by Janet Dailey
The warm barn smelled of hay and animals. Gray light fell through the high windows below the roof, but the place was still dark. Shane switched on the electric light, reminding himself to check the fuel in the reserve generator before he left.
The half-dozen chickens that ran loose around the place were settled in the straw or pecking at the grain he’d tossed on the floor. The three horses stood drowsing in their stalls. Shane forked extra hay into their feeders and filled their water troughs from the hose.
Inside the fourth stall, Shane had set up a high-sided box to contain the four puppies that were romping in the clean straw, tumbling over their patient mother. They were blue heelers—registered Australian cattle dogs with dark blue markings and beautiful blue-ticked coats, the finest animals on earth for working cattle.
Shane had been breeding and selling the pups as a sideline for the past eight years. It had started when he’d bought Mick, the big, intelligent male who’d become his constant companion. Mick had even learned to perch on the back of Shane’s motorcycle when they rode into town. When other ranchers had expressed interest in owning such a dog, Shane had bought Sheila, a sharp young female with champion bloodlines, and began breeding them.
There was a waiting list for pups. Three of these were already spoken for. But this litter would be the last. Mick had died last fall at the age of fourteen. A breeder had offered Shane five thousand dollars for Sheila, but she was getting old, too, and Shane wanted a better future for her than a breeding kennel. Once these pups were weaned, he planned to take Sheila to the vet and have her spayed. Carl, the bagger at Shop Mart who worked summers for Shane, was waiting to give her a good home.
Outside the box, Shane filled Sheila’s bowl to the rim with kibble and gave her plenty of water. For her pups, he filled a low tray with puppy chow and put it in one corner. They scrambled to crunch it with their baby teeth. Now that they were eating solid food, their mother would be ready for a well-earned rest.
Leaning over the box, he scratched Sheila’s ears. She thumped her tail in response. She was a beautiful dog, sweet and spirited. Carl loved her and would take good care of her.
The puppies had scattered their chow in the straw and were sniffing for the pieces. Shane scooped up the only male of the four—the pup he’d decided to keep for himself. Mick Junior—“Mickey” would be his nickname—was a carbon copy of his father, with the same perfect markings and eager disposition. Mick’s last son. Shane couldn’t look at the sharp-nosed baby face without feeling a tug at his heart. “So, boy, do you think you can learn to ride a motorcycle like your old man?” he asked.
His own question slammed Shane with the reality of the accident. It was still sinking in how serious the damage was and how it could change his plans. Rotten luck that he’d taken his precious motorcycle to town today—and parked it right where Kylie Summerfield—no, Kylie Wayne—would back into it. He was still angry—partly at her, but mostly at himself.
Never mind, he could brood about that later. Right now, he needed to get his truck back to town and pick up the bike while the roads were still drivable.
Shane put the pup down next to the mother, closed the barn door, and strode across the yard through the flying snow.
By the time Shane neared town, the roads were caked with slippery snow. Longtime residents who’d been through these storms before knew enough to slow down and to tap the brake pedal lightly instead of slamming it and sending their tires into a skid. Newcomers, who hadn’t learned to drive on icy roads, were sliding and spinning like Olympic figure skaters. Between the city limits and the Shop Mart parking lot, Shane was nearly hit twice. Skillful dodging saved his truck from being bashed, but he was sweating under his coat as he pulled up to Shop Mart. One wreck was enough for the day.
The sheriff’s big tan SUV was parked next to the Dumpster, where Shane had left his wrecked bike. Sheriff Ben Marsden was standing under the overhang of the storefront, as if waiting for him. Somebody must’ve called the accident in.
Ben glanced around as Shane climbed out of the pickup. He was tall, with piercing gray eyes beneath his felt trooper hat. His body had filled out some since he was all-state quarterback in high school. But the man was still rock-hard and Texas tough. Nobody messed with Ben Marsden.
He and Shane hadn’t been friends in their school years. Ben had been the all-American boy, Shane the rebel. But they’d long since outgrown those days and settled their differences. The two men liked and respected each other.
Ben glanced back at the bike. “Tough break, Shane. I know what that old bike meant to you.”
“Yeah. Merry Christmas.” Shane spoke the words with a twist of irony.
“Carl, here—” He nodded toward the bagboy. “He told me some woman backed into your bike while it was parked. I was wondering if you wanted to fill out an accident report and press charges.”
Shane shook his head. “It happened on private property, and she wasn’t doing anything illegal. Just trying to back out of a bad spot. I was mad as hell, still am. But punishing her won’t fix the bike.”
“She’s got insurance?”
Shane nodded. “She offered to pay. But the insurance money I’d get for that old bike might not be worth the bother.”
“Well, that’s your decision.” Ben stared out across the parking lot, where the cars were already buried under a layer of white. “Rumor has it, you’re planning to saddle up and leave town.”
“That’s right. Got my ranch listed for sale. Want to buy it?”
Ben’s chuckle carried an edge. “Wish I could. But it’s all I can do to manage alimony and child support. Cheryl’s got me over a barrel.”
Ben had married the homecoming queen he’d met in college. It had turned out to be a bad idea. “See much of your boy these days?” Shane asked. “Sorry, I forget his name.”
“It’s Joshua. And no, I don’t see him near enough. Now that he’s five and in school, the visits are even harder to schedule, especially with his mother pulling the strings.” He glanced back toward the bike. “I guess things are tough all over. C’mon, let me help you load your machine so you can get the hell out of here.”
Carl had been called back inside. Shane rigged a single ramp, and together the two men wheeled the crippled bike into the back of the pickup truck and laid in the loose pieces. Shane threw a canvas tarp over it to keep off the snow and climbed into the driver’s seat.
Ben motioned to Shane as he was about to start the engine. Shane rolled down the window. “I forgot to ask,” Ben said. “Did you get some I.D. on the woman who hit your bike?”
“I recognized her when she gave me her card,” Shane said. “Remember Kylie Summerfield from school?”
“Kylie? I’ll be damned. Sure, I remember her. Nice girl. A little too goody-goody for my taste, but pretty—and smart. So she’s back in town. What’s her story?”
“Widowed, down on her luck. She and her two kids have moved in with Muriel. She’s as good-looking as ever. You might want to check her out. Hey, maybe you could ask her about the accident.”
Ben chuckled and shook his head. “The last thing I need right now is another woman in my life. My mother had a nasty fall in her old house yesterday. I’m planning to move back in after the holidays, just so somebody will be there. At least it’ll save me rent and give me a good place for Joshua when he shows up. Anyway, I get the feeling you’re the one who’s interested in Kylie.”
“Not me, especially since the lady’s still wearing her wedding ring.”
“You could fix that. Good luck with the bike.” Ben thumped twice on the top of the cab, a sign for Shane to move on. Shane started the engine and pulled carefully out of the parking lot. The snow was getting heavier. He turned on the wipers and the defroster. With the roads so bad, Ben was going to have a busy night. He could only hope none of the accidents would be serious.
Why had he suggested that his friend check out Kylie? Ben was a good man. But truth be told, despite her wrecking his b
ike, Shane found Kylie intriguingly sexy. Was he worried about getting involved with her when he was about to leave town? Was he trying to protect himself from the stirrings he’d felt when he was in the car with her? Was that why he’d tried to steer Ben in her direction?
But never mind that. He had more pressing worries on his mind—like getting home in this storm and repairing the bike Kylie had smashed. With snow pelting down so thick he could barely see the road, and the tires barely gripping the surface, he’d be smart to keep his mind off Kylie and on his driving.
Chapter Three
Kylie pulled her station wagon up to the house and trudged, head down, through the flying snow to unload the groceries from the back. The main storm front was blowing in, its icy winds plastering her thin fleece jacket to her body. She shivered as she raised the tailgate. Her hands trembled, and not just from the cold. The accident had left her rattled—and her head was still spinning from her encounter with Shane Taggart.
Shane Taggart, of all people. And judging from the look of that bike, and the look on his gorgeously handsome face, she’d come close to ruining his life.
“Mom, where’s the Christmas tree? Didn’t you get one?” Flinging open the door, Amy rushed down the front steps, followed by her brother.
Kylie shook her head. “Sorry, they were sold out in town. But I haven’t given up. Here, take these bags and run them inside.”
“Who cares about a dumb old Christmas tree, anyway? Christmas is for spoiled babies.” Hunter dragged an armful of grocery bags out of the wagon. Both Kylie’s children were wearing light jackets, the warmest wraps they’d needed in San Diego. Online she’d ordered winter coats, boots, and gloves to be delivered here, along with the Christmas presents. At the time she’d congratulated herself for planning ahead. But now here she was with her children, stuck in a blizzard with nothing warm to wear. They would have to dress in layers until the packages arrived. When she could spare a minute, she would use her phone to check the shipment status. The shipper had guaranteed Christmas delivery. That meant a sure thing, didn’t it?
“Get inside before you freeze, girl.” Henry had come around the corner of the house; he was wearing work boots and a military-style parka, with the hood drawn tight around his face. “Give me your keys. I’ll put the car under the shed for you.”
“Th—thanks!” Kylie’s teeth were chattering. She grabbed the last grocery bag, closed the tailgate, and dropped the keys into Henry’s hand. The porch steps were slippery with snow.
She couldn’t help wondering how Shane was faring on the roads. But his truck would have four-wheel drive, and he’d lived around Branding Iron all his life. He’d know how to handle bad weather.
Still, anything that might happen to him would be her fault. If she hadn’t hit his motorcycle, he’d have made it safely home before snow covered the roads.
The house smelled of the savory beef stew that simmered on the stove. Kylie knew her children wouldn’t care for stew. Burgers and pizza would be their choice. But she’d already made it clear to them—one word of complaint about the food and they’d be sent straight to their rooms.
Henry stomped the snow off his boots and came in the kitchen door to give her the key. When Kylie thanked him, he responded with a muttered “You’re welcome.” With his parka hood pulled back, he was a handsome old man, with thick, white hair and a strong, square jaw. Always polite and helpful, he’d worked for Muriel’s late father. Kylie remembered him from when she was a little girl. But he was a private man, reserved to the point of shyness; even after so many years, he was hard to know well.
“You’ll stay for supper, won’t you, Henry?” Muriel glanced up from stirring the stew. “There’s fresh biscuits in the oven.”
He hesitated. “Sure you’ll have enough? Shane called. He’s bringin’ his bike by to leave in the machine shed for some bodywork. He’s liable to be hungry, too.”
“Leaving his bike?” Muriel’s eyes widened. “Mercy, what happened to it?”
“Seems some fool woman ran into it at Shop Mart and busted the whole front end. Shane sounded pretty sore about it.”
Unloading grocery bags on the counter, Kylie felt her stomach lurch. A plastic milk jug slipped out of her hand and crashed to the floor. She crouched to pick it up, checking the jug for leaks and, luckily, finding none. Maybe Shane was giving her a break. At least he hadn’t told Henry who the “fool woman” had been. Or maybe he had, and it was Henry who was keeping her secret.
Should she fess up? She glanced at her children. Amy was helping set the table. Hunter was sitting on a stool in the corner, texting on his phone. Kylie had always tried to set a good example for them. What if one of them had caused an accident? What would she want them to do?
There was only one right answer to that question.
She finished putting the milk in the fridge. Muriel had gone back to stirring the stew. Henry was lingering by the back door, as if uncertain whether to go or stay.
She cleared her throat, scrambling for a way to begin. “Henry, did Shane tell you anything about the woman who wrecked his bike?” she asked.
Henry shook his head. “He called her ‘addle-brained. ’ But he didn’t say who she was.”
Kylie straightened her spine, squared her jaw and took a deep breath. “In that case, I have a confession to make. The ‘addle-brained fool woman’ who ran into Shane’s motorcycle was . . . me.”
“Oh, dear!” Muriel’s spoon slid into the stew and sank beneath the bubbling surface. Henry’s jaw dropped in speechless dismay.
“It was an accident.” Kylie was talking fast now, rushing the words. “The parking lot was a mess. I’d just backed out of my space, but there wasn’t room to straighten the car and drive away. I was maneuvering when I backed too far and hit the bike in the next row behind me.” She paused for breath. “Did Shane tell you I drove him home, and that I said my insurance would pay for it?”
“Can’t say he took the time for that,” Henry muttered, shaking his head.
“Goodness, dear.” Muriel looked stunned. “I can’t imagine why someone used to driving in California would have so much trouble driving here.”
Kylie glanced at her children. Hunter was still texting, as if he hadn’t heard. But Amy stood there, clasping a handful of cutlery, with an indignant look on her face. “Aunt Muriel,” she said, “it just so happens we don’t have snow in San Diego. And we don’t have Texas drivers, either.”
For the space of a breath, there was silence in the kitchen. Then Henry chuckled, breaking the tension. “Good for you, young lady. I like a girl who sticks up for her mother.”
Kylie would have crossed the room and hugged her daughter, but just then a ferocious gust of wind shook the house, battering the windows and blasting the panes with snow. Above the storm’s howl, they heard the sound of a honking horn and a truck pulling into the backyard. “That’ll be Shane.” Henry raised the hood on his parka and started for the door. “He’ll need me to give him a hand.”
“Bring him back inside,” Muriel called after him. “And you come, too, Henry. There’s plenty of food.”
By now, it was getting dark outside. As Henry stepped onto the back porch, a gust of wind almost knocked him over. The door blew out of his hand and slammed back hard against the kitchen wall. Stinging, ice-flecked air rushed into the kitchen. Kylie sprinted across the room to shove the door closed. “Good grief!” she exclaimed. “I hope this storm blows through fast. We still need to get a tree from somewhere before Christmas.”
“There should be one of those old flocked-silver trees in the attic.” Muriel was using salad tongs to fish the dropped spoon out of the stew. “I haven’t bothered with a tree in years, but you’re welcome to use it. Maybe Hunter can haul it down for us.”
“No!” Amy had sounded so grown-up a moment ago. Now she was pouting like a little girl. “Those old fake trees are hideous! You said we could have a real tree, Mom. You promised!”
“Yes, I did. And I hav
en’t given up.” Kylie sighed. She’d vowed to give her children a good Christmas, and that included a fresh pine tree with her family’s treasured decorations on its fragrant boughs and beautifully wrapped presents piled underneath. Why should that be so hard? Why, for once, couldn’t doing something good for her children be easy?
So help her, she would get a real tree for Christmas, even if she had to borrow a saw, wade through the snow, and cut one down herself!
Muriel had rescued the spoon and was rinsing it off in the sink. “I still can’t believe you had the bad luck to wreck the cowboy’s motorcycle,” she said. “Was he mad?”
Kylie shuddered. “He was livid. After we discovered we knew each other, he did his best to calm down. But according to Henry, he’s still angry—and I can’t say I blame him. I ruined one of his most precious possessions.”
“You say you knew each other?”
“That’s right. We went through school together, all the way from kindergarten to twelfth grade. Shane was always skating the edge of trouble. In high school, I remember him ditching class to go roaring off on that old bike.” And she remembered how she’d ached to ride behind him, her arms around his waist, holding him tight as her hair bannered behind her in the wind. Sometimes he took girls on his bike—girls who were reputed to be wild and fast. But he never took her.
“You were valedictorian, as I recall,” Muriel said.
“And Shane managed to graduate by the skin of his teeth. He was smart as a whip, but he was bored with school. All he wanted was to get out of Branding Iron and see the world.” Kylie carried two extra bowls and plates to the table for the men. With Shane there, she wouldn’t have much of an appetite, but she owed it to Muriel to put on a good face.
