The Valentine Two-Step. RaeAnne Thayne

welcome? She couldn’t tell by the unreadable expression in those startling blue eyes.

      The timer suddenly went off on the oven.

      “That would be the cookies.” Cassie jumped up and opened the oven door, releasing even more of the heavenly aroma.

      A smell so evocative of hearth and home that Ellie’s heart broke a little for all the homemade cookies she never had time to bake for her daughter. She had shed her last tear a long time ago for all the missing cookies in her own childhood.

      Cassie quickly transferred at least half a dozen of the warm, gooey treats onto a plate for Matt, then poured him a glass of milk from the industrial-size refrigerator.

      She set both in front of him, and he quickly grabbed them and stood up. Ellie smiled a little at the blatant relief evident in every line of his big, rangy body.

      “Thanks,” he mumbled to his sister. “I’ll let you ladies get back to whatever you were talking about before I interrupted you.”

      The girls’ giggles at being called ladies trailed after him as Matt made his escape from the kitchen.

      “Wow, Mom. You look really great,” Dylan said for about the fifth time as they made their way up the walk to the sprawling Diamond Harte ranch house.

      Ellie fought her self-consciousness. Matt’s sister said Thanksgiving dinner would be casual, but she didn’t think her usual winter attire of jeans and denim work shirts was quite appropriate.

      Instead, she had worn her slim wool skirt over soft black leather boots and a matching dove-gray sweater—one of her few dressy outfits that only saw the light of day when she went to professional meetings. Was she hideously over-dressed? She hoped not. She was nervous enough about this as it was without adding unsuitable clothes to the mix.

      She shouldn’t be this nervous. It was only dinner, nothing to twist her stomach into knots over or turn her mouth as dry as a riverbed in August.

      She cleared her throat, angry with herself, at the knowledge that only part of her edginess had to do with sharing a meal with Matt Harte and his blue eyes and powerful shoulders.

      That might be the main reason, but the rest had more to do with the holiday itself. She had too many less-than-pleasant memories of other years, other holidays. Always being the outsider, the one who didn’t belong. Of spending the day trying to fit in during someone else’s family celebration in foster home after foster home.

      This wasn’t the same. She had a family now—Dylan. All she could ever want or need. Her funny, imaginative, spunky little daughter who filled her heart with constant joy. She was now a confident, self-assured woman, content with life and her place in it.

      So why did she feel like an awkward, gawky child again, standing here on the doorstep, hoping this time the people inside would like her?

      Dylan, heedless of her mother’s nerves, rushed up the remaining steps and buzzed hard on the doorbell, and Ellie forced herself to focus on something other than her own angst.

      She looked around her, admiring the view. In the lightly falling snow, the ranch was beautiful. Matt kept a clean, well-ordered operation, she could say that for him. The outbuildings all wore fresh paint, the fences were all in good repair, the animals looked well-cared for.

      Some outfits looked as cluttered as garbage dumps, with great hulking piles of rusty machinery set about like other people displayed decorative plates or thimble collections. Here on the Diamond Harte, though, she couldn’t see so much as a spare part lying around.

      It looked like a home, deeply loved and nurtured.

      What must it have been like to grow up in such a place? To feel warm dirt and sharp blades of grass under your bare feet in the summertime and jump into big piles of raked leaves in the fall and sled down that gently sloping hill behind the barn in winter?

      To know without question that you belonged just here, with people who loved you?

      She pushed the thoughts away, angry at herself for dredging up things she had resolved long ago. It was only the holiday that brought everything back. That made her once more feel small and unwanted.

      To her relief, the door opened before she could feel any sorrier for herself, sending out a blast of warmth and a jumble of delectable smells, as well as a small figure who launched herself at Dylan with a shriek of excitement.

      “You’re here! Finally!”

      “We’re early, aren’t we?” Ellie asked anxiously. “Didn’t your aunt say you were eating at two? It’s only half past one.”

      “I don’t know what time it is. I’ve just been dying for you to get here. Dylan, you have got to come up to my room. Uncle Jess bought me the new ’N Sync CD and it’s so totally awesome.”

      Before Ellie could say anything else, both girls rushed up the stairs, leaving her standing in the two-story entry alone, holding her pecan pie and feeling extremely foolish.

      Okay. Now what did she do? She’d been in the huge, rambling ranch house a few times before to pick up Lucy or drop off Dylan for some activity or other, but she had always entered through the back door leading straight into the kitchen. She had no idea how to get there from the front door, and it seemed extremely rude to go wandering through a strange house on her own.

      She could always go back and ring the doorbell again, she supposed. But that would probably lead to awkward questions about why her daughter was already upstairs while she lingered by the door as if ready to bolt any moment.

      She was still standing there, paralyzed by indecision, when she heard loud male groans at something from a room down the hall, then the game shifted to a commercial—somebody hawking razor blades.

      “You want another beer?” she heard Matt’s deep voice ask someone else—his brother, she presumed, or perhaps one of the ranch hands. The deep timbre of it sent those knots in her stomach unraveling to quiver like plucked fiddle strings.

      Seconds later—before she could come up with a decent place to hide—he walked out in the hall wearing tan jeans and a forest-green fisherman’s sweater. She was still ordering her heart to start beating again when he turned and caught sight of her standing there like an idiot.

      “Doc!” he exclaimed.

      “Hi,” she mumbled.

      “Why are you just standing out here? Come in.”

      She thought about explaining how the girls had abandoned her for their favorite boy band, then decided she would sound even more ridiculous if she tried. She held up the pie instead. “Where’s the best place for this?”

      “Probably in the kitchen. I was just heading there myself, I can show you the way. Here. Let me take your coat first.”

      She tensed as he came up behind her and pulled her coat from her shoulders while she transferred the pie from hand to hand. Despite her best efforts, she was intensely aware of him, his heat and strength and the leathery smell of his aftershave.

      After he hung her coat in a small closet off the entry, he took off down the hall. She followed him, trying fiercely not to notice the snug fit of his jeans or those impossibly broad shoulders under the weave of his sweater. Something was different about him today. It took her a moment to figure out what. He wasn’t wearing the black Stetson that seemed so much a part of him, nor was his hair flattened from it.