A Cowboy to Call Daddy

by Sasha Summers

  “It’s beautiful. More so because you made it.” She stared down at the silver nail he’d shaped and polished. The ring he should have given her the night before. She rested her hand on his chest and looked at him. “I never thought I’d see you here. In the city—away from the ranch and home.”

  He grinned. “You are home, Eden. Though I’m not a big-city driver.” He loved her giggle, the way she melted into him when he pulled her close. “Whatever you want, whatever you need, I’ll do my best to see you have it.” He brushed his lips against hers.

  “I already do. My girls are happy. I’m happy.” She pressed a kiss to Lily’s cheek, smiling at the sleeping baby, before standing on tiptoes to kiss his lips. “I have you, Archer Boone.”

  Epilogue

  Archer carried Lily past the first stall, admiring how closely she paid attention to everything he did. She was going to be like her mother, a horsewoman through and through.

  “Hee,” she said.

  “Horse,” he agreed.

  She smiled at him.

  He walked on, glancing again at Eden in the pasture. She was standing next to her father, Dylan Quaid. The two were in deep conversation over Fester and his blind lady love—the little paint now named Kitty. Ivy stood between them, her pink cowboy hat and brown boots—with sparkles—shining in the mid-morning sun. Dylan had arrived a few days before their wedding. And in the three weeks since, he and Eden had grown closer every day. It warmed Archer’s heart to see her finally get the love of her father.

  Not that accepting her mother’s infidelity was easy. It wasn’t. Archer had held her many a night, wishing there was something he could do or say to make the hurt she felt ease. Eden knew that her mother must have really loved Dylan. And the last pack of letters had proven that.

  Holding her seemed to help both of them. He held her a lot. He went out of his way to let her know he was, and always would be, there—loving her. But lucky for him, she did the same. A smile here, a touch there, a kiss on his cheek when he sat at his desk. He was a happy man.

  “Hee,” Lily repeated as River stuck his head out. “Rivi.”

  “Yep, River’s saying hello.” Archer stood close enough that River could explore Lily with his nose. She was like her momma, keeping her hands down and staying still. Respectful of the animal.

  “He likes you, Lily,” Archer said, smiling as Lily stared into River’s eyes. “You’re his little bug, too.”

  She smiled at Archer, four little white teeth showing. “Rivi.”

  “Any plans this morning?” Eden asked, walking into the barn with Quaid. “Clara and Teddy wanted to take the girls into town to get food for the kitten and a new jingle ball.”

  “Taffy will love that.” Archer chuckled. Ivy had her orange tabby. Taffy ran all over, especially in the early morning hours. Her favorite thing to do, other than playing with Ivy, was batting her jingly ball down the staircase. “Can we look into a ball without a bell?” he asked.

  “Tired?” Eden asked, sliding her arms around his waist and dropping a kiss on Lily’s head. “Part of fatherhood, Dr. Boone. Sleepless nights.”

  “I’m not complaining, Mrs. Boone,” he assured her. “But the bell seems like asking for trouble.” He kissed her temple, drawing in her scent. “If the girls are going into town, I can think of a few things I’d like to do with my wife.”

  Eden’s cheeks flushed, her gaze falling to his lips and making him ache to be back in their bed.

  “Hey, hey, now,” Dylan said. “Let me take Lily up to the Lodge so you can kiss her proper, boy. A man’s got to do what a man’s got to do—and that means keeping his wife happy.”

  “Yes, sir.” Archer laughed, letting the older man take Lily.

  The family resemblance was incredible: same winning smile and same astounding ability with horses. Eden was a wonder. Her father seemed intent on passing on his knowledge, and she was just as intent to master it. Now Fester wasn’t the only horse that got excited to see her. The animals responded to her presence. And it was a joy to watch.

  “See you soon, little bug,” Eden said. “Thanks, Dad.”

  “Ma-ma-ma,” Lily chanted. She turned her big eyes on Archer. “Da-da.”

  “Don’t you fret, Lily-pad. Momma and Daddy will be back soon. They just need some time to love each other. Mommas and daddies do that,” Dylan said as he carried her toward the barn doors. “You’re a lucky little bug, growing up surrounded by so much love.”

  Archer agreed 100 percent.

  “She’s not the only one,” Eden said. “I have no doubt I’m the luckiest woman in Stonewall Crossing.”

  “You are,” he agreed, loving the way she pressed herself against him. “You got me.”

  She laughed, the sound echoing in the barn and warming his heart through.

  * * * * *

  If you loved this novel, don’t miss other heartwarming titles in THE BOONES OF TEXAS series by Sasha Summers:

  A COWBOY’S CHRISTMAS REUNION

  TWINS FOR THE REBEL COWBOY

  COURTED BY THE COWBOY

  Available now from Harlequin Western Romance!

  Keep reading for an excerpt from RODEO RANCHER by Mary Sullivan.

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  Rodeo Rancher

  by Mary Sullivan

  Chapter One

  The pounding on the front door of Michael Moreno’s ranch house cut through the shrieking howl of a snowstorm that had paralyzed Montana.

  “Who do you think it is, Dad?” His son, Mick, didn’t scare easily, but they’d all startled at the knock. Michael squeezed his arm to reassure him as the family sat together in the living room.

  They spent most of their days alone. Guests were rare.

  Michael frowned. “No idea. Someone in trouble, I guess.” No one he could think of would venture out today.

  He didn’t worry about trouble. Why would he?

  Nothing much bad happened in Rodeo, Montana. He lived in as safe a place as he could want for his children.

  Michael shifted his daughter, Lily, from his lap and plopped her onto the sofa beside Mick. “You two stay put.”

  “Kiss, Daddy.” Lily had taken to wanting kisses before he left the house, or even just a room.

  He touched her soft cheek with his lips and dropped the book he’d been reading to them onto the littered coffee table.

 
In the hallway, he pulled open the heavy oak door. The noise of the wind increased tenfold, blasting him with frigid air, shocking after the warmth of the living room.

  He stared at the very last thing he expected—a woman and two kids covered head-to-toe in snow.

  Snow blew onto his veranda, even as deep as it was, adding an exclamation point to the first question that popped into his head. What on earth were they doing out in this storm?

  “Oh, thank goodness,” the woman said, stepping into the house before he invited her in, crowding him.

  He stepped back.

  Her bright red nose peeked out from a snow-covered pink scarf swathing her face. The kids, too, had bright red noses, and a blob of snot ran onto the little one’s scarf.

  “Bad day to be out,” he said, his voice rife with accusation. What kind of woman took her children out in this? If she wanted to endanger herself, fine, but her kids? No.

  Considering there’d been weather warnings everywhere for days, there were no excuses.

  “The car broke down just up the road.” She didn’t seem to notice his critical tone. “I remembered seeing this light when we drove past. When I saw it I said, ‘Wouldn’t it be nice to be in there all toasty and warm right now?’ Didn’t I, boys? Then the car just went kaput suddenly, and we had to trudge all the way back. I was afraid there’d be no one here, but I figured where there’s light there will be people, right? Someone had to be home.” She prattled on, ushering her children inside, still without waiting for an invitation. The kids stopped just inside the door. “Then where would the boys and I be?”

  Probably dead by morning, Michael thought, but he didn’t say it. No sense frightening those two young boys. At least, he thought the woman had said they were boys. It was hard to keep track of her ramblings, and their scarves hid their faces.

  “It’s absolutely frigid out there,” she went on. “When we left San Francisco, it was 50 degrees. Now this. Are storms always this bad in Montana? I can’t stop shivering.”

  “No wonder,” Michael said. Seemed she didn’t have the sense God gave most creatures. At least the children were decked out in snowsuits, but she wore a fashionable coat and light pants. No snowsuit. No snow pants. Flimsy fashionable boots, too—useless against a Montana snowstorm. “You aren’t dressed for the weather.”

  She glanced down at herself. “No, I guess I’m not, am I?” Her gaiety lit up the gray corners of his house. Far as he could tell, she didn’t take offense to his criticism. Strange woman. “But we were driving. We were safe in the car. I thought, ‘Why would I need a snowsuit?’ I bought them for the boys because they’ll be playing outside once we get settled into our new home, but I won’t be, will I? Playing outside, that is.”

  She shook herself, sending snow flying.

  “Boys,” she said. “Come in properly, will you? We need to get this door closed so we don’t lose all of this man’s lovely heat.”

  This man’s lovely heat? Say what?

  “I thought we were going to end up as human Popsicles. Oh, it’s lovely in here. Mmm. Your house is so warm,” she blathered on.

  He’d never really understood the meaning of the word blather. He got it now.

  “It’s like an oasis in the desert,” she said. “I mean, a port in the storm. Oh, you know what I mean.”

  She could probably teach courses in chattering. College level.

  “Boys, move along so the nice man can close the door.”

  “Mom,” the older boy said, “he didn’t invite us inside. You just walked in without waiting.”

  The woman’s bright blue eyes widened. That was saying something. They were already big to start with. “You’re right, Jason. I did just walk in. You don’t mind, do you?” she asked Michael, but went on before he could respond. “Of course you don’t mind. We’re strangers stranded in a storm. I heard people in Montana are welcoming. We can’t go anywhere else right now, can we? But don’t worry. We’re nice people. I’ve taught my boys to pick up after themselves. They even put down the toilet seat when they’re finished.”

  She noticed his children’s toys cluttering the hallway. “Your wife will be pleased with them.”

  Your wife. Lillian. The kick to his gut left Michael reeling. It was always bad, but at this time of year, it was—

  His mind slammed shut. He couldn’t think about it. Two years might be a long time to other people, but to him it felt like only yesterday that she’d...left.

  He couldn’t even say the word.

  Died. She died, Moreno.

  The littlest boy coughed.

  Michael glanced at them still standing in the open doorway, noses getting redder by the second. “Come in,” he said, impressed with their manners even if their mother didn’t have any.

  Once they were all the way inside, he closed the door, shutting out the violence of the storm.

  “See?” the woman said. “I told you we’d be all right. Travis wouldn’t have moved anywhere that wasn’t safe for us. We are in Montana, right? The GPS on my phone stopped working yesterday. We’re supposed to reach Rodeo tonight. I guess that’s not going to happen.”

  “Rodeo? If you came here from San Francisco, you drove right past it. You didn’t see the turnoff?”

  She shook her head. Her shoulders seemed to slump. “We were so close.” Looking around the hallway, she seemed a little lost. “The storm’s huge. I barely managed to make it this far.”

  “This ranch is on the far side of Rodeo, about ten miles out.” Hang on—she’d mentioned Travis. “Do you mean Travis Read? The new guy in town?”

  She perked right up. “Yes! Do you know my brother?”

  Michael had heard of him, only good stuff. Salt of the earth. Good addition to the town. Hardworking and quiet. Not at all like this ditzy woman.

  Before he could respond, he got caught up in watching her unwind her scarf. She took off her wool hat and Michael stopped breathing.

  She was that beautiful. Hair like spun gold. Eyes as blue as photographs he’d seen of the sea around Greece. Flawless, tanned skin.

  Any man would lose his senses.

  Not him, though. He was immune. He didn’t think about women these days. Didn’t pay them much attention. He had other things on his mind, like surviving each day.

  Michael felt her older son watching him, probably gauging his reaction. At maybe nine or ten years old, and mature enough to understand the way men checked out his mom, the boy watched Michael with a knowing look. He’d seen it all before, a shame in one so young, but no wonder. What a woman.

  The wind screeched. Something thumped against the side of the house. As he’d noted a few moments ago, Michael had other things on his mind, like how to get through the coming night...and what he was supposed to do with the family stranded on his doorstep.

  His unexpected company might be stuck here for days. This beautiful woman might be in his house for a while.

  Images of Lillian flashed through his mind, with her average looks, but more beautiful to him than any model or movie star.

  The woman had been prattling again, but he’d missed every word.

  She stopped and stared at the wall behind him. “Is that—is that a wagon wheel? On the wall?”

  “Yeah. I’m a rancher.” You got a problem with that? he wanted to add, but good manners held him back. He amended the thought and asked, “You okay with it?”

  “Yes, of course,” she said too quickly. “What’s that?” She pointed to the antique wood hand plane on the table in the front hallway.

  Michael loved old tools, the ones men had used to craft and shape wood before power tools were invented. He loved the way they felt in his hand.

  “It’s a plane,” he said.

  The smaller of the boys, four or five at a guess, stepped close to the table and touched it with one finger. “That’s not a plane, mi
ster. Where’s its wings?”

  Michael smiled. Cute kid. “Not that kind of plane.”

  The boy sneezed, stirring the dust on the table.

  Michael frowned. There’d been a time when his tools would have been spotless.

  The woman patted her pockets and started rummaging through the bag she carried. She looked up at him, kind of helplessly. “I don’t believe I have a tissue.”

  “I got it.” Michael had wiped more noses in the past two winters than he cared to count.

  He took a clean handkerchief from his pocket, wrapped his fingers around the back of the boy’s head and cleaned his nose.

  “Hey!” The boy tried to pull away and pointed toward the living room.

  Used to children resisting handkerchiefs, Michael finished the job.

  The kid struggled to peer around his legs. “There’s kids here!”

  Michael turned. Mick and Lily stood in the doorway, Mick holding his little sister’s hand. Their curiosity must have kicked in when they heard all the voices.

  “You can take off your coats and things in the back room.” Michael bent to help the younger boy when he struggled with his zipper. “We’ll make introductions when you’re done.”

  To Mick, he said, “Show them where to put their things, then bring them to the living room.”

  To the boys, he said, “Take off your boots here and carry them through.”

  The little one sat down and took off his boots, nearly hauling his socks off with them.

  The woman bent over to pull up his socks, but teetered on her fancy high-heeled boots.

  Again Michael said, “I got it,” and squatted to pull the boy’s socks back up. They were too big for him. Must be his older brother’s.

  Mick led the boys to the back of the house. When the small one ran out of one of his socks, Lily picked it up and chased after him.

  While the woman—he really should get her name soon—studied her surroundings, Michael studied her. Her tight-fitting leather jacket outlined a fairly perfect body. Long legs fit snugly into her jeans. He thought they might be what they called skinny jeans, because there wasn’t much that was generous about the fit.