A Small Town Thanksgiving. Marie Ferrarella

you were a friend of a friend who worked with you and they were very pleased with what you did. That was more than good enough for me,” he admitted honestly.

      She’d never been confronted with such blatant trust before. The world she came from held people suspect until proven otherwise.

      “I’ll try not to disappoint you,” she told him sincerely.

      “I am sure that you will not,” he told her with conviction. Glancing over her shoulder, he saw Mike taking out her suitcase and the briefcase containing her laptop. When nothing else followed, Miguel eyed his houseguest curiously. “Are the rest of your things being shipped out?”

      “There is no ‘rest of her things,’” Mike told his father before she could.

      Miguel looked quizzically from his son to his guest. “You’re not staying long?” he asked.

      “I’m staying as long as it takes,” she assured him. Then, to make things clearer, she told her new teddy-bear of an employer, “I don’t need much.”

      “Ah, a lady after my own heart.” He patted her hand before slipping it through the crook of his arm. “We will get along just fine,” he predicted.

      If she wasn’t inclined to do the very best job she could each and every time she undertook a new assignment, Miguel would have made her want to reach that pinnacle now. He definitely had a winning way about him, she thought. And he was certainly a great deal friendlier and more welcoming than his oldest son was.

      “How was your trip?” Miguel asked as he led her up the porch steps and into the house.

      “Uneventful,” she replied.

      For a moment, he considered her words, then realized that perhaps she had misunderstood his question. “I am asking about your trip from the airport to the ranch with my son.” He glanced toward his son. “He does not talk much, but all the others were busy, so I had no choice,” Miguel explained. “Still, his heart is in the right place.”

      “Slightly left of center, where it’s always been, Dad,” Mike said with a touch of impatience. He was thirty-one and had been a man for a long time now. He didn’t appreciate being discussed as if he was eleven, clueless and out of earshot.

      With a less than pleased grunt, Mike picked up the two pieces of their houseguest’s luggage and made his way into the house behind his father and Sam. “She staying in Alma’s old room?” he asked so he could drop off her things in the right room.

      Miguel nodded, then explained to Sam, “Alma is my daughter.”

      “The deputy,” Sam acknowledged.

      “You know Alma?” Miguel asked, surprised that the young woman was acquainted with his daughter.

      “No—” she was quick to set the record straight “—I asked Mike about his siblings and he told all their names and what they did for a living.”

      Now that really surprised the older man. “You got him to talk? I am impressed.”

      “Still here, Dad,” Mike reminded his father, doing his best to curb his exasperation.

      There was no point in losing his temper. He knew what his father was like and there was no changing the man at this stage of the game any more than he could hope to change the spots on a leopard.

      “So I see,” Miguel acknowledged. He closed the front door behind his son, then instructed him, “Show Miss Monroe—”

      Sam was quick to interrupt. “Call me Sam, please,” she urged.

      Miguel smiled warmly at the petite young woman. He’d already taken measure of her and he liked what he saw. As did, he suspected, his son. Miguel, Jr. just needed a little prodding and he was more than ready to do that. By his reckoning, he had approximately six weeks to make that happen.

      “Show Sam to her room, please, Miguel,” he requested. “And when you are settled in,” Miguel continued, addressing his words to Sam, “we will talk and get acquainted.” His eyes crinkled as he added, “I am looking forward to that.”

      Sam was anxious to get started as soon as possible, to sink her teeth into the project and immerse herself in a brand-new world that was significantly different from her own.

      But she knew Miguel was right. There were steps to follow. She didn’t want him to think he had brought a fanatical workaholic into his house even though that was probably the best description of her.

      “I’ll be down very soon,” she promised for form’s sake as she hurried to follow Mike.

      The latter hadn’t stopped to allow her to catch up. Instead, he’d already disappeared by the time she was halfway up the stairs.

      Moving faster, Sam reached the landing just as she saw him walking into a room on the far right-hand side.

      No coddling from that quarter, which was fine as far as she was concerned. She didn’t expect to be coddled and wouldn’t have really known how to react if she had been. It was foreign to everything she had experienced up to this point. The people she’d worked with prior to this assignment had all been forthcoming, but there had never been any pampering and she preferred it that way.

      The cowboy certainly had some stride, she thought just as she reached the room that he’d entered. The second she did, her mind went blank.

      Sam all but froze in the doorway, looking around the nine-by-twelve room. The bedroom appeared to be as welcoming as the man downstairs had been.

      It was obviously a girl’s room, yet it wasn’t given over to frills and “girly” things. An individual had lived and slept here, Sam decided as she looked around. And it looked as if that person would come walking back in at any moment.

      There was no sign of dust in the room and it appeared to be well taken care of.