Count On A Cowboy. Patricia Thayer

      “This is nice,” she remarked looking around.

      “I know it still looks like a construction site, but in a few months with all the trees around it will be peaceful.”

      “And isolated.” Just then off in the distance a coyote howled. She tensed.

      “You’re used to a city that never sleeps, so of course this seems cut off from everything, but really it’s not that far from the ranch house. By road it takes longer.” He pointed over the rise. “In the morning if you head that way over the rise, you’ll see the house about a hundred and fifty yards away.”

      “Okay.”

      Taking the bag from her, he pushed open the door to show her the three-room cabin. He turned on another light in the small kitchen that overlooked the living space. There was a dark leather sofa pushed up against the wall, a table and two chairs on the other side. A large area rug covered the floors.

      “This is lovely,” she said as she headed to the doorway that led to a bedroom that had a queen bed and a set of bunk beds against the other wall. Then she looked into the bath with a spacious tiled shower stall, a long counter with double sinks and a toilet.

      “You say this is a hunting cabin?”

      “Hunting and fishing.” He nodded behind him. “We’ve also started construction on a large building for meetings, and social gatherings.”

      “Oh, that will be nice.” She smiled. “It’s surprising what people will pay to get away from life’s distractions.”

      “You should know all about that, working in Las Vegas.”

      She walked out to the common area. “Yes, during college I interned with a hotel that had me train with the concierge that booked special packages for corporations.”

      “Sounds like you enjoy your work.”

      She nodded. “Yes, I do. My degree is in hotel management.”

      “My partnership with the Quinns is a small operation, and that’s how we want it. Less stress. Now that’s exactly what we have right now. Stress.” He shook his head. “Shows you can’t trust everyone. If you need anything, just call my cell.” They copied each other’s numbers. “Guess that’s it. I’ll be staying in the cabin next door so I can be here quickly. Good night.”

      He walked out, climbed in his truck and drove off. Then she saw him stop just a few yards down the road. A few seconds later a light went on and she could see the outline of the cabin. Okay, she wasn’t alone. A warm feeling spread through her: she wasn’t used to being watched over.

      * * *

      TWO HOURS LATER, Brooke tugged at the multicolored quilt over her and leaned back against the queen-size bed’s carved headboard.

      The silence was deafening. Not even a television for white noise, or a computer to get up and Google something.

      She sat up. What was she doing here? She had a great opportunity for a job at a large chain hotel. She needed to be in Las Vegas. She couldn’t let this opportunity slip through her fingers. Not when she could get a better paying job to help with her mother. So much of Coralee’s special care wasn’t covered by her insurance.

      The heck with it. Brooke finally got out of bed, but wrapped the quilt around her pajama-clad body to ward off the chill. She walked into the main room and turned on the wall heater, then sat down on the sofa. Only a soft light from the kitchen area illuminated the space.

      She released a long breath, and looked around. This place was so different from her one-bedroom apartment in the shoddy part of town. Once she got her new job, she hoped she could afford to move. And if she could get her mother on better insurance that would help with some of the extra expenses.

      Over her lifetime, Brooke had accepted Coralee’s faults and weaknesses—men being at the top of the list. So why would she walk away from a man like rodeo star Rory Quinn? Maybe he didn’t want Coralee. At the very least, wouldn’t he have paid child support for his children? And why did her mother tell Rory about only one baby?

      Tears welled in her eyes as Brooke thought back to the years of struggle while Coralee tried to make it as a singer. She could even remember all her mother’s promises.

      “All I need, sweetie, is that one big break, then we’ll have a nice home, and you can have all the toys and party dresses a little girl could want.”

      There was never a big break, only more jobs in sleazy clubs, more drinking and men moving into their apartment to cover Coralee’s disappointment. Brooke shivered. Some of the men were frightening and others were abusive. And then there were the ones who’d stolen everything from them.

      Years of overindulgence with alcohol and cigarettes, until Coralee’s voice and looks were gone. She could only find work as a waitress in a diner.

      That job had ended last year when her fifty-two-year-old mother was diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer’s. Then six months ago in January, Brooke found she couldn’t leave her alone any longer. Not when she began to wander off from the apartment, left water running in the bathtub, and took things from the store without paying.

      She had no choice but to move Coralee into assisted-care living. She found a small group home that would take Alzheimer’s patients. Brooke was also lucky that she could work there to offset some of the cost of the care.

      Brooke wiped the tears from her cheeks. She didn’t have the money for live-in help. The only chance she had to make their lives better had been to finish college. Even with the possibility of her new job, it was still going to be rough going.

      So the trip here had taken a lot of her meager savings, and every minute Brooke stayed in Colorado meant she wasn’t working. The family living here didn’t have that problem. Laurel Quinn had no idea what it was like to be Coralee’s daughter.

       Chapter Three

      At 4:00 a.m. the next morning, Trent swung his legs over the side of the single cot. He’d gotten soft the past two years. In the army, he’d been able to sleep anywhere. Now, sleep eluded him.

      Rubbing a hand over his face, he stood and walked to the window. He might as well get up.

      The night was cool, but he welcomed the chill against his skin. A certain blonde had caused him more than an inconvenience since her arrival not even twenty-four hours ago.

      Brooke Harper made a man take notice, and he noticed all right. Enough that he’d tossed and turned most of the night. She had him trying to recall how long it had been since he’d spent time with a woman, a woman to share a long night with.

      He released a long breath, trying to ease the tension in his body. Not that he’d do anything about it with Brooke. She had a connection to Laurel, and there was a strong possibility that they were sisters. Besides, Brooke Harper was the kind who needed a steady guy, who gave her promises—a home and kids.

      Sadness washed over him. He’d never be that guy. He was better off alone. Dreams of family had disappeared long ago.

      He shook off the memories, and looked out the window. The sky was still dark, but the moon was still aglow and he could see the occupied cabin about fifty yards away. He could also see a light on.

      Couldn’t Brooke sleep, either, or was she afraid? His protective instincts kicked in. They were in an isolated area and she didn’t know him from Adam.

      He shook his head, thinking about the crazy events of the day: the groom running off, a canceled wedding, then a long-lost sister showing up. And Brooke Harper was determined to meet her sister. Why, after all these years, hadn’t Rory and Diane told Laurel the truth about her birth?

      So many questions that needed answers. Something told him that the pretty Miss Harper knew more than she was saying. “You need to call me, Rory. I can’t