Книга - The Nanny’s Texas Christmas

The Nanny's Texas Christmas
Lee Tobin McClain


The Cowboy’s Christmas FamilyAs foreman of the Lone Star Cowboy League Boys Ranch, single father Flint Rawlings knows all about troubled kids—he just never imagined his son to be among them. Logan needs more looking after than Flint can provide, so he’s relieved when the boy’s teacher, Lana Alvarez, agrees to be his nanny over Christmas break. But having Lana nearby sets Flint on edge. He’d vowed never to let another woman get close after Logan’s mother left them, but Lana fills a hole in their lives Flint didn’t know was there. Can he embrace love again and grant Logan his Christmas wish: a new family?







The Cowboy’s Christmas Family

As foreman of the Lone Star Cowboy League Boys Ranch, single father Flint Rawlings knows all about troubled kids—he just never imagined his son to be among them. Logan needs more looking after than Flint can provide, so he’s relieved when the boy’s teacher, Lana Alvarez, agrees to be his nanny over Christmas break. But having Lana nearby sets Flint on edge. He’d vowed never to let another woman get close after Logan’s mother left them, but Lana fills a hole in their lives Flint didn’t know was there. Can he embrace love again and grant Logan his Christmas wish: a new family?


Flint had to think of his son.

His desire to keep Lana at a distance tried to raise its head, but his gratitude about Logan’s safety put his own concerns into perspective.

Logan took priority. And if Lana would agree to be Logan’s nanny on a temporary basis, that would be best for Logan. And Flint would tolerate her nearness. Somehow.

“Can she, Daddy?” Logan asked, his face eager.

He turned to Lana. “Can you?” he asked her.

Lana drew in a breath and studied them both, and Flint could almost see the wheels turning in her brain.

He could see mixed feelings on her face, too. Fondness for Logan. Mistrust of Flint himself.

Maybe a little bit of… What was that hint of pain that wrinkled her forehead and darkened her eyes?

Finally, Lana gave a definitive nod. “All right,” she said. “We can try it. I’ll be your nanny, Logan.”

* * *

Lone Star Cowboy League: Boys Ranch

Bighearted ranchers in small-town Texas

The Rancher’s Texas Match by Brenda Minton

October 2016

The Ranger’s Texas Proposal by Jessica Keller

November 2016

The Nanny’s Texas Christmas by Lee Tobin McClain

December 2016

The Cowboy’s Texas Family by Margaret Daley

January 2017

The Doctor’s Texas Baby by Deb Kastner

February 2017

The Rancher’s Texas Twins by Allie Pleiter

March 2017


Dear Reader (#u2bda632f-ae4c-59cc-b88c-04fb1b3aea8f),

I hope you enjoyed your latest visit to Haven, Texas, as much as I did! Flint and Lana are close to my heart because they’ve both suffered in the past, and both are tempted to close themselves off to love, so they won’t be hurt again. But God—with an assist from Marnie Binder and Logan—has other plans. As so often happens, though, it’s up to Flint and Lana to take a leap of faith and trust that God has good plans for them. In fact, God’s plans are exceedingly abundant, beyond anything we could dream up ourselves. That’s a truth we should all embrace and celebrate during this Christmas season!

If you’d like to learn about my new releases and get a free romance story, please hop over to my website at leetobinmcclain.com (http://www.leetobinmcclain.com) and sign up for my newsletter. Or send me an email via the website. I love to hear from readers!

Wishing you abundant blessings,

Lee


LEE TOBIN MCCLAIN read Gone with the Wind in the third grade and has been a hopeless romantic ever since. When she’s not writing angst-filled love stories with happy endings, she’s getting inspiration from her church singles group, her gymnastics-obsessed teenage daughter and her rescue dog and cat. In her day job, Lee gets to encourage aspiring romance writers in Seton Hill University’s low-residency MFA program. Visit her at leetobinmcclain.com (http://www.leetobinmcclain.com).


The Nanny’s Texas Christmas

Lee Tobin McClain






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


Now unto Him that is able to do exceeding abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that worketh in us, unto Him be glory in the church by Christ Jesus throughout all ages, world without end.

—Ephesians 3:20–21


To my coworker Judith Reyna, who always makes time to answer my silly Spanish questions; and to my farmer friend Ben, who helped me understand ranch equipment and ranch foreman duties. And to Shana Asaro and the amazing writers who worked together on the Lone Star Cowboy League: Boys Ranch books—Margaret Daley, Deb Kastner, Jessica Keller, Brenda Minton and Allie Pleiter. It’s been a pleasure writing with you!


Special thanks and acknowledgment

are given to Lee Tobin McClain for her contribution to the

Lone Star Cowboy League: Boys Ranch miniseries.


Contents

Cover (#u57b08c7d-ffd7-5d91-b9d7-7acea62f86ee)

Back Cover Text (#u71995593-3c8b-5341-90d7-4688ee0f21c4)

Introduction (#u6bcf5cd4-331a-51f1-aa05-d871d08c8ba8)

Dear Reader (#u978f8d78-815f-576f-902b-876074b1a6ce)

About the Author (#ud254ff6c-4662-5600-bb0e-247cb639ba48)

Title Page (#uc127511a-5870-5700-96a8-f9f0b7e4dfa5)

Bible Verse (#u47ff9656-c331-59c3-ab5d-0ac0d6f9361c)

Dedication (#u790dde29-ce5d-552d-beb2-ab6911a7972f)

Acknowledgments (#u4f445e47-bfb3-5886-a16e-e408397eb0ab)

Chapter One (#u73223ff8-2aa6-54f9-8368-e49eb99bf723)

Chapter Two (#ua92350b8-df6f-5be9-9983-243f239bcffc)

Chapter Three (#u717738ee-a71f-5019-9126-75c1b35c1387)

Chapter Four (#ua288a2b9-6567-54d2-bf1a-37e280cc0049)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#u2bda632f-ae4c-59cc-b88c-04fb1b3aea8f)

“Not again.” Flint Rawlings frowned as he clicked up the volume on his cell phone and backed into the barn. He motioned to the three teenagers in front of him to keep working on the hay swather that lay disassembled in the dirt parking area.

“I’m terribly sorry.” Mrs. Toler, his son’s elderly nanny, sounded upset. “I’ve looked all around the cabin and yard. I suspect he’s run off with that gang of hooligans from the ranch.”

“He won’t have gotten far. I’m sure he’s up at the main house, just like last time.” At six, Logan had developed a habit of running away, but he always went to the same place. “Don’t you get yourself stressed out, Mrs. Toler. I’ll go right over there and find him.”

“All right, but, Flint...” Mrs. Toler paused, then spoke again, her voice shaky. “This just isn’t going to work.”

“What’s that?” He pinched the bridge of his nose as the rising sound of a teen argument came through the barn’s open doors.

“He’s picking up some of the same bad habits that brought those delinquent boys to the ranch. Why, you wouldn’t believe how he mouthed off when I told him he couldn’t have a second piece of cake.”

“The mouthing off will stop. I’ll talk to him.”

“Please, do. But meanwhile, I’m too old to be running all over the Triple C looking for that boy. I’m giving notice.”

Flint restrained the groan that wanted to emerge from deep in his chest. “You go home and get some rest, and we’ll talk later tonight.” More like he’d beg her to stay on. “Don’t worry about Logan. I’ll find him. I always do.”

The stack of overdue paperwork he’d hoped to tackle this afternoon seemed to glare at him, but he turned away and headed outside. The teenagers were arguing over what engine part went where. Flint put a stop to that and explained to the boys that they’d have to take up their large-equipment-repair lesson tomorrow after school.

Then he headed up to the main house double time. He’d spoken reassuringly to Mrs. Toler, but the reality was that Logan was just six. Although the two of them had moved to their little cabin on the Triple C Ranch over a month ago, Logan didn’t know the Triple C nearly as well as he’d known the Silver Star, the previous location of the Lone Star Cowboy League’s Boys Ranch.

What if Logan had gotten lost? The days were at their shortest in early December, and the weather was getting steadily cooler. Logan was notorious for forgetting to grab a jacket before running outside.

And Flint, rushed as he’d been with the move and the general craziness of a working ranch for at-risk boys, didn’t always think to remind him.

A familiar sense of inadequacy rose in him. He’d been doing his best to raise Logan alone, but he wasn’t one of those cookie-baking, playgroup-organizing kind of fathers featured in the parenting magazines he dutifully subscribed to. He was a ranch foreman, a veteran, a man’s man. Which worked great with older boys, but as the single dad of a six-year-old, he wasn’t passing muster.

Two of the teenagers he’d been working with raced ahead toward the main ranch house. Automatically he turned to see whether the third boy was coming, the one who’d looked the most disappointed when Flint had postponed the lesson. Robby Gonzalez was a new resident at the ranch, thirteen but big for his age, and he was kicking at a stone as he walked along behind.

Flint felt a twist of sympathy despite his own troubles. “C’mere, Robby.” He gestured for the boy to join him. “Need some help.”

Robby brightened and jogged to catch him. “¿Qué pasa? I mean, what’s up?”

Flint considered trying to answer the kid in Spanish and decided against it. He knew a little, like most folks in this part of Texas, but he was too worried to find the right words. “Know where the younger kids are hanging out?”

“Sí. Most of them were going to the library. They said Senorita Alvarez was doing story time.”

Miss Alvarez. Logan’s pretty teacher, who volunteered at the ranch after school. Flint’s certainty about where Logan had gone bumped up a notch, along with his discomfort.

“I saw Senorita Alvarez,” Robby continued with a sly grin. “She could read me a story anytime. Es muy atractiva!”

“Respect, Robby,” Flint said automatically. The boy was probably too young to be interested in girls his own age, or at least, too awkward to know how to interact with them. But a crush on an older teacher? Maybe. Or maybe the kid was just trying to get attention—something all the at-risk boys craved. Flint thumped Robby’s shoulder. “You did a good job helping to take apart that swather,” he told the young teenager. “Make sure you show up tomorrow, and we’ll put it back together.”

Robby beamed and turned toward the main ranch house, and Flint veered off toward the little library behind it. He wished he could put his life back together as easily as a broken piece of farm equipment.

Mrs. Toler, their third babysitter this year, had seemed like a perfect solution to Flint’s child-care problems. But Flint should have known it wouldn’t work for long. The Lord didn’t tend to look out for Flint and Logan. Never had.

Consciously relaxing his fists, Flint strode toward the library. Once inside the doorway, he stopped dead.

Amid a small group of the ranch’s youngest residents, Logan was cuddled up on a low couch right beside his slender, long-legged teacher. His towhead shone bright against her dark, wavy hair.

The sight hurt. It was what he’d imagined he’d see with Logan’s mother, until Stacie had decided she was too young to be tied down and dumped them both. As he’d scrambled to learn to care for his baby son alone, he’d vowed he wouldn’t let a woman get close again, lest she break Logan’s heart.

Never mind his own heart. After six years, it had pretty much frozen over.

Which didn’t explain why he felt compelled to stand, watching, just one more minute. Watching his son laugh and cuddle in a carefree way, looking happier than he had in weeks. Just one more minute before he went and tore Logan away from the things he wanted most in the whole world: a big family of boys, and a whole lot of warm mothering.

Flint forced down his emotions. Logan wasn’t one of the ranch’s troubled residents. Whatever Flint’s failings as a father, he’d provided his son with a safe home and good discipline. Flint didn’t mind Logan’s befriending the residents—after all, they all rode the same bus to the local public school and played together on the playground—but from what Mrs. Toler had said, Logan was picking up some bad habits. And while Flint didn’t consider the young residents hooligans and delinquents, as Mrs. Toler did, he had to acknowledge that Logan might have learned some inappropriate language and attitudes.

Which had to stop.

Not only that, but Logan was distracting Lana Alvarez from the boys clustered around her feet, the ones she’d come to work with. He was taking attention from kids who truly needed her help.

And in the process, Logan was getting way too attached to his teacher. No more. Flint needed to get his son out of there.

He’d just take one more minute to watch Logan looking so happy.

* * *

Lana Alvarez’s heart went out to the little boy who kept pressing closer and closer to her side. Funny, Logan Rawlings wasn’t one of the at-risk residents, but he seemed just as needy as they were. She wondered if his single dad even knew where he was.

“Scoot in closer,” she said to the five other first-and second-grade boys clustered around her, patting the couch on her other side to encourage shy little Timmy Landon to sit there. He slid in, hesitantly, and Lana smiled at him.

No question, she adored kids. All of them. And even though she probably wouldn’t have any of her own—not now, not after her single humiliating attempt at a normal relationship—she was blessed to be able to love so many kids through her day job as a teacher and through her volunteer work.

She turned the page of the illustrated book they were reading together and held it so all the boys could see the picture. “What do you think’s going to happen next?”

“I know!”

“Me, me!”

“Uh-oh.” Beside her, Logan tensed, looking toward the door.

Through which a very big, very handsome, very displeased-looking cowboy was coming their way.

Flint Rawlings. That curious flush she felt every time she saw him came on strong. It was probably annoyance, because he had to be the most aloof, inattentive father on the planet.

At least from what she’d seen. She knew she shouldn’t judge, but when a child’s best interests were at stake, it was hard for her to help it.

She put a protective arm around Logan, who’d pressed even closer as his father reached their little group.

“My son’s not supposed to be here.” His voice sounded accusatory, and she felt Logan cringe.

Men. If it weren’t for that fact that she needed to model politeness to these young boys, she’d chew out the cowboy for his sharp tone and the way he was speaking to her instead of his son.

“Nice to see you.” She allowed the slightest hint of censure to show in her voice as she extended her hand.

His face reddened. He reached out and wrapped his hand around hers. “Likewise.”

The gravelly voice and the feel of his work-hardened hand raised her heart rate, and she pulled away, feeling suddenly flustered. What was that all about?

“Come on, Logan,” Flint said, squatting down. “You’ve worried Mrs. Toler so much that she had to go home. You’ll have to come back to work with me.”

Logan drew closer to Lana, his lower lip thrusting out. “I want to hear the rest of the story.”

“Logan.” The word was stern, sharp.

Too stern and sharp for a little boy, in Lana’s opinion. But, she reminded herself, everyone had a different style of parenting.

On the other hand, this was working into a family fight that the rest of the boys didn’t need to see. “He’s welcome to stay with me,” she offered. “I’m here until five. I’ll be tutoring some of the kids after story time, and I’m sure Logan would be no trouble.”

“Please, Daddy?”

Flint’s eyes narrowed, and a shadow crossed his face. “No. I want him to come with me.” He reached down, effortlessly picked Logan up, and set him on his feet outside the group.

Two big tears rolled down Logan’s face despite his obvious attempt not to cry, and Lana’s heart broke a little. She opened her mouth to protest, but a look from Flint quelled her.

Of course, a parent had more say over a child’s life than a teacher. She had to remember she was just a teacher.

Would always be just a teacher.

“Thank you for looking out for him,” Flint said stiffly. Then he took Logan’s hand, and they walked away, the small boy straightening his back and trying to match his cowboy-booted steps to his father’s longer strides.

Lana’s throat felt tight. She beckoned for one of the boys to hand her the water bottle she always carried, took a long drink, and then forced a smile onto her face. “Okay, boys. Where were we?”

* * *

Two days later, Flint walked into the tack room to get out some saddles for the younger boys’ evening riding lesson. His two-year-old black Lab, Cowboy, trotted along beside him.

Only, the saddles weren’t there.

He looked around, wondering if one of the riding instructors had moved them, and then walked out into the main barn. Five minutes of searching didn’t turn them up.

That left one likely culprit. “Logan!”

Since Mrs. Toler had definitively quit, he’d had Logan around the barn after school, which had meant some extra trouble and mischief. But last night, Flint had called around, and the result was a friend for Logan to play with today. A friend from school, not the ranch.

Flint liked the kids here at the ranch, knew that most were decent boys who’d gotten in trouble due to home problems that weren’t their fault. But he didn’t want them to be Logan’s only friends. Martin Delgado was the son of a local doctor and, according to Logan, the smartest boy in the class.

What he should have asked Logan, Flint realized now, was how often the boy got in trouble.

Logan’s blond head peeked in the barn door and was immediately joined by a dark one. Both faces looked guilty.

Flint restrained a smile. “Did you take the saddles that were in the tack room?” They were heavy for Logan to carry alone, but with his friend’s help they could definitely be moved.

“We didn’t touch them.” Logan came farther in, relief on his face, and Martin followed.

At which point he saw why they’d been looking so guilty. Somehow they’d gotten into the paint he’d been using to touch up some fencing. They each had a white stripe down the backs of their shirts.

After he’d gotten an explanation—“we were playing skunk!”—and had taken the paint away from them, he set them to sweeping the barn floor under Cowboy’s watchful eye while he took one last look around for the saddles. He didn’t find them, and a couple of phone calls ascertained that no one else from the ranch had taken them anywhere. No adults, anyway.

Which meant this might very well be part of the recent small acts of sabotage that had been plaguing the region.

He was just punching in a text to his friend Heath Grayson, a Texas Ranger who was spending his spare time investigating the sabotage problem, when a familiar pickup approached. Heath Grayson himself got out.

“Just the man I want to see.” Flint pocketed his phone with the text message unsent.

Heath walked around the truck and toward Flint, holding up a cooler. The small bag on top of it produced a home-baked smell that made Flint’s stomach rumble. “Josie heard Mrs. Toler quit,” Heath explained, “so she sent over some of her famous mac and cheese for your dinner. Couple of giant chocolate chips cookies, too.”

At that, Logan came running out of the barn, followed by Martin. “Cookies! Can I have mine now, Dad?”

Flint thought. It was four thirty, and he had another hour or more of work to do around here before he could take Logan home and start dinner. Or rather, heat up dinner, thanks to Josie and Heath’s generosity. It was a long time for a hungry little boy to wait. “Sure. Say thank you to Mr. Grayson first.”

“Thanks!” Logan said, his eyes widening as he took the big cookie Heath held out to him.

“That’s big! Can I have some of it?” Martin asked.

“No way!” Logan turned away from the other boy.

“Logan.” Flint squatted down in front of his son, who was holding his cookie to his chest like the other boy might grab it.

Which, judging from Martin’s angry stance, might well happen.

“We share what we have,” he told Logan. “That’s what it means to be a friend.”

Logan’s expression was defiant, and worry pushed at the edges of Flint’s mind. How did you make sure a kid grew up right? He knew how to get Logan to do his chores and follow behavior rules, but what about the softer side, things like being generous and helping others?

Things that mattered most of all?

Something one of Logan’s Sunday school teachers had put into the church newsletter came to him. Values are caught, not taught.

He turned to Logan’s friend, inhaled the chocolate chip aroma regretfully, and held out the cookie bag. “Here, Martin. You can have my cookie.”

“Thanks, Mr. Rawlings!” Martin pulled the cookie out of the bag and took a big bite.

Heath was laughing. “You scored, Martin. That’s Mr. Rawlings’s favorite kind of cookie.”

Logan looked briefly ashamed, then his face lit up with a new idea. “Let’s climb up in the hayloft and eat them.”

“Cool!”

They turned, and then Logan stopped and looked over his shoulder. “Is that okay, Dad?”

“Sure, if you take it slow up the ladder.” Flint was glad to see Logan had asked permission.

“Can I go first?” Martin asked.

Logan opened his mouth, then shut it again, a struggle apparent on his face. He looked up at Flint.

Flint just waited.

“Yeah,” Logan said finally. “You can go first.”

Flint gave Logan a nod and a smile, and Logan’s face lit up again.

As the two boys ran toward the barn, Cowboy racing in circles around them, Heath chuckled. “I’m taking notes.” He’d just gotten engaged to Josie Markham, who’d been widowed right after discovering she was pregnant. Flint was pretty sure the wedding would happen sooner rather than later, because Heath wanted to help parent Josie’s baby from day one.

“Notes might help, but nothing’s going to prepare you for fatherhood. How’s Josie doing?”

“Okay, except she wants to keep working as hard as ever, and at almost seven months pregnant, she can’t do it all.”

“Thank her for me.” Flint gestured toward the cooler. “Logan’ll be glad to have something that’s not out of a box. And for that matter, so will I.”

Heath chuckled. “I’d rather have an MRE than your cooking.”

MREs. Meals Ready to Eat. The acronym, and the thought of military rations, brought back a wave of wartime memories for Flint, and a glance at Heath’s face showed the same had happened to him.

They’d been through a lot together.

The awareness was there, but neither of them wanted to bring it up. Some memories were best left sleeping. “How’s your grandpa?” Flint asked to change the subject. “Still planning a visit?”

Flint had helped track Edmund Grayson down last month. When old Cyrus Culpepper had left the Triple C to the Lone Star Cowboy League, his bequest had come with the condition that the other four original residents of the boys ranch be located and, if possible, brought to the area for the LSCL’s anniversary celebration in March. The League was hard at work to fulfill the conditions so they could keep the boys ranch going strong.

Heath’s grandfather, Edmund Grayson, was one of those original residents, and it had been Flint’s responsibility to help find him. Which he’d done, with Heath’s help.

“Coming out for Christmas, I think. And for sure to the reunion in March.” Heath leaned against the fence surrounding the horse corral. “You said you wanted to see me about something?”

Flint pushed back his hat and leaned on the fence beside his friend, looking out over the land he’d come to love, brown grass of December notwithstanding. Then he hitched a thumb toward the barn. “Missing some saddles,” he said, and told Heath what was gone and when he’d last seen them.

As Flint had expected, Heath got into analyzing the situation right away. During his enforced leave from his Texas Ranger job last month, he’d started digging into some of the recent problems in the area. Although he was back at work now, he’d continued to keep an eye on the situation. “You’ve got more valuable saddles they didn’t take, right?”

Flint nodded. “Doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.” He waited for Heath to home in on the ranch boys as suspects. Flint was worried about that, himself. They were the ones who had the most opportunity.

All the more reason Logan shouldn’t be over-involved with them. Flint would have to keep up the effort to recruit more varied after-school friends for Logan.

Heath was rubbing his chin, looking thoughtful. “Could be someone trying to pin a theft on the ranch boys, make ’em look bad.”

Since Heath had only recently overcome his animosity to the boys ranch, his attitude pleased Flint. “Like who?” he asked. “Phillips?” Fletcher Snowden Phillips, local lawyer and chief curmudgeon, was forever criticizing the ranch for its supposed negative impact on property values and attracting new business.

“Could be.” Heath plucked a piece of grass and chewed it, absently. “Could be Avery Culpepper, too. She’s got some pretty strong opinions about the ranch.”

Two of Flint’s least favorite people. “You’re right. Could be either one. Except I can’t figure either of them getting their hands dirty, breaking into a barn and stealing saddles.”

“Good point. Truth is, any lowlife who knows about the ranch might take kid stuff. Because they’d figure we’d blame the boys.”

“Yeah, and those saddles do have some resale value.” And Flint would have to replace them if they weren’t found quickly.

“I’ll take a look around,” Heath said.

As they walked toward the barn, Flint’s phone buzzed. He pulled it out. An unfamiliar number, but local. “I’d better take this,” he said, gesturing for Heath to go ahead into the tack room. He clicked to answer the call.

“Mr. Rawlings, this is Lana Alvarez over at the school.”

Flint stopped. Liking for her musical voice warred with a sense that, whatever Lana Alvarez had to say to him, it wasn’t going to be good. “What’s up?”

“I’m calling to request a conference. Could we set up a time for you to come in to school? I’m afraid there’s a problem with Logan.”


Chapter Two (#u2bda632f-ae4c-59cc-b88c-04fb1b3aea8f)

The next afternoon, Lana Alvarez looked at the large school clock and frowned. Her nervousness was turning into annoyance.

Flint Rawlings was late.

“Still here?” Rhetta Douglass, the other first-grade teacher, stuck her dreadlocked head through the door and then walked in. “Girl, it’s four fifteen on a Friday. This place is empty. Go home! Get a life!”

“Parent conference.” Lana wrinkled her nose. If Rhetta only knew how little of a life Lana had, she’d probably laugh...and then invite her over.

Lana and Rhetta had both started as new teachers this year, and they were becoming friends, but Rhetta had a husband and twin three-year-old sons. She didn’t need Lana horning in on her family time.

Rhetta put down her bags, bulging with student work and supplies, and came over to perch on the edge of Lana’s desk. “Who schedules a conference at four fifteen on the one day we’re allowed to leave early? You better look out, or I’m going to sign you up for Cowboy Singles-dot-com.”

Waving a hand back and forth and laughing, Lana leaned back in her teacher’s chair. “Not going there. And I’m about to leave. I didn’t schedule the conference for four fifteen. The parent is—”

At that moment Flint Rawlings appeared in the doorway, taking off his hat and running a hand through messy blond hair. “Sorry I’m late.” His well-worn boots, plaid shirt and jeans proclaimed he’d come straight from the ranch.

Rhetta raised an eyebrow at Lana. “On second thought, you may not need that website after all,” she murmured, and headed over toward her things. She waved at Flint as she walked out the door.

Lana crossed the room to greet Flint, hoping he hadn’t heard that Cowboy Singles remark. “Come in, Mr. Rawlings.” She led the way back through the classroom to the teacher’s desk up front.

Although she’d already put an adult-sized metal folding chair beside her desk, anticipating Flint’s visit, it didn’t seem large enough for the rugged rancher. Maybe it was the fact that she was used to males of the first-grade variety, but Flint Rawlings seemed to overwhelm the room by his very presence.

“Thank you for—”

“I’m sorry about—”

They both stopped. “Go ahead,” Lana said, gesturing for Flint to finish.

He shook his head. “Nothing important. It’s just, we had a little episode up at the ranch. That’s why I’m late. If you need to reschedule, it’s fine.”

It sounded like he wanted her to reschedule. Really? Wasn’t he concerned about his son? “I think the situation is important enough that we’d better discuss it now.”

“That’s fine, then. What’s going on?” He propped a booted foot on one knee and then set it down again. Like he was trying to get comfortable, or...

He wiped a bandanna across his forehead, and understanding struck Lana. He was nervous! The manly Flint Rawlings was sweating bullets in the classroom of his son’s first-grade teacher.

It was a phenomenon she’d seen in her previous job, too. Lots of parents had anxiety around teachers, usually a result of bad childhood experiences or just excessive worry about their children. Whatever was the case with Flint, the realization siphoned off some of her annoyance.

She crossed her legs, folded her hands and faced him. “So, we had some trouble with Logan yesterday.”

“What sort of trouble?” He raised his eyes from the floor—or had he been looking at her legs?—and frowned. “If it was disrespect—”

“Not exactly. Hear me out.” She picked up a pencil and tapped it on the table, end over end, eraser and then point. “During our one-on-one reading time, he refused to read. Just clamped his mouth shut and wouldn’t say anything.”

“That’s funny.” Flint looked puzzled. “He likes to look through picture books at home, and he’s always pointing out words he recognizes on signs and such.”

“I’m glad you have books for him at home. That’s so important.” She smiled at the man, wanting to put him at ease. “He usually enjoys reading here, too. He’s definitely ahead of the curve in the subject. But yesterday, nothing.”

“I’ll talk to him.” Flint scooted his chair back as if the conference was over.

She folded her arms. “There’s more.”

“What else?” he asked, visibly forcing himself to sit still and focus.

“After reading time, he knocked over a bucket of erasers.” She nodded over to them, now neatly atop a stand beside the chalkboard. “He refused to pick them up. Just crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head. I thought about sending him to the principal, but—”

“What?” Flint half rose from the chair. “The principal? Why am I only now hearing about this?”

“I called yesterday,” Lana reminded him, “and offered you a choice of conference times. This was the earliest one that worked for you.” She emphasized the last word slightly.

“Right. Go on.”

“After I kept Logan in at recess and talked to him, I decided I should get in touch with you before bringing the principal into the picture. Didn’t Logan tell you about any of this?”

Flint shook his head slowly. “Not a word. Is that all?” He looked at her and sank back into the chair. “That’s not all, is it.” It was a statement, not a question.

“If that were all, I wouldn’t have called you.” This was the hardest part, but it needed to be said. “During our conversation at recess, he refused to apologize. I asked some questions, tried to figure out what was going on with him—because this behavior was pretty unusual for Logan—but he wouldn’t answer. Until...” She paused.

Flint’s blue eyes were on her. For better or worse, she had his attention now.

“He wanted to know if he was in enough trouble to be sent to live with the other boys at the main ranch house.”

Flint closed his eyes for a minute and then opened them.

“When I said no, of course not, he burst into tears. He kept asking, ‘What do I have to do to get to live there?’”

* * *

Flint stared at Lana, trying to conceal the emotions that were churning in his gut. Not only did he feel like a failure as a father, but he ached for his son.

What Logan really wanted was a mother, a family, company his own age instead of an elderly nanny who tried to get him to sit still and watch TV with her. He wanted attention, not constant scolding from his dad as he followed him around the barn, getting in the way and causing trouble.

Flint wanted those things for Logan, too.

But unfortunately for both of them, none of what Logan wanted was in the cards for him. Not now, and not in the foreseeable future. “I’ll talk to him,” Flint said as soon as he could control his voice.

“That’s great, but I’m not sure it’s enough,” Lana said gently. “I might be able to help, if you can let me in on some of the things Logan’s struggling with.”

The sympathy on her face just made him feel worse. He hardened his voice. Toughened up his heart. “Bottom line,” he said, “Logan’s struggling with not having a mother. That can’t be helped. And since his nanny quit, he needs something more after school.”

Lana nodded, looking a little skeptical.

“I’m trying to find him some better playmates,” Flint defended himself. “And I’ve put out feelers about another nanny.”

“I wonder if what he might need,” she said, still sounding gentle, “is more attention from you.”

That, on top of how stressed-out he already felt, made him mad. “I have a demanding job. I don’t get off at three thirty like a teacher does!”

She looked pointedly up at the clock, now creeping toward five. “A teacher’s work doesn’t end when the students go home, but that’s not the issue.” She leaned back and looked at him narrowly, tapping a pencil on the desk. “May I be honest, Mr. Rawlings?”

“Doesn’t seem like you have a problem with that.”

“When it’s called for. Mr. Rawlings, there were three children whose parents didn’t come to Open House. Two were from migrant families who were trying to get here when their truck broke down on the road outside town. The other was Logan.” She paused, letting that sink in good and deep, and then spoke again. “All three of them cried the next day when the other children were sharing about their families’ reactions to Open House.”

Flint just looked at her, absorbing the criticism in her words and her expression. Yep, a failure as a father.

“Now, I happen to know the ranch went on lockdown that night. I know there were problems with the boys, and you probably had to help. Logan knows that, too,” she said. “In his mind, at least. But maybe not in his heart.”

Flint let his head drop into his hands and stared down at the floor. He loved Logan more than he’d ever loved anyone, but according to Miss Lana Alvarez, he wasn’t doing a very good job of showing it.

“The other two families who missed Open House got in touch to find out if there was another way to be involved with the school. I had one mother, who’s a great cook, bring in flan for our Harvest Celebration. The other child’s parents both work in the fields, possibly even longer hours than you work.”

Was that sarcasm in her voice? He felt too guilty to be sure.

“But his grandpa, who’s too disabled for farmwork, is helping me tutor the kids who need help in reading, one day a week before school.”

He looked up at her then, spread his hands. “I’ll talk to Logan about his behavior,” he said. More like, talk at him. He needed to show how much he cared, not just lecture his son. “And I’ll come to...whatever I’m supposed to come to, whatever you recommend, here at the school.”

“We always need parents to help with holiday parties,” she said, a dimple tugging at her cheek. “Ours is the last hour of the last day before Christmas break. But... I don’t suppose you’d want to help with that. It would be a pretty demanding first activity with the kids.”

Was she making fun of him or issuing a challenge? He narrowed his eyes at her. “You don’t think I can do it, do you?”

She raised a very pretty eyebrow and shrugged, smiling openly now. “Let’s just say the kids are pretty rowdy then. The parents who help have to plan a lot of activities.”

Yeah, and he had no idea what kind of activities worked for first-graders, which was a pretty sad statement in itself, since he was the father of one.

But Lana Alvarez’s amused gaze made him want to rise to the challenge. “You’re on. When is it?”

“A week from Wednesday. Two o’clock.”

He pulled out his phone and punched in the date and time, marking it “high priority.”

“But meanwhile,” she said, “he may need more attention at home than you’re able to give him, with your responsibilities. I’ll ask around and see if anyone knows of a nanny.”

“No.” Flint shook his head. “If he needs more attention, he can get it from me.”

“If you’re sure,” she said in a voice that made it clear she had her doubts.

He really wanted to get out of here, but for Logan’s sake, he forced himself to ask for help. “Is there...” He cleared his throat. “Is there anything I could do now to make it a little better? Show him I’ve at least seen his classroom?”

She tipped her head to one side. “Hmm. Want to leave a note in his desk for him to find on Monday?”

Logan would love that. Flint took the paper and felt-tipped pen she pushed toward him, jotted a quick note, and went to put it in Logan’s desk.

On an impulse, he squeezed himself into the tiny chair connected to the desk and, holding his phone out, took a picture of himself.

“Logan’s going to love seeing that,” Lana said. “But I’m not sure you’re going to be able to get out of there.”

Sure enough, he had a hard time unfolding himself out of the cramped little desk.

When he stood up, she did, too, and he realized that her bag, bulging with papers, was packed and ready to go. He’d kept her at school overtime.

“Let me help you with that,” he offered, holding out a hand.

She shook her head. “It’s fine. I’m used to carrying it.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t accept a little help.”

“It’s fine,” she repeated.

So the lady was independent. Didn’t want help.

Or maybe she just didn’t want help from him.

They walked together through the deserted hallways. Outside, the sun was setting in a bank of pink-and-gold clouds. His truck was the only vehicle left in the parking lot. “I’m sorry I kept you late,” he said, “and I appreciate your taking the time to meet with me. Where’s your car?”

She clapped a hand to her forehead. “In the shop, and I forgot about it. I was going to grab a ride with Rhetta.” She shrugged. “Oh, well, I need the exercise. See you soon, Mr. Rawlings. Don’t hesitate to contact me if you have any questions.”

“You can call me Flint,” he said, “and I’ll give you a ride home. Where do you live?” He remembered someone telling him that Lana had grown up around here, and he wondered if she lived with her folks.

“Call me Lana, and I’m not going home. I’m going to the church.”

“On a Friday night?” That surprised him. He would’ve thought someone as pretty as Lana would have her choice of dates. What was wrong with the cowboys around here?

Seeming to read his line of thought, she blushed. “I’m not much for the roadhouse or the karaoke place. And a lot of my friends are married and home with their families so I...” She trailed off, looking away with a forced laugh. “What can I say? I’ve spent the last three Friday nights helping Marnie Binder sort stuff for the Christmas bazaar.”

Flint filed that away, trying to ignore the pleasure her words gave him. No reason for him to care what Lana Alvarez did with her evenings. Pretty young women were poison to him.

But on the other hand, Lana sounded a little lonely. And he’d care about any lonely person; he had that much Christian faith left. “What about your folks? I thought you grew up around here.”

“They’re gone. Car accident when I was a teenager. It’s just me.”

“I’m sorry.” Her matter-of-fact tone tugged at his heart. Lana Alvarez was even more alone than he was. And she seemed like a family type. Good with kids. She ought to be happily married, not heading off to church alone.

“Come on,” he said. “I’ll drive you to the church. I have a few things to drop off for the Christmas bazaar, myself.”

* * *

Lana found the ride to the church a little awkward. Partly because this handsome man had discovered that she had no dates and no exciting social life, and he was clearly surprised. He probably found her pitiful.

He must have found their silence awkward, too, because he flipped on the radio. She was expecting country music, but to her surprise, the sound of a classical violin concerto filled the cab of the truck.

“Vivaldi?” she asked, recognizing the tune from her music history course in college.

He glanced over at her and nodded. “Calms me down,” he said a bit sheepishly.

“Does that, too?” She pointed at the baby picture of Logan that dangled from his key chain.

He glanced down at it, and his jaw tightened. Which was a weird reaction to a picture of one’s child. Most people gushed about such precious mementos.

Not Flint. “That’s to remind me to keep my priorities straight,” he gritted out.

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” He reached over and turned up the radio, his eyes firmly on the road.

Well, okay then. Lana turned and looked out the window, pretending great interest in the brown grass and blue sky, and then in the storefronts that dotted Haven’s tiny downtown.

When they pulled up to the little white church, Lana hurried to get out of the truck before Flint could open the door for her, but her heavy bag of paperwork made her lurch awkwardly as she tried to climb down from the high cab. Flint was there instantly, steadying her with a hand on her elbow. He didn’t let go until she was safely on the ground.

She pulled away, her heart thudding ridiculously. What was wrong with her?

He reached for her heavy attaché case. “I can carry that.”

“No, it’s fine.” She kept her hold on it. Even gave it a little tug.

He let go but studied her for a moment like she was a puzzle he needed to solve. “Okay, Miss Alvarez.” Then he walked around to the back of the pickup and pulled out a large wood beam. He hoisted it to one shoulder. “Ready?”

Wow. He was strong. “Sure. Do you want me to...need me to carry something?”

He gave her that puzzle-solving look again. “Yeah, pick up that other beam, would you?”

She turned, stood on tiptoe and peeked into the bed of the truck, where another large beam rested. It had to weigh over a hundred pounds. She glanced at him. Was he serious?

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “That was a joke, Lana. Come on.”

A joke. He’d made a joke.

She held the doors for him to carry the beam inside. When they reached the church’s fellowship area, Marnie Binder was bending over a box of colorful fabric. She straightened up and shook back her gray curls, her face breaking into a wide smile. “Well, look there,” she said. “Two of my favorite people in Texas, coming in together.”

Lana smiled, put down her things, and submitted to the woman’s big hug. As the ranch cook and an active volunteer in the church, Marnie mothered everyone. She and Lana had gotten close quickly when Lana had returned to town. Since Marnie had no kids and Lana had lost her mother, the relationship suited both of them.

Lana admired the craft kits Marnie was making for the younger kids at the craft bazaar and laughed at the older woman’s description of talking a shop manager into giving her scrap fabric for free.

Flint set down the beam and disappeared, returning a moment later with the other beam on his shoulder, stacking it beside some other building materials in one corner of the hall.

Marnie surveyed them both fondly. “I’m so glad you two are dating. This is nice! Where are you headed tonight?”

“We’re not dating!” Lana exclaimed.

“I just gave Lana a ride,” Flint said quickly.

Her face felt hot. She couldn’t look at Flint. For some reason, Marnie’s mistake was hard to laugh off.

“I’m outta here.” Flint lifted his hands and took two steps back. He sounded just as embarrassed—and uninterested—as Lana was herself.

Talk about a blow to the ego.

“You’ll make sure she gets home all right?” Flint asked Marnie in a gruff voice, once he’d gotten to the doorway of the big room. “Her car’s at the shop.”

“Of course.” Marnie gave him a knowing look. “That’s sweet you’re so protective.”

Flint lifted his eyes to the ceiling, turned around, and left the church.

The moment he was out the door, Marnie clapped her hands and turned to Lana. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before,” she said. “You two would be perfect together! Both single, both good-looking, both responsible adults. You love children, and Flint needs someone to help with Logan. You’re both—”

“Marnie! Stop!” Lana waved her hands to halt the flow of words. Now that Flint was gone, she could laugh. “That’s completely ridiculous.”

“Why? He’s a good, churchgoing man. At least...” A rare frown crossed the woman’s face.

“What?”

“I’m trying to think when it was that Flint came back to church.” She started sorting paintable wooden Christmas ornaments into bins, looking thoughtful. “You know, I think it was when Logan got big enough to notice. For a while after his big trouble, when Logan was a baby, Flint stayed away from church. But that was understandable.”

Lana knew she shouldn’t ask, but she couldn’t resist being interested in the gruff cowboy’s history. “What was his big trouble, anyway?”

“You haven’t heard?” Marnie shook her head, clucking her tongue. “What a shame. That young wife of his. If I’d seen her leaving, I’d have stopped her and knocked some sense right into her head.”

“Leaving Flint?”

“And her newborn baby. No sooner had she recovered from childbirth than she was out of Haven, and hasn’t been back since.”

“Oh, wow!” Lana stared at Marnie. “Doesn’t she even see Logan?”

“Nope.”

“That’s awful!”

“I know.” Marnie put down a wooden ornament extra hard, making a loud thwack. “Wants nothing to do with him, apparently. I just don’t understand that. I was never blessed with children, but if I had been, you can be sure I’d never leave them feeling unloved, like that poor Logan.”

“How could she do that? Logan’s the sweetest kid around, and Flint...” She trailed off. Flint certainly wasn’t a talker, and maybe he was rough around the edges, but he seemed basically kind and protective. Wouldn’t anyone want to stick together with someone like Flint?

Marnie gave her a sly look. “Yes, speaking of Flint. He’s handsome, isn’t he? Even my niece, who’s sixteen and hates everyone, calls Flint a hottie.”

“He is good-looking,” Lana admitted.

“So, you should think about going out with him.”

Lana made a big time-out sign with her arms. “Not me. He may be a hottie, like your niece says, but I don’t like hotties.”

“Why not? Oh.” Understanding dawned on Marnie’s broad face. “I heard something about your, um, engagement.”

Lana couldn’t help the surge of heat that rose in her cheeks. “It’s all right. You can say it. I’m sure everyone in town knows.” Restless, she started moving paintbrushes from one can to another. “It happened more than six months ago. I should be over it.”

Marnie came around the table and put an arm around her. “Getting left at the altar must have been a real big hurt. I’m so sorry it happened to you.”

Lana held herself stiff for a minute, but Marnie just patted her shoulder and kept on hugging, and finally, Lana let herself be comforted. Somehow, Marnie knew just what she needed.

Lana’s girlfriends had been mad on her behalf, and the relatives who’d helped plan the wedding had gotten busy handling everything, sending the guests home, donating the food to a local homeless shelter, taking down the decorations.

Everyone had been kind to Lana, sympathetic, but in passing. No one knew quite what to say to a jilted bride.

But now, tonight, Marnie’s sympathy was all for her, and Lana let herself cry a little on the older woman’s comfortable shoulder. When she’d settled down, Marnie urged her into a chair and brought her a cup of tea.

“I’m sure it was awful and embarrassing.” Marnie brought a couple of Christmas cookies from the church kitchen and put them on a napkin in front of Lana. “But you’ll move past it.”

“It’s not an easy thing to get past,” Lana said, and blew her nose.

“There, now. Eat a cookie. That’s right. Those middle-school students won’t miss a couple of cookies. The ladies made enough for an army.”

Lana sipped tea and wiped the mascara from beneath her eyes. “Sorry, Marnie. I’m sure you didn’t expect your Friday night to involve counseling.”

“Not the first time.” Marnie patted her hand. “God’s house is a good place to work through your sadness and get a new perspective. You can get over this, Lana. You can find love again.”

Lana broke off a piece of cookie and crumbled it over the napkin. “Not going there again. I’m a disaster with men. I’m too needy.”

“You’re the opposite of needy! You’re always doing for others. And anyway, you’re way too young to decide on a life of celibacy.”

“I may be young, but some things, I know.”

“You’ve had a lot of losses for someone so young,” Marnie said, studying her thoughtfully. “You had to learn early that nothing in this world is permanent. And that’s true. We only see through a glass darkly, like the good book says. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t enjoy this life and the people around us.”

Lana smiled at the woman who was trying so hard to comfort her. “I do enjoy the people around me. I love the kids. And I’m blessed with friends like you.”

“And the Lord meets your basic needs, right? Better than any human. But still...” Marnie sighed and put a hand over her heart. “There’s nothing like the love of a good man.”

Lana wouldn’t know, but her friend’s comment reminded her to get out of her own concerns. Marnie was a widow and had had plenty of losses herself. “Tell me about Oscar,” she said. “That was your husband’s name, right?”

And looking at the pictures Marnie pulled up on her phone, listening to the stories of storms they’d weathered, vacations they’d shared, the home they’d built together, made Lana feel the tiniest spark of hopeless longing. Maybe there was a small chance that someday, somehow, she’d find love herself.

Maybe even with someone a little bit like Flint Rawlings.

But, no. No way. He was cranky, struggling to care for his son, emotionally repressed. A heartache waiting to happen.

The sound of organ music drifted from upstairs, along with some laughter; musicians practicing for Sunday’s service, no doubt. Lana breathed in the piney scent from evergreen branches brought in to decorate the church and drank down the rest of her tea, warm and comforting with its hint of lemon and mint.

She busied herself with pushing boxes of glue and scissors and sewing supplies across the room and carrying heavy containers of donated items out from the storage closet. She worked up a sweat and tried not to think.

An hour later, after they’d finished their work and were leaving the church, Marnie stopped still. “I just had the best idea.”

“What’s that?”

“Did you hear that Flint Rawlings’s nanny quit this week?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, you should become Flint Rawlings’s temporary nanny!” Marnie’s face broke into a broad smile. “Sometimes, I’m a genius.”

“Marnie! Would you stop with the matchmaking?”

“No, I’m serious. School’s almost out, right? And I’ve been worrying about how you’re going to spend the holidays, alone as you are. You could spend time at the ranch, help a little boy who needs it, and, well, just be a part of things. A ranch at Christmas is a wonderful place.”

Marnie’s words created a vision inside Lana. Having people around her at Christmas, gathering around the table or the fire, helping out Logan...seeing Flint on a daily basis... “No. That wouldn’t work.”

“Why not?”

“Just...it wouldn’t, okay?” All of a sudden, Lana felt like the church was too warm and small. She needed air. “You know what, I think I’m going to walk home, all right?” Without waiting for Marnie to answer, she hurried out of the church, bag in hand, and strode rapidly in the direction of her lonely little apartment where fairy-tale dreams wouldn’t disturb the small, safe life she was trying to build for herself.


Chapter Three (#u2bda632f-ae4c-59cc-b88c-04fb1b3aea8f)

The next Monday, Flint was teaching three of the teenagers how to take apart and grease a balky hay baler when he saw the elementary school bus chugging toward the ranch.

“Stick with it,” he told them, “and help Ben get up to speed, okay?” He was glad that Ben Turner had joined the group. The boy wasn’t always so good with social interactions. But to his surprise, Robby Gonzalez and Ben were hitting it off, which was good; they both needed a friend.

Flint jogged up toward the ranch house, Cowboy trotting alongside, tongue hanging out. They arrived in time to meet Logan as he came off the bus.

He was starting to get the hang of this single dad stuff. After his conference with Lana Alvarez last week, he’d made a commitment to himself to spend more quality time with Logan.

Logan’s coat was half on, half off, and Flint knelt to adjust it as Logan talked a mile a minute. “How’d you put a note in my desk, huh, Dad? That was cool!”

Flint pulled out his phone and showed Logan the picture of himself sitting in Logan’s place at school. “I wanted to see your classroom, buddy. Pretty neat desk you keep.”

“Oh man, that’s cool!” Logan started pulling papers out of his backpack. “Look, Dad! I got a star and a sticker on my Write-and-Draw!”

Taking the paper, Flint examined the carefully formed letters that spelled out “Dad” and “Logan.” Logan had drawn a small figure and a larger one, hand in hand, at the top of the sheet.

Flint’s throat tightened. He’d made some mistakes in his life, but Logan had come out of one of them. Maybe God knew what He was doing after all.

“And Miss Alvarez wrote you a note, too! Only I can’t read it.” Logan pulled out a sheet of note paper with a border of colorful crayons and a couple of sentences of neat handwriting, and thrust it in Flint’s face. “What does it say, Dad?”

Flint read it aloud: Logan was very cooperative today about doing his reading and cleaning up his part of the classroom. He’s excited to have his dad help at the Christmas party.

“Yeah!” Logan yelled. “Miss Alvarez said I did good! And—” he cocked his head to one side “—she even said you’re going to come help with our party.”

Flint nodded. “That’s the plan.”

“Will you know how to do it, though?” Logan asked doubtfully. “Like, to make crafts and stuff?”

“I’ll figure it out,” Flint promised.

“Okay.” Logan accepted Flint’s word without question, making Flint doubly determined to shine as a school dad.

They walked beside the main ranch house together, heading for the barn. As Logan chattered on about his day at school, Flint’s mind wandered to Lana Alvarez. It had been nice of her to send home some positive reinforcement, both for his sake and for Logan’s. She was a good person. He’d thought about her a number of times since their conference and then dropping her off at the church.

In fact, it was hard to get her off his mind. But as for Marnie’s talk about their dating—which the inquisitive, good-natured cook had brought up again to him, twice—no way. No way. Lana Alvarez was the last woman he’d want to date. Even if she weren’t Logan’s teacher, she was way too young and way too pretty. In other words, way too much like Logan’s mom.

As they passed the parking lot behind the ranch house, a car door slammed, and Avery Culpepper sauntered forward, a plate of cookies in her hand.

Who had she come to see? He wasn’t aware of the newcomer having any friends at the ranch. She’d done a better job of making enemies. Yes, she was Cyrus Culpepper’s granddaughter and heir, but the fact that her grandfather had left her only a small cabin and a bit of land had made her bitter. She’d threatened to contest the will, get control of the ranch and sell it off. Her plan, if she was able to go through with it, would ruin a lot of boys’ opportunity for a second chance, but that didn’t seem to bother her. Her latest stunt had been to try to pressure the Lone Star Cowboy League, who controlled the ranch, into giving her a large amount of money to prevent her going to court.

Not a nice woman. “Can I help you?” he asked, stepping in front of her.

“Sure, cowboy,” she said, raising her eyebrows and tossing back her brassy-blond hair.

If that was supposed to have an effect on him, it didn’t work.

Logan was another story. He stepped toward her with a winning smile. “Those cookies smell good!”

“They are good,” she purred, squatting down in front of Logan and waving the plate in front of him.

“Can I have one?” Logan started to reach for a cookie.

Avery pulled the plate back. “Not so fast. Are you one of the, ah, troubled boys?”

Logan looked up at Flint. “Am I, Dad?”

“No.” He leveled a glare at Avery. “I can deliver those to the residents if you like.” After checking them for cyanide. Since when did Avery Culpepper give a hoot about the boys who lived here?

“No, that’s all right,” she purred. “I’m sure you have all kinds of big, important things to do.” She shot him a challenging stare. “While you can.”

So she was still bent on destroying the ranch. At least, that was how he interpreted her remark.

Which made her gift of cookies seem like a ploy rather than a charitable gesture.

“Come on, Logan.” He didn’t want his son anywhere near this woman.

“But, Dad—”

“Now.”

“Listen to your daddy, little boy,” Avery said, dismissing Logan with a wave of her fancy pink-fingernailed hand.

Logan trotted after Flint and, when he caught up, shot a resentful look back over his shoulder. “She didn’t even give me a cookie, Dad. And what’s ‘troubled’ mean?”

“We’ll talk about it later. Nothing to worry about.”

“She’s pretty, but I don’t like her.”

“Neither do I.” None too soon for Logan to learn that “pretty” didn’t necessarily mean kind or worth getting to know. That it was actually, usually, something to watch out for. “Come on, you can play with Cowboy and the barn kittens while I finish working with the older boys.”

* * *

Lana pulled into the ranch house parking lot just in time to see Logan and Flint turn away from Avery Culpepper and head toward the barn.

She got out of her car slowly, watching the pair. Flint had slowed his strides to match Logan’s, and Logan was obviously chattering a mile a minute.

“Cute, aren’t they?” Avery Culpepper approached and nodded toward Flint and Logan, a catlike smile on her face. “Do you have a thing for the ranch manager?”

Lana’s face heated. “No! Logan’s in my class at school—”

“And he’s almost as cute as his daddy.” Avery frowned darkly. “Too bad Flint’s involved with that Lone Star Cowboy League.”

Rumors of Avery’s beef with The League had circulated around church and school, but Lana didn’t know enough about it to take sides. “The league does a lot of good,” she said mildly.

“So they claim.” The woman’s mouth twisted.

“O-kaaay.” Lana didn’t know how to respond to that. “I’d better get to my tutoring. The boys are probably waiting.”

Lana headed toward the ranch house, Avery falling into step beside her. Jagged thoughts pierced Lana’s contentment in the midst of a peaceful day. What had Avery and Flint been talking about? Was Avery interested in Flint?

Was Flint interested in Avery? She didn’t seem like his type, but you never knew with men. Even those who seemed to hold admirable values could end up letting you down.

Lana drew in a breath and looked skyward, centering herself. It didn’t really matter if Flint and Avery were interested in each other, because she, Lana, wasn’t going to get involved with any man. She’d tried and failed. She just wasn’t good at dating, love, relationships.

It wasn’t in the cards for everyone, getting married. And she had plenty to do, and plenty to be thankful for, without being on the arm of a man.

“So how are you liking life in Haven?” she asked Avery, determined to be cheerful.

The woman laughed without humor. “It’s not what I’m used to.”

“Oh?”

“I’m more of a city girl. Grew up in Dallas.”

Lana nodded. “I lived in Austin for a while, during college and for a couple years afterwards. It was fun to have so many choices about what to do.” Although Lana was perfectly content with a small town now. When one of her college teachers had recommended her for a job in the city of Dallas, she’d thanked him—but inside, she’d known she wouldn’t consider it.

“Yeah, instead of sitting home all weekend, or going to the same two bars and seeing the same people.”

Lana laughed. “I can relate. Well, not to the bars, but I sit at home too much.” She felt like she ought to propose they get together, but the truth was she didn’t feel very drawn to Avery. They probably didn’t have much in common.

Still, the woman was new in town and seemed lonely.

Inspiration hit. “Would you like to come to church with me next Sunday? I haven’t seen you there.”

“Me? Church?” Avery looked sideways at her.

“Sure! We have a very welcoming, warm congregation. It’s a great place to make friends.”

Avery sighed dramatically. “Maybe church would be good for me. I’m... I’m just so sad lately.”

“I’m sorry.” They’d reached the point where Lana needed to head toward the library, but instead, she turned to Avery. “Are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?”

“No. There’s nothing you can do.” Avery looked off into the distance, brushing her fingers under her eyes. “It’s just hard that I never got to know my grandfather. Maybe if I’d grown up here, I’d understand the people and feel more a part of things.”

“That is sad.”

Avery shrugged. “When you grow up in foster care, you learn how to make the best of things.”

Sympathy twisted Lana’s heart. She’d had a warm, loving family herself—up until the accident—so she felt for people who hadn’t been so fortunate. “I really hope you’ll come to church on Sunday,” she said, patting Avery’s arm. “I’ll give you a ride.”

At that minute, Marnie Binder came out of the main ranch house’s back door, letting the screen slam behind her. She approached Lana and Avery, stopped, and put her hands on her hips. “What are you doing here?” she asked Avery.

“I thought I’d like to look around,” Avery said. “And look, I brought some cookies for the boys.”

“We have plenty of cookies already,” Marnie said. “And if you want to look around, you need to take it up with Beatrice Brewster. She’s the ranch director.” Marnie turned and stomped back into the house.

What was that about? In the months Lana had known Marnie, the woman had never been anything but kind to others.

Avery looked annoyed. “What’s her problem? Can’t a girl do a good deed?” She thrust the cookies into Lana’s hands. “Here, send these along to the boys. I’m going to take a look around the ranch. Without anyone’s approval.”

Avery headed off in the direction of the barn, leaving Lana thoroughly confused about who Avery was and what she was looking for.

* * *

In front of the barn, Flint, Robby Gonzalez and Ben Turner had just gotten the harvester back together. They fired it up and listened to the newly smooth sound of the engine. While the boys high-fived each other, Flint felt an uneasy prickle in the back of his neck.

He turned around. He hadn’t seen Logan in a while, but he was probably still content in the barn with the new kittens and a video game.

Somewhere behind the barn, Cowboy was barking as if he’d cornered a cat.

Avery Culpepper came from the same direction as Cowboy’s commotion, heading toward one of the older boys who’d been helping with the harvester before, Stephen Barnes. What did she want with him? Stephen was supposed to go home for good at Christmastime, and all the staff was hoping he could keep it together and get along with his stepfather well enough to make it happen.

A moment later, a shout from the other direction spun him around.

And then a familiar, high-pitched scream.

Logan. The voice sounded like Logan.

Flint was running before the sound died out, running toward the other side of the barn. As he came around the corner, horror struck him.

One of the open-air tractors was rolling down a slope with Logan at the wheel.

Dimly aware of Cowboy loping beside him, barking, Flint ran faster, his eyes on the drama still half a football field’s distance away from him. Panic hammered at his chest.

Logan’s mouth was open, and he was screaming. He held on to the wheel, but clearly more to keep from being thrown out of the tractor than because he could control its direction. And now Flint realized that Robby Gonzalez ran beside him, yelling something about the brake.

Could Logan even reach the brake? Flint forced his arms and legs to pump faster, at the same time trying to calculate what had happened. Logan must have knocked the tractor out of gear. And the vehicle was headed toward a metal gate. If the tractor hit it, Logan would go flying. Might be badly hurt, even—

Robby took a flying leap, trying to grab on and climb into the driver’s seat with Logan, but his foot slipped, and he fell backward with a yell. Cowboy raced ahead and reached Robby’s side.

“Get help!” Flint roared at Ben Turner as he passed the boy, his heart and lungs burning, running faster than he’d ever run in his life.

The tractor was picking up speed, and if Logan tried to jump...

“Stay there, Logan!” he yelled, jumping over sagebrush and dodging clumps of grass. “Just stay! I’m coming!”

Behind him he heard shouting, a commotion, but his focus remained on one thing: Logan. Flint was gaining on the tractor now. He couldn’t let it hit that gate.

All thought left him, and he was just a body, running as he’d run in wartime, even faster, because it wasn’t just any life at stake, it was his son’s.

A prayer sprang from deep inside him: Help us, Lord!

Somehow, he found his timing and took a flying leap into the tractor. He grabbed Logan in one arm and the steering wheel in the other, slid his feet into place and hit the brake.

The tractor jolted to a halt, jerking both of them hard.

And then everything was still.

Gasping for air, his heart pounding like a posthole digger, Flint pulled Logan onto his lap. Reached down and put the tractor back in gear. Set the brake. And then brushed Logan’s hair back and studied him, checking for damage.

Logan seemed to catch his breath again then, and he started to cry. A normal, scared-kid cry. Not an “I might get killed” cry.

Praise the Lord.

Blessed. Just for this one moment, he and Logan had been blessed.

“I was scared, Daddy!”

Flint held his son in his arms and sent up a prayer of thanks. His son was safe. He had a second chance.

His heart still pounded so hard it felt like his chest would explode. Delayed reaction nerves had his hands shaking.

He pulled Logan close against his chest. “Never scare me like that again, buddy.”

Logan rubbed his face on Flint’s shirt. “I’m sorry.”

Ben and several of the other boys from the ranch arrived at the tractor, with Marnie and Lana Alvarez close behind them.

“What happened?” Lana asked. “Is Logan okay?”

“He’s fine.” Flint didn’t even have it in him to feel ashamed that the teacher had seen his son in danger. He was still too shaken, too thankful that Logan was alive.

But not too shaken to check for other casualties. “Is Robby all right?” he thought to ask. “He did his best to try to help. Took quite a fall.”

“I’m fine,” the boy said, stepping out from the little crowd. “Sorry I couldn’t stop the tractor.”

“Mr. Rawlings flew!” said one of the other boys.

“Come on,” Marnie said, taking charge. “Let’s get Logan inside. I’ve got a plate of cookies with his name on it. Homemade by me,” she added, with a dark look in Avery Culpepper’s direction.

Flint realized then that Avery hadn’t joined the crowd around them. She was disappearing over the hill, in the direction of the parking lot. Weird.

So they all walked back toward the ranch house together. For the teenage boys, the situation had evolved into something cool, and they traded stories about what they’d seen, how Robby had tried to jump on the tractor, how Ben had run race-pace to get help.

Marnie was still muttering about Avery. “I wouldn’t doubt if that woman had something to do with this,” she said.

Flint was holding Logan, focusing on him, but he had to correct that unfair accusation. “She wasn’t anywhere near, Marnie. I’m pretty sure Logan brought this on himself, playing with the gears on the tractor.” He eyeballed his son. “Right?’

“She didn’t touch the tractor...”

“What?” Flint snapped to attention.

“Miss Culpepper didn’t touch it,” Logan repeated. “She just told me if I climbed up she’d take my picture.”

“I knew it!” Marnie’s hand went to her hip. “I’m going to have a word with that girl.”

“Get in line,” Flint said.

Lana put a hand on both of their arms. “I’m sure she didn’t mean for all of that to happen. And we need to keep the focus on what’s most important.” She nodded toward Logan.

“Am I in trouble?” Logan asked, sniffling.

How did you discipline a kid when his whole life had just flashed before your eyes? Flint schooled his features into firmness. “One thing’s for sure, tractors are going to be off-limits for a long time.”

Logan just buried his head in Flint’s shoulder.

As they all started walking again, Flint felt that delicate hand on his arm once more.

“You doing okay?” Lana Alvarez asked.

He shook his head. “I just got a few more gray hairs. I should’ve been watching him better.”

“Maybe so,” Marnie said. “But you can’t, not with all the work you have at the ranch. So I think we can all agree—you need a babysitter for Logan.” She stepped in front of Lana and Flint, causing them both to stop. “And the right person to do it is here. Miss Lana Alvarez.”

“Oh, Flint doesn’t want—”

“You’ve got time after school. And a Christmas vacation coming up.” Marnie crossed her arms, looking determined. “Logan already loves you. You could help to keep him safe and happy.”

Flint’s desire to keep Lana at a distance tried to raise its head, but his worry about his son, his gratitude about Logan’s safety, and the sheer terror he’d just been through, put his own concerns into perspective.

Logan took priority. And if Lana would agree to be Logan’s nanny on a temporary basis, that would be best for Logan.

And Flint would tolerate her nearness. Somehow.

“Can she, Daddy?” Logan asked, his face eager.

He turned to Lana, who looked like she was facing a firing squad. “Can you?” he asked her.

“Please, Miss Alvarez?” Logan chimed in.

Lana drew in a breath and studied them both, and Flint could almost see the wheels turning in her brain.

He could see mixed feelings on her face, too. Fondness for Logan. Mistrust of Flint himself.

Maybe a little bit of...what was that hint of pain that wrinkled her forehead and darkened her eyes?

Flint felt like he was holding his breath.

Finally, Lana gave a definitive nod. “All right,” she said. “We can try it. But I’m going to have some very definite rules for you, young man.” She looked at Logan with mock sternness.

As they started walking toward the house again, Lana gave Flint a cool stare that made him think she might have some definite rules for him, too.


Chapter Four (#u2bda632f-ae4c-59cc-b88c-04fb1b3aea8f)

As Lana pulled up to the ranch the next day after school, she saw Flint waiting for her. Arms crossed, big like a mountain.

Her heart pounded way harder than it should. What had she gotten herself into? Why had Flint’s problem, how to take care of his son and give him the attention he needed, somehow become her problem?

As soon as she parked and got out of her car, he approached her. “We need to talk,” he said, “before Logan gets here.”

“Sure. He’s riding the late bus, right?” She’d brought a bag with a change of clothes, and she pulled it out of her backseat. “By the way, the terms you texted me last night were more than adequate.”

“I’ve been thinking since then,” he said. “Give that bag to me. Let’s walk and talk.”

“Being a foreman means you’re bossy, I guess?” She let him take the bag out of her hands, because it seemed like it wouldn’t do much good to argue.

One side of his mouth quirked up just a little. “Maybe. Come on. I want to show you something.” He shepherded her toward the rear of the ranch house.

His hand on the small of her back meant nothing, she reminded herself as he ushered her through the kitchen. Just another piece of his bossiness. But the unseasonably warm weather made her fan herself and inch away from him as they arrived at a room in the back. Actually, a little apartment.

“We got to thinking,” he said. “Marnie and Bea and I. We wondered if you’d want to stay here through the holidays.”

“Stay here?” She looked around the cozy little efficiency. “Why? I have a place in town.”

“True, but sometimes, I have to work late. Mrs. Toler used to stay over, but it wouldn’t be appropriate...” He trailed off.

Lana swallowed.

“Anyway, it’s inconvenient having to bring clothes along each day, isn’t it?”

She turned around, looking at the apartment. “It’s true I haven’t really settled my place yet,” she admitted. The small apartment building where she lived in Haven had been a temporary solution when she’d gotten the teaching job in August. And she’d been feeling depressed about being there alone over the holidays. To live at the ranch, surrounded by all the kids and clutter and life... It would definitely suit her.

“See, there’s a desk and study lamp.” He turned it on, then off again. “For your teacher work. The place isn’t fancy, but...”

The door to the apartment burst open, and Bea Brewster, the fiftysomething director of the boys ranch, came in. Tall, with no-nonsense brown hair and glasses, she was stern and fair. The boys all knew they couldn’t pull anything over on her. And everyone learned pretty quickly that there was a heart of gold beneath her businesslike facade.

“Just the two people I want to see,” she said. “Do the two of you have a moment? Did I hear, Lana, that you might stay with us for a while?”

Lana blinked. “I... I might. Flint suggested the idea just now. Is that what you wanted to talk about? If it’s a question of rent, I’m month by month at my apartment...”

“No. No rent.” Bea patted Lana’s shoulder. “It’s just standing empty. You’re one of our best volunteers. Take it.”

“But someone else might want—”

Bea waved a hand. “All of our other volunteers have...” She paused, her mouth quirking as if she was embarrassed. “No one else needs it.”

Heat rose in Lana’s face. She knew exactly what Bea had been about to say. All of our other volunteers have families. She took a quick glance at Flint. Did he think she was pitiful, all alone in the world?

He was looking at her thoughtfully, but exactly what he was thinking, she couldn’t tell.

“Now,” Bea said, “I want to talk to the both of you about the Christmas pageant.”

Lana couldn’t restrain a little hand clap. “I remember those from growing up around here. They were wonderful. You’re still doing them?”

“Well,” Bea said, “I hope so. The community loves it, the boys love it...” She waved an expressive arm back toward the rest of the ranch house. “We all love it. But with the move and all it entails, I just don’t have time to do the pageant justice, and it’s floundering for lack of leadership. We’re in a new venue, and we need new ideas. Lana, would you consider taking charge of it?”

“I...” Lana gulped. “When is it?”

“It’s in exactly ten days.” Bea sighed. “Next Friday night, which doesn’t give us much time. I have the scripts, and the parts are assigned, but I haven’t done much more than that. You can rehearse the boys over the weekend and after school, and once they’re off, they can rehearse all day if you want them to.”

“It sounds like you have it organized pretty well,” Lana temporized, wondering if she could possibly make the time to do it. “It’s true I did community theater when I was growing up.”

“Then you’ll do it?” Bea asked, smiling as if she already had Lana’s answer.

Lana felt overwhelmed, but she also wanted to help. “I’ll give it a try. Just show me where the materials are, and the scripts, and the assigned parts, and... I’ll take it from there.”

“Thank you!” Bea pulled her into a hug. “You’re such an asset to the ranch. Now, Flint.” She looked at the big rancher, who’d been standing off to the side in his quiet way. “I think it would be best to do the pageant in the storage barn. We’ll let some of the older boys off their regular chores to help clean it, and the Macks have agreed to supervise that, since several of their boys will be involved.” She turned to Lana. “The Macks—Eleanor and Edward—are our house parents in Wing One.”

Lana nodded. “I’ve met them.”

“Someone will need to build the sets.” Bea looked up at Flint. “I know you’re busy, but you helped last year, so you know what’s involved. Are you willing to spearhead that part?”

Lana’s stomach danced with some strange kind of butterflies. She was already going to be spending time with Flint, as Logan’s nanny. If he helped with the pageant, that would be even more togetherness. And the fact that she felt more excited than upset was bad news.

She did not need to get a crush on the ranch foreman. Anything remotely resembling love meant heartbreak. She’d seen that all too clearly. “I’m good with a hammer,” she offered, giving Flint a way out.

“I’m sure you are, dear,” Bea said, “and resourceful to boot. But you’ll have your hands full with the boys.”

“I’d like to help.” Flint spoke slowly. “But I’ve recently realized—” he glanced at Lana, then back at Bea “—that I’m not giving Logan the time he deserves. I hesitate to take on another commitment that would pull me away from him.”

“But that’s the beauty of this assignment.” Bea raised a hand for emphasis. “Logan has a part in the pageant, and I’d like all the boys to be participating in the set building when they’re not practicing their parts. The more skills we can give them, the better, and it’s a chance to develop their work ethic. So you’d actually be spending more time with your son.”

Flint chuckled and raised his hands like stop signs. “Okay, okay. Can’t say no to Miss Bea,” he said to Lana. “As long as I can spend time with Logan, I’ll help.”

From the direction of the ranch house’s kitchen, a crash sounded. A boy’s voice raised, then Marnie Binder’s exclamation, then another crash.

“I’d better see what that’s all about,” Bea said. “Thank you both, so much, for agreeing to help. Flint, could you show Lana the barn so she knows what she’s dealing with?”

“Uh, sure.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

Bea rushed off, and Lana leaned back against the study desk, propping her hands on either side of herself. “My head’s spinning,” she admitted to Flint. “Did I just get a new place to live and a second new job?” Then realization struck her, and her hand flew to her mouth. “I didn’t even think of how this could interfere with being Logan’s nanny. I’m sorry. I can turn it down.”

Again, the little half smile quirked Flint’s mouth. “No, you can’t,” he said. “Nobody turns Bea down for anything. And it’ll be fine for Logan, since he’s involved in the pageant.”

“You’re sure?”

He nodded. “And if you’re serious about staying out here, me and some of the guys can help you move in whatever things you need for the holidays. Tomorrow, if you’d like.”

“Whew.” She mentally cataloged the time remaining in the week. “Maybe Thursday evening would be better.”

“All right. Let’s take a look at the barn.” Without waiting for her, he led the way out of the ranch house.

Lana followed along behind him, her thoughts racing. Just last week, she’d been looking toward the holidays with dread, unable to muster the energy to decorate her bare little apartment. In fact... She stopped still.

Of course.

She’d prayed for God to get her through the holidays in good spirits, giving her a way to help others in order to escape her own loneliness. She’d envisioned God bestowing some sort of meditative peace where she didn’t feel the loneliness so badly. She’d hoped He’d block from her mind the fact that she was supposed to be celebrating her first Christmas as a newlywed, help her bear her solitude with grace.

She’d never considered that God would answer her prayers in a completely different way. A way so much better than giving her a quiet, calm peace. A way filled with fun and energy and kids and friends. A way exactly perfect for who she was.

Thank you, Father. She looked up at the blue sky and involuntarily lifted her hands in praise and thanksgiving.

When she started walking again, she saw Flint looking at her quizzically. “You okay?”

“I’m great,” she said, smiling and hurrying to catch up with him. Clearly, the Lord was guiding her through this Christmas season. And if He’d given her a cross to bear in the form of a very handsome cowboy, well, He was known for that sort of thing. With His help, it would all turn out okay.

* * *





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