mitch a inquisitive glance.

“What about him?”

“How do you feel about him?”

A personal question. One he hadn’t anticipated from her, but he didn’t mind. Her curiosity hinted that she may think a little more kindly of him than he’d worried. “I don’t really know how to feel. He never wanted to be a part of my life, and I’ve had a fine life without him.”

Heather turned onto the long strip of road that led across the Kincaid ranch to the house. “This it?”

“This is it.”

“Is there a Mr. Johnson?” Mitch asked. He’d told her quite a bit about himself, but knew nothing about her.

She cast him a quick, unrevealing glance before returning her attention to the road. “There is, but we’re divorced.”

“Oh.”

A minute later, a quiet, “You, too?”

“No. My wife died.”

“I’m sorry.”

He gazed at the house that came into view ahead. “Me, too.”

“Recently?” she asked.

He turned to look at her. “Four years ago. She had a blood disease.”

Her eyes held compassion when she took them from the road for a moment. “So you’ve been raising Taylor and Ashley by yourself?”

“My mother and my wife’s mother kept them, and we tried a few day cares. Nothing worked out. They’re, uh, a handful.”

“Most kids are.”

She didn’t have a clue. He’d seen how well behaved hers were. Sometimes he felt like a total failure at parenting. Heck, most times he was a total failure at parenting.

Well, being raised by grandmothers would explain some of the twins’s spoiled behavior, Heather thought. But she’d never seen anything like their kicking and screaming histrionics, and she knew she wouldn’t have put up with it for five minutes.

She pulled the Blazer up the winding drive, past detached garages, and stopped in front of the house. A tall, dark-haired young man with dark eyes and olive skin approached the vehicle, a smile on his handsome face. “Hey, bro! Where’s your truck?”

“Hey, Cade. It’s at Ms. Johnson’s place, drying out.”

Cade lowered his head to peer into the vehicle. “Ms. Johnson?”

“From Pete Bolton’s ranch,” she clarified.

“This is my half brother, Cade Redstone. Cade, this is Heather Johnson.”

Cade stretched a tanned arm in front of Mitch, and Heather shook his hand. “What’s this about drying out your truck?”

“I’ll explain it to you later,” Mitch said.

“Uh-oh. Has the dynamic duo been at it again?”

“Big-time.” Mitch got out and opened the back door to help unbuckle his daughters. They ran off toward the house.

“Thanks again,” Mitch said, ducking in the passenger window. “I’ll be out tomorrow to fix that fence. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

His directly appreciative gaze caught Heather up short. She wasn’t in the market for anything other than a remodeling job, and he didn’t even fit those qualifications. She shrugged. “No rush. The horses were boarded at a neighbor’s before I arrived.”

“You know where I am if you change your mind about the project.”

She nodded noncommittally. Besides how disturbed she felt in his presence, his children were more trouble than she needed. “Goodbye.”

He moved away and she steered the Blazer back toward the highway. She’d been thinking about considering his offer when they’d heard the commotion from outside. Thank goodness she hadn’t made a quick decision based on her instantaneous reaction to his appearance. She didn’t trust a man who couldn’t handle two small children to manage a remodeling project.

Somebody else was sure to call about the job.




Three


N o one else called about the job. Heather had tried every number in Whitehorn’s leaflet that someone had amusingly labeled a phone directory, without finding anyone willing to take on the repair work. One local company offered to place her on their waiting list, but wouldn’t promise anything until November.

She couldn’t wait that long. She couldn’t wait any longer. Once she even found a contractor, the work would take weeks. Her vacation was over and she had been forced to ask for a leave of absence until matters were settled. Her boss had pressed her for a return date, but she’d been unable to provide him with one. She had to get things moving quickly or she worried her job would be in jeopardy.

The children had been in bed for more than an hour, the laundry was done, and Heather made herself a cup of tea and carried it out to the porch. She went back in for a sweatshirt before snuggling down in the comfortable rattan rocker that creaked beneath her weight.

The clatter of the frogs sounded more like locusts than the deep-throated croak one expected. At the sound, long-buried memories edged to the surface of her mind and she recalled the summer evenings of her childhood. She’d been alone. Always alone. After her mother’s death, her father had retreated into a bottle and turned her care over to his dominating housekeeper.

Heather had despised the woman and at every opportunity had hidden herself away to avoid her. Coming back to the ranch after so many years raised memories better left forgotten. With strict discipline, she locked away those unpleasant thoughts.

Her husband had never been much of a father. He’d paid minimal attention to Patrick at first, since he’d been the first boy, but the novelty had soon worn off. Craig had made money. That had been his forte. But he’d believed Heather should be making money, too. They couldn’t afford the life-style and the house and the status he thought they needed on one salary.

And Heather had never minded working, since her job gave her the satisfaction and self-worth she’d never received at home. Sometimes she’d had misgivings about the time away from her family, about the firsts she had missed, and the opportunities that slipped by, but it was just the way things were for everyone these days.

Her boss had called tonight, conferring with her on a project due in another month. His reliance on her expertise assured her of her value in the company. They were impatient for her to settle this situation. Everyone had family matters arise from time to time; however, companies were understanding only to a point.

Unfortunately, Mitch Fielding’s offer was the only option she had at this time. That or selling the ranch off in its present condition and losing a heck of a profit. Heaven knew she could use the money from the sale of the ranch to make life easier. Craig paid child support, but her apartment cost a small fortune and there were always unforeseen expenses with a family.

Their house hadn’t been paid for, so she’d let him take over the payments. He’d married again within a year.

Not her. She got by just fine without someone to stifle and criticize her every move, thank you very much. She almost felt sorry for Craig’s new wife, who obviously hadn’t known the oppression she was bowing under when she’d spoken those vows.

No, this was the life for her. She tucked her feet under her and sipped her tea. And as soon as she got back to San Francisco, everything would be back to normal—better than normal actually.

How long could the remodeling take, anyway? Could Mitch hurry along contractors? She would have to make it clear that expediency was part of the deal. No waiting around for weeks and weeks to get things done. She planned the tactics in her head—how she would make the arrangement, how long she would give him, and how soon the work would be under way.

And as for his children—what were two more little girls?



Mitch had been replacing wires and checking belts under the hood of his truck for about an hour when the pewter-colored Blazer pulled up into the graveled area. Heather got out, sent Jessica and Patrick into the house, and came over to talk to him, carrying her youngest. Mitch couldn’t help noticing the young mother’s shapely legs revealed by a pair of cuffed white shorts. His gaze skimmed up the length of those slender legs to her slim waist.

“Get it running?” she asked. Her shoulder-length honey-brown hair glistened with streaks of blond in the sunlight. She wore a sleeveless sweater with a row of tiny buttons that drew his attention to nicely rounded breasts beneath the fabric. The soft shade of blue made her golden eyes sparkle once she pushed her sunglasses up onto her head. The baby’s hand rested on the swell of one breast and Mitch’s throat got so dry, he had to look away.

He wiped his hands on a rag. “Pretty rough, but it’s running. I figured I’d have it towed to get it out of your yard, if it didn’t start.”

“It’s not bothering anything,” she replied. She glanced around the yard. “You fixed the corral.”

“First thing.”

Her unreadable gaze fluttered to the barn and back. “Mitch.”

His name from her lips pleased him in some unexplainable way. He liked the sound. “Yeah.”

“Your suggestions were better than any of the other candidates’s. I’ve decided to negotiate with you on the remodeling project. There are a few things we need to get straight first, and I have a list of questions.”

“My time is your time,” he said amenably.

“Have you had lunch?”

“Not yet.”

“Please join us. After we eat, we’ll sit on the porch, such as it is, and talk business.”

He gave a nod. “All right.”

“Where are your daughters?”

“Cade agreed to look after them. He’s a newlywed and his wife Leanne teased that he could use the practice.”

“He seems like a nice guy.”

“Very. I’m glad we got together. With my other half brothers, too. It’s been an interesting experience. Whether or not I get any land isn’t really important. Discovering I have family is.”

She tucked a length of hair behind her ear and looked away, as if the personal subject made her uncomfortable. She adjusted Andrew on her hip and the boy’s hand dropped from her breast. Mitch made himself look at her eyes. Equally as disturbing.

“About twenty-five minutes, then?” she asked.

He refocused on their conversation. “I’ll be there.”

Almost an hour later she carried two frosted glasses of iced tea out to the porch and they settled on the weathered furniture. She crossed her smooth, distracting legs. She had to know what a distraction that was, but she seemed to not notice his perusal. Her toes peeked from her sandals, revealing delicate nails painted a pale pink.

Mitch purposely studied one of the barn cats that lay in a sliver of sunlight. The feline gave him a disinterested blink and flicked his tail against the porch floor in a rhythmic beat.

“First, it’s important that you know I’m under time pressure to get this done and get back home,” Heather told Mitch.

“I understand.” He’d never met anyone who wasn’t in a hurry to get a construction project finished. “There’s quite a bit I can do on my own,” he said. “But the more help I can hire, the faster it’ll go. But since money is tight, we can’t bring in too many workers.”

“How many will speed things up?”

“Even two or three would help a lot.”

“Can I afford them?”

“I’ll contract them. That way they’ll be getting paid as the work progresses, even though I won’t get paid until the sale goes through. How’s that?”

She looked surprised. “That’s more than I expected. You wouldn’t survive a week in San Francisco, doing business this way.”

“You can get ripped off by paying for services ahead of the finished work,” he replied, thinking she was biting the hand that fed her if that had been criticism.

“Noted,” she said with a nod.

“Let’s decide how extensive you want this renovation, and make a budget.”

Again she looked surprised, as though she hadn’t expected him to be this professional. After seeing his ineptitude with his kids, her surprise might be justified, he thought wryly.

She walked him through the house, and he took notes and made lists on the tablet in his black folder. He asked her questions and made suggestions until their ideas for the project were compatible.

They entered the wood-floored living room where the kids were sprawled on sleeping bags, watching a cartoon.

“Do you have a computer?” he asked.

She nodded. “I brought it with me so I could work.”

“Good. I have a program for designing kitchens and baths that you can play with. You give it the specs, lay out the requirements, and it designs the blueprints. Saves a lot of money and the plans are easy to work from. I’ve used it dozens of times. Let’s go outside.”

She nodded and they walked out to survey the house and outbuildings together.

“The house is good and solid, and the land is valuable. Your father had a nice operation going here at one time. I would think it would be hard to sell and leave it all to strangers.”

She glanced at the cloudless blue sky, then down the length of the drive. “I have a good job waiting for me.”

Not an explanation. Not a word about any sentimental ties or feelings of regret at selling. Nothing personal at all. He’d been neatly kept at a distance. Her impersonal treatment shouldn’t have bothered him; he was a professional. But it did. For some reason what she thought of him mattered. And she obviously didn’t think him worthy of her thoughts or feelings.

He took her cue and stayed on the subject of the work. Another hour later he climbed into his truck, praying it would start again, and gave her a salute when the engine turned over and he drove off.

Beneath the plastic sheeting the seat was wet, and the once-blue carpeting was green and slimy. The whole cab smelled like skunky water. He’d called around and found a place willing to clean the interior, but it wasn’t going to be cheap. There was still the matter of the creased fender, too.

Taylor and Ashley would never make enough allowance in their combined lifetimes to pay for this fiasco, and he still wasn’t sure how to handle their behavior. Last night, he’d given them each a stern lecture and grounded them to their room. He and the girls shared a room in Garrett’s house, which Mitch had twin-proofed, so there had been no way to separate them. Since they’d had each other, he wasn’t sure just how effective the evening’s confinement had been.

Besides, he thought, pulling into the drive, taking them to Cade and Leanne’s today had given them another reprieve.

He found the three of them on the side lawn, engaged in a chaotic game of croquet. Cade merely shook his head, rubbed his shin, and turned the girls over to their father.

“Thanks, man,” Mitch said. “I owe you one.”

“You owe me two,” his half brother replied with a wry grin.

Mitch agreed with a laugh, belted the girls into the borrowed ranch truck, and drove to his grandfather’s ranch.

“Daddy, we’re bored,” Ashley said, jumping out of the truck and bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“I have to take my truck to get it cleaned, and you two are grounded.”

“But you left us all day!” Taylor said, wide-eyed.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t have a good time with Uncle Cade.”

“But we want to go get some ice cream. It’s boring here.”

As usual, Mitch couldn’t bring himself to be harder, because he felt sorry for them. They had no mother. Somehow these incidents just never seemed important enough to disrupt life more, to make his girls even more unhappy.

Ashley pouted and plopped herself on the lawn, her grass-stained knees drawn up to her chin. Taylor took his hand and pumped it persistently. What had happened to those darling, angelic babies? When had they become manipulators?

“All right. Let’s go get some ice cream.”

“And rent a movie, Daddy?” Ashley begged.

He wasn’t doing the right thing, but he didn’t know what to do, and he didn’t know how to change this cycle of behavior. The twins were confused. This was another new situation, and they’d been faced with so many adjustments in their short lives.

He hoped that once the work started at the Bolton ranch, his girls wouldn’t make the days miserable for all of them. He just had no idea how to ensure that.



Arranging bids and hiring his helpers took most of the week, but by the following Monday, work was under way. Mitch had pulled a lot of strings and taken advantage of small-town kindness to hasten the progress, and Heather appreciated his efforts.

He and the three men he’d hired had been tearing off the back porch and the shingles most of the morning. Heather figured she’d better get used to the racket; this was only the first day.

She’d shopped in Billings and ordered via the Internet to acquire materials to teach and entertain five children for several weeks. Organization was the key to keeping things running smoothly, so she’d scheduled their days on a calendar with classes and crafts and playtime.

This morning, Taylor slumped in her chair and refused to participate. She glared at Heather. “You can’t make me.”

“You’re right, I guess. I can’t make you. You’ll just have to sit there and be bored.”

Taylor folded her arms over her chest and belligerently raised her chin. “I want to watch a video.”

“It’s not video time until after lunch.”

Taylor scowled and kicked the table leg with her swinging foot.

Heather took a deep breath and turned back to the table. A few minutes later, while showing Patrick how to connect the numbered dots on a page, she heard Taylor jump up from the table.

The child ran for the back door—the door they’d all been warned not to use—twisted the bolt and threw open the door. A scream ripped from her throat as she disappeared from sight.

Heather reached the opening and stared four feet down at the pile of boards and rubble where the girl had landed. “Taylor! Are you all right?”

Mitch scrambled down the ladder from where he’d been ripping off boards and bounded over the debris to his daughter. Crying indignantly, the child sat and raised her bleeding knee.

“Honey, didn’t you hear me tell all of you not to come out that door?” he asked.

Heather stared down at the top of his head. “She heard you, all right.”

He glanced up. “What happened?”

Taylor wiped hair away from her eyes and glared at Heather. “She’s mean. I don’t like her. I wanna go back to our grampa’s ranch.”

“Taylor, Heather is not mean. You can’t go back until we all go back together tonight. Heather is taking care of you during the day while I work. I explained that.”

She managed to make her chin quiver. “She tried to make me draw pictures I don’t want to color.”

Mitch propped a small ladder from the ground to the doorway above. He picked up Taylor. “Let’s get this cut cleaned and bandaged.”

Heather moved back and watched him enter the kitchen and sit his daughter on the chair she’d earlier occupied.

“Look what I made, Daddy.” Ashley held up the picture she’d drawn.

Mitch praised her artwork and accepted the plastic first-aid kit Heather supplied. He paused in cleaning his daughter’s knee to survey Heather’s expression.

Feeling helpless, she merely raised a brow. He must feel this way all the time.

Taylor immediately started to cry again. “My leg hurts!”

Mitch met Heather’s gaze, his confusion obvious. “Here, let me get a bandage on, and you can go rest for a while.”

“Can I watch a video?”

“Sure, as long as you’re sitting quietly.”

Over his shoulder, Taylor gave Heather a smug look and allowed her tears to subside.

Heather did a slow burn. “It’s still lesson time,” she said. “I planned videos for after lunch.”

Mitch straightened. “Couldn’t we bend the schedule just a little to accommodate today’s problems?”

“May I have a word with you alone?” she asked.

“Can I have a cookie, too?” Taylor asked.

Mitch glanced from his daughter to Heather.

“They haven’t had lunch yet,” she supplied.

“Excuse us for a minute,” Mitch said. “Girls, you sit here while I talk to Heather.”

Wondering all the while what she’d gotten herself into, Heather followed him into the living room. He led the way, as though he’d taken charge of this situation, and his assumption ruffled her.

“It seems to me that constantly bending the schedule—and the rules—is the main problem here,” she said in a low, controlled voice.

His expression darkened. “Don’t get me wrong,” he said. “I know they’re not angels. I haven’t known what to do with them most of the time. But I think they need a little flexibility.”

“Maybe it’s stability they need.”

His eyes seemed to soften. And his voice, when he spoke again, was laced with a combination of vulnerability and tenderness. “Can’t there be both?”




Four


H eather took a deep breath. She was a stickler for details, she knew that. She functioned best with order and discipline. Her children had always done fine under her leadership. But they had seemed to blossom more since they’d been at the ranch—since their days weren’t consumed with rigorous schedules. Perhaps there was a compromise.

She drew herself up and looked Mitch in the eye. “All right.”

She led the way back to the kitchen. “We’ll take a break and have some free time,” she said to the children. “You can watch a video or draw or anything you want until lunch.”

The kids looked at each other and grinned cheerfully.

Mitch gave her a grateful smile, then turned to have a few words with his girls. Within minutes he headed back outside.

By lunch Heather’s nerves were still on edge. She prepared sandwiches and sliced fruit and ushered the children out the front door for a picnic on the side lawn, where they could be entertained watching the workers.

“I don’t like tuna,” Taylor complained, peeling back her bread and wrinkling her nose.

“Me neither,” Ashley agreed. “I want skettios.”

“I’ll get some skettios for later in the week, but for now, we’re having tuna.”

“I don’t like it,” they chorused.

“Then don’t eat it.”

They looked at one another and blinked. Taylor looked back. “You’re not gonna make us eat it?”

“Nope.”

Taylor nestled onto the checkered tablecloth as though she’d won a battle. “What do we get, then?”

“There are chips on your plate and apple and orange slices.”

“That’s not a good lunch.”

“Everyone else is eating it.” Heather demonstrated by taking a bite of her sandwich. Patrick and Andrew were watching the exchange with interest while they chewed. Jessica already looked as tired of the girls’ complaints as Heather felt.

Ashley stared, agape. “But we’ll be hungry!”

“I guess you will.”

Taylor folded her arms over her chest and pouted.

The afternoon went a little more smoothly, because she’d purchased Veggie-Tales’ videos none of them had seen before. The kids watched and laughed, and at snack time, nobody complained about raisins, graham crackers, or juice.

“Now it’s time to pick everything up and put it away,” Heather announced.

“I’m not pickin’ stuff up. My leg hurts.” Taylor ensconced herself on the sofa.

Her leg had been fine all afternoon, Heather noted. “Everyone who helps, gets a treat,” she coaxed, thinking that would bring the girl around.

The others picked up puzzles and toys and rolled up the sleeping bags they liked to lounge upon, then Heather presented four of the five children with a heart-shaped treat from her private stash of Godiva chocolates.

Taylor scowled, pursed her lips into a pout, and glared at Heather. “You’re mean. I don’t like you.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way. You had the same chance as the others to help clean up.”

“I’m just a kid.”

“You’re not just a kid. You’re a very bright and capable young lady.” With a negative attitude.

“What’s ‘capable’?”

“It means you’re smart and good at doing things.”

Apparently the compliment from someone she considered mean confused her. She leaned back on the aged sofa, refusing to watch the others finish their candy. Probably planning a dramatic tale with which to regale her father, Heather thought. “My daddy will buy me a treat of my own.”

While Patrick and Andrew took naps upstairs, Heather gave the three girls a stack of books, put on a tape of relaxing rainforest sounds, and with one ear zeroed on the chatter, familiarized herself with the blueprint program Mitch had given her on disk.

It was as easy as he’d assured her, and she enjoyed experimenting with the different kitchen scenarios. Before long, she’d narrowed it down to two floor plans. She would show them to him for his input on cost-effectiveness.

Heather rearranged the room again, making space for the washer and dryer to be enclosed. She checked the clock, saved her work to a disk, and went to check on the kids.

Taylor sat on a worn chair and slid down until her chin reached her chest. “I don’t wanna be here.”

Her heart softened toward the troublesome child. She picked up a book from the floor and perched on the sofa. “I guess this is different from the way things used to be for you, isn’t it?”

Blue eyes assessed her skeptically.

“I’ll bet you miss your grandmas, huh?”

Taylor allowed a fractional nod.

“And our mama,” Ashley said from the other side of the room. “We miss our mama, don’t we, Taylor?”

One side of Taylor’s mouth moved up in what might have been agreement.

“Did your mother read to you?” Heather asked, hoping to find a way to connect with the little girl.

“Yes, she did. She read to us all the time. Every night. Good books, too, not dumb ones.”

“Would you like it if I read a story to you?”

Taylor’s expression remained unchanged.

“I would!” Immediately Ashley came and seated herself right beside Heather, delightedly worming her way until she was nearly in her lap.

Heather met Jessica’s look of amusement and they shared a grin. Obviously Jess recognized what Heather had been trying to do and sympathized.

Heather pulled the eager, loving child into her lap and opened the book. So easy. It was so easy for this twin to ingratiate herself, to show her need for closeness and a maternal touch.

Taylor watched from her position on the chair. She didn’t seem to resent her sister’s gregarious ability to tuck herself into an embrace and enjoy herself, but surely her thoughts were confused. Heather got confused just watching her.

Jess came to sit beside them and listen to the story, too. Taylor listened without expression.

When the boys awoke, Heather took the children outdoors for the rest of the afternoon. They sat for a while on the grassy bank of the pond, watching dragonflies and tossing sticks into the water. The pounding of hammers drew her gaze to the house where Mitch and his three-man crew, having removed the old roof and torn off the back porch, were framing the new one.

The house was located in an ideal spot, with a view of the Crazy Mountains off to the northwest. Years ago there had been a garden on that same side of the house; Heather remembered picking beans in the morning sun.

A cyclone fence would be ideal for a family home, she mused. Children could be left to play safely inside with a swing set and a sandbox. Mentally ticking off the remaining weeks, she wondered if a few playground toys wouldn’t be a good investment toward keeping her sanity.

The hired men worked until nearly eight, then headed toward Whitehorn. “You’re welcome to the shower,” she told Mitch. “And I have some supper saved if you’d like it.”

“I brought a change of clothes, so I’ll take you up on that.” Minutes later he returned with damp hair, his skin darkened from a day in the sun.

“I wanted to show you the plans I came up with today.” She pointed to the pages she’d printed and placed on the table. She filled a plate from the dishes in the oven.

Mitch studied her floor plans. “I like this one a lot. But you know, if we sort of combined the two and added on just a couple of feet out that way—” he gestured with a thumb “—we could include a shower in the laundry room. And a door from outside. That way Mr. Rancher could come in after his long dirty day and not even have to walk through the house.”

“That’s a practical suggestion,” she said after a moment’s thought. “I like it a lot, and it would really add to the appeal of the place. How much?”

He jotted a few columns on the back of the paper, tallied them and gave her a figure. “Ball park,” he said. “Nothing fancy—molded shower stall.”

She nodded. “Let’s do it.”

Mitch dug into the food she’d placed before him. It was an unaccustomed pleasure to have a lovely and attentive young woman serve him his supper. He’d missed this normal kind of life.

Heather moved around the kitchen, her motions graceful and efficient. He pictured her in a power suit, sitting in an office in a high-rise building. What a change this must be for her. “How did your day go?” he asked. “The rest of your day, anyway?”

She hung a dish towel to dry. “Fair, considering I have no idea how to get through to Taylor.”

She told him about the problems she had with her, and about Taylor’s reactions. “Don’t be surprised if she asks you to buy her a treat.”

He swallowed and pushed the plate aside. She was knocking herself out here, and as always, his kids weren’t cooperating. “Thanks for being understanding about the video today.”

Sitting across from him, she folded her hands on the tabletop and leaned forward slightly. “I’m trying to be understanding. But the girls need a sense of guidance and direction from you. I need to know that you’re going to back me up on my techniques.”

She was getting too close to identifying his dilemma and his feelings of inadequacy. He folded his napkin and got up to pour himself a cup of coffee. He sat back down, avoiding her eyes.

“Sugar?” she asked.

“What? Oh, yes, thank you.” He stirred a spoonful into his cup. There was nothing she could tell him about his kids’s acting out that he didn’t know. “I know their behavior is…embarrassing.”

“Is that what you call it?”

He set his lips in a firm line, feeling defensive. “I’ve done the best I’ve known how since their mother died. Children shouldn’t have to be without a mother. They were so small…”

Her lovely eyes were filled with compassion, not condemnation. “I’m sorry they lost their mother.”

Mitch shrugged, not knowing what to say, how to explain. His uncertainty and mismanagement was another embarrassment, and he didn’t particularly want to reveal his insecurities to this woman who seemed to have her life and her children so neatly pulled together. Life’s situations weren’t always black-and-white, cut-and-dried, and he’d already told her more about himself than he was certain she cared to know.

He understood her reasoning, he really did. He just didn’t want to lay down boundaries that he would once again end up moving. It was less stressful to give in immediately than to try to take a stand and have his determination broken down with cries and tears that made him feel guilty and rotten. And that was how it always ended.

“Children need limits, Mitch,” she said softly. “Neither parent nor child benefits from letting the child determine the rules.”

Her calm reasoning had begun to irritate him. She had no idea what their life had been like. It was not her place to sit in judgment over his parenting. “I can handle my kids,” he said a little too defensively.

She placed both hands flat on the table. “Not when you’re working, you can’t. If I’m going to be their caregiver, then you’ve got to trust me with some of their discipline.”

“As long as it’s reasonable,” he replied.

“Are you suggesting I’m being unreasonable?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Heather ran a slim hand through her hair in obvious frustration.

If she’d had the option of changing her mind about keeping the girls, she probably would have, he thought. He knew how exhausting they were, what a challenge. His own sense of failure was so great, his words were hollow even to his own ears.

“Just remember,” she said finally, “that your choices can make it harder for me—for all of us—day by day. And your girls have a whole lifetime ahead of them to try to get along with other people who won’t be catering to their every whim.”

“They’re only six,” was all he could think to say. There were years and years ahead for them to have to deal with the world.

She stood and waved a hand toward the other room where the kids played, as if dismissing him.

Mitch headed in that direction and returned with his troublesome daughter. “Taylor, tell Heather you’re sorry for being difficult today.”

“This isn’t necessary,” Heather said.

He studied Taylor patiently.

“Do I have to?”

“Yes.”

Taylor took him seriously for a change. Another scene was the last thing he needed or wanted, and Heather was trying.

“Sorry,” she said, stubbing the toe of her tennis shoe on the floor with a series of squeaks.

“Thank you for apologizing,” Heather replied. “Let’s just forget today and start over. Okay?”





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