by Janet Dailey
“Oh, he’ll get over that,” Muriel said. “I can tell he likes you.”
“That’s silly.” Kylie kept her back toward the table to hide her blazing cheeks. “He hardly pays any attention to me.”
“That’s how I know he likes you,” Muriel said. “He’s playing it cool.”
Amy giggled.
“You’re imagining things, Aunt Muriel.” Kylie broke two eggs into the bowl. Her hands were a trifle unsteady. Good grief, was the old darling matchmaking? “I had mixed feelings about letting Hunter go with him today. Remembering what Shane was like in high school, I can’t believe he’d be a good influence on a growing boy.”
“What was he like?” Amy was becoming interested.
“He was the town bad boy, always breaking rules and getting in trouble. I still remember when he showed up after Christmas break with a tattoo of an eagle on his shoulder. I don’t know where he got it, but he was eighteen by then so he didn’t need permission.”
“A tattoo? Wow!” Amy grinned.
“It almost got him expelled. The principal made him keep it covered, even in gym class. He had to wear a T-shirt with sleeves.”
“Has he still got the tattoo?” Amy asked.
“How on earth would I know?” Kylie’s color deepened.
“Oh, I’ve seen it,” Muriel said. “He takes his shirt off to haul hay in the summer. Oh, my . . .” Her needles slowed, then resumed their regular clicking rhythm. “Anyway, I can’t imagine his being a bad influence on Hunter. The cowboy’s outgrown those wild old days. Last year the city council even asked him to run for sheriff. He turned them down, probably because he’d have been running against his friend, Ben Marsden. But it says a lot that they’d even ask. And he does so much for Henry and me. He comes by to check on us almost every day.”
The woman was definitely matchmaking. Kylie didn’t want to hurt Muriel’s feelings, but she wasn’t ready for another man in her life, especially a free spirit like Shane Taggart. As for Shane, saddling him with a wife and stepchildren would be like harnessing a wild stallion to a plow.
True, last night’s kiss had shot hot tingles all the way to her toes. But a lasting relationship demanded a lot more than kisses—more than either of them was prepared to give.
“Ben Marsden.” Kylie deliberately changed the subject. “I remember him from school. All state in football. He won a college scholarship, wanted to play in the NFL. What brought him back to Branding Iron?”
“Bad luck,” Muriel said. “He blew out his knee his junior year in college. Henry was watching the game when it happened. I remember him saying, ‘That boy’s done for good.’ And he was. He married a beautiful girl, but that didn’t work out, either. Now she’s in Austin, and he’s back in Branding Iron with joint custody of their little boy.”
“What a sad story,” Kylie said. “Everybody in our class thought Ben would be the one to set the world on fire.”
“Well, he might not have managed to do that,” Muriel said. “But he’s a darned good sheriff.”
“I still can’t believe he and Shane are friends now. They couldn’t stand each other in school. I still remember the day they got in a big fistfight—now I can’t even remember what it was about. Probably a girl.”
“A fight?” Amy was wide-eyed. “What happened?”
“Not much. They both wound up in the principal’s office, Shane with a black eye and Ben with a bloody nose. How did they get past that time?”
Muriel shrugged and smiled. “People grow up,” she said.
With the cookie dough mixed, Kylie rolled it out on a floured board and let Amy use the cookie cutters to stamp out stars, bells, snowmen, and reindeer shapes. When the two cookie sheets were full, she slid them, with a silent prayer, into the oven and closed the door. Something, even if it was only cookies, just had to turn out all right today.
Shane swung the snowmobile into the yard, pulled up behind the house, and switched off the engine. The five-mile ride from Muriel’s place to his ranch had been downright fun, with snow spraying around them and Hunter whooping and hollering all the way.
The yard was an expanse of dazzling white, marred only by bird tracks etched across its surface. Everything looked peaceful, but Shane was anxious to check on his animals. “All right, fun’s over,” he said to Hunter. “Now it’s time to work.”
The boy climbed off the snowmobile, giving Shane room to swing a leg over and step to the ground. Shane blessed Henry for the loan of the vehicle. The machine would make it possible to take care of his ranch and still work on the bike at Muriel’s. While the snow lasted, it might also be fun to take Kylie’s kids for rides on it. If some warm clothes could be found, Amy would certainly demand her turn.
But where had that idea come from? If he valued his freedom, getting mixed up with Kylie and her needy little brood would be the craziest thing he could do.
There were plenty of other women out there, he reminded himself—women with no children and no expectations beyond having a little fun. But his instincts told him Kylie was a woman who played for keeps—and he’d never been a “for keeps” kind of man.
The snow was well over their knees. Shane’s soaked feet had gone numb, but at least he had some winter boots and dry socks in the house.
“What do you want me to do?” Hunter asked. He was coated with snow and his teeth were chattering, but the boy wasn’t complaining or asking to go in the house and get warm. His father, as a military man, had probably stressed discipline in his son. Not a bad thing as long as it wasn’t overdone.
Shane began breaking a trail toward the back steps. “There should be a couple of shovels on the porch. While I’m changing my boots, you can start shoveling a path from the house to the barn.”
“Sure. And thanks for letting me come with you, Shane. Is it okay if I call you that?”
“It’s fine. Everybody else does. But you might not be feeling so thankful by the time we finish the path.” Shane passed the boy one of the shovels he kept on the screened back porch. “Get started. I’ll be out to help you in a couple of minutes.”
“Okay. Where do you want the path?”
“You look like a smart boy. That’s up to you.”
Shane stomped the snow off his boots, unlocked the back door and walked into the house. The place was cold—not much he could do about that until the power that ran the furnace came on. He couldn’t check e-mail on his computer, either. Too bad he didn’t have one of those newfangled cell phones that had Internet access. It might be a good idea to get one before he left on his road trip.
In the kitchen and bathroom he turned on the faucets to a trickle to keep the water moving in the cold pipes. A glance out the kitchen window assured him that Hunter was shoveling snow like a trooper. As soon as he could get something dry on his feet, he’d go back out and join the boy.
In his bedroom, he pulled his oiled work boots out of the closet and found a pair of thick wool socks in the dresser drawer. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he pried off his cowboy boots, peeled his wet socks off his chilled feet and put on the dry ones. He was just tightening the laces on his work boots when the landline phone on his nightstand rang. He reached for it. At least something in the house worked.
“Hello?” Maybe it was somebody calling from Muriel’s place.
“Hi, Shane.” The female voice was low, sexy and vaguely familiar. “Long time, no see.”
“Uh, hi.” Shane racked his brain, trying to place the voice.
“Silly! It’s me, Holly! I’m in town visiting my folks for the week, and when I saw you were still in the phone book . . .”
“Oh, sure. Great to hear from you.” How could he forget Holly Murchison, one of the prettiest—and wildest—girls he’d ever dated. The last time she’d been in town, a couple of years ago, they’d caught up on old times, in more ways than one. But he’d barely thought of her since. “Still working in the governor’s office?” he asked her.
“For now. But I’m moving up in t
he world. Going to Washington, DC, for a job interview next month. It’s just secretarial work, but in the right place, anything can happen.”
Yes, anything, Shane thought. Like hooking up with some wealthy, powerful Washington guy. He’d enjoyed Holly, but he knew he was only a pit stop on her fast-track to fame and fortune.
“Just wondering if you were busy tonight,” she said. “We could get together for drinks, or . . . whatever. Her implication was clear. But for some reason, the idea of a one-night stand didn’t hold much appeal.
“Sorry, Holly, but I’m dealing with a lot right now,” he said. “The power’s off out here, and, with the snow, I need to make sure my animals are all right, as well as checking on my neighbors. Their boy is outside right now, shoveling a path to the barn. I need to get out there and help him.”
“I see.”
Shane could hear the hiss of her breath as she reined in her temper. A woman as gorgeous as Holly wasn’t accustomed to being turned down. Maybe he should steer her toward Ben. But something told him Branding Iron’s sheriff didn’t need any more woman troubles.
“Well.” Her voice was acid-tinged. “I guess I can always watch Downton Abbey reruns with my mother. Call me if you get lonesome and change your mind. You’ve got my number.” The connection went silent as the call ended.
He hung up the phone, finished tying his boots, and walked out onto the back porch. Hunter straightened as Shane came outside. He’d made fair progress shoveling but he looked cold and tired.
“Hey,” Shane said, grabbing the spare shovel. “Let me give you a hand with that.”
Muriel sniffed the cookie-scented air, paused, then sniffed again. “I do believe those cookies are done,” she said. “Hurry, take them out before they get too brown.”
Kylie switched off the stove, grabbed the oven mitt and a thick dish towel, and opened the oven door. The cookies looked perfect. Mindful of the hole in the mitt, she lifted the cookie sheets out of the oven and onto the counter.
“They look awesome!” Amy said. “When can we start decorating them?”
Kylie breathed a silent prayer of thanks. For the first time since leaving San Diego, Amy seemed excited about something. “They’ll need to cool first. And we’ll need to make some icing. I’ll put a cube of butter out to soften. Have you got some powdered sugar, Aunt Muriel?”
“I believe so. There should be a bag of it in the bin, where you found the flour and sugar. But put a few plain cookies on a pie tin for Henry, would you? He doesn’t like them too sweet.”
Kylie used a spatula to lift four cookies onto a plate for Henry. Then she took a square of butter out of the fridge. Too bad she hadn’t thought to buy those little tubs of premixed, colored icing at Shop Mart. They made decorating so much easier.
“While the cookies are cooling, dear, could I ask a favor? On a cold day like this, Henry would so enjoy warm cookies. Could you run that plate out to him? Now that the path is shoveled, you shouldn’t need boots.”
“I’d be happy to.” Kylie covered the plate with foil, slipped on her fleece jacket, and went out the back door. By now, the sky had cleared to a bright, wintry blue. Snow sparkled diamond white in the sun. But the air turned her breath to puffs of white.
She hurried down the path to Henry’s trailer and knocked on the door. No one answered. But now, as she listened, she could hear faint sounds of clattering metal coming from the machine shed. She raced back along the path to the shed. The sliding door was ajar. She pushed it open far enough to let her step inside; then she closed it behind her.
Henry was seated on a low stool, inspecting Shane’s wrecked motorcycle by the light that fell through the windows. Kylie stood watching for a moment as he shifted the bent, broken parts, frowning thoughtfully.
“I’m so sorry for what happened,” she said, breaking the silence. “Do you think it can be fixed?”
He turned his head, his startled look warming to a smile. “Don’t know yet. But I do know how Shane loves this old bike. I’ll do my best.”
“He said if anybody could fix it, you could. Here, I brought you some warm cookies.” She passed him the plate. “Muriel said you liked them without icing.”
“Muriel always remembers.” His blue eyes lit. He helped himself to a cookie and held the plate out to offer her one. Kylie shook her head. “Thanks, but these are all for you.”
“Then I’ll enjoy them while they’re fresh out of the oven,” he said. “If you don’t mind keeping an old man company for a few minutes, you can take the plate back when you go. There’s a chair behind you.”
Kylie pulled the old kitchen chair closer and sat down. She’d been aware of Henry’s presence for almost as long as she’d known Muriel. But he’d always been a little distant, a little shy; plus, he’d always seemed to be working. She’d never had the chance to sit and talk with him.
The machine shed was Henry’s domain. Kylie glanced around at the racks of tools and parts, the ongoing projects. Everything was neat and orderly, with the touch of a man who took pride in his work.
“You’ve been part of the farm for as long as I can remember, Henry,” she said, making conversation. “What brought you here in the first place?”
Henry munched down another cookie, his face a portrait of pleasure. “My family was from Branding Iron,” he said. “But because there weren’t many jobs for a young man, I joined the navy. I spent four years in the service, mostly as a machinist’s mate. By the time I came home, my family was all gone, either dead or moved away. Muriel’s dad needed a ranch hand and he offered me a place to live, so here I am.”
“But Shane says you’re the best mechanic he’s ever known. You could’ve made more money working somewhere else, had a home, a family.”
“This is my home. And Muriel’s my family now. She needs me to look after the place and make sure she’s safe. How could I go away and leave her to manage on her own?” He fell silent, a faraway look in his eyes.
Kylie gazed at the old man, pondering what she’d heard, sifting his words like a handful of newly discovered diamonds. Though it had been unspoken, she knew the truth—knew it beyond question.
Henry loved Muriel. He’d probably loved her for years, perhaps all his life. That was why he’d stayed. But he was a quiet man who kept his emotions private—a proud man, afraid, perhaps, of being rejected and sent away.
Even after all these years, there was no reason to believe he’d ever told her.
Chapter Six
By the time the shoveled path neared the barn, Shane’s back muscles were burning. “You’re holding up better than I am,” he told Hunter. “Right now, I wouldn’t mind being thirteen again.”
“You wouldn’t like it.” Hunter scooped another shovelful of snow. “Being thirteen sucks, especially now. At least in California, I had friends. Here there’s nobody to hang out with and nothing to do. I hate it.”
“You’ll make friends here,” Shane said. “Once school starts in January, you’ll be fine.”
“But I’ll be the new kid. Everybody picks on the new kid.”
“True.” Shane dug his shovel into the wet, heavy snow and hefted it upward. “You’re liable to be tested at first. But if they tease you, don’t be a victim. Make a joke of it or walk away. They’ll soon get tired of it. If you show them who you really are, the best of them will want to be your friends, and the others won’t matter.”
Shane studied the boy’s face as he pondered the well-meant advice. Hunter was right about one thing. Even under good conditions, being thirteen sucked. Kids could be cruel to any newcomer, especially one who might not fit in with the locals.
“What were things like for you when you were my age?” Hunter tossed another shovelful of snow.
Shane weighed his answer, knowing he couldn’t tell the whole truth. When he was thirteen, his mother had been diagnosed with cancer. In the three years that followed, his parents’ lives had revolved around her unsuccessful treatment, leaving young Shane to his own device
s. The first time he’d been arrested—shoplifting a beer from a convenience store—he’d discovered that the bad-boy label lent him a certain cachet. The locker-room bullies left him alone, and the girls, especially the older, wilder ones, gave him looks that couldn’t be misread. He’d always been big for his age, and the hormone express had come steaming in early. He’d lost his virginity at fifteen to a senior cheerleader and never looked back. None of that story was fit to tell Kylie’s son. But lying, especially to kids, had never been his style.
“Things weren’t great,” he said. “I tried to play the tough guy, made a lot of mistakes and learned a lot of lessons the hard way. I hope you’ll be smarter than I was and listen to your mother’s advice. She’s a sharp lady and wants the best for you. You’re lucky to have her.”
“Did you really know her in school?” Hunter asked.
“You bet. All the way from kindergarten through our senior year. She was the smartest, nicest, prettiest girl in our class. A loser like me wasn’t fit to carry her books.”
“And did you want to? Carry her books, I mean.”
“All the boys did. But she was choosy, and she didn’t choose me. Can’t say I blamed her for that.”
The conversation was getting a little too close to home. Shane was relieved to find that they’d reached the barn. He unlocked the sliding door. “Stay behind me,” he said. “I need to make sure nothing’s gotten loose in here.”
Sunlight fell through the high windows below the roof. As Shane slid the door open, a horse nickered in its stall. Sheila jumped out of her box with a happy bark and came bounding to meet him.
“Hey, old girl, did you miss me? How’s the family?” Shane reached down and scratched behind her silky ears.
“Wow! What a cool dog!” Hunter had come in behind him. “Look at those spots! Can I pet her?”
“Sure. She loves attention.”
Hunter knelt in the straw, held out his hand, and made little coaxing sounds. Sheila went right to him. “I’ve never seen a dog like this,” he said. “What kind is she?”
