The room the boys slept in had been hers as a child. She observed their peaceful slumber in the sliver of moonlight that striped the line-dried sheets they curled beneath.
The room held no memories for them; the house, no ghosts, and they slept in innocent repose. Upon her arrival, Heather had scrubbed every inch of every room and washed every faded curtain, rug and quilt, as if she could wipe out the lonely echoes that hid in the corners, erase the bleak memories that waited in the shadows.
Assured that the ghosts were hers alone, she descended the stairs and made her way out the front door. Beneath her bare feet, the ground still held the warmth of the sun. Light-sensitive floodlights artificially chased away the darkness in bright pools in front of the barn and stables.
Frogs chirped from their hiding places near the pond. A night owl mourned a pitiful cry. Fireflies dotted the hayfields and a barn cat slunk across the pool of light circling the front of the stable.
There had been horses. Hundreds of them in the pasturelands, the corrals, the stalls of the barn. On nights like this, as a child, she'd stolen away to escape the house and her father's housekeeper. She had vague memories of an old cowboy who sometimes saddled a horse for her. But more often, until she'd grown big enough to lift the saddles herself, she'd ridden bareback.
Night after night, she'd slipped from the house unnoticed and escaped into the countryside. The animals always knew their way back, sometimes to her disappointment, when she wanted only to ride until Montana was a speck 011 the horizon behind her.
She'd made her break finally, Heather thought wryly, sitting on a boulder near the edge of the pond and pulling her knees up under her nightshirt. She'd made certain of it her last year of high school. Craig had been a driven young man, with high ideals and goals, having completed two years at the community college and ready to leave for the university on the west coast.
When Heather became pregnant, Craig had dutifully married her and taken her with him. Heather had believed she was escaping, but she'd only traded one prison for another.
Coming back to Montana threatened her newfound independence. She didn't want to be here— and she didn't want to remember why anymore. A nighttime ride had an appeal all its own, she thought, wistfully remembering the heady sense of freedom.
Studying the newly framed and roofed back porch, she liked the addition. Mitch had made the porch deeper to accommodate outdoor furniture, and built twelve-foot-wide stairs that would hold potted plants. Maybe she'd pick up a few so the perspective buyers could see the appeal.
The faint rumble of thunder rolled in the distance and she headed for the house. A light shower would be welcome, but she prayed rain wouldn't impede the progress on the remodeling.
Her life in San Francisco awaited. There was nothing for her here—never had been. Why, then, did the image of a sandy-haired, blue-eyed, overstressed dad come to mind?
Taylor wore an expression as dark and foreboding as the thunderclouds that hung low in the morning sky. She gave Heather a look that was intended to blister eyeballs, and sullenly seated herself at the kitchen table with Jessica and Patrick. Ashley took a seat on the floor beside Andrew and watched him drop metal cars through his miniature basketball hoop.
"No outside work today," Heather said to Mitch, wanting instead to ask if she'd guessed correctly and that Taylor's black attitude was because she hadn't gotten her treat on the way home the night before.
"No, and I can't tear out that upstairs bath until I've added the new one down here. I can't add the new one down here until we get a nice day to tear out that exterior wall. My bad weather options are repairing walls, replacing woodwork or painting."
Heather glanced at the rain drizzling down the windowpane. "Might as well start in the living room or the office."
"How about both? We can take care of those today. Where do you want stuff moved to?"
She led him into the living room. "This area is big enough to just push everything into the middle while you work, don't you think?"
The look he gave her was disturbing, because she had to wonder if he was even thinking of the day's work. His eyes scanned her hair and face, and one side of his appealing mouth inched up in a crooked grin.
A spicy masculine scent that was uniquely his drifted on the air to tease her. He wore a clean pair of jeans and a striped T-shirt today, ordinary clothing that looked anything but ordinary on him. Noticing these things was so unlike her, she had shocked herself. She turned quickly, and he followed her into the dining room. She could almost feel his gaze on her back.
"There's room in here if you want to temporarily move the file cabinets and desk from the office." She flicked a wall switch. "I never have figured out what this goes to."
He stepped closer and her heart groped in search of a steady beat. She reached to balance herself with a hand on the yellow-papered wall, then felt foolish.
"I'll take a look at it when we get to this room," he said. He was paying attention to the job, and she'd lost her mind.
"Well." She placed her hands on her hips. "The kids and I will stay in the kitchen and upstairs today," she said. "Maybe I'll take them into Whitehorn for lunch. They'll no doubt get restless."
"Are you sure you want to risk taking them all to the café?" he asked, a skeptical frown creasing his brow. "The girls are a handful."
"You let me do my job and I'll let you do yours," she said with a staunch grin, not at all confident about her ability to keep the twins in line. But an entire day closed up with the smell of paint and putty and the combustible energy of five active children was even less appealing. Then there was the distraction of having this man to look at. She would brave the café.
Mitch had his helpers repair walls and woodwork, while he measured the rooms for carpet and laid tile in front of the door. They had the two rooms patched and sanded by late afternoon when Heather returned.
The sky had cleared and a rainbow stretched across the huddled mountain peaks in the distance. Mitch met her as she parked her Blazer and opened the doors for the kids to spill out.
"How'd it go?" he asked.
"I'm going to need a vacation when this vacation is over," she said without much amusement.
"Did you have lunch at the café?"
She nodded. "We only had one small calamity when Ashley tipped back the chair she was sitting in. We couldn't all fit into a booth."
"Is she okay?"
"She's fine. She was embarrassed mostly."
"I'll reimburse you." He took out his wallet. "You left a big tip."
"How'd you know?"
He raised a brow. "I've taken them places. I know you'd rather crawl under a rock than have the poor waitress see the mess before you can get out the door."
She accepted the bill he extended. "Done for the day?"
"Yup." He'd already cleaned up and sent the others home. Garrett had specifically asked him to be at the ranch for supper that evening. "I'll be taking the girls and heading out," he said. "I'll get an early start tomorrow." Tomorrow the patched spots would be dry enough to paint. "You'll need to go pick out carpeting."
"So soon?"
"Figured we might as well do it before we moved the furniture back."
"Might as well. See you tomorrow." She held Andrew's hand and walked him up the new back steps. Mitch watched their progress for a few minutes, his attention mostly on the way Heather filled out a pair of shorts.
The twins chattered and asked questions all the way to the ranch. At least his own truck had a stereo, so he could play music, which sometimes soothed their restlessness on the long ride.
Suzanne Harding, the ranch foreman's wife, waved to Mitch from the front porch. He parked and helped the girls out.
"Hi, Mitch," Suzanne called. Her dark auburn- highlighted hair was caught up in an attractive twist.
Mitch greeted her.
"Where's Joe?" Ashley asked enthusiastically. She'd taken an immediate liking to Rand and Suzanne's baby boy.
"He's
in the kitchen with Hattie," she replied, referring to Garrett's newest cook and housekeeper.
The girls squealed and threw open the front door, jostling each other to be the first inside.
"I'm hoping Taylor and Ashley can come to our place for supper and to play this evening," Suzanne said. "My girlfriend is bringing her daughter and I thought the three of them would hit it off."
"I don't know," Mitch said skeptically.
"I know, I know," she said. "I've heard all the circulating stories about the girls, but we get along fine."
Hearing that his children were the subjects of conversation all over the county, Mitch cringed inwardly.
"They rode to the house with me once and we didn't have a problem, remember?" she went on.
An evening all to himself appealed more than she could know. Others only heard the stories—he lived them.
Mitch glanced at his watch. He'd worked a shorter day than usual, so a few quiet hours stretched temptingly in front of him. "If you're sure," he said hesitantly.
"I'm sure."
"Well, all right."
"Good. I'll let them know and pack them up. My car's out back. Oh, your grandfather wants to see you. He's in the foal barn."
Mitch nodded and thanked her, then made his way across the distance to the barns and found his grandfather mixing feed for one of the mares.
Garrett straightened and grinned at Mitch. "How's the work going on the Bolton place?"
"Had to work inside today.Made some progress though."
Garrett removed his gloves and tucked them into his back pocket. "I've set up a meeting with Jordan Baxter. I'm hoping we can settle this thing out of court."
"It'll be all right if this doesn't turn out." Mitch tried to assure him, wishing for his sake that Garrett wasn't so emotionally involved in the land battle.
"That land is your legacy," his grandfather said. "It's been in the family for generations, and you and your brothers each deserve a slice of it. I'm not going to rest until Kincaid land is back in the hands of its rightful owners."
That was what Mitch had figured. Though the hair that was dark in the photographs on the mantel was now silver, his grandfather seemed relatively healthy. His skin was tanned from hours in the saddle and his blue eyes twinkled with good humor and generosity.
Mitch could see nothing of himself in the features Garrett Kincaid had inherited from his Native American grandmother. Not like his thirty-year-old half bother, Collin, who was a younger version of Garrett.
"I've invited company for dinner, so we need to change," Garrett said, switching the subject.
Mitch glanced at his jeans and cotton shirt.
"You need to start meeting people," the old man said with a decisive nod. "Six-thirty sharp."
Mitch shrugged and accompanied him to the house, where they went their separate ways.
At six-thirty, he joined Garrett in his study. The man had dressed in black slacks and a deep red shirt with a silver-and-turquoise bolo tie at his throat. Mitch's navy trousers and cream-colored shirt were less dramatic, but equally handsome. Collin joined them, his dark hair and blue eyes set off by a white shirt and gray jacket.
"Hey, Mitch," he said, good-naturedly slapping his back. "Where are those blonde bombshells?"
"Suzanne asked if they could go home with her for the evening. I couldn't resist the offer."
Collin chuckled. As Larry's legitimate son, he'd been more than welcoming to Mitch and the rest of the newly discovered Kincaid heirs. Obviously, Garrett had set a fair and just example, because Collin was as determined as his grandfather to see his half brothers get their share of the land.
"So, who's coming to dinner?" Mitch asked.
The doorbell rang just then, and Garrett hurried to answer it. He returned with a tall young woman who wore her dark hair pulled back in a severe bun. Glasses didn't hide the curiosity in her dark brown eyes.
"Summer, this is your distant cousin, Mitch. Mitch, Summer Kincaid is my first cousin Jeremiah's granddaughter."
Garrett had explained the family tree several times, but Mitch still got confused over who was related to whom. Summer bore the unmistakable characteristics of her Cheyenne father.
Another young woman accompanied her, a slender, ivory-skinned blonde wearing a short red dress and silver sandals.
"And this is Trina McCann," Summer said. "She's a friend of mine."
Mitch greeted both young women politely, and after a few minutes, Hattie called them in to dinner.
The table had been set more formally than usual, and from his position at the head of the table, Garrett graciously poured wine and carved beef. Collin had seated himself beside Summer, which left Mitch and Trina on the other side of the table.
She asked him questions about his home in Minnesota and he answered, all the while wondering at this odd dinner gathering. Garrett had obviously planned it in advance, even though Mitch normally had the girls with him. He began to suspect it hadn't been a coincidence that Suzanne had shown up and spirited the twins away this particular evening. Mitch met Garrett's blue eyes and read only kindness in their depths.
Mitch studied his dinner partner more carefully. One side of her fair shoulder-length hair was pinned up with a glittery barrette. She was petite, but curvy, with wide blue eyes and a gregarious personality. She gave Mitch a coquettish smile from beneath dark lashes.
He had revealed to his grandfather that one day he'd like to meet someone and marry again. But he'd never dreamed that the old man would take it upon himself to assist that process.
"No reason for you young people to end your evening early," Garrett said after they'd had coffee in the comfortable living room.
"What do you say we tip a few at the Branding Iron?" Collin asked genially.
Mitch had anticipated a quiet evening to himself. "Oh, I don't know," he began to protest. "I have an early morning."
"We don't have to stay late. It's barely eight now."
"Suzanne will be bringing the girls home soon," Mitch added.
"Hattie and I can get them ready for bed," Garrett told him with a dismissive wave of his hand. "You kids go have some fun."
Garrett obviously wanted him to get out, so he agreed with little enthusiasm. A night alone sounded much more inviting than a night in a local tavern. Man, he was getting old.
Trina had ridden with Summer, so Collin tossed Mitch the keys to his truck, ensuring Mitch and himself a ride home, then got into Summer's car with her. "See you there!"
Mitch helped Trina into the pickup, getting an eyeful of shapely legs, and climbed in on the driver's side. "Do you feel a little set up here?" he asked, adjusting the mirrors and steering the vehicle down the gravel drive.
"Do you?" she returned.
"A little."
"Do you mind?" she asked.
He glanced over at her curious gaze. She smoothed the red dress over her shapely thighs. "I think my grandfather wants me to meet people so I'll feel like I belong here and want to stay."
They shared a relaxed smile. "Have you been to the Branding Iron before?"
He shook his head.
The interior was dimly lit and smoke-filled. Hundreds of different brands had been burned into the dark wood paneling, the floor, and the bar itself. The center of the room held tables and straight- backed chairs, and hung on the wall behind the bar were mirrors, neon signs and framed photographs of the Crazy Mountains. A few patrons played pool at one end of the low-ceilinged room. A Garth Brooks' song blared from the jukebox in the corner.
Collin flagged them into a booth he'd saved. "What'll you have?" he asked, standing to go get drinks.
Everyone but Summer requested a draft, and she insisted on a Coke. Mitch sipped his beer and joined the conversation, occasionally being introduced to someone new stopping by. Everyone was curious, friendly and accepting.
Trina ate him up with her eyes, openly admiring and inviting, and he was ready to leave after the first fifteen minutes. The whole experience wa
s foreign to Mitch—the dimly lit room, the clink of glasses and bottles, the soft roar of music and voices.. .the young woman with her hip and thigh pressed invitingly against his, her fingers occasionally touching the inside of his arm.
After the second round, Trina asked him to dance. Mitch exchanged a look with his half brother and, not knowing how to gracefully decline, took the hand she held out. She led him to the dance floor where couples swayed in time to the music in front of the jukebox.
Six
His "date" snuggled into his embrace and hummed along with the slow, sexy Billy Dean song. It had been a long time since Mitch had been in a dating situation. He hadn't seen anyone since his wife's death. Trina smelled of an elusive but expensive scent he couldn't place, nothing as soft or as delicate as the way Heather smelled, but not unpleasant. Her hair felt silky against his chin, and she snuggled her body against his.
The words to the song made him uneasy: words to the effect that he wouldn't be a man if he wasn't affected by a beautiful woman.
Unlike the singer, however, Mitch held back. He was not a man who could live in the moment. He'd have to be dead to not be flattered by Trina's attention—she reminded him of the intoxicating temptation and passion he'd forgotten—but she wasn't the woman the song made him think of.
An alluring picture of a sun-kissed Heather in white shorts and a sexy little sweater formed in his mind.
Trina slid her arms around his neck and pressed her young firm body against his, bringing his attention back to the present. The song changed, and he was grateful for a faster rhythm and the chance to move away from her.
By the time they'd said their good-nights and he'd ridden home with Collin, Mitch was still a little unsure about Garrett's thinking. His life was so uncertain that he wasn't in the market for a love life.
Collin poured himself a glass of milk in the light from the refrigerator.
"You fellas have a good time?" Garrett asked from the doorway. He flipped on the fluorescent overhead light.
"Yeah." Collin blinked. "But I'm beat. Think I'll hit the sack." He polished off his milk and placed the glass in the sink.
The Magnificent Seven Page 5
