Light the Stars. RaeAnne Thayne

much for their thirty-second ceasefire. “Mine?”

      “You’re the one who’s been telling her to reach for her dreams or whatever the hell other nonsense you spout in your sessions with her.”

      “You don’t thinking reaching for dreams is important?”

      “Sure I do. But not when it means walking away from your responsibilities.”

      “Since when are your children your mother’s responsibility?” she snapped.

      Again she had to force herself not to step back from the sudden fury in his eyes. She had to admit she deserved it this time.

      “That was uncalled for. I’m sorry,” Caroline said quietly. “Marjorie has been caring for Nat and Cody and Tanner for two years. She doesn’t see it as a burden at all.”

      “Right. That’s why she’s been paying a small fortune to some stranger so you can tell her all the things wrong with her life and how to fix them.”

      “That’s not what I do at all,” she insisted. “I try to help my clients make their lives happier and more fulfilling by pointing out some of their own self-destructive behavior and giving them concrete steps toward changing what they’re unhappy about. Marjorie was never unhappy about you and your children.”

      Before she could continue, his phone bleeped again. He ignored it for four rings, then muttered an oath and picked it up.

      This conversation was similar to the first, only Wade Dalton seemed to grow increasingly frustrated with each passing second.

      “Look,” he finally said angrily, “just call the tractor supply place in Rexburg and see if they’ve got a replacement, then you can send Drifty over to pick it up. I’ll be out as soon as I can. If we put the whole crew out there this afternoon, we might still be able to get the hay in before the rain.”

      He hung up and then faced her again. “I don’t have time to get into this with you today, Ms. Montgomery. I’m sorry you came all this way for nothing but I think we’re too late to do anything about the two lovebirds. I’ll warn you, though, that if your father thinks he’s going to touch a penny of the income from this ranch, you’re both in for one hell of a fight.”

      “Warning duly noted,” she said tightly, wondering how a woman as fun and bubbly as Marjorie could have such an arrogant jerk for a son, no matter how gorgeous he might be.

      She should cut him some slack, Caroline thought as she headed for the door. He obviously had his hands full, a widower with three active children and a busy cattle ranch.

      Just as she reached the door, an acrid scent drifted from the back of the house, stopping her in her tracks.

      “Do you smell something?” she asked Wade Dalton.

      “It’s a working ranch. We’ve got all kinds of smells.”

      “No, this is different. It smells like something’s on fire.”

      He sniffed the air for a second, then his eyes narrowed. He looked around the gathering room, his eyes on his youngest son still playing on the carpet and the notable absence of the older boy.

      “Tanner!” he suddenly roared. “What are you doing?”

      “Nothing!” came a small, frightened-sounding voice from the rear of the house. “I’m not doin’ anything. Anything at all. Don’t come in the kitchen, Daddy, okay?”

      Wade closed his eyes for half a second then took off down a hallway at a fast run.

      This wasn’t any of her business, she knew, but Caroline had no choice but to follow.

      Chapter Two

      Hot on Wade Dalton’s worn boots, Caroline had a quick impression of a large, old-fashioned kitchen painted a sunny yellow with a professional-looking six-burner stove, long breakfast bar and at least eight bow-backed chairs snugged up against a massive, scarred pine table.

      She imagined under other circumstances it would be a pleasant, welcoming space, but just now the room was thick with black smoke and the acrid smell of scorched paper and something sickly sweet.

      Flames shot up from the stove and she quickly realized why—a roll of paper towels was ablaze next to the gas burner and already flames were scorching up the cabinets.

      Even more worrisome, the older of Wade Dalton’s sons was standing on a chair he must have pulled up to the stove and his SpongeBob SquarePants pajamas were perilously close to the small fire.

      “I’m sorry, Daddy,” the boy sniffled.

      “Get down right now!” Wade yelled in that no-argument parental tone reserved for situations like this.

      Though she sensed the rancher’s harshness stemmed from fear for his son’s safety, his words and tone still seemed to devastate the boy into inaction. He froze on his precarious perch until his father had to lift him off the chair and set him on the floor so he could get close enough to assess the cabinets.

      Wade picked up the burning mess of towels and dropped them into the sink then returned to survey the damage.

      Still, the boy didn’t move, standing as if he didn’t quite know what was happening. He looked ill, almost shocky, and he stood directly in Wade Dalton’s path.

      This wasn’t any of her business, Caroline reminded herself. Even as she thought it, she found herself moving toward the distraught little boy.

      What was his name? Tucker? Taylor? Tanner. That was it. “Tanner, why don’t we get out of your daddy’s way and let him take care of things here, okay?”

      He looked at her blankly for a moment, then slipped his hand in hers and let Caroline lead him from the room. She took him into the great room where his little brother was still busy with his trucks, unaffected by the drama playing out in the other room.

      She was going to ask if he had a favorite television show she could find for him as a distraction when she noticed his left hand pressed tightly to his pajama top.

      A grim suspicion seized her and she leaned down. “Tanner, can I take a look at your hand? Are you hurt?”

      His chin wobbled for a moment, then he nodded slowly and pulled his hand away from his chest. He made a small sound of distress when he spread out his fingers—and no wonder.

      Caroline gasped at the angry, blistering red splotch covering his palm, roughly twice the size of a quarter. “Oh, honey!”

      Her reaction seemed to open the floodgates of emotion. Tears pooled in his huge blue eyes and rolled over pale cheeks. “I didn’t mean to start a fire. I didn’t mean to! I just wanted to roast marshmallows like me and Nat and Grandma did with Uncle Seth when we went campin’. Do you think my daddy will be mad at me?”

      She thought that was a pretty good bet. Wade Dalton seemed mad at the entire world, as a matter of course. How would he treat his son, angry or not? That was the important thing.

      “I’m sure he’ll just be worried about you,” she assured Tanner, though she wasn’t at all convinced of that herself.

      “He’s gonna be so mad. I’m not supposed to be in the kitchen by myself.” His tears were coming faster now and she knew she had to do something quick to head them off or he would soon be in hysterics. Action seemed the best antidote.

      “Let’s just get your hurt taken care of and then we’ll worry about your dad, okay?”

      He nodded and Caroline thought quickly back to her thin and purely basic knowledge of first aid.

      “We need to put some cold water on that,” she told Tanner, her mind trying to dredge old lessons she’d learned as a girl. “Do you think you can show me a bathroom?”

      “Yeah. There’s one right through those doors.”

      She led