The Danforths: Toby, Lea and Adam. Anne Marie Winston

      She wondered what kind of father couldn’t understand his own child’s adorable attempt at forming words. Because her throat had turned to dust, her own words sounded altogether too scratchy as she endeavored to enlighten the poor man.

      “I believe he said cookie. For what it’s worth, I think he’d like another one.”

      “For what it’s worth, he can have the whole damn bag!” Tobias shouted in startling jubilation.

      He grabbed Dylan up under the arms and swung him around in the air. The print of the boy’s cowboy- themed shirt blurred into a brightly spinning top. The exuberant expression on his father’s face caused Heather’s pulse to skitter. It burst into a gallop before it came skidding to a dead stop. If it was possible that there might actually be a nice guy hiding behind the mask of a monster, she hoped he knew CPR.

      Squealing with delight, Dylan repeated the feat that had earned him such an enthusiastic response.

      “Gookie!”

      That hard and judgmental something, lodged inside Heather’s heart, softened to see unshed tears glistening in Tobias Danforth’s eyes as he set his son down and ruffled his dark hair. The man was reputed to be worth millions and was looked upon by locals as somewhat of a reclusive mystery. Indeed, any outsider who could afford to treat ranching as a gentleman’s hobby was generally regarded with suspicion among those born and bred of this unforgiving land. That such a man could actually be moved to tears by such an unremarkable accomplishment took Heather completely by surprise.

      True to his word, Tobias grabbed the bag of cookies off a nearby ledge and handed it over to Dylan. Heather’s dark suspicions about her former employer evaporated as the boy threw his arms around his daddy’s neck and proceeded to cover his face with kisses. The scene was so unlike anything from her own childhood that Heather felt a pang of regret that her invitation to stick around long enough to get to know either of them better had been revoked.

      As she turned to leave, she was halted by a Southern drawl as strong as a rope. And as tender as a prayer.

      “And just where do you think you’re going?”

      Heather turned slowly around. The sight of her interrogator with chocolate-chip kisses smeared across his face did much to lessen the tension smoldering between them. The ghost of a smile made the angular planes of that face look far less formidable than the first impression Heather received of it.

      “You just fired me,” she reminded him gently.

      Tobias took a clean white handkerchief out of his pocket and swiped at his face.

      “Well, consider yourself un-fired.”

      Heather’s heart banged against her chest. If there was any chance of salvaging this job, she had better put a smile on her face and a conciliatory tone in her voice. Aside from the fact that she didn’t want to be reduced to begging her parents for money, it would be almost impossible to find a position better suited to her needs at the present time. Not to mention she felt such an immediate connection with the child who was to be her charge. She reached out and took the handkerchief from Tobias’s hand.

      “Here, let me help you with that,” she offered, dabbing at a crumb hanging from his mustache.

      What was meant as a friendly gesture turned suddenly intimate as Tobias’s eyes bored into hers. A shiver starting at the base of Heather’s neck raced through her and played with every nerve ending in her body. A telltale tremble caused the handkerchief in her hand to resemble a white flag of surrender. As a general rule, Heather liked clean-shaven men, but as her gaze lingered upon the curve of the mouth peeking out from beneath a well-groomed mustache, she didn’t think it would take much persuasion to change her mind.

      Have you gone completely crazy? Heather asked herself.

      She refused to fall into the same self-destructive pattern that had ruined the last relationship she’d had with a man, who had professed himself to be her mentor. She struggled to find something to say that would put their relationship back on professional footing. Entertaining romantic notions about an employer, no matter how handsome or baffling to the senses, was risking emotional suicide.

      “We’d better discuss the terms of my employment before I accept your conditions—especially if they include the kind of behavior modification I saw you using on your son.”

      Tobias reached out to take her hand into his. Heather gasped at the intensity of the voltage that coursed through her body at his touch. The sound caused him to immediately release his grip. The handkerchief fluttered to the ground between them, a symbolic victim of the war between the sexes.

      “Let me assure you, Miss Burroughs, I have no intention of compromising your virtue while you’re in my employment, if that’s what you’re worried about. I can also wipe my own face, and my own butt, as far as that goes. As frazzled as I might appear at the moment, I’m not looking for someone to take care of me. I’m perfectly capable of doing that for myself. What I desperately need is someone who will support my parenting efforts—and the exercises that Dylan’s speech therapist prescribed for him, like the one you just so rudely interrupted.”

      It was Heather’s turn to look nonplussed. It had never occurred to her that a three-year-old would be subjected to such treatment as part of a prearranged professional treatment. That in itself made her all the more aware of her shortcomings as Dylan’s intended caregiver. If she ever hoped to obtain her teaching degree, she was going to have to stop jumping to conclusions and transferring her childhood trauma onto other people.

      “I-I’m truly sorry,” she stammered, wishing there were some way she could start all over again.

      Tobias shoved the splayed fingers of one hand through a shock of dark hair that was anything but a quiet shade. Brown at the roots, the sun had frosted its ends with golden highlights. The fact that he was in need of a haircut didn’t keep Heather from wanting to test its texture with her own fingers.

      “Don’t be. You just had more success with Dylan in the five minutes you’ve been here than I have since his mother left,” Tobias admitted.

      Bitterness laced his words and desperation creased his brow.

      Heather wondered what had happened to Dylan’s mother. Had she left simply because of the isolation of living on a ranch miles from the nearest neighbor? Or through some fault of her husband? Had she run away feeling as manipulated as a child reaching for a cookie that could only be earned by performing some trick?

      Whatever the woman’s reasons, Heather felt a surge of pity for any child forsaken by his mother. Having been sent away by her own parents under the guise of developing her artistic gift, she understood just how devastating it felt to be abandoned by those who professed to love you the most. And how desperately one would work to earn and to keep their approval.

      Tobias’s words drew Heather out of the past and into a present that was growing more and more complicated by the minute.

      “In case the agency misrepresented this job, Miss Burroughs, Dylan is developmentally delayed.”

      The last two words seemed to stick in Tobias’s throat. Although Heather was tempted to give him a reassuring pat to help him continue, she refrained from touching him again. As she saw it, the biggest drawback to this job was not working with a developmentally delayed child but rather living in such close quarters with a man who made her feel so keenly aware of her own sexuality. Falling for Josef had cost Heather her love of music. Falling for this man could well cost her what was left of her self- respect.

      Tobias cleared his throat and continued. “You come highly recommended, and I was hoping that you and Dylan might find a common bond in your mutual talent.”

      He gestured to the grand piano against the far wall. Its black polish glistened beneath the natural sunlight spilling into the room. It evoked in Heather such a mixture of conflicting emotions that she had to reach for the back of a chair to steady herself. Part of her longed to run her fingers over those beautiful ivory keys. And part of her had already slammed the lid