The Magnificent Seven

by Cheryl St. John

  "He's just sleepy," Heather said, pushing Taylor and Patrick in the swings. Jessica and Ashley were team sliding on the plastic slide.

  Mitch carried the two-year-old to the porch where they could watch the others play. He sat in the creaky wicker rocker, with the boy in his lap, his head nestled in the crook of his arm, and remembered the sweetness of his own babies when they were this young. Andrew gave him a few bashful looks from beneath heavy eyelids, and then gradually fell into exhausted slumber.

  Heather led the rest of the children across the porch and into the kitchen.

  "Shall I take him upstairs?" Mitch asked.

  She nodded, sat the others at the table and poured them drinks, then followed. She led him into a bedroom and pulled back the covers on a double bed. "He sleeps in here," she said softly. Lifting him over the side guard, Mitch lowered him to the mattress.

  Heather put a diaper on him, covered him with the sheet, then smoothed his hair back from his forehead. Seeing Mitch with him had had a disturbing effect on her chest. The same strong hands that swung a hammer and fitted planks of wood were gentle and caring when they touched her baby.

  The thought of them touching her made her nerve endings tremble. She turned and straightened, unexpectedly moving right against Mitch who'd been standing close. Those hands closed over her upper arms, and he steadied her. She had to close her eyes to fight the dizziness.

  "Oh," she said, a soft sound of surprise. She opened one hand against his warm knit-covered chest to balance herself, and beneath her fingers, his heart beat steadily.

  Mitch's body responded immediately to the sensory attack. She smelled like dish soap and outdoors, with an alluring feminine scent all her own underneath. Her golden-brown eyes held a question. . . and an invitation.

  As if it had a mind of its own, his hand raised to caress a strand of silky hair. He smoothed a tress between his fingers and thumb, tucked it behind her ear as he'd seen her do, then ran a finger across her ivory cheek.

  Her eyes darkened and the pulse at her throat raced visibly.

  He couldn't help himself. He lowered his head and touched her lips with his own.

  Her quickly drawn breath was either surprise or pleasure, and he hoped it was the latter. Her mouth was warm and soft, and she leaned into the kiss as though hungry for his taste.

  Mitch released her arm and braced her shoulder with his forearm, placing both hands in the hair that he'd wanted to feel and threading his fingers into the cool silkiness.

  She was incredibly soft, her body pliant and her lips eager. He could lose himself in this woman in a heartbeat.

  Starved for her now, sensing the sharp promise of pleasure, he opened his mouth over hers. At the first touch of his tongue against her lips, she made a provocative sound and grasped his T-shirt in her fist.

  Their lips parted slightly, enough to breathe, enough to still taste, and he sought her again with his tongue. She met his fervent quest with the tip of her tongue, teasing him, testing him, until he felt her body quake.

  She leaned away and opened her eyes to meet his. He saw fire. . .and uncertainty. . .and unspoken need.

  She composed her expression, took a breath and let go of his shirt. At her withdrawal, Mitch automatically released her and let his hands fall to his sides. The sense of loss was devastating.

  "Heather," he whispered.

  She shook her head and brought the backs of her fingers to her flaming cheek. "No," she said, her voice trembling. "Don't say anything." She raised both hands as though warding him off. "Please, don't say anything."

  Obediently silent, he turned and left the room, his mind and his body screaming for her. Downstairs the children had finished their drinks and were sitting outside on the porch in the dark.

  "Let's go, girls," he said softly.

  Tired, they followed and buckled themselves into their seat belts. Mitch checked them, then turned and waved at Jessica and Patrick. "See you in the morning."

  Illuminated by the light from the kitchen window, they returned the wave. Heather appeared, a slender silhouette in the doorway.

  Mitch placed the truck in gear and drove down the gravel drive, trying to make sense of what had happened. She had awakened him to the demands and desires of his body, and now he couldn't shut them off. Didn't know if he wanted to. Heather had started out as a job, but she'd quickly become a friend. He didn't want to do anything to ruin either one of those.

  If he had offended her, he needed to apologize, but she hadn't allowed him to speak. He didn't know what he would have said, anyway—probably something stupid. Probably something completely out of line that he'd have been sorry for later. Like the kiss.

  Like the kiss.

  Was he sorry for that kiss?

  Blessedly, the girls had fallen asleep and he had his thoughts to himself on the long ride home. Tomorrow he'd be moving even closer to Heather Johnson. He'd better get a grip on his agitated hormones right away.

  Heather sat on the back porch in the dark and watched the fireflies dance in the cattails along the edge of the pond. What had happened to her?

  What was it about this place that made people crazy? She'd found herself constantly looking at Mitch Fielding with preposterously sexy thoughts.

  She'd never mused in that feverish manner before— not about any man in particular anyway. She'd had fantasies, of course—inconsequential daydreams of some faceless lover—but she'd never looked at a man and reacted the way she reacted to this man.

  It must be this place. She needed to get out of here. She needed to get the project finished, sell the damned ranch and return to her normal existence.

  Getting up, she locked the doors and made her way upstairs, where she ran a bubble bath in the deep claw-foot tub.

  Heather sank down into the scented water. She would tell Mitch this tub had to stay.

  Remembering the way his simple touch on her arm set her skin tingling, she closed her eyes, leaned back, and relished the memories. The strength of her reactions frightened her. Looking at him made her soft and wet inside. Smelling him.. .her chest fluttered. . . She was like some primitive animal drawn to the scent of another, she thought with self-deprecation. His nearness was tantalizing. His scent provocative.

  She was the almost-thirty-year-old mother of three children. She'd been married for nearly ten years. She had never had these overpowering feelings toward a man before.

  She'd felt distaste, disgust, fear, warmth from time to time, grudging respect, but never this—this attraction. This craving.

  Her body remembered his touch. His kiss. The intoxicating loss of control and the frantic desire to possess, be possessed. The memory excited and embarrassed her even now.

  Her head knew better.

  But Heather had the feeling that she wouldn't give a second thought to what her head was telling her if the opportunity arose again. That lack of restraint terrified her.

  And thrilled her.

  Snared in a new web of sensuality, she ran more hot water and rethought her hesitation and the reasons behind it.

  She had begun a new life, a life of independence. She was in control of her own body and making her own decisions. She could choose to enjoy herself and explore her sexuality if she wanted to. She was her own person. And she could choose to keep her head in control and not be pushed into a commitment she wanted no part of. No longer was she a foolish young girl in need of a rescuer.

  She wanted to find out what this attraction for Mitch was all about. The way he made her feel was an intoxicant she had to explore and wanted to experience. She sank deeper into the scented water and allowed her mind to wander where it would. Exactly how much courage did she really possess?

  Eight

  Finding his grandfather in the study, Mitch rapped his knuckles on the open door as he entered. "How did the meeting go with Jordan Baxter?"

  Disgust clouded Garrett's normally pleasant expression. "Damn pigheaded fool is what that man is. He refuses to listen to reason." />
  "I take it you didn't come to an agreement."

  "The only thing we came close to was blows. I'm not the most even-tempered when I get around him, either, so I might have figured we'd need a referee."

  "So the court date's still set."

  "If he won't listen to me, I guess he'll be forced to answer to the judge."

  "I hope the ruling turns out the way you want it to."

  "How's the work going?" Garrett asked, changing the subject.

  Mitch outlined the day's accomplishments, pleased that Garrett took such an interest. "The girls and I are going to stay in Heather's bunkhouse until the work is done," he explained. "The drive twice a day is getting to all of us. The morning that it rained, I was uncomfortable about having them on those mountain roads in that weather."

  "I can understand that thinking," Garrett replied. "But isn't there some other way around it?"

  "I was lucky to get Heather to watch them during the day," Mitch reminded him.

  "You could work here, on the ranch," the old man suggested, not for the first time.

  "I'd still need someone to take care of them. And I know you don't really need another hand right now. I don't want to feel like I'm a charity case. I'm perfectly capable of supporting myself and my girls."

  "I know you are. It's not that. It's just that. . . I guess I'll miss havin' you around. I've made it plain enough that I'd like you to stay here—on the ranch— in Whitehorn, for good. Have you thought about it?"

  "Sure, I have." Mitch sat in a chair across from him. "Getting to know Collin and Cade and all of my half brothers is important to me. I want to know all of them better. I feel like I belong here, like I belong with them—and with you—more than I ever did with my stepfather and stepbrother and sisters. Not because of anything anyone ever said or did," he added quickly.

  "Just because I never felt like Ï belonged with them. I was always an outsider. They loved me and accepted me, but I was always a reminder, even if it was only in my own mind, of my mother's pre-maritai affair." He laughed wryly. "Here. I'm just one of the many."

  "No one thinks any less of you because of your father's philandering," Garrett told him.

  "I know. And it's crazy, because even though everyone in town knows about my parentage, it doesn't matter."

  "So you're leanin' toward stay in'?"

  "I can't say yet. I would never want to hurt my mother. The girls are doing better away from her and their other grandmother, though."

  "I won't rush you," Garrett promised. "But while you're stayin' at the Bolton place, you'll come to dinner on the weekends?"

  "We will."

  "And the girls can stay with me and Hattie while you get out and make friends."

  Mitch accepted the suggestion good-naturedly. "Okay."

  Garrett got to his feet when Mitchdid, He stepped forward and gave his grandson an awkward hug.

  Though it was a little after ten, Mitch returned Trina's call from the phone on the kitchen wall. "Were you sleeping?"

  "Oh, no," she replied. "I'm a night owl."

  "I got your message."

  "I was wondering if you wanted to drive into Billings with me Saturday night. We could see a movie, have dinner or something."

  He'd just been asked out. On a date. He thought about the last time he'd seen her, the way he'd really wanted nothing more than to have the night over with.

  "I'm really flattered. . ." he began.

  "But?" she interrupted.

  "But I wouldn't want to mislead you."

  "And you can't see us going anywhere."

  "Sorry."

  "Hey, a girl can appreciate honesty."

  "I'll be seeing you around," he said lamely.

  "Sure. Take care, then. Maybe some other time."

  Mitch knew there wouldn't be another time. Especially not after what had happened with Heather earlier. If there was anyone in Whitehorn he wanted to get to know better, it was the lovely young mother of three who had gotten under his skin without trying.

  The next morning Mitch had extra driving to do. He picked up his repaired and cleaned truck, and drove back to his grandfather's ranch. The girls were playing in the yard beside the house and ran to meet him. "You got our truck fixed!"

  He knelt to give them each a hug. "Yes, I did. And I know two young ladies who need to say they're sorry for costing me so much trouble and money."

  "I'm sorry, Daddy," Ashley said immediately. She threw her arms around his neck again.

  "I'm sorry," Taylor said finally, stubbing her toe in the dirt.

  "All right. I forgive you both. But I never ever want you to play in a car or truck again. Understand? One of you could have been hurt very badly. Or one of the other kids could have been hurt."

  Taylor didn't talk back, but she dragged her feet the whole time they were packing and getting their things ready to go. She obviously wasn't taking well to his new decisiveness.

  Mitch secured boxes of toys in the back of the pickup and stacked their clothing and personal items inside the crew cab. It was much like coming to Montana from Minnesota had been, and he realized then that he was going to have to make a permanent decision about their home soon, for the girls's sakes. School would be starting and he would need to have them settled.

  It was midmorning when they arrived at Heather's place. The crew had been at work tearing out the downstairs wall for the new combination laundry room and bath.

  He simply backed the truck up to the bunkhouse and left the unloading for later. He escorted the girls to where Heather was playing with her kids on the swings.

  "Morning," she said, smiling cheerfully at the twins.

  Ashley surprised Mitch by giving Heather an impulsive hug before joining the others.

  "I'm late," Mitch told her. "I'd better get to work."

  He joined his workers in shoveling the heavy plaster and insulation into the trash container that had been delivered. By late afternoon the wall was gone and the debris cleared away. Mitch measured, strung off the section for a foundation to be poured, and recalculated how much concrete he'd need.

  "Are you going to eat?" Heather called to him after his men had gone home for the day.

  "This has to be finished by tonight," he replied. "Concrete's coming in the morning.

  "Come eat some supper."

  "Ten minutes," he said.

  A half hour later he showed up at the back door, sweaty, his body aching. "Can I have a plate out here?"

  "You think I never smelled a hardworking man before?" She carried a plate and a glass of milk. Her impish smile assured him she was having fun with him.

  "Have you?" he asked, her friendly manner an encouragement he hadn't hoped for.

  "Sure. I grew up on this ranch, remember?"

  "I guess I hadn't thought about it." He sat on the top step, placed the plate on the porch floor, and dug into the steak she'd grilled to medium-rare perfection. "Did my girls eat steak?"

  "No, they had skettios."

  He grinned. "Watch it, they'll want to stay here forever. What are they doing now?"

  "Why? The silence got you scared?"

  He shot her a comical glance, relaxing even more. "Yeah."

  She laughed. "They're putting puzzles together. Andrew is eating the pieces."

  "Do you want to talk about last night yet?"

  "No."

  He studied her delicate profile, noted the pink that touched her cheeks. "Why not?"

  "Because I don't know what to say, and I don't want to spoil it by analyzing it. If you're trying to get me to comment or apologize or something, it's not going to work."

  "I'll take that to mean you're not sorry." At her raised brow, he waved a hand, then gestured to his plate. "Never mind. This is incredible."

  "Thank you. We worked on the bunkhouse again this afternoon, so you don't have to worry about that this evening."

  He glanced up in surprise. "You mean, you put our things away?"

  "We did."

  "M
an, you are efficient."

  "That's me. Efficient."

  Mitch finished his meal and she took the plate back to the kitchen. Collecting his daughters, he escorted them to the bunkhouse.

  Heather had not only cleaned, she'd added throw rugs to the scarred wooden floor and made up three beds with crisp sheets and comfortable quilts. All their clothing had been hung or placed in drawers, and Taylor's and Ashley's toys were neatly stored, their favorite dolls and stuffed animals lining their beds.

  The refrigerator held a supply of milk and juice, and a can of coffee stood beside the percolator. She'd thought of everything and handled it competently, as usual.

  Mitch had read the girls a book, then tucked them into their bunks and sat with them until they'd fallen asleep. Now, he leaned against the porch rail and studied the mountain peaks in the moonlight. The lights in the big house went out one by one, and then the screen door squeaked.

  She'd be sitting on the porch if he wandered over. He moved to the first step. But he wouldn't. He didn't want to take advantage of her friendship. In the darkness, he turned, found a wooden rocker and lowered his weight onto the seat. He didn't want to risk making a fool of himself again by coming on to her, and her nearness had a profound effect on him.

  He'd expected her to treat him coolly after her reaction last night, so her friendliness and matter-of- fact statement that she didn't want to analyze their kiss gave him hope.

  He hadn't felt anything resembling hope in a long time. Mitch set the rocker in motion and enjoyed the feeling.

  Nine

  Heather slathered more sunscreen on Andrew and helped him back into the inflatable pool where she sat enjoying the cool water. Mitch had not only picked up and painstakingly filled the sandbox the day before, but he'd also purchased, inflated, and filled a pool. He'd even thought to buy swim toys for all the children as well as a supply of sunscreen.

  He'd taken the girls to Garrett's for Sunday dinner today, but before he'd left, he'd spent an hour in the sandbox, bulldozing sand roads with Patrick and Andrew.