Montana Hearts. Charlotte Carter

Beth for a week, and I had to agree. I’m guessing it’s part women’s troubles and part that Grace still misses my wife, Zoe. She was Grace’s only child.”

      “I’m sorry for your loss.” She was sorry, even while she felt guilty that Kurt’s loss had been her gain.

      “It hasn’t been easy for any of us,” he admitted. “I thought the best thing for Grace was to take some time off. That’s why I called you.”

      “I understand.”

      Beth appeared from the kitchen carrying a cherrywood tray with a pitcher of tea and two glasses. A slender, pre-pubescent girl, she had her long blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail and wore a tank top and jeans.

      Toby strolled in behind her, a glass of cola in one hand and a plate of cookies in the other.

      Her expression sullen, Beth set the tray on the coffee table. Her eyes appeared puffy as though she’d been crying. “You want anything else?”

      “I’d like you to meet Ms. Barkley. My daughter, Beth.”

      “Hello, Beth. It’s nice to meet you.”

      “Yeah, right.” She turned to her father. “Can I go now?”

      Kurt glared at his daughter. “You can stay right here and be polite for a change. I’m talking to Ms. Barkley about being our housekeeper for the rest of the summer.”

      Beth’s eyes widened. “What about Nana?”

      “You know Nana Grace isn’t as strong as she used to be,” Kurt said. “She tires easily and that makes her cranky, I know. That’s been hard on both you kids.” He gave his children a weary smile. “Since your mother’s been gone, I guess I’ve been cranky, too, and not a whole lot of fun to be around.”

      “It’s okay, Dad,” Beth said. “Toby and me, we understand you miss Mom, too.”

      “Yeah, I do. And so does Nana Grace. So I thought we ought to give her a break. If Ms. Barkley agrees to work for us, she could do the cooking and cleaning and chauffeur you kids for a few weeks, till school starts again. Of course you’d still have to help out with chores. She wouldn’t be your slave. More like a new member of the family.”

      Toby shrugged, and Beth said, “I don’t need a babysitter, Dad. Or a prison warden! I mean, I can cook ’n stuff. We don’t need anybody else.”

      “Wait!” Toby cried. “You can’t even fry an egg, dummy. We’d all starve. Or be poisoned! Grrrggh…” Making an inarticulate croaking sound, he stuck a finger in his mouth and flipped onto his back, his legs up in the air like a dying bug. “I’m dead! My sister—”

      “Cut it out, son,” Kurt said, trying valiantly to hold back a smile.

      Beth stuck out her tongue at her brother. “You’re such a jerk.”

      Suppressing her own smile, Sarah considered all the joy she’d missed by being an only child. Perhaps her dream of having a sister to play with would, in reality, have turned into a nightmare.

      Kurt crossed to the fireplace and helped Toby to his feet. “Get outta here, son. You, too, Beth. Go outside and play or something. And no more bickering!”

      Shrugging out of his father’s grasp, Toby headed up the stairs to the second floor.

      “You never listen to me, Dad!” Beth’s voice rose in pitch to a shriek, the volume increasing with each syllable until the entire house shuddered with her distress.

      “I don’t want anybody else around. I want my mom back!”

      Like a summer storm, a volley of tears exploded. She whirled and raced up the stairs, trying to escape herself. Escape emotions she couldn’t control.

      Tears of empathy jammed together in Sarah’s throat. Drawing a breath made her chest ache, and she pressed her palm against the pain. Against the scar that hid there.

      Beth needed so much help dealing with the loss of her mother. Dealing with the changes in her own pre-adolescent body and emotions. Needed so much love.

      Who could give her that love?

      From whom could she accept that love?

      Standing at the foot of the stairs, his legs wide apart as though poised for battle, Kurt speared his fingers through his hair. His expressive features twisted into a mask of anger and confusion, his lips a straight line, his brows lowered to shadow his eyes.

      “That went well,” he muttered. His fingers rhythmically flexed and unflexed.

      “I’m sorry.” For him and for his loss. For his troubled child. Despite his anger, Sarah didn’t doubt for a moment that he loved his daughter. And his son. No one could show that depth of emotion without caring deeply for them.

      His chest expanded on a long intake of air followed by a harsh exhale. “What you see before you is a desperate man.”

      “A desperate man, who is grieving for the wife he lost and trying to deal with a menopausal mother-in-law and a hormonal adolescent.”

      His head whipped around and he blinked at Sarah. “Beth’s hormonal?”

      “She’s the right age. Have you talked to her about—”

      “No!”

      No matter how hard she tried to stop herself, a smile vaulted to Sarah’s face and she laughed at Kurt’s horrified expression.

      He sank down on the arm of the couch. “This is no laughing matter.”

      “I know. But you really should have seen your face. You had terror written all over it. In neon lights.”

      The slightest hint of a smile curved the corners of his lips. “Well, if nothing else you know what you’d be getting into if you take the job.” He scratched the day-old whiskers on his square jaw. “I need some help. The whole family does. I’d pay you a decent wage, plus room and board. I’d also understand if you turned tail and got out of here as fast as that puny car of yours would take you.”

      Oxygen seemed to escape her brain, leaving her dizzy with bells ringing in her head. Bells of excitement? Or bells of warning?

      Had the Lord placed her in the diner at just the right time this afternoon to meet Kurt? Was this the Lord’s plan?

      There was no way to know for sure. Unless she took a leap of faith.

      She drew a shaky breath and lifted her chin. “My car is not puny and I’ve never in my life turned tail when faced with a challenge.” Confronted with childhood leukemia and years of radiation and chemo, which damaged her heart so badly she’d needed a transplant at the age of thirty-two, she’d never stopped fighting. She didn’t plan to stop now.

      “Mr. Ryder, I accept your job offer.”

      His smile broadened, squint lines appearing at the corners of is eyes. “Why don’t you call me Kurt? It’ll be easier that way.” He stood and extended his hand.

      “Welcome to the Rocking R, Ms. Barkley.”

      “Thank you, Kurt.” His hand was broad and warm and calloused, not at all like those of the businessmen who were her Seattle clients, but far stronger and more compelling. “Please call me Sarah.”

      Chapter Three

      Kurt gave Sarah a brief tour of the house, then showed her the very large, modern kitchen.

      “You could feed an army from this kitchen,” Sarah commented. Miles of granite counters and oak cabinets lined one side of the room. The window over two extra-deep stainless steel sinks looked over a fenced backyard with grass and flower beds that needed care. Beyond that a row of poplar trees formed a bright green windbreak.

      A round oak table and chairs were placed on the opposite side of the room with a view to the east.

      In