Kids on the Doorstep / Cop on Loan. Kimberly Van Meter

Vixen and so far they had. Today was the first day he’d had the chance to formerly introduce himself so to speak and by the murderous glint in her eye, the introduction wasn’t going so well.

      “You and I are going to get along just fine,” he said low and soft as if the horse could understand every word. “I know you’ve had a hard time of it but no one is going to hurt you here. You have to behave, though, you hear me? No more kicking stable doors and scaring the life out of my ranch hands. I don’t pay them enough for that shit.”

      Vixen tossed her head as if to say “that’s your problem” and he chuckled softly. That it was. “We’re going to get along just fine, aren’t we?” he asked, a small grin lifting the corners of his mouth. There was nothing he enjoyed more than a challenge and judging by the proud and stubborn toss of the young mare’s head, he’d found a damn good one.

      Vixen reminded him of Alexis—all spit and fire—if only to draw attention away from the wound inside. He knew Alexis cried at night when she thought no one could hear her, when her sisters were fast asleep and she thought he was crashed out in front of the fire. But he heard her heartbroken sobs clear as if she were curled in his lap soaking his shoulder. And he’d be a liar if he didn’t admit it hit him hard. But what did he know about consoling a little girl’s broken heart? How was he supposed to help her heal? He was out of his league. You didn’t ask a horseman to wrestle with alligators because it wasn’t his specialty and he was likely to get his hand chomped off. That’s how he felt. Caged with an alligator with nothing but a lead rope and a prayer. By his estimation, neither one was going to do much good.

      So where did that leave him? The mare stared warily, watching and waiting for his next move, and the answer came to him with the slow cumbersome gearshift of the truly reluctant. The only way Alexis was going to heal was if she had her mama back in her life, which meant, and he really didn’t like the sound of this, he was going to have to help Renee mend the fence.

      And that meant playing nice with the woman.

      Aww hell.

      He didn’t know how to do that, either.

      He glanced back at Vixen, who nickered—or maybe it was a snicker—and said with a shake of his head and a promise in his eye, “Oh, don’t look so smug. You’re next, hot hooves. You’re about the only thing I know how to handle around here. So, let’s get to work, shall we?”

      RENEE GLARED AT THE SKY and cursed the snow spiraling out of the dark, ominous clouds as she wrestled another box out of her car and struggled to keep her footing on the slippery ground.

      “Here, let me take that before you land face-first in a snowdrift,” John said gruffly, lifting the box from her arms before she could protest. “We could’ve waited until Monday, after the storm passed us by,” he said over his shoulder as she hurried to catch up.

      “No, I’ve waited long enough to be around my girls. I’m not letting some—Oh!” She slipped a little and nearly landed on her rear but somehow caught herself before doing so. John didn’t slow nor did he glance back at her. Straightening, she took more care as she made her way toward the guesthouse. “I’m not going to let some storm get in my way. Besides, who’s to say this storm would be over by then? No way. I’m settling in and getting comfortable as soon as possible.”

      He turned abruptly and she almost ran into him. “Oh! You should say something before you do that!” she admonished with a glare, her breath pluming in a misty curl between them. “The ground is hard enough to walk without you stopping for no good reason in the middle of the path. Have you ever considered putting in a nice sidewalk to the guesthouse?”

      “No. That would encourage people to stay longer than they’re welcome,” he answered, shifting the box easily although Renee knew it was heavy. So there must be some muscles hidden beneath that flannel shirt she noted with a private shrug. Big deal. She’d never been one to swoon over some hunky cowboy type. Wrangler butts don’t drive her nuts. Good thing, too, because a cursory, almost defiant sweep of his butt, revealed an ass that she couldn’t help but admit was on the perfect side. He caught her unfortunate perusal and his eyebrow lifted only so slightly as he said, “Flattered but not interested. The house is the only thing available in this deal.”

      The nerve of this guy! As if she’d be interested in him. The idea bordered on ridiculous. Pulling the box from him and grunting only slightly from the effort, she said coolly, “I wasn’t inquiring. I can handle the rest, thank you. What else did you have to say when you nearly made me run into you?”

      She expected him to fight her over the box but he didn’t. The jerk merely shrugged and pulled a key from his pocket, saying, “I was just going to mention that you can help yourself to the woodshed out back and I suggest you build a fire right away. It’s the only source of heat in there. Here’s the key.” And then after pushing the key into the lock since her hands were full, he walked away, not slipping even once although Renee was really hoping he would—it would serve him right—and disappeared in the direction of the barn.

      Nerve, nerve, nerve! The man had it in spades. Oh, sure, he gave off that quiet, unassuming vibe but the man actually had an ego the size of…well, for lack of anything more witty or clever, Texas!

      She managed to hold on to the box and open the door with a minimal amount of swearing and despite the bone-chilling cold was actually sweating from the exertion.

      Dropping the box with less delicacy than she should’ve, she winced as she heard the muffled crack of something breaking and wondered which of her precious few possessions she’d just shattered. After huffing a short breath and vowing to open the box later to find out, she decided to wander the small house to see what she was looking at as far as living conditions go.

      Well, it was better than her hotel room, she noted after a quick perusal of the small house. One bedroom, one bathroom, a kitchenette and a tiny living room. Not bad.

      If only it weren’t wallpapered with some kind of hideous rose wallpaper that looked like it was taken straight out of the pages of a Sears, Roebuck catalog, circa 1920. She grimaced. Thank God she wasn’t planning on staying long. This wallpaper might make her lose her mind. She peered out the small front window. Nothing but more snow fluttered from the sky, threatening to bury the small house and the ranch itself if the storm didn’t let up. Flicking the living room light on, she pushed the box out of the way of traffic and readied herself for another trip to the car. She didn’t have much but at the moment, even one more trip outside wasn’t a pleasant thought. Get on with it, she chided herself, wrapping her shawl more tightly around her neck. If she didn’t want to sleep in her jeans tonight, she’d better get the rest of her stuff before the path from the driveway to the guesthouse became damn near impassable.

      Trudging through the gathering snow, her toes freezing in her worn hiking boots, she couldn’t help the quick glance toward the barn as she wondered what kind of woman—if any—would turn John Murphy’s head.

      Likely as not, that woman didn’t exist. She scowled at her thoughts.

      Yeah, well, who cares? It’s not like she was hoping to be that woman, anyway. She just wanted her kids back. End of story.

      Besides, no one in their right mind would want to live here, she thought with a surly temper as she sank to her knee in fresh powder and nearly toppled forward in a frontal snow angel dive. Pulling her foot free, she muttered with a fierce glower, “I hate snow. I really, really, really hate snow.” And I think I just might hate you, too, John Murphy.

      Chapter Eight

      THE STORM DIDN’T LET UP as John had thought and since there was little work he could do with the horses in the current weather, all he could do was wait it out. Normally, he’d just tinker around the house, doing odd jobs he’d put off but he couldn’t turn around without stumbling over a little girl underfoot since Alexis and Taylor had been given a snow day.

      Peering toward the guesthouse, he was satisfied to see that the little chimney was pumping out smoke, which meant Renee, despite the odds