Hot Christmas Nights. Sharon Kendrick

      MR. RIGHT NEXT DOOR

      “Be prepared for more realism and depth than is usually found in a category romance.”

      —The Romance Reader

      THE PERFECT WEDDING

      “Ms. James provides a powerful inspirational message for romance fans.”

      —Romantic Times Magazine

      DESPERATELY SEEKING DADDY

      “Arlene James creates a wonderful heroine with whom readers will identify…”

      —Romantic Times Magazine

      MARRYING AN OLDER MAN

      “I can honestly say that this book fits the gem category.”

      —Desert Isle Reviews

      “…Ms. James’s complex characters and unhurried pace make this a rewarding reading experience.”

      —Romantic Times Magazine

      Contents

       Chapter One

       Chapter Two

       Chapter Three

       Chapter Four

       Chapter Five

       Chapter Six

       Chapter Seven

       Chapter Eight

       Chapter Nine

       Chapter Ten

      Chapter One

      Winston slowed the battered pickup truck as soon as he could read the name on the mailbox wired to a fence post at the side of the paved, two-lane road. The engine chugged as he downshifted, causing the old truck to lurch, and he glanced with mild concern across the cab at the dog hanging out the window, its white-tufted black ears flapping in the breeze. Did the animal know that it was going home? He wouldn’t have put it past the canny black-and-white dog. Perhaps that was why his son had taken such a liking to it.

      For some reason the quiet eight-year-old had formed a deep affection for the odd cattle dog in the months since Dorinda Thacker had left it with them while she went for an extended visit with her sister in Texas. None of the other dogs around the Champlain ranch had ever inspired such devotion from Jamesy, but the dog belonged to the Thacker place, and since Dorinda had returned, so must the mutt. Out here on the sparsely populated Wyoming plains, a good dog was highly valued as useful for working cattle, companionship, keeping wild critters away from the home place, sounding alarms and, in the case of this particular pooch, going for help at a spoken command. Anyone living alone in these parts definitely needed a dog. It was just a shame, for Jamesy’s sake, that in Dorinda Thacker’s case it had to be this dog.

      At least, Winston mused, he could get his stolen cattle back now, not that he had any intention of serving her with the restitution order immediately. After what her ex-husband Bud had put her through—the loss of her savings, the embarrassment of his thieving, the trial and conviction and, of course, the divorce—the woman deserved a chance to get her feet under her before she got hit with the loss of forty head of her cattle. It seemed unfair in a way that she should have to make the restitution, but that was how the court ordered it at the behest of the insurance company. They’d expected her back a couple months ago, in the late spring. It was full summer now, and Dorinda had notified no one, not even the Summerses who were still taking care of her horses, of the reason for her delay. Nevertheless, Win figured that he’d waited this long for his cattle; he could wait awhile yet. The dog was another matter.

      With the truck sufficiently slowed, Winston turned it off the paved road onto the narrow dirt track that wound through the small hillocks and shallow rises which provided the Thacker cabin with some shelter from the elements. Win admitted to himself that he felt a little uneasy. Dorinda had often made him uncomfortable. Owing to his personal experience, Win had a little problem with married women who pursued men other than their husbands. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Dorinda. Not even all that Bud had put her through during their short marriage had dimmed her sunny disposition and happy-go-lucky attitude. Plus, she was a very attractive woman. When it came right down to it, however, he wasn’t at all sure that he could ever trust her.

      As he guided the truck along the snaky path toward the cabin, he pictured her in his mind. Of medium height, with neat, graceful curves, Dorinda had big brown eyes, a heart-shaped face and a wealth of long, dark hair. She wore a touch too much makeup for his taste and, in his opinion, bought her jeans at least a size too small, but her smile was often so bright that it obscured everything else. He wished, heartily, that she had not made her interest in him so very obvious before Bud had been arrested. Perhaps all that had happened and the months away had changed her. He hoped so. Six years was a long time for a man to be alone, and lately he’d been feeling it more acutely than ever before, which was why he’d been out driving alone late last night and had spotted the light in Dorinda’s window. He’d tried to call this morning, but the phone had not been reconnected, so he’d decided to drive over instead.

      The small, weather-grayed house came into view. Perched as it was halfway up the gentle rise of the shallow hill behind it, the cabin boasted very little front yard, and Dorinda’s flashy red truck took up what was there, so Win circled around and parked at the end of the narrow porch. After he killed the engine, he reached across to ruffle the ears of the black-and-white collie, which looked at him with inscrutable black eyes rimmed with a narrow, caramel brown mask resembling a pair of lopsided spectacles.

      “You’re home, old son. We’ll miss you back at The Champ, but Dorinda needs you here. You take care of her now.”

      The dog yawned widely, as if to say that he knew his business well and needed no reminders from some scruffy cowboy. Winston chuckled and reached into his shirt pocket for a short, splintered stick, which the dog nipped carefully from his fingertips, white-feathered black tail wagging happily. Win let himself out of the truck and waited for the dog to leap down to the ground before walking around his truck and between Dorinda’s and the porch to the narrow, sagging center steps, the dog at his heels.

      As Winston drew close he could see through the screen and the open door to the kitchen beyond. Empty. The dog dropped down onto its belly on the porch and began gnawing the stick, which it held upright between its front paws. Rapping his knuckles on the door frame, Win called out, “Hello! Winston Champlain here.”

      For a moment, he heard nothing in response. Then tentative footsteps came from the direction of the living area. Immediately, the dog began to growl, much to Winston’s confusion. A shadowy form appeared, accompanied by a soft, rusty female voice.

      “What do you want?”

      At that, the dog shot up to its feet and began barking. Perplexed and surprised by the animal’s reaction, Win commanded sharply, “Down!” The animal obeyed, but reluctantly, dropping onto its haunches and quieting to a whine. Win pulled the screen door open so they could see one another better, propping one shoulder against it. “Hey, there.”

      Further comment evaporated as he stared at the woman standing before him.