Rodeo Rancher. Mary Sullivan

       Copyright

Chapter One

      The pounding on the front door of Michael Moreno’s ranch house cut through the shrieking howl of a snowstorm that had paralyzed Montana.

      “Who do you think it is, Dad?” His son, Mick, didn’t scare easily, but they’d all startled at the knock. Michael squeezed his arm to reassure him as the family sat together in the living room.

      They spent most of their days alone. Guests were rare.

      Michael frowned. “No idea. Someone in trouble, I guess.” No one he could think of would venture out today.

      He didn’t worry about trouble. Why would he?

      Nothing much bad happened in Rodeo, Montana. He lived in as safe a place as he could want for his children.

      Michael shifted his daughter, Lily, from his lap and plopped her onto the sofa beside Mick. “You two stay put.”

      “Kiss, Daddy.” Lily had taken to wanting kisses before he left the house, or even just a room.

      He touched her soft cheek with his lips and dropped the book he’d been reading to them onto the littered coffee table.

      In the hallway, he pulled open the heavy oak door. The noise of the wind increased tenfold, blasting him with frigid air, shocking after the warmth of the living room.

      He stared at the very last thing he expected—a woman and two kids covered head-to-toe in snow.

      Snow blew onto his veranda, even as deep as it was, adding an exclamation point to the first question that popped into his head. What on earth were they doing out in this storm?

      “Oh, thank goodness,” the woman said, stepping into the house before he invited her in, crowding him.

      He stepped back.

      Her bright red nose peeked out from a snow-covered pink scarf swathing her face. The kids, too, had bright red noses, and a blob of snot ran onto the little one’s scarf.

      “Bad day to be out,” he said, his voice rife with accusation. What kind of woman took her children out in this? If she wanted to endanger herself, fine, but her kids? No.

      Considering there’d been weather warnings everywhere for days, there were no excuses.

      “The car broke down just up the road.” She didn’t seem to notice his critical tone. “I remembered seeing this light when we drove past. When I saw it I said, ‘Wouldn’t it be nice to be in there all toasty and warm right now?’ Didn’t I, boys? Then the car just went kaput suddenly, and we had to trudge all the way back. I was afraid there’d be no one here, but I figured where there’s light there will be people, right? Someone had to be home.” She prattled on, ushering her children inside, still without waiting for an invitation. The kids stopped just inside the door. “Then where would the boys and I be?”

      Probably dead by morning, Michael thought, but he didn’t say it. No sense frightening those two young boys. At least, he thought the woman had said they were boys. It was hard to keep track of her ramblings, and their scarves hid their faces.

      “It’s absolutely frigid out there,” she went on. “When we left San Francisco, it was 50 degrees. Now this. Are storms always this bad in Montana? I can’t stop shivering.”

      “No wonder,” Michael said. Seemed she didn’t have the sense God gave most creatures. At least the children were decked out in snowsuits, but she wore a fashionable coat and light pants. No snowsuit. No snow pants. Flimsy fashionable boots, too—useless against a Montana snowstorm. “You aren’t dressed for the weather.”

      She glanced down at herself. “No, I guess I’m not, am I?” Her gaiety lit up the gray corners of his house. Far as he could tell, she didn’t take offense to his criticism. Strange woman. “But we were driving. We were safe in the car. I thought, ‘Why would I need a snowsuit?’ I bought them for the boys because they’ll be playing outside once we get settled into our new home, but I won’t be, will I? Playing outside, that is.”

      She shook herself, sending snow flying.

      “Boys,” she said. “Come in properly, will you? We need to get this door closed so we don’t lose all of this man’s lovely heat.”

      This man’s lovely heat? Say what?

      “I thought we were going to end up as human Popsicles. Oh, it’s lovely in here. Mmm. Your house is so warm,” she blathered on.

      He’d never really understood the meaning of the word blather. He got it now.

      “It’s like an oasis in the desert,” she said. “I mean, a port in the storm. Oh, you know what I mean.”

      She could probably teach courses in chattering. College level.

      “Boys, move along so the nice man can close the door.”

      “Mom,” the older boy said, “he didn’t invite us inside. You just walked in without waiting.”

      The woman’s bright blue eyes widened. That was saying something. They were already big to start with. “You’re right, Jason. I did just walk in. You don’t mind, do you?” she asked Michael, but went on before he could respond. “Of course you don’t mind. We’re strangers stranded in a storm. I heard people in Montana are welcoming. We can’t go anywhere else right now, can we? But don’t worry. We’re nice people. I’ve taught my boys to pick up after themselves. They even put down the toilet seat when they’re finished.”

      She noticed his children’s toys cluttering the hallway. “Your wife will be pleased with them.”

      Your wife. Lillian. The kick to his gut left Michael reeling. It was always bad, but at this time of year, it was—

      His mind slammed shut. He couldn’t think about it. Two years might be a long time to other people, but to him it felt like only yesterday that she’d...left.

      He couldn’t even say the word.

      Died. She died, Moreno.

      The littlest boy coughed.

      Michael glanced at them still standing in the open doorway, noses getting redder by the second. “Come in,” he said, impressed with their manners even if their mother didn’t have any.

      Once they were all the way inside, he closed the door, shutting out the violence of the storm.

      “See?” the woman said. “I told you we’d be all right. Travis wouldn’t have moved anywhere that wasn’t safe for us. We are in Montana, right? The GPS on my phone stopped working yesterday. We’re supposed to reach Rodeo tonight. I guess that’s not going to happen.”

      “Rodeo? If you came here from San Francisco, you drove right past it. You didn’t see the turnoff?”

      She shook her head. Her shoulders seemed to slump. “We were so close.” Looking around the hallway, she seemed a little lost. “The storm’s huge. I barely managed to make it this far.”

      “This ranch is on the far side of Rodeo, about ten miles out.” Hang on—she’d mentioned Travis. “Do you mean Travis Read? The new guy in town?”

      She perked right up. “Yes! Do you know my brother?”

      Michael had heard of him, only good stuff. Salt of the earth. Good addition to the town. Hardworking and quiet. Not at all like this ditzy woman.

      Before he could respond, he got caught up in watching her unwind her scarf. She took off her wool hat and Michael stopped breathing.

      She was that beautiful. Hair like spun gold. Eyes as blue as photographs he’d seen of the sea around Greece. Flawless, tanned skin.

      Any