Rodeo Rancher Read online

  Besides, he was dog-tired when he fell into bed every night. He’d been up since four thirty this morning and had put in a good three hours of work before this woman even opened her eyes.

  She glanced at the carpet that obviously needed vacuuming. On the side tables, his ranching magazines hadn’t even had a chance to get dog-eared, still waiting for his attention months after they’d been delivered.

  On the windowsills, plants languished, every leaf caked in a layer of dust, watered only when he remembered to do it every couple of weeks.

  She didn’t say anything, but he felt her censure. Or maybe not. Maybe it was his own guilt.

  Good manners compelled him to rise above his resentment.

  “Give me your jacket. I’ll hang it up.”

  She shrugged out of it, revealing a cardigan not even close to warm enough for the weather.

  He usually associated that button-up style with old women, but there wasn’t a darned thing old about her.

  He kept his eyes firmly on her face and not on her spectacular—

  God Almighty. His unwanted response to her beauty angered him. He lashed out with, “Leather won’t keep a person warm in this weather.”

  At his hard tone, she shot him an indignant look. “It’s pleather.”

  Huh? What the hell was pleather?

  “I would never wear leather. Those poor animals.”

  Oh, Lord, a hippie-dippie animal lover.

  “Do you eat meat?” he asked, working off a hunch.

  “Nope.”

  “Figures,” he murmured, and hung up her jacket on a hook to dry.

  He was a rancher. He raised cattle. He ate meat. He used cattle hide in his clothing and his furniture. As long as the animal was being butchered for food, they might as well use as much of the carcass as possible.

  He used glue, too, and gelatin, and whatever else was useful.

  Still shivering, the woman stepped closer to the fireplace to warm her hands.

  Yep. She had a fine figure, a tiny waist with shapely hips. A perfect body to match her perfect face.

  Lillian could never have won a beauty pageant, but she had possessed a plain, simple beauty of her own. She wore sensible clothes in snowstorms and thought their home was comfortable and welcoming.

  The visitor turned to face him, presenting her back to the fire. She held out her hand. “I’m Samantha Read.”

  Her long-fingered, slim hand, the fingertips still almost frozen, had a soft palm. Her grip, though, was surprisingly strong. Decisive, even. He’d assumed it would be as feminine as she looked and as flighty as she talked.

  “Michael Moreno.”

  “Have you met my brother, Travis?” she asked.

  “No, ma’am, I haven’t had the opportunity.”

  She laughed, a cheerful tinkle. Tinkle? Where had that ridiculous word come from?

  “Ma’am makes me sound ancient.” Her smile knocked him off-kilter. “It’s Samantha, or Sammy, whichever you prefer.”

  What he would prefer was that the distraction, the sheer breathtaking magnificence of her, not be in his home, and that surprised him. He wasn’t easily swayed.

  He kept his wide size-eleven feet firmly planted on the ground. Big feet for a man only five ten, but then all of him was wide—shoulders, chest, hands. Not to mention, a good head on his shoulders.

  His unusual coffee table caught her eye. “Is that a door?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Solid oak. My daddy found it on the side of the road where someone was renovating a house. Folks didn’t know what they were throwing away.” He was proud of his father’s ingenuity. “He scraped off about ten coats of paint. Sanded for hours. Did the whole thing by hand. Gave it to me as a wedding present.”

  “Hmmm, interesting,” was her only response.

  Obviously his furniture didn’t meet her high standards any more than his wall decorations did.

  He’d held his rage in check throughout Lillian’s struggle with cancer and her subsequent death two years ago. He’d held back his anger that his children would grow up motherless. He’d survived hell, and now this woman waltzed into his home and dared to disapprove.

  He lashed out. “What were you doing on the road in this kind of weather? A rational person would get to the nearest motel and hunker down for the duration. You like putting your kids at risk?”

  For a few moments, she stared at him with those big blue eyes. For a moment, he was afraid she’d cry.

  Her expression changed, hardening, and she slowly put her hands on her hips. Her full lips thinned.

  “I do everything in my power to keep my children safe.”

  He took satisfaction in her anger. If he had to be uncomfortable because of anger and disapproval, why shouldn’t she?

  She had a perfect face and a perfect body; she had probably also led the perfect life. They’d come from San Francisco. She should have stayed in sunny California if she didn’t know how to handle Montana weather.

  “Safe? Including driving them into a blizzard in a vehicle that wasn’t trustworthy?”

  She gasped. “It is trustworthy. It’s brand-new! I don’t know why it stopped. Maybe it’s a lemon.”

  “Those kids,” he said, pointing in the direction of the back of the house, “depend on you to—”

  “Dad?” Mick said behind him, cutting him off. “Are you okay?”

  Michael stilled at his son’s anxious tone. All four children crowded the entrance to the living room. Mick and Lily stared at him. No wonder. He didn’t yell. He didn’t fight, especially not with strangers.

  He’d done a stellar job of holding in his emotions since Lillian’s death, but here this woman—Samantha—was breaking through his barriers just by being beautiful.

  He wasn’t even attracted to her, not really, but he knew she was attractive. A fine distinction, yeah, but he was hanging on to it with both hands.

  Since when did looks ever matter to him? Especially enough to anger him?

  Since his life had been turned upside down when he was barely fifteen. Ancient history. So why was it rearing its ugly head now?

  Whatever the cause, he shouldn’t have let the children hear him criticize her.

  He cracked his knuckles. “Sorry,” he murmured, knowing it was inadequate. He didn’t have much more to offer.

  He glanced at the kids and realized only Mick was watching him. Lily was gaping at Samantha with openmouthed amazement.

  And why not?

  They didn’t often have visitors and rarely women, except for Karen, who was nothing like this woman with her skinny pants and pleather jacket.

  Lily still stared. At only four years old, Lily barely remembered her mother. He kept a photograph of Lillian beside his daughter’s bed to remind her.

  He guessed Lily would miss her mother’s touch most and, as much as he held and cuddled Lily all the time to try to fill that void, he could never be Lillian.

  The walls crowded in on him. His breathing became shallow enough to concern him. He wasn’t up to this fathering and mothering of them, of being both parents to them 24/7.

  Samantha Read made him feel every single deficiency he tried to ignore.

  He wished to holy hell she hadn’t shown up on his doorstep.

  Chapter Two

  Samantha watched Michael come to grips with his emotions. She had to do the same with her own.

  He didn’t talk much, but when he did, he packed a punch.

  Her hands shook. How dare he? How dare he criticize the way she raised her children?

  Since the day Jason had been born nine years ago, her life had been all about him. Then another gift, Colt, had come along five years ago and she’d doubled her efforts.

  This man didn’t want them here.

  Probably because of her talking. She knew she talked too
much, but couldn’t control herself when she was nervous.

  And she had been so nervous when they’d been caught in the storm.

  Maybe that’s why his disdain hit hard.

  Had she put her sons at risk? She didn’t know about snowstorms. She had little experience with this kind of weather.

  “I didn’t know the storm was going to be so bad.” She glanced out the window, baffled by the savagery on the other side of the glass. “I’ve never been in a snowstorm before. I had no idea what to expect.”

  Compelled to be honest, she added, “I should have stopped sooner, but we were so close to Rodeo. I thought we could make it to Travis’s house. I didn’t really know where else to stop once the storm started. I didn’t see a motel.”

  “It got bad really fast, mister,” Jason said.

  Jason. Her defender. She wished he didn’t have to take on that role. She’d told him many times not to, but still he looked out for her.

  “It was just a few flakes of snow and we liked it.” Jason looked nervous taking on the big stern man, but he swallowed and continued. “Colt’s never seen snow in his whole entire life. Then, all of sudden, we couldn’t see anything except too much snow.”

  “I was scared,” Colt piped up.

  The man’s expression softened. He unbent enough to tell Jason and Colt, “I bet you were. I would have been, too.”

  Ever the peacemaker, Jason said, “Don’t blame my mom. It came out of nowhere. She was brave.”

  The man straightened and looked at her with a trace of chagrin.

  Good. He should be ashamed. He was lucky she wasn’t one to hold a grudge.

  Maybe she shouldn’t let him off the hook too quickly. She had the suspicion he felt worse that her children had heard him than he did about criticizing her in the first place.

  He could fault her all he wanted. She didn’t care. She knew she was a damned fine mother.

  She loved her children.

  What was his problem, anyway?

  He watched her steadily with eyes that were deep brown, almost black, and inscrutable.

  Defiantly, she gave the same kind of direct scrutiny right back.

  Not much taller than her own five eight, he made up for any lack of height with an impressively broad chest and developed biceps and thighs. Dark chocolate hair curled over his collar, matching his eyes.

  She might have found him attractive if he didn’t grind his hard jaw, as though softness and compromise were dirty words.

  Good God, just what she needed. She’d been exposed to enough inflexible men in her line of work. She’d left all of that behind. She didn’t need it here in Rodeo.

  She glanced at her boys. They would make the best new start here that she could manage, even if it killed her. Her boys deserved no less.

  In a month, she would start work at her new job in town and would work her butt off to be independent from everyone, even her brother.

  She glanced back at the hard-edged rancher.

  Maybe they shouldn’t have stopped here.

  Dumb thought. They’d had no choice. If she hadn’t stopped, her children would have been dead by morning. This had been the only light visible through the storm.

  Sammy would never admit it to the boys, but she’d been terrified.

  Everyone stared at her. No one seemed to know what to do next.

  The silence stretched, unnerving her. Her antsy inner neurotic raised her unwelcome head, just like clockwork. Sammy rushed to fill the space and stillness of the room...as she always did.

  “Well, hey, you. What are your names?” She leaned forward to inspect the two cute little darlings, especially the girl, who stared at her as if she had two heads. You’d think she’d never seen a woman before.

  Sammy loved children. Adored them.

  “I’m Mick,” the boy said, his voice too loud in the quiet room. Was he overcompensating like her with her silly chatter? She guessed him to be about Colt’s age. He pointed to his sister, who peeked around him. “She’s Lily.”

  Lily was maybe three or four. A beautiful child, her mass of unruly hair, dark chocolate like her father’s but shot through with red highlights, overwhelmed her delicate heart-shaped face.

  “I’m so happy to meet you both. You’ve met my boys.”

  To Michael, who watched her as though she were an exotic and not-too-welcome bird, she said, “My older son is Jason, and this little troublemaker is Colt.”

  “Mo-om,” Colt complained, but smiled as she’d known he would.

  “Is it real?” Lily asked.

  Sammy returned her attention to the girl. “Is what real?”

  “Your hair,” she whispered, clutching a doll to her chest by its mass of tangled hair.

  Sammy laughed and squatted on her heels, beckoning to her. “You tell me. Does it feel real?”

  Lily approached shyly and patted Sammy’s hair, then jerked her hand away as though stung.

  “What? Is it bad? I’ll bet it’s a real mess. We’ve been on the road for days.” She was babbling again because Michael stared a hole through her. Cripes, she was just trying to make his daughter comfortable.

  “It’s soft.” Lily put a couple of fingers into her mouth and spoke around them. “Pretty.”

  “You think so? Winter static is not a woman’s friend.” She fingered the neckline of her sweater. “Watch this!”

  Pulling the neck of her sweater up over the side of her head, she rubbed her hair with it.

  She heard the rancher gasp. Oh, dear. What had she done wrong now? It was all good fun.

  When she pulled her sweater back down, her hair stood on end on that side of her head. Her blond, almost white, hair was fine. Unless she used a lot of product, it tended to be wayward. In this dry Montana cold, it just wanted to float everywhere.

  She hadn’t bothered styling it lately. They were on the road driving to Travis’s. Who on earth did she need to impress with perfect hair and makeup? No one.

  In Vegas, she’d had to dress to the nines to impress her boss and his clientele. Not here.

  Lily dissolved into the sweetest bundle of giggles, and Sammy laughed with her.

  “Not so pretty now, is it?”

  “No!” the child shouted, her straight little baby teeth gleaming.

  She ran to her father, dragging her doll by the hair, and raised her arms to be picked up. He lifted her as though she weighed a couple of ounces. Lily whispered in his ear.

  “Good, honey,” he murmured back.

  Whatever she’d said mellowed him. A bit. Sammy liked the way he held his daughter.

  “We need to get you settled in.” He glanced out the window. “You won’t be going anywhere for a while.”

  “Dad, where are they going to sleep?” Mick asked.

  His father sighed and seemed to weigh options.

  “We have a spare bedroom,” he said, “Trouble is I’ve been using it to store junk and overflow. Sometimes, the kids play in there to keep the living room clear of toys.”

  Samantha waited, not sure where this was going. Did he want them all to sleep on the sofa? That would be fine.

  After coming to a decision, he said, “How about all of you take my bedroom? It has a king-size bed, so there’s room for everyone.”

  Sammy had to be sure she was putting out this family as little as possible. Jason had been right to call her to task for barging into the house without invitation. She had an impulsive nature she seemed to spend most of her life curbing.

  “I couldn’t possibly put you out of your room.” She cast her gaze about wildly. “How about if the boys share the sofa and I can camp out on the floor?”

  “No. The three of you will take my bedroom.”

  “But where will you sleep?”

  “There’s a spare bed in Lily’s room.”

>   Lily popped her fingers out of her mouth. “Daddy, no! You snore.”

  “It’s not that bad.”

  Lily nodded so hard her hair flopped about. “Is bad, Daddy.”

  He chewed on his lip. “I guess I could put all of you in Mick’s room and he could bunk with me in mine.”

  “No, Dad!” Mick yelled. “Sometimes I can hear you even from my room. I won’t be able to sleep!”

  His cheeks turned red. “If I wake you up, I’ll come out here to the sofa.”

  “Da-a-ad. No.” Mick looked miserable.

  Clearly frustrated, Michael said, “Back to the original plan. You’ll all take my bed. I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

  “I can’t let you sleep on the sofa while I take your bed.” It just didn’t sit right with Samantha.

  “You sure like to argue.”

  “I do not!”

  A smile kicked up the corners of his lips. Okay, so maybe he had a sense of humor.

  “Thank you,” she conceded. “We would appreciate it.”

  The girl whispered something in her father’s ear.

  “Lily wants to know,” he said, “if she can show you her bedroom.”

  Samantha felt herself light up like a birthday cake. She loved her boys fiercely, but she had always wanted a little girl. “I’d love that.”

  In Lily’s room, Sammy managed to keep her distance from Michael. Despite his rough-edged, stoic manner, she found him attractive.

  Of all of the men who’d made passes at her in hotels, motels and gas stations on the drive out here, why did she have to feel a frisson of desire for this grumpy old man?

  Old was maybe unfair. He wasn’t much over forty, but he seemed older, as though he’d started to give up.

  The mauve bedroom had twin beds, both covered with duvets in shades of pink and ivory. Someone had decorated the girl’s room with love. Only one of the beds was made, and it was covered with piles of clothing.

  “It’s all clean,” the rancher said when he noticed her studying the clothes. “I leave it there after it’s washed for Lily to pull out what she wants.”

  He sounded defensive. Maybe he thought she was judging him.

  Samantha had noted how messy the place was. Maybe she was judging. If so, she needed to back off. She didn’t know a thing about this man’s life.