by Jane Porter
One of the neighbors, a fellow rancher, was first on the scene and the neighbor called Brock. Brock made it to Amy before the paramedics, and he was with her at the scene when she died. There hadn’t been time to transport her anywhere, and so Brock was always grateful he’d reached her quickly, grateful he’d been able to kiss her and promise to always take care of the babies, and raise them properly.
He didn’t know if she’d heard him. He didn’t know if she’d understood what he was saying, but in the eleven years since she’d died, he’d kept his promise to her. He’d always put the kids first, which meant he didn’t date or go out with friends, or screw around with his brothers.
No, he’d stayed here, on the ranch, focusing on work and the kids.
At times it’d been damn lonely. But Amy was the love of his life and impossible to replace. He hadn’t wanted to replace her, either.
But being alone for so long had made him a harder man. He knew he was tougher, colder, less affectionate than he’d been when Amy was alive. Amy had been good for him. She’d been his laughter, his best friend, his sunshine.
Staring down now into Harley’s face Brock keenly felt the loss of laughter and sunshine.
It’d been eleven years since he’d had a partner. He could use a best friend again.
Brock reached out and captured Harley’s finger, gently bending the finger, shaping her hand into a fist, covering her fist with his own.
Her hand was warm and small, her skin soft.
He liked touching her. Hell, he’d like to touch all of her. Celibacy had lost its appeal a long time ago. “We need to talk about last night, what happened upstairs,” he said.
He saw a flicker in her eyes before she dropped her gaze. “No, we don’t,” she whispered.
“We do,” he answered, wanting to kiss her again, needing to kiss her again, but not comfortable bedding her as long as she worked for him. But at the same time, once she left here tomorrow he didn’t know where she was going to go or what she planned on doing. “Tomorrow your replacement comes.”
“Yes.”
“Are you flying back to California, or staying in Marietta?”
“I haven’t thought that far.”
“Do you even know where you’re going tomorrow?”
“No.”
The twins suddenly raced into the kitchen, pushing each other as they rounded the corner. They skidded to a halt as they spotted him holding Harley’s hand.
Harley saw the kids’ expression as they saw their dad holding her hand and she broke free, moving quickly to the sink. “Just a little burn,” she said briskly, turning the faucet on and running her hand beneath the water. “It’ll be fine.”
Brock lounged against the counter. “You’re sure you don’t want ice?”
She shot him a swift glance. “It’s fine,” she said flatly. “But I do need to get a new pan and start fresh milk if we want that hot chocolate anytime soon.”
“Or maybe we just forget the hot chocolate,” Brock said casually, “and go into town for dinner and a movie.”
The twins looked at him, wide eyed. “But you hate movies,” Molly said.
“And eating in town,” Mack added.
Brock frowned. “I don’t hate movies or dinner out. We just don’t ever have a lot of time so we don’t go into Marietta much, but I thought it’d be fun to go tonight—”
“Fun?” Molly screwed her face up in horror. “Did you just say fun? Who are you? And where did my dad go?”
“Never mind,” Brock said, shrugging. “We can just stay here. Have a quiet night at home—”
“No!” Mack said.
Molly ran to Brock and flung her arms around his waist, squeezing him tight. “Just teasing, Dad. Come on, laugh. Take a joke. We want to go. We do!”
Brock’s lips curved in a crooked smile as he glanced from his daughter to his son and back. “I have a very good sense of humor. I have to, with you two for children.” Then he stroked Molly’s hair, smoothing the reddish-brown strands. “And of course I love you. I’ve loved you from the moment your mom and I found out we had a baby on the way. Now get your coats and I’ll see what’s playing at The Palace tonight.”
The kids went to get their coats, leaving Brock and Harley alone in the kitchen. “I’m glad you’re taking them out,” Harley said, happy with Brock for making an effort to do something the kids would enjoy. She was also proud of him for putting his feelings into words. Kids needed to hear that they were loved. Actions were important, but words were essential, too. “You will have fun.”
“So will you,” he answered, looking up from his cell phone, as he’d immediately gone online to check for movie times. “Do you care what movie we see? Or are you up for anything?”
Harley’s mouth opened, closed. A lump filled her throat. “I can’t go,” she said quietly, going to the stove to retrieve the burnt pan. “This is a Dad and kids thing.”
“But the kids like you and I know they’d enjoy having you along—”
“No.” Harley’s voice was firm. “They might like me, but they need you. They need time alone with you, being your primary focus, getting your undivided attention.”
“But they’ve always been my focus. They’ve never had competition. It’s always been the three of us.”
“Good.” She smiled at him, liking him even more for wanting to include her, but she wasn’t part of the family. She was the temporary housekeeper and cook and leaving in the morning. “You go. I’ll manage things here and I’m happy managing things here. I love that you’re taking the kids out and doing fun things. It’s not just your kids who need to play. You need to play, too, Brock Sheenan. You’re a good man. You deserve a good life.”
He was quiet a moment, staring out the window. “Don’t leave tomorrow.”
Her heart turned over. “I have to.”
“Why?”
“You know why.”
“Because it’s hard to be around kids,” he said.
“Being around kids makes me miss being a mom.” She swallowed hard. “Makes me... envious... of what I don’t have.” She looked at him, wanting him to understand. “If your kids were awful or hateful it’d be easier here. I could cook and clean and leave in January without a second thought. But your kids remind me of m—” she broke off, pressed a hand to her mouth to keep the word in.
Mine.
The twins needed a mother, too, and she knew how to mother. She’d been a good mother and if she weren’t careful, she’d want to stay here. She’d want to take care of the kids, spoiling them, hugging them. They were good kids. Lovely kids. They needed to be cherished. Adored.
I could love them, she thought, looking at Brock. I could love them, and you...
Harley turned back to the sink, and turned the hot water on, filling the scalded pan. “Go,” she said hoarsely. “Please.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Harley was in bed reading when Brock and the kids returned from their dinner and movie night in Marietta. It was late, past ten, which meant they had made quite a night of it. She hoped they’d had dinner, seen the movie, and then gone somewhere for ice cream or dessert after. It’s what she would have done with her kids.
She listened as voices and footsteps sounded on the stairs. The kids sounded giddy, silly, their voices were louder than usual and animated. She smiled to herself, listening, catching only bits and pieces of their conversation, warmed by their laughter, happy that they were happy.
Book pressed to her chest, she listened to Brock’s heavier footsteps echo in the stairwell below. It sounded as if he was in hallway outside the kids rooms talking to them. One of the twins must have said something funny because suddenly she heard his laugh, deep and rich and so incredibly sexy she felt a fizz of pleasure.
He didn’t laugh often but when he did it was so damn appealing. He was so appealing. She was falling for him.
That’s why she wasn’t cold and frozen anymore.
That’s why her heart tingled and her bod
y felt so sensitive.
She was coming to life again. She was waking up, feeling, and it scared her. But she couldn’t stop the prickling, tingling sensation creeping through her, sensation in her fingers and toes, sensation surging into her arms and legs, into her torso, where she’d been so cold for so long, and she wasn’t cold anymore.
Her heart still hurt, but it wasn’t the icy pain of old, but a new flutter of emotion, a strange bewildering flutter that was fear and yet excitement.
Exhilaration.
As well as dread.
She was feeling and needing and wanting and yet she didn’t want to be hurt again, wasn’t ready to be hurt again.
Harley took a quick breath, and left the bed and began to pack. It wouldn’t take long to pack, she hadn’t brought that much with her from California, but at least emptying the closet and the dresser drawers would give her something to do.
Activity would keep her from thinking too much. She didn’t want to think too much, not tonight, not when she was battling her heart, trying to keep it under control.
She had to be smart. Had to be practical. She didn’t belong here, not long term, and she couldn’t forget herself and invest in a family that wasn’t her own, and risk having her heart broken all over again.
A hesitant knock sounded on the bedroom door. The door opened and Molly stuck her head around the edge of the door. “Miss Diekerhoff?”
Harley closed the suitcase. “Yes, Molly?”
“I wanted to apologize... for earlier. I was kind of bratty outside, when we had the snowball fight. I’m sorry.”
“You were fine.”
But Molly shook her head. “No. I was rude. I know I was rude and you’ve done so many nice things for Mack and me and I want you to know I appreciate it.”
“I haven’t done anything.”
“Well, compared to Maxine you’ve been amazing.”
Harley smiled and sat down on the foot of the bed. “Maxine sounds very... interesting.”
“Oh, she is. She’s... interesting... all right.” The girl smiled and glanced past Harley to the suitcase on the floor. “You’re packing.”
It was a statement, not a question, and Harley felt a pang. “Yes.”
“When are you leaving?”
Harley hesitated. “In the morning.”
“What?” Molly’s voice rose.
“I’m only a temporary fill in—”
“Yes, until Maxine comes back, but she’s not back for another month.” Molly stared at Harley hard. “Did you and Dad have a fight?”
“No.”
“So you are upset about me being bratty.”
“No.”
“Then why go?”
Harley didn’t know how to explain any of this to Molly, not when it was so complicated. “I’m not the best fit for the ranch—”
“That’s not true. Daddy’s happy with you here. We’re happy with you here. Everybody likes having you here. Even JB. He says you’re the best thing that’s happened to Copper Mountain Ranch, and he’s been here almost ten years.” Molly approached Harley where she sat on the bed, and put her hands together, in a little prayer. “Don’t go,” she pleaded. “You have to stay. We need you.”
“Oh, Molly—”
“I need you,” she interrupted. “‘Specially since they’re not going to let me go back to school in New York.”
Harley reached out to tug on a strand of Molly’s warm brown hair. “I’m sure your dad will figure something out.”
“But I don’t want to go away. I want to be here with Dad. I want to live at home. And I like being here with you here, too. It feels... better.” Molly’s eyes filled with tears. “You make it better. You make it feel... good. ‘Cause you’re not like a housekeeper. You’re like a... mom. Or at least, like what I think a mom would be.”
For a moment Harley couldn’t speak. She swallowed hard, and then again, fighting the awful lump in her throat making it hard to breathe. “Thank you,” she said huskily. “That’s probably the nicest thing anyone could say to me.”
Molly sat down next to Harley on the bed, and looked at her, her small pale brow furrowing. “Don’t you want kids, Miss Harley?”
Harley nodded slowly, aching for all that was and all that wasn’t and all that could never be.
“But you want your own kids,” Molly persisted softly.
Harley bit down into her lip as tears filled her eyes. Her hand shook as she reached up to wipe beneath her eyes, needing to dry the tears before they fell. “I don’t know how to answer that.”
“Oh, I made you sad!” Molly leaned forward, her eyes searching Harley’s. “Don’t cry,” she crooned, wiping away a tear that had slipped free. “Don’t cry. I’m sorry. I always say the wrong thing. Mack says I always talk too much—”
“No, you don’t.” Harley reached out to cup the girl’s cheek. She held Molly’s gaze, her own expression fierce. “You’re perfect. Absolutely perfect in every way. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
Molly nodded and hugged Harley, her small arms squeezing fiercely and Harley hugged the girl back.
“So stay with us,” Molly whispered. “I think you’re supposed to be with us, Miss Harley.”
“And how do you know that?”
“I can’t explain it. I just know so.”
There were no words.
There was nothing Harley could say. She kissed Molly’s forehead and gave the girl a last, fierce hug.
Harley couldn’t sleep after Molly left. She was too stirred up, too full of ambivalent emotion.
She didn’t want to leave.
She had to leave.
She was already too attached to this family...
It wasn’t her family...
As the clock downstairs chimed midnight, Harley gave up on sleep and went down to the kitchen to make tea.
While the water boiled, she added a small log to the burning embers in the fireplace and then remained crouching in front of the fire, letting the red and gold flames warm her.
She felt positively sick about leaving, but that’s exactly what worried her. It’s why she couldn’t let herself stay another day. She’d come here for a job, come here to work, and instead she’d fallen in love with the family.
In nine short days this house, and this family, felt like home.
“I thought I heard you,” Brock said, yawning from the shadows of the kitchen doorway.
She rose quickly. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t. I was thinking about you.”
“You look like you were asleep.”
He shrugged as he entered the kitchen, dropping into the rocking chair near her. “I guess I was dreaming about you then.”
She moved back a couple steps, needing distance. “You shouldn’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Dream about me. Think about me. Any of that.”
He tipped his head back. “Why not?”
“Because.” She sighed, looked away, running a hand across her forehead, aware that it wasn’t a very articulate response but her emotions were so raw. She felt so raw even now. Molly’s questions had undone her.
“Molly told me she begged you to stay,” Brock said quietly.
Harley looked at him sharply.
“She also said she made you cry,” he added.
Harley closed her eyes, holding her breath.
“I’m sorry she upset you.” Brock’s husky voice seemed to burrow deep inside of her. “She means well—”
“I cried because she made me happy,” Harley blurted, opening her eyes, tears falling again, already. “She paid me the nicest compliment and I just wish... ” Her voice faded and she shook her head. There were no words...no words at all...
“What do you wish?” he asked.
She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. It won’t change anything—”
“You never know. Some wishes do come true.”
The tea kettle whistled and Brock got to his
feet. “I’ll make the tea,” he said, motioning for Harley to take the rocking chair. “You, sit. Relax. I’ve got this.”
“Why?”
“You’ve taken care of my ranch hands, my kids, me. Can’t I do something for you, just once?”
Harley slowly sat down in the still-warm rocking chair and curled her legs up under her, watching Brock cross the dark kitchen lit by only the firelight. He was so big and powerfully built, the kind of man who looked right in firelight with all those thick muscles and rippling biceps.
She watched him turn off the burner and set out mugs and search for the right tea. It was a pleasure watching him move, so rugged and beautiful in sweat pants and a white T-shirt that hugged him in all the right places.
Looking at him only made her want him more. He’d felt so good last night, pressed up against her. Warm, hard, strong. He’d kissed her with fire, kissed her with need, kissed her as if she were infinitely desirable.
It felt good to be desirable.
It’d made her hope. And wish. Longing for things she didn’t have, and might never have again.
A man who loved her deeply.
A man who loved her and would always love her.
A man who wouldn’t tire of her even though she’d given him three beautiful children.
A man who would fight to the end to keep his family together...
Her eyes burned and she blinked, clearing her vision to watch Brock walk back across the kitchen, two mugs of tea hooked by the fingers of one hand and a plate of Harley’s gingersnap cookies in the other.
“My lady,” he said, bowing as he handed her a mug.
She smiled unsteadily as she looked up at him. He looked so lovely in the firelight, his dark hair rumpled and his jaw shadowed, his black lashes lifting, revealing brown, gleaming eyes.
She liked him, a lot.
It was strange and disorienting and bittersweet to feel so much.
Until a few days ago, he hadn’t said more than eight words to her at any one time and she had to admit, it had been better when he’d ignored her. She’d been able to maintain her distance when he was detached.