Prairie Cowboy. Linda Ford

      Sheriff Sam Dawson no longer had a nanny for his daughters. Weary from the events of the day, he wished for a simple answer to his problem, for a way to manage until he found someone to stay with the girls.

      A dull headache promised to strengthen if he didn’t pop in a few painkillers soon. While he drove with the girls toward the diner for dinner, they’d grown quiet again. He didn’t think they were fretting. Earlier, when he’d returned to the office, he’d been met by gloomy faces and their concern for Arlene. Sam had quieted their distress, and worked hard to stir their smiles while they’d settled in the vehicle and fastened seat belts.

      Now Annie seemed engrossed in a new book, and Casey was humming to her stuffed dog.

      They seemed okay. But what did he know? He was never sure if he was doing the right thing. Being a single dad was tough. He’d never expected to be one, to raise the girls alone. Life without Christina had been difficult, harder than he’d ever imagined. He should have known, expected that. She’d made a difference in his life. She’d come into it when he’d needed someone the most.

      She’d been his life, and when she’d died, so had he. For weeks nothing had mattered. He’d been so damn selfish. He’d been thinking only about himself, his pain. Back then, pressure had crowded his throat daily. It was the girls who’d saved him.

      They’d given him only a little time to grieve. He’d wanted more. He’d wanted to wallow in self-pity, to let grief crush down on him. But how could he? Life kept intruding. One of them needed new shoes or had a dentist appointment. There were new books to read, a carnival in town, a birthday, Christmas.

      His daughters wouldn’t let him bury himself in his misery. So he put on a good show. He smiled and laughed because of them. It was his way of telling them everything would be okay, even though it wasn’t.

      Then during the past months, the terrible ache that had rooted itself within him no longer attacked him with his every breath. Time healed pain. With good intentions, everyone had said that would happen. He hadn’t believed them, hadn’t believed any woman would reach inside him again, would make him smile. Or love again.

      In the rearview mirror, he saw Annie look up from her book. “Isn’t she pretty, Daddy?”

      He assumed she was talking about some picture in the book.

      “And nice,” she went on.

      “Who?”

      “Jesse.”

      A dimpled smile came to mind. So did shapely legs.

      “I like her,” Casey announced.

      That was a remarkable feat. Casey was stingy with her approvals.

      “Do you like her?” she asked.

      Like? Maybe. Desire, absolutely. And he wasn’t thrilled about that. It was dumb thinking, he berated himself. He hardly knew her.

      “I want a hamburger,” Annie informed him.

      Sam zipped into the parking lot adjacent to the diner.

      “Can I have one?”

      “Me, too,” Casey piped in.

      “Sure.” He switched off the ignition, watched the girls bound out of their sport utility vehicle. They looked more eager than usual about going into the diner. That made him edgy, especially since Annie’s comments about Jessica Scott.

      Previously he’d learned from Arlene that his two angels thought they needed a mommy, and their daddy had been too busy to find them one. The truth was he hadn’t been looking. He’d had the love of his life. He truly believed a man didn’t get that gift twice.

      “Daddy, look.” Annie pointed in the direction of the bench near Herb’s. “There’s Jesse.”

      Sam rounded the front of the vehicle to see them racing toward her and calling her name. “Jesse, Jesse.”

      He thought she looked tired, but she sat with her back straight as if she was balancing a book on her head. The orange glow of sunset caressed her glossy hair. Hanging loose now, it fell to her shoulders.

      From a distance, her smile looked weak. In what seemed like an affectionate gesture, she touched his daughter’s shoulder. Closer now, Sam noted the suitcase at her feet, and guessed Thunder Lake’s newest resident had a problem. “Hi.”

      A moment passed before she looked up, swung pale, watery eyes toward him.

      Tears. Things had gone from bad to worse for her, Sam deduced. His natural instinct with someone he knew would have been to offer a comforting shoulder. But this woman was a stranger. “Annie, take Casey and go in. Get us a booth.”

      Nothing was simple with Annie. She liked schedules and predictability. Any deviation from what she expected made her ask a dozen questions. “Aren’t you coming?”

      “I’ll be there in a minute.”

      A frown grabbed hold on her face. “Where should we sit? What if there aren’t any empty tables?”

      Here goes, he thought. “Sit in any booth.” The parking lot wasn’t full, so he doubted they’d have a problem finding one. “And both of you can have a soda tonight,” he said, knowing that treat would hurry them into the diner.

      They rewarded him with pleased smiles and took off.

      Sam focused on her again. “I usually force milk on them,” he said lightly to gauge her mood, determine how down she was.

      Though she looked tired and worried, a slim smile lit her face.

      “I thought you’d want to know what happened with Arlene, Mrs. Mulvane,” he said while he sat on the bench beside her. “She got to the hospital in time.”

      “Oh, I’m so glad.”

      “The doctor said she’ll be fine. Thanks to you. Arlene said she would have never thought she was having a heart attack, she would have written off the pain as heartburn. The doctor said she’d have suffered a lot of heart damage if she hadn’t gotten to the hospital when she did. Because of you, she didn’t.”

      “I really didn’t do anything. You did.” A flush that made her look younger had swept over her face. “But I’m glad everything worked out for her.”

      “Me, too. She’s a nice woman.” As she smiled again, Sam tapped the bottom of her suitcase with the toe of his boot. Not getting involved never entered his mind. This went beyond an obligation to his job. She looked so damn lost, so vulnerable sitting there. “You have a problem?”

      In a resigned more than a helpless gesture, she shrugged. “It’s nothing.”

      He didn’t believe her for a moment. Whether or not she liked it, he couldn’t accept her simple answer. He was used to sticking his nose in others’ business. “You had a tough day today. You never waited on tables before, did you?”

      A throaty soft laugh answered him. “That’s obvious, isn’t it?”

      Sam stared at her lips and felt an uncharacteristic impatience. “You try hard.”

      She looked less tense, less annoyed. “That was nice. Thank you.”

      “But that didn’t help, did it?”

      She shook her head. “’Fraid not.” As a breeze whipped around her and tossed her hair, she raised a hand to brush back strands.

      Sam saw no point in beating around the bush. “Did Herb fire you?”

      As if sensing it was pointless to pretend she had no problem, she admitted, “Yes, I don’t have a job anymore, but I can’t blame Herb. I dumped spaghetti on the lap of the mayor’s wife.”

      Despite the seriousness of her personal dilemma, a laugh tickled Sam’s throat. He would have loved to have seen that. Eunice Wilson was big on herself—too big. In her opinion, her