Rodeo Rancher

by Mary Sullivan

He nodded and headed out.

  Michael’s bedroom became Command Central. They pulled together anything that could be used to make costumes for the boys and dumped it onto the bed.

  Using aluminum foil over cardboard, she helped the children to fashion swords.

  She explained to them what the story was about.

  “But, Mom,” Colt protested. “That’s not fair.”

  “Not another word, Colt. You get to be one of the bad guys. You’ll have fun.”

  Charmed that Michael had thought to bring her suitcase from the car, Samantha pulled out a bathrobe and put it on over the bedsheet she was using as her costume. She would take it off in time for the play.

  At the back door, she put two fingers to her lips and whistled.

  * * *

  “THAT’S MOM,” JASON SAID.

  “That was her?”

  Jason nodded. Sounded pretty powerful to Michael.

  “It means she’s ready. Let’s go.”

  On the walk back to the house under a cold, starlit sky, Michael asked, “Are these shows usually any good?”

  “Yeah. Mom’s really great at this.”

  Michael stepped in through the back door after Jason and secured it for the night.

  Behind his closed bedroom door, he heard giggling.

  Samantha called, “Can you turn off the generator and start the fire? We need the lanterns lit, too.”

  “Sure.” He asked Jason to handle the fire, making the boy light up with pride.

  “Which end of the room is supposed to be the stage?” he asked Samantha through his closed door.

  “The end away from the fire.”

  Michael positioned four lamps around the room to light up that end.

  “Done,” he called out.

  “You and Jason sit on the air mattresses in front of the fire so you have a good view.”

  They did and waited.

  First down the hallway were Mick and Colt, looking more like swashbuckling pirates than cowboys, with towels for capes, full of high spirits.

  “We’re the bad guys,” Mick shouted.

  “We’re bastardly villains,” Colt said.

  From down the hallway came Samantha’s voice. “Dastardly!”

  “That’s what I said, Mom.”

  Samantha laughed, that gay tinkle that had captivated Michael her first day here.

  The boys play-fought for a while until Samantha called, “Hey, yoo-hoo. The damsel in distress is waiting, bad guys.”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “We forgot.”

  They ran back down the hallway and returned, forcing Samantha ahead of them at sword-point.

  Michael startled.

  This was a different Samantha than he’d seen. He’d thought his first glimpse of her beauty had stolen his breath, but this Samantha...

  Her classically sculpted face with huge blue eyes framed by a cloud of white-blond hair might be pure innocence, but her body was pure femme fatale.

  A white bedsheet clung to every curve as though caressing her. One of his belts cinched a tiny waist, but her hips flared below.

  Good God. Michael couldn’t stop staring, fool that he was, taken in by a woman’s beauty when the physical had never mattered to him before, not since he’d fallen in love with a funny, irreverent, sweet girl named Lillian.

  To him, beauty had never been any more of an asset than brains or brawn or talent. People were given gifts at birth, and they used them or didn’t.

  What mattered in the end was what you did with your life, how you treated the people around you and whether you could be strong enough for the hand life dealt you.

  His mother and sister had valued beauty more than familial love and loyalty.

  But Samantha stood on stage now as though her beauty were no more special than her intelligence or her personality.

  It just was.

  Spellbound, speechless, Michael stared. Gulped. Stared some more.

  Finally, he clued in to the gist of the play.

  “Please, kind sirs, don’t hurt me,” Samantha wailed with the back of one hand against her forehead.

  Jason leaned close and whispered, “Mom’s a terrible actress.”

  Michael nodded, mute. She couldn’t act worth a damn, but she sure was pretty to watch.

  “Help,” she called.

  A high, thin banshee wail startled Michael. His tiny daughter came running with a sword in her hand and a fierce determination on her tiny face.

  “I’ll save you, damned distress!”

  “Damsel in distress,” Samantha muttered. Michael laughed. How could he not?

  His sweet, timid daughter launched herself at the boys with her toy sword and vanquished them, mostly because the boys let her after a stern look from Samantha.

  “Thank you, oh fierce and wonderful Lily! You have saved me and conquered our enemies.” She grabbed Mick’s sword and touched it to each of Lily’s shoulders. “I dub thee Knight Lily.”

  “Hey,” Jason said. “There aren’t any knights in Westerns.” His voice rang with humor.

  “There are in this one.” She placed Lily in front of her. She held out her hands to the boys, who took them. “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, for attending this evening’s entertainment.”

  They took a bow together.

  Jason jumped to his feet and applauded loudly.

  When Michael didn’t stand quickly enough, the boy nudged his ankle and leaned down. “Mom always expects a standing ovation.”

  Michael jumped to his feet. “Bravo,” he shouted, and the actors took it as their due.

  “Hot chocolate for everyone!” Samantha said. “Go get ready for bed while I make it.”

  She scooted down the hallway and returned minutes later. She’d covered her bedsheet dress with a thick bathrobe. He could have wept on the spot.

  While she poured milk into a big pot and added hot chocolate mix, he watched her back.

  She’d put her hair up into some kind of bun. Wisps of it had fallen down around her neck. He wanted to touch them. That was all. Just feel them. Were they as silky as they looked?

  With the pot in her hand, she turned around and caught him staring.

  Her cheeks turned a delicate pink.

  He couldn’t find his tongue, struck speechless by an almost adolescent shyness.

  The silence lengthened.

  She opened her mouth to say something, but he cut her off with a raised hand, afraid she would ruin the moment with chatter.

  She didn’t like silence.

  He did.

  To lighten the mood, he said, “Awful lot of swearing for a children’s play.”

  She laughed and he was glad. She relaxed into her natural self instead of the nervous woman who had to fill every gaping hole.

  “The children were funny, weren’t they?”

  “Yeah. You were right. This putting-on-a-show business was good for them.”

  She shrugged, as if taking praise were uncomfortable for her. “It passed the time.”

  “It did that, yes.”

  “Will you put this on the fire while I get dressed?” Before leaving the room, she said, “Thank you for bringing in my clothes.”

  He would miss her wearing his sweats, but her gratitude warmed him.

  In the living room, he placed the pot on the rack over the fire and listened to his daughter chatter away in his bedroom with Samantha.

  His little girl, who spent too much time being solemn and quiet, was happy. Happy.

  He sat back on his heels with the stunning realization that he’d just fallen a tiny bit in love with a woman he barely knew.

  In a daze during the last hour before bedtime, Michael contemplated what to do about it.

  Nothing, Moreno. Not a damned thing
.

  He fed the fire for the last time that night and crawled under his blankets on the sofa.

  Everyone settled and the room quieted. All slept, except for Michael, who lay on his back staring at flickering shadows on his ceiling.

  An hour later, he fed the fire again, took his blankets and quilts from the sofa and trudged down the hallway to the spare bed in his son’s room. He couldn’t face his own bed knowing that Samantha had slept in it a few nights before.

  He couldn’t sleep in the same room as her tonight. He knew that all he had was a powerful case of lust, but it felt like more. An unwelcome flame flickered back to life.

  When he closed his eyes, all he saw was a temptress in a white gown and a body made for his hands.

  Self-disciplined, he could deal with it, but he needed the physical distance and the chill in the room to cool his blood.

  Yep. This was a bad case of trouble he didn’t need.

  Chapter Eight

  Samantha felt the loss when Michael left the room. She hadn’t heard him go, but something had disturbed her and she immediately missed his presence.

  She wished he would stay.

  She was safe in this house, and so were the children, but nighttime wreaked its havoc on her here as much as it had every night for the past two years since the trouble had started with Manny.

  She got up and strode to Michael’s bedroom, the meager light from the fire flickering behind her. He wasn’t there.

  Peeking into Mick’s room, she spotted his bulk on the single bed opposite the bunk beds. At least he was still in the house.

  She turned to go back to the living room, but his deep voice stopped her.

  “What’s wrong?” Even in the darkness, he’d sensed her here.

  “Nothing.” But she couldn’t help but wring her hands. If only morning would come.

  “There is something wrong,” he said, “but it’s not the kids.”

  She shook her head, even though he couldn’t see. “It’s not the children. It’s me.”

  His bulk changed shape as he sat up. “Tell me.”

  She felt her way toward Mick’s bed and sat on the lower bunk, hauling a sheet up and around her shoulders. It was cool back here. Why had he left the warm living room?

  She sat on her hands. She’d never told anyone about her fears, not even Travis. So why consider opening up to a stranger?

  Maybe because she’d been dying for someone to talk to. She’d been a burden to her brother when they were growing up. She wouldn’t share any more of her burdens with him, not after he’d already done more than any brother should. He’d sacrificed his adolescent dreams and his own happiness to raise her.

  “I don’t like nighttime,” she told the dark figure across from her.

  “Why not?”

  Michael’s voice sounded as deep and strong as he looked in the daytime.

  “I’m afraid.”

  “Why?”

  “It started in high school. Our parents had died and Travis worked hard to take care of both of us so I wouldn’t have to go to foster care.”

  He made a low humming sound in his throat. She didn’t know what it meant.

  “He’s the best brother ever,” she whispered fervently.

  “Sounds like.”

  “He often worked late at night. At first he was still trying to go to school, so he would wash dishes in restaurants or bars. I didn’t like being alone so much. I hated it.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Only twelve. I know he was always there for me, but on those nights, I felt abandoned. When I was alone in the tiny apartment with only the lock on the door to protect me, every sound was terrifying.”

  “Makes perfect sense.” She sensed him leaning forward. “Nothing, I mean, nothing can hurt you here. Understand?”

  Although she knew he couldn’t see her, she nodded. “I know.”

  And she did know. He wouldn’t let anyone hurt a soul in this house.

  She cupped one hand inside the other, squeezing hard, and debated whether to tell him the rest, about Manny and the trial. But what good would that do? He would only worry, and there was no threat.

  Manny had said he would never bother her again. She believed him.

  The only thing bothering her now was her imagination.

  She wished she knew Michael well enough to take shelter in his arms, but she wouldn’t.

  The only thing she had ever done wrong with men was to give too soon.

  She’d done it with Kevin, thinking that he was her chance to have a real family in a real house. She’d been wrong.

  Just before all of the trouble with Manny, there had been Greg. She’d moved along too quickly with him, too, only to find he’d wanted her body, but nothing else.

  She stood up. “Thank you for listening.”

  “Yeah,” he said, and she left the room, wishing she could stay, but knowing she couldn’t.

  * * *

  MICHAEL AWOKE IN a lousy mood. He knew the reason—Samantha and her midnight confession.

  He didn’t want her to have depth and to be thoughtful, vulnerable and...likable, for God’s sake.

  Why couldn’t she be as shallow as his assumptions about beautiful women needed her to be?

  He didn’t want to soften or yield.

  Silently, he and Jason did their chores, the boy a welcome distraction from his confused musings.

  They hopped onto the snowmobile in the brightening dawn and checked out cattle, feed and water. Jason soaked it all up like a load of hay in the rain.

  When they returned to the house, a rustling in the living room alerted him to the gradual stirring of his children and his guests.

  Going immediately to the fireplace, he didn’t look at Samantha until he’d finished his chore, then regretted peeking at her.

  She looked sleep-mussed, her hair a cloud of blond tangles and her cheek creased from her pillow. The fact that she didn’t cater to her looks was another strike against her in his books. It made her even more appealing and he didn’t want that.

  When she saw him, her face creased into a smile that had his defenses crumbling without a sound.

  Shattered, he spun away.

  No. He would not let this happen to his heart, in his house, under Lillian’s roof.

  Grumbling, he stalked to the kitchen to raid their dwindling supplies.

  A small missile launched herself at his legs, his pretty daughter with her delicate face and big hair. He picked her up. Prone to grumpiness in the morning, today Lily smiled sweetly and said, “Love you, Daddy.”

  He almost regretted the development and refinement of her speech, missing the funny appeal of her former “Wuv you.”

  “Love you, too, sweetheart.”

  With her head on his shoulder, she giggled and placed her palm against his chest. “Rumbly.”

  “What are you so happy about, sprout?”

  Her shoulders hunched up around her ears and she giggled again. “Just happy, Daddy.”

  He knew why. Samantha. The company. The fun and lightness and activity of the past two and a half days and three nights.

  Had the past two years been too gloomy for his children? Hadn’t he done his best to provide for them?

  It hadn’t been enough. This woman had waltzed in and changed everything.

  He didn’t resent his children’s happiness, but dear God, how many barriers was Samantha going to crash through?

  He wasn’t ready for this. He wasn’t ready for anything.

  * * *

  SAMANTHA REGRETTED HAVING been so frank with Michael last night.

  He’d been strange all morning. Something about him had shifted for sure. He wasn’t as cold, as rigid or as gloomy, and yet he seemed more distant. From her, at any rate.

  Maybe
she’d said too much last night. Once again, she’d moved too quickly with a man, even when she had no designs on him. She’d just wanted someone to talk to.

  Poor guy.

  She couldn’t wallow. There were children to take care of and to entertain.

  At least after the fun of yesterday’s snowball fight and last night’s play, Michael was more relaxed with the children.

  After breakfast, he said, “Remember that plane on the table inside the front door, Colt?”

  “The one without wings?”

  “That’s the one. Go get it.”

  Colt ran off.

  “Mick and Jason, find me a couple of chunks of firewood that are relatively flat.”

  The other boys checked the wood piled beside the hearth.

  When everything was assembled, Michael set it all up on the coffee table on top of a couple of towels.

  Samantha settled on the sofa.

  Michael said, “Boys, gather round the table. I’ll show you how to use a plane.”

  Michael knelt in front of the coffee table and the boys clustered around him.

  Lily came to sit beside Samantha.

  Sammy brooded. Why hadn’t Lily been invited to watch as well?

  Lily curled against Sammy’s side, combing Puff’s hair as Sammy had shown her. First, Sammy had had to get all of the tangles out for her.

  The child hummed a formless tune.

  Michael started in on his lesson. Samantha frowned, thoughtful. Sure it was great that he was teaching the boys how to use it, but it would have been doubly nice if he’d thought to include his daughter.

  There was no reason girls couldn’t learn how to use tools if they wanted to.

  Don’t worry about it, Sam. You won’t be here much longer. Another day at the most.

  But she did worry, and she brooded.

  Don’t get involved. Michael gets upset if he thinks you’re criticizing him as a parent.

  It was none of her business, but the unfairness ate away at her.

  Lily deserved so much. She deserved everything. She was sweet and—

  Stop, Sammy! In the end, Lily is none of your business.

  She bit her lips shut. She sat on her hands.

  Who was she kidding? She could not sit here quietly and let Lily be left out. She gave up resisting.

  Travis always said she had too much mischief in her heart. She tried to make life fun for her boys, to make up for all of the years when things had been anything but fun for her and Travis.