He was everything her heart needed.

Cheryl relished the strength and the feeling of safety Sam’s embrace gave her. She rested against his tall, strong body, gathering comfort from his arms around her. It felt so right. She had promised to stay as long as Sam’s daughters needed her, but what on earth was she getting herself into?

She was so close to falling in love with this man. The earthy, masculine scent of him filled her with hopes and dreams she didn’t fully understand. The tender way he stroked her hair left her feeling strangely content. It would be so easy to let herself love him.

PATRICIA DAVIDS

was born and raised in the farm and ranch country of central Kansas. As a tomboy with four brothers, Pat spent an idyllic childhood where horses, softball, church activities and books formed the foundations of her rich imagination. Today, Pat works as an R.N. in the NICU (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit), spoils her grandkids and tries to find time to write down the stories roaming around in her head. She is president of her local RWA chapter and believes that helping new writers learn the craft is the best way to repay the people who helped her. After seven years of writing, she sold her first book to Steeple Hill in June of 2004. Dreams do come true—as long as you chase after them with hard work, determination and faith.

Love Thine Enemy
Patricia Davids

A time to weep, and a time to laugh;

a time to mourn, and a time to dance.

—Ecclesiastes 3:4

With endless thanks to my critique partners,

Deborah and Theresa. You girls rock!

So many words—so little paper.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Letter to Reader

Questions for Discussion

Chapter One

Cheryl Steele planted her hands on her hips. “Angie, in order to attend your wedding, I have endured the wrath of my director, risked losing the best role of my career and traveled miles out of my way. At this moment, I’m very close to regretting all that effort.”

In the small dressing room at the back of an old stone church on the outskirts of Wichita, Kansas, Cheryl’s sister ignored her ire. “You will go out to the ranch, won’t you? For me?” Angie coaxed again. “It’s practically on your way.”

“It’s fifty miles out of my way.” Exasperated by her younger sibling’s persistence, Cheryl tried changing the subject. “Your veil isn’t straight. Let me fix it.”

“My veil is fine. You didn’t answer my question.”

“Yes, I did. Two dozen times in the past two days. The answer is, no! Now, hush.” Cheryl adjusted the veil then stepped back and gazed in poignant wonder at the vision in satin and lace before her.

“Well?” Angie demanded.

“You look…radiant…beautiful…. I don’t think I can find the right words. Jeff is a lucky man. I hope he knows it.”

A mischievous grin curved Angie’s lips. “He does. I tell him every chance I get.”

Cheryl chuckled. “I bet you do.”

Angie’s smile faded. “Please say you will go out to the ranch before you leave the state. For me. Consider it a wedding present.”

Cheryl sighed. “You don’t give up, do you?”

“Not when it’s important.”

“There’s nothing important about a few acres of grass and some rundown buildings in the middle of nowhere.”

“It was our home. Our family is there.”

“No! It was never a home after Mom died!” Cheryl shouted, then realized she was overreacting. She drew a deep breath and tried for a calmer tone. “I’m sorry. That ranch was the place we were stuck at until Cousin Harriet took us away. She gave us a home, and you are all the family I have left.”

Irritated by her sister’s persistence, Cheryl turned away and busied herself with the satin ribbons of Angie’s bouquet of fragrant yellow roses. “I don’t know why you keep harping on the subject.”

“Harriet wanted you to go back, Cheryl. It was the last thing she asked of you before she died.”

“I know.” Cheryl’s anger drained away replaced with an aching sense of loss. She owed everything to Harriet Steele.

The day their mother’s cousin had descended like a whirlwind to defy their grandmother and whisk both girls away from the ranch had been like something out of a fairytale. At first, Cheryl had been terrified their grandmother would come and take them back. But after a month in Philadelphia, Harriet had called Cheryl and Angie into her study and told them they were to live with her for as long as they liked. She had granted them an opportunity of a lifetime—a chance to live where no one knew them—where no one looked down on them—where no one hit them ever again.

And she gave Cheryl an even greater gift—the opportunity to study ballet. Harriet had passed away five years ago, a month before Cheryl debuted in her first major role, but Cheryl knew that every step she danced, every triumph she achieved in her career, she owed directly to that staunch, remarkable woman. Knowing that she had failed to honor the woman’s last request left a bruised place in her heart.

Cheryl glanced at her sister’s troubled face. This was Angie’s wedding day. She should be happy today. She deserved that and much more.

“Why is it so important to you?”

“Because I see that you need closure, even if you won’t admit it. You’re still hiding. You’re still afraid, and it isn’t healthy.”

“I’m not afraid.” Somehow, her words didn’t carry the conviction she had hoped for.

“Then you’ll go?”

“No.”

“Not even for me?”

With her sister’s disappointment so painfully clear, Cheryl found herself wavering. “It’s not like Doris would welcome me with open arms. Besides, if she didn’t care enough to come to your wedding, why should I make an effort to see her?”

“Grandma Doris is stuck in the past. She can’t…or won’t…move on with her life. Seeing you, perhaps gaining your forgiveness, it could help. As for Jake—”

“Stop it!” Cheryl’s anger came roaring back to life and she cut her sister off with a raised hand. “I don’t want to hear another word about those people. Not one word!”

Angie caught Cheryl in an unexpected quick hug. “Oh, Cheryl, where we come from is part of what makes us who we are. Changing your name didn’t change that.”

“Now you sound like a psychologist.”

Drawing back with a little laugh, Angie said, “That’s because I’m studying to become one, remember?”

“I thought you were going to treat kids. I’m twenty-six years old, sis. Four years older than you.”

Sadness settled over Angie’s features. “You may be older, but in some ways you are still a hurting little girl. I would go back and change things if I could. So much of it was my fault.”

Cheryl took her sister’s face between her hands. “Don’t ever say that. The blame belongs to Dad and Jake and Doris. They were the adults. You were a child.”

“You were a child, too.”

“I was old enough to know what I was doing. I don’t regret anything.”

“If that were true, you wouldn’t have cut yourself off from Grandma Doris and Jake after Dad died. You can’t let unresolved issues from the past ruin your life.”

Cheryl looked at Angie in amazement. “Are you kidding? My life isn’t ruined. I’m the lead ballerina in a fabulous dance company. What more could I want?”

“But are you happy?”

Was she? She was happy when she danced, but after the lights went down…when she went home to an empty apartment alone… Cheryl shook off the troubling thoughts. “Hey, I’m supposed to be asking you that question. You’re the one getting married.”

Angie’s expression softened. “I’m very happy. God has blessed me in more ways than I can count. I give thanks to Him every day. He brought me a man of faith who is my true love.”

Cheryl swallowed her bitter retort. Angie was entitled to her beliefs. As far as Cheryl was concerned, God, if there was one, hadn’t bothered to intervene when He had been needed most. Cheryl didn’t believe. Not anymore. It was another topic she decided to ignore.

Determined to sidetrack Angie’s questions, Cheryl said, “I do wish you and Jeff could come see me dance. It’s a wonderful production of Alice in Wonderland, and I love the role of Alice. Our performance tonight is a special one for disadvantaged children. That was one reason I really wanted the role. Most of the cities on our tour have at least one performance especially for children. You know I believe kids everywhere should have a chance to see how beautiful ballet is.

“I wish we could have worked it out, too. But that silly man of mine wants to take me to Hawaii for our honeymoon. Who am I to argue with a romantic like that?”

“All right. If I can’t talk you out of marrying the fool, then let’s get started so I can get on the road. The forecast is calling for snow. Snow in April! I’d almost forgotten how unpredictable the weather is out here. I’ll never understand why you moved back.”

“I came back because this is where my roots are. Yours are here, too.”

“No, mine have been transplanted to New York, and they’re thriving, thank you very much.”

Angie studied Cheryl’s face for a long second. “I wish I believed that.”

“Enough with the analyzing.”

“You can’t keep avoiding the subject forever.”

“I can, and I will. Drop it, Angela. I mean it. I don’t have any family except you. That’s the way it is.”

“What if Jake asked to see you?”

“I’d say, ‘Jake who?’”

“He’s your brother.”

“Half brother.”

Angie reached out and took hold of Cheryl’s hand. “Can’t you consider forgiving him?”

“No. He got what he deserved and Eldorado Prison is not on my itinerary—so don’t even ask.”

Angie’s shoulders slumped and she nodded in resignation. A knock sounded at the door and she went to open it. One of the ushers stood on the other side.

“Everything’s ready,” he said. “The guitarist wants to know if he should start playing or if you wanted to see him first.”

Angie looked at Cheryl and sighed. She turned back to the usher. “Tell him to start playing, please.”

Cheryl didn’t understand the sorrow in her sister’s voice. “What’s the matter, honey?”

Angie held out her hand. “Why is it that the people I love are all so stubborn? Never mind. Let’s go get me married.”

Hours later, hunched over the steering wheel of her rental car, Cheryl peered through snowflakes the size of goose feathers as they filled the beams of her headlights. She was driving into a storm and into the middle of nowhere, and for what? Because she couldn’t bear to remember the look of disappointment on her sister’s face.

Tightening her grip on the wheel, Cheryl marveled at her own folly in leaving the turnpike for this deserted stretch of rural highway. She had a major performance later tonight. She should be resting in her hotel room by now. But when the exit sign for Highway 77 had appeared, she had taken it—almost against her will. That had been an hour ago—long enough to regret her decision a hundred times. Still, she had to be close now. She fought down the feeling of dread that rose with the thought. Seconds later, the gray shape of a rural mailbox loomed out of the snowy night.

She braked, feeling the car slide on the slick road as she turned into the barely discernable country lane and stopped.

At least the snow and the darkness hid the desolate landscape of the rolling Flint Hills from her sight. Only a dim gleam, from a porch light or perhaps a window, showed her where the old ranch house stood out on the prairie. She was home.

No sense of nostalgia filled her—only bitterness—a bitterness buried so deep she hadn’t realized she still carried it until this moment. Staring at the flickering light in the distance, she suddenly understood why she had come.

She hadn’t come because of Angie’s pleadings. She had come to prove that nothing remained of the frightened girl who had left so many years ago.

“You can’t hurt me anymore!” She wanted to shout those words in the old woman’s face, but she didn’t move. Her fingers grew ice-cold where she gripped the wheel as the old shame and fears crawled back to replace her bravado.

Coming here had been a mistake. She shifted the car into Reverse. She couldn’t change the past. No one could. Cheryl Thatcher had effectively buried that past. Cheryl Steele didn’t intend to resurrect it. Angie might believe in forgiveness, in healing old wounds, but Cheryl didn’t. There was no forgiveness in this bleak land.

The tires whined as they spun in the snow, then suddenly they caught and the car lurched out of the lane and onto the pavement. Cheryl shifted into Drive, then stepped on the gas and didn’t look back as she headed down the winding two-lane highway that would take her away. This time, forever.

Half an hour later, she raged at her own stupidity and bad luck. The snow came down faster and thicker with every mile. Her side trip had turned into a major mistake. A glance at the clock on her dash showed it was already half-past six. It would be close, but she could still make it. She had to. Her position was too important to risk by missing a performance. She would have to let Damon know she was running late. She dreaded placing the call. He wasn’t an easy man to deal with at the best of times. Reaching down, she fumbled in her purse for her cell phone.

“Dumb cow,” Sam Hardin muttered under his breath. “I try to do you a favor and this is the thanks I get. You make me ride home in the dark.”

He glanced across the corral to the long, low shed where his cattle huddled together out of the wind. One stubborn heifer had refused to join the herd and had kept Sam searching for her long after the others were rounded up. He swung the metal gate shut with a clang after she ambled through. Now all his expectant cows and those with newborn calves at their sides were safe from the approaching storm. He dismounted to make sure the gate was secure, then leaned his arms on the top panel.

The truth was he didn’t mind the ride or the time alone. He didn’t have a reason to hurry home tonight. No one would be missing him. His grandfather might be up pretending to watch television while he dozed in his chair, but the twins were spending the night with Sam’s mother, and without the girls’ constant activity and chattering voices, the big house felt empty and lonely. As empty as his heart had felt since Natalie left him.

Beside him, his bay gelding snorted and shook his head. Drops of melting snow flew from his long mane, and his bridle jingled faintly in the cold air. Sam left off his somber musing and gathered the reins as he cast a worried look at the sky.

“I guess that stockman’s advisory is going to be right on the money, tonight, Dusty,” he said in disgust. “When was the last time it snowed like this in April?”

Mounting, Sam turned his horse for home. It was dark and snowing heavily by the time he reached the main pasture gate. He dismounted, opened it and led Dusty out, then he stretched the barbed wire strands taut and lowered the wire hoop over the gatepost. He turned his coat collar up against the rising wind and settled his hat more firmly on his head.

Remounting, he patted Dusty’s neck and spoke to the patient cow pony. “Only a little longer, fella. Then you can bed down in a warm stall with an extra ration of oats—you’ve earned it.”

Dusty’s ears perked at the mention of oats, and Sam laughed softly as he set his horse into a trot along the wide shoulder of the highway and headed for the ranch house. Suddenly, the glare of headlights blinded him as a car sped out of the snowy night and came straight at him.

At the last second, the car swerved, then pitched into a skid on the icy roadway. From the corner of his eye, Sam saw the vehicle fly past as his horse leapt sideways. It missed them by inches as it spun off the road, plunged down an embankment and slammed to a stop in a small group of trees.

Sam reined in his terrified horse. It had been a close call—too close. The thought of his daughters losing another parent sent a chill up his spine that had nothing to do with the temperature. Thank You, dear Lord, for sparing me.

With his heart still hammering wildly, Sam dismounted and stared at the car in the ditch. Please, let everyone be okay.

He left his horse at the edge of the road and made his way down the steep slope to the wrecked car. His boots slipped in the wet snow, and he skidded the last few feet to the bottom. He saw the driver’s door was crushed against a cedar tree, so Sam made his way to the opposite side. What kind of idiot drove at such breakneck speed in this weather, anyway? He yanked open the passenger door and the dome light came on.

The idiot was a woman. Her blond head rested against the high seat back with her pale face half turned toward him. A thin line of blood trickled from her left temple, slipped down the slender column of her throat and disappeared beneath the scooped neckline of her red sweater.

Was she dead? The grim thought sent a curl of dread through him. He jerked off his gloves and leaned in to check for a pulse. He found one, strong and steady beneath his fingers. Relieved, he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Her eyes fluttered opened, and she blinked in the light.

“Lady, are you okay?” he asked, trying to sound calm.

She lifted a shaky hand to her head. “I don’t think so.”

Bitter-cold air swept around Sam and into the car as he held the door open. Her trembling was probably due to shock and not the freezing temperature, but he wasn’t helping. Easing onto the slanting front seat, he closed the door. The interior light shut off, and the only illumination came from the headlights reflecting off the snow outside. He began to unknot the bandanna at his throat. “Where are you hurt?”

“I’m going to be so late,” she muttered and closed her eyes.

Fright and cold made his fingers clumsy. With a jerk, the bandanna finally came loose. He pressed it to her bleeding temple. “Late for your own funeral, maybe. You’re crazy to be driving so fast in this weather.”

She pushed his hand away and turned a fierce scowl in his direction. “I’m not the crazy one here! You were riding a horse in the middle of a highway—at night—in a snowstorm! Do you have a death wish?” she shouted, then winced.

“Lady, I wasn’t in the middle of the highway. I was on the shoulder when you came barreling at me. The road curves here, but I guess you didn’t notice. You were over the center line and speeding toward the ditch. I just happened to be in your way.”

She stared at him a long moment. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh!”

“Well, I missed you, didn’t I?”

The last of his tension evaporated. “You did. You and the good Lord have my sincere thanks for that.”

“I don’t think He did me any favors.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that. If you’d gone off the other side of this curve at the speed you were traveling you might be dead now. There’s a steep drop and a stone wall on that side.”

He offered the bandanna again. “Are you hurt anywhere besides that cut on your forehead?”

“I’m not sure.” Taking the cloth from him, she held it to her head and gave a hiss of pain. After a second, she focused on him again. Sudden tears welled up in her eyes. “I’m so sorry. Are you sure you’re okay? Is your horse all right?”

“Dusty and I are fine, honest.”

“It all happened so fast. I almost killed you.” A sob escaped as a tear slipped down her pale cheek.

“Almost doesn’t count except in horseshoes and hand grenades. Hey, yelling I can take, but tears—don’t even go there,” he warned.

She managed a trembling half smile. “I’ll try.”

Sam shot a quick look at the windshield. The wipers had stopped with the engine, and snow already covered the glass.

“We need to get out of this weather, and this car isn’t going anywhere. My ranch isn’t far, but we should get going before this storm gets any worse. Can you move?”

“I think so.” She shifted in the seat, then gave a sharp cry as she grabbed her left thigh with both hands.

“What’s wrong?”

“My foot is caught,” she answered through clenched teeth.

He saw a tremor race through her body. The temperature inside the car was dropping rapidly. He needed to get her someplace warm and soon.

“Here, take my coat while I have a look.” He shrugged out of his sheepskin jacket and tucked it around her shoulders. They felt slender and fragile under his large, work-hardened hands. Her hair swept across the back of his wrist in a soft whisper stirring an unexpected awareness of her as a woman. He forced the thought to the back of his mind. He needed to concentrate on getting her out of here.

She bit her lip as she tried again to move. “My foot’s wedged under something. I can’t move it, and it hurts when I try.”

Reaching over the steering column, he turned on the interior light. “Hold still while I check it out.” Leaning down, he peered under the dash. “I’m Sam Hardin, by the way.”

Cheryl’s breath caught in a sharp gasp of surprise. He was one of the high-and-mighty Hardins. Her pulse began to pound. Feelings of shame and guilt rose like bile in the back of her throat. This couldn’t be happening. Not now, not after all this time.

She glanced fearfully at the man beside her. Did he know who she was? Had he seen her family’s pictures plastered across the local papers? Had he been at the trial that had sent her father and brother to prison? Did he know she had been her father’s accomplice and that she’d done time for her crime?

Chapter Two

Cheryl drew a shaky breath and forced herself to calm down. Of course Sam Hardin didn’t know who she was. How could he? It had all happened nearly fifteen years ago. She wasn’t a child anymore; she was an adult now. Driving by the old ranch had dredged up painful feelings and the accident had unnerved her, that was all.

“I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Hardin. My name is Cheryl Steele,” she said at last, watching his reaction. She’d changed her name when she was old enough, wanting to be rid of even that reminder of her childhood. Only a handful of people knew she had once been Cheryl Thatcher.

“Pleased to meet you, Cheryl Steele, and you can call me Sam. So where are you from? That’s an east-coast accent I hear, isn’t it?”

“Manhattan,” she confirmed, relaxing even more. It was true. The city had been her home for the past six years.

“You’re from Manhattan, Kansas?” he asked from under the dash.

“No, Manhattan, New York,” she said quickly. Something was wrong, seriously wrong. She tried but still couldn’t budge her foot. Fiery agony shot up her leg. “The pain’s getting worse.”

“Okay, hold still while I see if I can move this metal.”

“Hurry, please.”

“You’re a long way from home, New York. What are you doing way out here?”

“I thought I was taking a shortcut to Manhattan.”

“You were taking a shortcut to New York City on this road?” he asked, his amusement evident.

“Very funny,” she muttered in annoyance. “No, not a shortcut to the Manhattan. I’m trying to get your Manhattan. I need to be at the University Theater by seven at the latest. It’s very important.”

Her whole foot throbbed painfully now. She had to perform in less than an hour. She couldn’t be trapped out here.

He grunted with effort as he tried to move the crumpled metal. “It gave a little. Try now.”

Her foot wouldn’t budge. Panic swelled in her and she struggled against the confining metal. “Please, get me out of here!”

“I will. Take it easy.”

“I’m a ballet dancer,” she whispered. What if her injury was serious? What if she couldn’t dance? Didn’t he understand how frightened she was?

He sat up beside her. Softly, he cupped her cheek with one hand and wiped a tear away with his thumb. “You’ll be dancing again in no time, New York. Right now we have to keep our heads. Your foot is caught between the floor and the side wall where it’s caved in. I’ll get you out, but it may take a bit.”

She managed a nod. “Okay. I understand.”

“Thatta girl.”

Cheryl worked to regain control of her emotions. He was right. She had to keep her head. She needed to focus on something besides the fear and the pain. She had learned that trick early in life and used it often in her grueling career. She chose his face.

His rugged features softened when he smiled. It made the creases in his lean cheeks deepen and small crinkles appear at the corner of his eyes. His mouth lifted a little higher on one side, giving his smile a roguish charm.

Suddenly, she was grateful to have him in the dimness beside her. His hand was gentle when he’d touched her face. His voice was calm and steady. He inspired trust, and that thought surprised her. For most of her life she had considered ranchers to be the enemy—something else she had learned early on.

He said, “I need to find a way to pry this metal apart.”

“There should be a jack in the trunk,” she volunteered.

“Good thinking.” He flashed her a big, heart-stopping, crooked grin. “Kinda smart for a city girl, aren’t you?”

His teasing comment amused her even though she suspected he was simply trying to distract her from the seriousness of the situation. Well, she could play city-girl versus country-boy, too. After all, she was a rising star with the New York Theater Ballet. She had performed far more difficult roles.

“I don’t imagine you keep a jack in your saddlebags, cowboy. Or do you?” she quipped.

“No, ma’am, I don’t.” He slipped into an exaggerated drawl that would have done a Texan proud. “My ol’ hoss has gone lame, but he ain’t never gone flat.”

Cheryl tried not to smile at his poor joke.

Pulling the keys from the ignition, he grinned as he opened the car door. “I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

She nodded, but she had to fight another wave of panic as the door closed behind him, leaving her alone. She took several deep breaths until she felt in control of her emotions. A glance out the windshield told her what she already knew. She was going to miss tonight’s performance.

Her understudy would be able to dance the part, but Damon Sands, their director, was going to be furious. He’d already been unhappy about Cheryl’s plans to leave the company during their short break to travel to her sister’s wedding. Only her repeated assurances that she’d be back in plenty of time for the production had mollified him. Now, she’d be lucky if she didn’t lose her position after this fiasco. Damon had an unforgiving nature, especially when it came to his work.

She searched around for her cell phone but couldn’t find it. Moments before the wreck she had tried to use her phone only to see that it displayed No Signal. Chances were it wouldn’t work even if she had it in her hand. She was stuck with no way of letting Damon know where she was.

Stuck in the middle of nowhere, that’s where she was. No, worse. She was stuck in the middle of the Flint Hills. Until two months ago, nothing could have induced her to return here. Nothing, that was, until the call from Angie. Even as she’d listened to her sister’s deliriously happy voice begging her to come for the wedding, Cheryl had hesitated. She’d given in to her sister’s pleading only because the wedding would be in Wichita. A hundred miles seemed far enough away from their old home to let her feel safe about a brief visit.

Yet, even with this catastrophe, Cheryl was glad she had come. She smiled as she remembered the beautiful ceremony in the tiny church decorated with ivy and deep yellow roses. The strains of a classical guitar floating down from the choir loft had filled the air with the sounds of love transformed into music.

A blast of cold air jerked her back to the present as Sam opened the car door and slipped in beside her. Working quickly, he positioned the jack and after several turns, the metal pinning her began to spread. He eased her foot loose and she bit her lip to keep from crying out at the pain.

“I’m sorry if I hurt you,” he said.

Unable to speak, she nodded. Her foot throbbed wildly.

“At least you’re free.” His bright tone made her want to hit him.

“Can you ride a horse, New York?”

Her gaze flew to his. “You’re kidding, right?” One look told her he wasn’t. She nearly groaned at the idea of hanging her leg over a horse.

“Of course I can ride,” she answered with more confidence than she felt. She hadn’t been near a horse in fifteen years.

“Good, I’d hate for this to be your first lesson. Do you have a coat or something to keep you warm? The wind is bitter outside.”

“It’s on the backseat.”

He retrieved it for her. After returning his coat, Cheryl slipped into her own, then located her purse on the floor. She gritted her teeth as she prepared to leave the relative safety of the car.

Sam stepped out and pulled on his coat, glad of its retained warmth. Thick snow swirled past his face. Glancing up, he saw Dusty standing at the edge of the road with his head down and his rump to the wind. A whistle brought the horse to him, and Sam turned to Cheryl. He grinned at the expression on her face as she stared at Dusty. “Don’t worry, New York, I won’t let you fall off.”

“I’m not worried about falling off, cowboy. I’m worried about freezing solid up there,” she shot back.

“Freeze on the horse, be home in thirty minutes and thaw out in a hot bath, or freeze in the car and wait for the next taxi to come by. It’s your choice.”

“When you put it that way…” She sent him a suspicious look. “A hot bath—you promise?”

“Yup. Cross my heart.”

He swung up into the saddle and offered her his hand. She jumped as he lifted her and swung her up behind him. To his surprise, she made the move with ease and grace. He glanced back at her face and saw her lips pressed into a hard, tight line, but she didn’t complain. Miss New York had guts, all right. She settled her hands at his hips, but he pulled her arms tight around his waist.

It felt good. It felt right. It had been a long time since a woman had held him.

He turned the horse toward home, glad he had two long snow-covered miles to remind himself she was an injured woman who needed his care, nothing more. She was only passing through.

The elegant dancer behind him might stir his senses, but he wasn’t foolish enough to act on that attraction. He certainly wasn’t looking to get involved with any woman again. Not after Natalie. He would never give another woman the power to hurt him or his children the way his ex-wife had.

Cheryl clung to Sam and kept her face pressed to his back, but soon, even his large, powerful frame offered little comfort. Her head and her leg throbbed with every step the horse took. The wind chilled her to the bone, and there was nothing she could do except endure it. That was how she remembered this country. As something to be endured.

“How much farther?” she yelled over the wind. Her purse strap slipped off her shoulder and slid down her arm to bump against the horse’s side, but she didn’t loosen her grip to pull it up as she huddled behind Sam.

“Not much. Less than half a mile,” he shouted back.

In spite of his encouragement, it seemed like hours before the horse finally stopped. Lifting her aching head, Cheryl saw they stood in front of a small porch surrounded by a wooden railing already piled high with snow. Snow-laden cedars stood on either side of the porch hiding most of the pale, native limestone house from her view, but the warm glow of the porch light was as welcome as all the bright lights of Broadway.

She released her frozen grip on Sam. He swung his leg forward over the horse’s neck and slid down. Turning, he lifted her off the horse and lowered her gently to the ground. Balancing on one foot, she clung to his shoulders. Then, without a word, he swept her up into his arms.

She wrapped her hands around his neck, and her gaze moved to his face. She became aware of the strength in the arms that held her and the intensity of his gaze as he studied her in return. Suddenly, she felt warm and breathless.

An echo of that awareness flared in his eyes. Then, just as quickly, his gaze cooled. “Let’s get you inside.”

Sam forced his attention away from the sweet, soft curve of her lips. He quickly climbed the steps, wrestled one-handed with the door, then stepped inside. After setting his guest gently on the high-backed bench in the entry, he took in her battered appearance.

She was as pale as the snow outside. Streaks of dried blood ran from a bruised cut on her temple down the left side of her face and neck. Blond hair, slightly longer than shoulder length, framed her face in soft waves. Her eyes were a startling sapphire-blue surrounded by thick, dark blond lashes. But when she looked up at him, he saw pain and exhaustion filling them. The total sum of her fragile beauty stunned him like the kick of a horse.

“Are you okay?” he managed to ask.

She nodded. “I just need to warm up.”

“Rest here. I have to put Dusty away. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He started out the door, then turned. “Oh, watch out for the cat. He’s Bonkers.”

She glanced around, then closed her eyes with a grimace as she leaned her head back. “Crazy cowboy owns an insane cat. Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

Chuckling, Sam left the house and quickly led Dusty to the barn. He unsaddled the horse, fed him a measure of grain and gave him a fast rubdown.

“So, what do you think of her?” he asked. Dusty kept his nose buried in his oats. Sam paused in his brushing. “What, no comment? It’s not every day an ugly old cow pony gets to give a real ballerina a ride. Me—I think she’s drop-dead gorgeous.”

Dusty snorted once. Sam grinned and resumed the quick, short strokes of his brush. “You’re right, looks aren’t everything. For whatever reason, the good Lord has placed her in my care. I’ll put her up for the night, then get her out of here first thing tomorrow.” He gave the horse a final pat and left.

Pausing outside the barn door, Sam turned up the collar of his coat. The blowing snow piled in growing drifts around the barn. If this storm didn’t let up soon, he could be stuck with his unexpected guest for more than one night. The idea didn’t annoy him the way it should have. Instead, a strange feeling of anticipation grew as he started toward the house.

The sound of the door opening and a gust of frigid air announced Sam’s return. Cheryl eyed her rescuer closely as he paused inside the entry to hang up his coat and hat. As he raked a hand though his dark brown hair, curls flattened by his hat sprang back to life, and she noticed a touch of gray at his temples. He was older than she’d first thought. Perhaps somewhere in his early thirties.

As he turned toward her, she guessed he had to be six feet two at least. He towered over her, but he wasn’t intimidating. His eyes were warm and friendly. A rich hazel color, they were framed with thick, dark lashes any woman would envy. He didn’t have a classically handsome face, she thought, yet there was something appealing about it.

She gave herself a swift mental shake. What on earth was wrong with her? She had more sense than to be moonstruck by a handsome man with a pair of smiling eyes. Plus, he was a rancher. And a Hardin. She’d seen enough of that judgmental and unforgiving lot in her youth to last her two lifetimes. The chiming of a clock sent her thoughts back to her real problem.

“Thanks for the rescue, cowboy, but I can’t stay.”

“My granddad lives with me if you’re worried about your reputation.”

“It’s not that. I have to get to Manhattan.”

“You aren’t going anywhere tonight.”

“It’s important.”

“Unless you can change the weather or sprout wings and fly, you’re stuck.”

She sighed in defeat. “May I use a telephone? I lost my cell phone in the car. I have to let someone know what’s happened to me.”

“There’s a phone in the living room,” he said, stooping to gather her in his arms again.

“I can make it on my own,” she protested.

“Not till I see how bad that leg is.” He swept her up effortlessly, carried her into the living room, and set her gently on the sofa. Bending over her leg, he eased off her shoe and sock.

A hiss of pain escaped Cheryl’s clenched lips, and her hands grew white-knuckled as she gripped the sofa cushions.

He let out a slow whistle. “Lady, you aren’t going be dancing on this any time soon. You need X-rays, maybe even a cast. I’ll get some ice for it. That may keep some of the swelling down.”

Cheryl opened her eyes when the pain receded and stole a quick peek at her throbbing foot. Her ankle, discolored and swollen, looked as bad as it felt, but she’d danced on worse. Her art demanded it.

With her career in mind, she glanced around for the phone, then paused as she caught sight of her surroundings. For a moment, she felt as Alice might have when she stepped through the looking glass. The small porch flanked by cedars had given her the wrong impression. Instead of an old farmhouse, she found herself in a home that looked like a color layout for Better Homes and Gardens. A series of floor-to-ceiling windows made up one entire wall of the huge room. To her right, a wide staircase led down to a lower level, and to her left was an open, airy country kitchen.

A bold Indian-blanket pattern covered the sofa she rested on. Its brickred, hunter-green and royal-blue tones were reflected in the room’s brightly colored accents. Matching love seats flanked the sofa and formed a cozy seating area arranged at the edge of a large, patterned rug. Polished wooden floors and a rough beam ceiling lent added warmth to the room.

Looking over the open counter into the kitchen, she watched Sam move deftly, getting ice, a plastic bag and a towel. He seemed at home in the kitchen. That didn’t exactly fit the rugged cowboy images she remembered.

He returned and handed her a small ice bag. “For that bump on your head.”

“Thank you.” Cheryl took the bag and held it to her temple. He placed a second pack carefully around her ankle.

For such a big man, he had gentle hands. She shivered when he touched her bare skin. Abruptly, she pulled her foot away. “I can manage.”

Her rapid heart rate had to be from the pain and nothing else. “You have a fabulous home,” she said to distract him when he shot her a puzzled look.

“You were expecting a dilapidated log cabin?” An engaging sparkle glinted in the depths of his eyes.

“Oh, not in Kansas,” her reply was quick and flippant. “Everyone knows there aren’t any trees out here. I was expecting a soddy.”

“A soddy?” His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “I’m impressed you know the term. Sorry to disappoint you, New York. We don’t live in sod houses anymore.”

“Don’t tell me you have electricity and indoor plumbing, too?” she asked in mock amazement.

He stood and grinned at her. “Smart aleck. Make your phone calls. I’ll let Granddad know we have a guest for the night.”

Cheryl worried briefly that his grandfather might be someone who would recognize her, but her other concerns pushed the worry aside. She had more pressing problems. She picked up the phone and punched in Damon’s cell phone number. When he finally answered, he had little sympathy for her dilemma.

“This tour is a showcase of my work. A second-rate dancer can make it look second rate. How can you do this to me?”

“I’m sorry, Damon. It was an accident. I’ll catch up with you as soon as I can get another rental car.”

“How bad is your foot?” he asked with grudging concern.

“Only a sprain. It’ll be fine in a few days.”

“I hope so. I don’t need to remind you that good reviews mean good attendance, and good attendance means better funding for the company. If this tour doesn’t go well, we’ll all be looking for work.”

“I know. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Two days! We open in Kansas City in two days. Don’t let me down, Cheryl. Work is hard to find when word gets out that a dancer is unreliable.”

It was a threat—one she didn’t dare ignore. She was on her way up in her career, but Damon Sands could make things hard for her if he chose.

“I’ll be there,” she promised. Nothing was going to keep her from finishing this tour.

“You’d better be,” he snapped and hung up.

The last call she placed went to the rental car company. They weren’t happy with her either. She’d just finished that conversation when Sam walked back into the room.

“You’re looking kind of glum, New York. Is your boyfriend mad at you for standing him up?”

She pressed her fingers to her throbbing temples. “My boss, not my boyfriend, and, yes, he’s angry. This tour is important to him, and to me.”

“Tour?” he asked, clearly puzzled.

“I dance, remember? My ballet company is on an eight-city tour for the spring. We’ve been performing in Tulsa for the past two weeks. We were scheduled to give a one-night-only performance at the University Theater in Manhattan tonight. From there, we go on to Kansas City for a week, then two weeks in Denver, two weeks in Salt Lake City, then Reno, Fresno and San Francisco.”

“How’d you get separated from your company?”

“That is a long story.”

“I’m not going anywhere and neither are you,” he said, sitting beside her.

He was right. She tried to keep the bitterness out of her voice as she recounted the tale that had landed her almost in his lap. Literally.

“My sister called a few months ago to tell me she was getting married. She knew I’d be on this tour, so we planned her wedding to coincide with a break in my itinerary. The wedding was today.”

“Your sister lives near here?”

“In Wichita. We had it all planned,” Cheryl said with a shake of her head. “I flew from Tulsa to Wichita for the wedding. I couldn’t get a flight into Manhattan today so I rented a car. The rest you know.”

She pushed back a strand of hair and sighed. “My company will travel to Kansas City tomorrow with or without me.”

She wouldn’t think about what would happen if she couldn’t join them—if her foot was broken, not just sprained, and she couldn’t work for weeks.

“We can’t do anything about it tonight,” Sam said.

He was right. She would simply have to make the best of it.

“I doubt the road to Manhattan is even open now,” Sam continued. “Soon as the weather clears, I’ll get you to Kansas City even if we have to ride Dusty all the way.”

The twinkle in his eyes proved he was trying to cheer her. She held up her hands clasped together and begged, “Not that! Please! Not another ride on Dusty.”

“Now, that will hurt his feelings.”

“Not as much as he hurt my behind.”

Cheryl gazed at Sam’s amused face feeling oddly happy in spite of her predicament. It was easy to trade banter with him. Why was that? He was everything that she had loathed, once upon a time.

Still smiling, he stood and held out his hand. “Come on. I’ve got the perfect answer for your saddle sores. I ran a bath for you while you were on the phone.”

She brightened. “That’s right. You did promise me a hot bath to get me to come home with you.”

“And you accepted, cheap date that you are.” He picked her up, and she circled his neck with her arms.

Her pulse began to race once more, and she didn’t try to delude herself—it wasn’t due to the pain in her foot. She tried for a nonchalant tone. “Obviously, I need to raise my standards. Next time you’ll have to promise me chocolate and roses.”

His gaze met hers for a long instant. “It’s a deal,” he said softly. She looked away first.

He carried her through a doorway beyond the kitchen and through a huge bedroom to the bath. The room, tiled in stark black and white, held a large, black whirlpool tub in one corner, while a separate shower area took up the opposite wall. Inviting steam rose from the tub.

She stared in amazement. “Wow! This is awesome.”

“Compliments can go to my ex-wife. It’s her design.”

“She has great taste.”

“So she told me. In everything except husbands.”

“Your bathroom is bigger than the living room of my apartment in Manhattan. Your wife let you keep a house like this after a divorce? What’d she get?”

When he didn’t answer, Cheryl glanced at his face. The smiling, teasing cowboy had vanished. It was as if his face had turned to stone.

“She got her freedom,” he said at last.

Chapter Three

Sam turned away, but not before Cheryl glimpsed the pain in his eyes. Instantly, she regretted prying into his private life. She knew what it was to carry around things too painful to talk about.

He indicated some clothes on a small wicker stool beside the tub. “I’ve left you a robe and some sweats you can use when you’re done. Call me if you need anything.”

He was gone before she could think of a way to apologize. Feeling like a heel, she pulled off her sweater and noticed the bloodstains on her clothes. One more thing ruined—rental car, job, favorite sweater—what next? Determined to salvage her clothes, she hopped to the sink and began filling the basin with cold water. She glanced into the mirror and nearly screamed at her gruesome reflection. With shaky hands, she began to wash away the blood from her face.

Suddenly, her lip started to tremble as hot tears stung her eyelids. She dashed them away with the heels of her hands. She would not cry. Hopping back to the tub, she tried to stifle the sobs building inside her. She sat on the rim and discovered another problem. She couldn’t get her tight-legged pants off over her swollen ankle. It was the last straw.

Outside Sam had rested his head against the bathroom door as his anger ebbed away. Three years, and he still couldn’t talk about Natalie’s cheating and desertion without feeling a bitterness that nearly choked him. When she’d left him with their two small daughters to raise alone, the hurt had gone bone-deep. The old saying, Love is blind, was no joke. It had been all too true for him.

I’ve tried to forgive her, Lord, but I still can’t find that in my heart. Grant me Your grace. Help me heal the wounds she left behind and keep me from making such a mistake again. For my children’s sake, I beseech You.

If he ever became involved with another woman, it’d be with someone who wanted to be a mother to his children. Someone who’d put the twins first, before anything else, and give them the love they deserved. In spite of his surprising attraction to the woman he had rescued tonight, he knew that a New York ballerina didn’t fit that bill.

Lord, I once let my emotion rule my head and I made a mistake that I’m still paying for. I know that with Your guidance I am wiser now.

He might be wiser, but that didn’t stop him from feeling attracted to his visitor. He appreciated Cheryl’s sharp wit and quick sense of humor. And he couldn’t help but notice that she made a pleasant armful when he held her. He reproached himself for the foolish thought. She was injured, and she needed his help. He turned away from the door, but paused when he heard a noise from inside.

He didn’t want to intrude on her privacy, but he wanted to be sure she was okay. He pressed his ear to the door and heard her muffled sobbing. His heart gave a queer little tug at the sound.

She had every right to a good cry. A night like tonight would have taken the stuffing out of anyone. When she called his name, it had surprised him. He took a deep breath, entered the room and stopped short.

She sat on the edge of the tub wrapped in his large robe. Her injured ankle rested on the tub edge with her dark pants bunched around it.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I c-can’t get m-my pants off o-over my f-foot.”

Each hiccuping sob tore at his heart. He watched her struggle to regain control. She didn’t like to cry in front of him—he could tell by the way she scrubbed at her tears as they fell. He wanted to offer some comfort but sensed that she would rather recover her composure on her own. He turned to the problem at hand, or rather, at foot.

She was right. Her pant leg wouldn’t come off over her swollen ankle. He found a pair of scissors, sat on the tub rim, and began to slit her pant leg up one side.

“The last time I had to do this was when Kayla got a big splinter in her knee. Kayla’s one of my daughters. Lindy is her twin. They turned five last October.

“Anyway, Kayla had a long wooden sliver through her jeans. I had to cut them off before I could see how badly she was hurt. Fortunately, it wasn’t deep. I thought I was doing fine until I put a bandage on Kayla’s knee. Soon as I did, Lindy started wailing.”

“Wh-Why?”

He glanced at Cheryl and grinned. “She said because she and Kayla weren’t ‘’dentical’ anymore. So I had to cut off her jeans and put a bandage on her knee too.”

Cheryl smiled. “Identical twin girls. I’ll bet that’s a handful.”

“Yes, they are, but I wouldn’t have them any other way.” He slipped her pants gently over her foot. “There you go.”

“Th-thanks for your help.”

“Don’t mention it. Mom was a teacher, and she taught me to be gallant at all costs.”

Startled, Cheryl looked up. Her fingers grew icy-cold, and she pushed them into the deep pockets of his robe as fear tightened the muscles in the back of her neck.

“Does your mother teach near here?” she asked, trying to sound as if she was making polite conversation and not desperate to know the answer.

“No, she’s retired.”

Eleanor Hardin had been her junior-high principal. Could Sam be Eleanor’s son? How old had her principal been? Cheryl tried to think, but she could only recall the woman with a child’s vision. “What about your father?” she asked casually.

“He passed away a few years ago. My grandfather lives here with the twins and I. Nobody knows cattle like Gramps does. You’d never know he was seventy-five. He rides almost every day. Well, I should leave you to finish your bath instead of standing here babbling while the water gets cold.” He all but bolted out the door, closing it behind him with a bang.

Relieved at being left alone, Cheryl shed Sam’s robe and sank into the whirlpool, leaving her foot with its ice pack propped on the rim. After all the time she’d spent trying to forget the past, why had she ended up so close to it all again?

Was this what Angie had wanted: to see her big sister exposed and shamed? No, Cheryl didn’t believe that. Angie’s heart was in the right place, and her intentions were good. Cheryl knew she had only herself to blame. She had chosen the road that led to this disaster.

She kneaded her temples trying to ease the headache pounding away inside her skull. She had to think.

Even if Sam was Eleanor’s son, he still had no idea who she was. As long as he continued to think of her as a New York dancer, she’d be safe. And what if he did find out? It wasn’t as if she were wanted for a crime. But people out here had long memories and unforgiving natures; she knew that from personal experience. A lot of them would remember that Hank Thatcher’s oldest daughter had been in reform school for helping her father steal cattle.

If anyone discovered who she really was, the old story would be out in a flash. Her juvenile records might be sealed, but that wouldn’t stop the press from having a field day with the story. No doubt, Grandma Doris would be happy to tell the tale of how her rebellious granddaughter had ended up behind bars. The thought of reliving those painful days made Cheryl feel ill.

It didn’t matter what Angie thought, or what Harriet Steele had intended, Cheryl knew she would never go back to the ranch again. It wasn’t worth the risk. She had worked too long and too hard to let anything jeopardize the career she loved. She rubbed a weary hand over her face. She had to get away from here.

The soothing hot water began to ease her aches and pains. Slowly she relaxed, and her feeling of panic faded. She was safe for tonight. The storm might keep her here, but it would also keep everyone else away. First thing tomorrow, Sam would drive her to Kansas City, and she could leave Flint Hills behind forever.

Feeling somewhat better, she finished her bath and washed her hair, being careful of the lump on her temple. After that, she climbed out of the tub and pulled on the gray sweatpants and sweatshirt Sam had left for her. They were big, but comfortable. A search through his medicine cabinet turned up a roll of wide tape, and she expertly wrapped her foot and ankle. It hurt, but she knew it would feel better once she had it taped.

With that done, she washed out her sweater and was pleasantly surprised to find the bloodstains had come out. She hung it to dry on the towel rack and left the room.

Sam came up the stairs in time to see her crossing his living room. Dressed in his old sweats with a towel wrapped turban-style around her head, he could only marvel that anyone could look so graceful and appealing while she hopped on one foot.

He shook his head in resignation. So much for his stern lecture to himself about caring for helpless, injured women. He headed to the bathroom and rummaged in the medicine cabinet until he found a small bottle of pain pills left over from his last run-in with a moody bull.

She was reclining on the sofa when he entered the living room again. Her face looked freshly scrubbed, not a trace of tears anywhere. In his sweats with the sleeves rolled back and a towel around her hair, she looked comfortably at home—as though she belonged here. He dismissed that crazy thought and offered her the pills. “Are you allergic to any medications?”

“Not that I know of. Why?”

“I called the hospital while you were in the tub. They said you could take these if you weren’t on any medication or allergic to them.”

She took the bottle and read the label. “I’ve taken these before. They make me sleepy, though.”

“That might not be a bad thing. You did a good job wrapping that ankle.” The professional-looking bandage impressed him.

“Injuries are a fact of life in my profession. You have to get good at taping joints.”

He brought her a glass of water, and she took two of the tablets. “Are you hungry?” he asked.

“A little,” she admitted.

“How about a bowl of homemade chicken soup? It’ll only take me a minute to heat it up.”

She arched one eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you know how to make soup from scratch? My image of cowboys may never be the same.”

“Good. I haven’t had a gun fight in ages, and I never sing to my horse,” he said, heading into the kitchen.

“I’ll bet that makes Dusty happy. Anything else I need to know to completely destroy my concept of macho Western men?”

“I can use a vacuum cleaner, and I’m an architect.”

“An architect—really?” She glanced around. “Is this one of your designs? It’s beautiful.”

“Natalie and I collaborated on it.”

“Natalie?”

“My ex-wife.” For some reason, he suddenly felt the need to explain. “We split up about three years ago. We met in college, two budding architects hot to leave our mark on the world. We seemed to have a lot in common. As it turned out, we didn’t. We lived in Kansas City for a while, but after Dad died, I gave up the business and came back to ranch full-time. She didn’t care for life out here. She met someone else and that was that.”

“I’m sorry. Do you see your children often?”

“The twins live with me, not with their mother.” He looked up with a brittle smile. “She’s in China, the last we heard.”

“That’s a long way from Kansas. What does she do?”

“She’s the International Design Director for some big-shot hotel over there.”

“Sounds important.”

“I’m sure she thinks so.”

“Where are your children?” She looked toward the stairs.

“Fortunately for you, they’re spending the night with my mother.”

Her head snapped around. “Why is that fortunate for me?” she asked, her tone oddly sharp.

Out in the kitchen, Sam laughed. “Let me see if I can enlighten you. ‘Why is the sky blue? What holds the clouds up? Why do rocks come in different sizes? Why can’t we eat grass like the cows? Why does the sun always come up in the east? Why do we call it east?’ They never stop talking.”

Cheryl smiled, but her mind was racing. How was she going to avoid meeting more of Sam’s family? Even if his mother wasn’t Eleanor, there had been other Hardins at Jake’s and her father’s trial. Cheryl was dying to ask specific questions, but she didn’t want to arouse Sam’s suspicions.

“They sound charming. Do you think they’ll be back before I leave?”

“No. Believe me, you do not want to ride in a car with them all the way to Kansas City.”

“And your grandfather, will he be joining us? I’m not exactly dressed for company.”

“Gramps was asleep when I looked in.” Sam carried in two steaming bowls of soup and two glasses of milk on a tray and set it on the coffee table beside her. “I’ll pick the girls up on my way back from Kansas City. What about you? Do you have a husband, children?”

Cheryl relaxed once she realized she wasn’t going to meet more of his family. “No, no ball and chain or rug rats for me. I can’t even take care of a parakeet.” She took a bowl of soup from the tray.

Looking up, she realized he wasn’t amused by her flippant remark. She had made it sound as though she didn’t like children.

“My work comes first,” she explained. “I don’t have room in my life for anything but dancing. Ballerinas don’t usually have long careers. A husband and children will have to wait. Besides, while I was in school I earned money by working at a daycare center. That was enough kid-time to last me for a several more years.”

“What about other family?” he asked.

Briefly, she considered how to answer. When in doubt, tell the truth—just not all of it. “There’s only my sister. I have a half brother somewhere, but we’ve never kept in touch. My parents are both dead.”

A half brother somewhere was partly true. As far as she knew, Jake was still in prison. Harriet had kept in touch with him, but she was gone now.

“I always wanted a brother but all I got was a little sister. Becky lives in Denver. I don’t get to see her as much as I would like.”

To change the subject, Cheryl said, “This is good soup, cowboy.”

“Thanks, but you don’t have to sound so surprised.”

There was a lot about the man that was surprising to Cheryl. She only hoped that his good cooking was the last shock in store for her tonight.

They ate in companionable silence and listened to the sound of the storm outside as the driving snow hissed softly against the tall windows. When she finished, he gathered up her tray and carried it into the kitchen. She tried to hide a yawn, but he saw it.

Walking back to the sofa, he held out his hand. “Come on, New York, it’s time you went to bed. You can barely keep your eyes open.”

“I thought I would sleep here.” She patted the sofa and looked away, uncomfortable with his intense scrutiny.

“Take my bed. You’ll be more comfortable, and the bathroom is only a hop away. The guestroom is on the lower level, and I don’t think you should tackle the stairs. I’ll sleep down there.”

He made sense, and it wasn’t as if she were throwing him out of his bed to sleep on the floor or something. Another yawn convinced her she’d probably fall asleep standing on one foot when the pain pills really kicked in.

“Okay, but I can get there by myself.”

“At least lean on me so you don’t fall.”

She hung on to his arm as they made their way to his bedroom. At the edge of the bed, she sat down just as a yowling, hissing ball of fur erupted from underneath it and attacked her good foot. Cheryl shrieked in surprise and jerked her legs up on the bed.

Sam reached down and scooped up the snarling fury. “Hey, is that any way to treat a guest? Behave yourself. Cheryl, I’d like you to meet Bonkers.”

Draped over Sam’s arm, the fat, yellow feline turned to stare at her. He wore a smirk remarkably like the Cheshire Cat mask one of her fellow dancers wore in the ballet.

“We call him Bonkers,” Sam explained, “because normally he’s very sedate, but every once in a while—”

“He just goes bonkers,” Cheryl finished. “I get it.” She studied the man who held the cat and said, “This tendency runs in the family?”

His grin widened. “Occasionally.”

Cheryl massaged her foot. “I was down to only one good foot and now that’s full of claw marks.”

Sam turned instantly contrite. “Did he hurt you? Bonkers is usually careful not to break the skin. Let me take a look.”

“No. I’m fine.” She pointed toward the door. “Take the menace and leave.”

With a brief salute, Sam did as he was told, taking the cat with him. Cheryl watched the door close, then flopped back and stared at the ceiling fan over the bed.

What was it about Sam Hardin that she found so attractive? They’d met under dramatic circumstances, that could be part of it. She admitted he was good-looking in a rugged sort of way. He was also kind and funny, but it was something more that. Something she couldn’t put her finger on, something she didn’t want to examine too closely.

In the end, she decided it was a combination of too much excitement and the strong pain pills. Knowing that she would feel more like her old, sensible self in the morning, she crawled under the thick quilt and settled in. For a while, the painful throbbing in her foot kept sleep at bay, but soon the pain pills did their work, and she drifted off.

Sam fed the cat and retreated to the guestroom downstairs. As he lay in the unfamiliar bed, sleep eluded him, and he spent a long time staring at the ceiling. She was sleeping above him.

He berated himself for acting like a fool, but it didn’t help. The woman was dangerous to his peace of mind. Why did she have to be the first one to interest him since Natalie? Why did it have to be a woman who belonged somewhere else?

Come on, Sam, you’re thirty-three years old. You’re not some kid. You’ve been there—done that. You don’t need her kind of trouble no matter how attractive she is.

He punched his pillow into shape for the tenth time. This was nothing more than the excitement of the night. After all, it wasn’t as if he made a habit of rescuing beautiful, intriguing women. Tomorrow he’d drive her to Kansas City and deposit her with her dancing friends, and that would be the end of it.

The sound of the wind finally lulled him to sleep, but Cheryl’s face played in and out of his dreams leaving him feeling restless. In the morning, he woke feeling anything but refreshed. He climbed out of bed, dressed and went out to work off his sour mood with chores and shoveling snow.

An incessant ringing woke Cheryl from her drug-induced sleep. She fumbled for the phone on her bedside stand without opening her eyes.

“Hello?” she mumbled into the receiver with her face still pressed into the pillow.

Silence answered her. She tried again a little louder. “Hello?”

“Is Sam there?” a sharp, feminine voice asked.

“Ah—Sam who?” Cheryl muttered, wishing she could just go back to sleep.

“Samuel Hardin. My son.”

Cheryl’s eyes snapped open. Quickly, she took in the unfamiliar room. In a flash, memory returned.

“Let me speak to Samuel. This is his mother, Eleanor Hardin,” the demanding voice hammered in Cheryl’s ear.

It was her! Cheryl sat up with her heart lodged in her throat.

Chapter Four

Cheryl ran a hand through her tangled hair and winced when she hit the bump on her temple. Sam’s mother was Eleanor Hardin—former principal of Herington Junior High—and one person who was sure to recognize Cheryl Steele as Cheryl Thatcher.

“You must have the wrong number.” Cheryl tried to stay calm.

“Really?” came the unamused reply. “It’s rather hard to misdial a number on speed dial, don’t you think?”

“Oh, you mean Sam. I’m sorry. I’m still a bit groggy from the drugs he gave me.”

“Drugs?” His mother’s voice shot up an octave.

“Oh—not those kind of drugs.”

“Exactly where is my son?”

“I’m not sure. He said something about staying in the guestroom.”

“I’m relieved to hear that, at least. Have him call me right away. I don’t believe I caught your name.”

Cheryl relaxed a tiny bit. Thanks to her acquired New York accent or plain good luck, Sam’s mother hadn’t recognized her voice.

“It’s Cheri,” she replied cautiously. It wasn’t actually a lie. Some of her friends called her that.

“Thank you, Cheri. Have Sam call me.”

The line went dead in Cheryl’s hand. She stared at the phone stupidly for a second, then hung up.

Things were rapidly moving from bad to worse. Cheryl had spent too many hours facing Eleanor Hardin across the principal’s desk at school for the woman not to recognize her. Those memories were painful to recall, but not as painful as the memory of Mrs. Hardin’s testimony before the judge at Cheryl’s juvenile hearing. Eleanor had read Cheryl’s own words to the judge. Words from a diary that detailed a troubled girl’s desire to lash out at others and to gloat about the crimes she’d gotten away with. Those words had been enough to send Cheryl to a juvenile detention center for nine months.

If only she hadn’t written those things. If only Angie hadn’t found the diary and taken it to school. If only the book hadn’t ended up in Mrs. Hardin’s hands. For Cheryl, having her private thoughts exposed to others had been bad enough, but knowing her words had helped send her father and brother to prison had been almost more than she could bear. She didn’t want to relive any part of those times.

Snatching up the phone again, she dialed information for the number of the Highway Patrol. She had to find out if the roads were open. She had to get out of here.

Sam entered the front door feeling pleased with himself. He’d fed the stock, the stalls were mucked out and he’d found an old pair of crutches in the toolshed where he kept the snow shovels. He carried them into the house like a trophy. The aroma of fresh coffee greeted him.

New York was in the kitchen. She’d traded in his sweats for her red sweater and black corduroy pants with one leg slit up to the knee. She looked as if she’d slept better than he had.

She was buttering a piece of toast as the coffeemaker sputtered the last drops of coffee into the pot. He glanced around and realized she’d washed the dishes he’d left piled in the sink and put them away. She delayed meeting his gaze when he walked into the kitchen.

He said, “Thanks for cleaning up. You didn’t have to do that.”

She kept her eyes down, staring at her toast. “It was the least I could do.”

Her voice sounded strained, but he couldn’t see her eyes. Was she was all right? “You’ll do dishes in exchange for a place to sleep? Marry me, baby, you’re my kind of woman,” he teased.

She shot him a look of disdain. “They don’t make that kind of woman anymore, cowboy.”

“A guy can hope, can’t he?” All right, she was upset about something, but what? “Is your foot worse?” he tried.

“Looks bad—feels the same.” She set her toast and knife down on the counter. “Your mother called this morning. Early.”

“So?” Now he was confused.

She arched an eyebrow. “Do strange women often answer your phone at 7:00 a.m. and tell your mother they’re still groggy from the drugs you gave them?”

“You didn’t.”

“I did. You have some explaining to do. She wants you to call her.”

“I’m sorry if she embarrassed you. I’ll explain, don’t worry. She always calls to check on Gramps before we go out to do morning chores. Oh, I found these for you. They may be too tall. If they are, I can shorten them.” He handed her the crutches and started for the stairs

When he came up half an hour later, she saw he wasn’t alone. An elderly man with snow-white hair and piercing dark eyes behind thick glasses accompanied him. His slightly stooped frame was clad in blue jeans, a plaid shirt and worn cowboy boots.

She watched the older Hardin’s expression intently as Sam introduced them, expecting to be denounced on the spot.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Walter Hardin said as he sank down on the sofa beside her. “Sam tells me you’re from New York City.”

“I am.” Her knees went weak as she sensed a reprieve.

“I took a trip to New York once. It was crowded, but folks were a lot nicer than I’d been led to expect.”

She smiled, almost giddy with relief. She didn’t recognize Walter Hardin and saw little to indicate that he might recognize her. Maybe the trial of her father and brother hadn’t attracted as much attention as she imagined. Or maybe it had simply been so long ago that people had forgotten it.

She said, “I called the Highway Patrol this morning. Everything south of I-70 and east of US 77 is closed.”

“I figured as much,” Walter said. “Hope you don’t mind spending a little time with us.”

“You and your grandson have been very kind, but I really need to get to Kansas City.”

Sam took a seat across from them. “The snow has stopped, but until this wind lets up, the roads will drift shut as fast as the crews can open them. The forecast is calling for warmer temperatures tomorrow. It’ll melt fast once that happens.”

She finally asked the question that had been burning on the tip of her tongue. “Will your mother be bringing your children home soon?” She had to be gone before Eleanor Hardin showed up.

Sam shook his head. “No, they’re snowed in, too. The girls want to stay a few days, and Mom doesn’t mind. I’ll pick them up after we find a way to get you to Kansas City.”

Cheryl relaxed. It seemed a little good luck had finally come her way.

Walter pushed himself up from the sofa. “That coffee smells good. I think I’ll fix myself a cup. You want one, Sammy?”

“Sure, Gramps.”

As the elder Hardin made his way to the kitchen, Sam turned to Cheryl. “Do the crutches fit you?”

“They’re too tall, Sammy. But the autograph is priceless.”

“What?”

“They’re signed, To Sammy, with all my love, Merci.”

He chuckled and took the crutch from her to read the faded writing along the edge. “I’d forgotten about that. She said she didn’t want to sign my cast, she wanted to sign my crutches because then her name would be closer to my heart.”

“How romantic.”

He shook his head. “We were in high school.”

“That must have been hard. With your mother as a teacher, I mean.”

“Mom taught over in the next school district. Believe me, I think I would have transferred schools before I became one of her pupils. She was strict as they come. I hear they called her Hard-as-Nails Hardin over in Herington.”

Cheryl bit her lip to keep from making a comment. The kids at school had called her that, and worse. “Tell me about your old flame.”

“She’s a friend.”

“‘With all my love?’ That’s more than friendly, Sammy.”

“Okay, we were an item in high school. Now, we’re just—good friends.”

By his hesitation, Cheryl wondered if the fires of this particular high-school flame weren’t entirely dead. “You still see each other?”

“Occasionally. How much shorter do these need to be?”

Cheryl remained curious about the woman who lingered in Sam’s affections, but let the subject drop. After he’d adjusted the crutches, she tried them out again. Swinging herself across the room, she said, “This is much better. Thank you.” Turning around, she headed toward the front door.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he demanded.

“To get my purse. I think I left it out in the entryway last night.”

It was still lying on the bench where she had left it, but when she picked it up, she had an unpleasant surprise. It felt too light. A quick check showed her wallet was missing. She was on her knees looking under the bench when Sam came up behind her.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“My wallet is gone.”

“Are you sure?”

She rolled her eyes and gave him a don’t-be-stupid look. “Of course, I’m sure. It must have fallen out of my purse during the accident last night.” A sudden thought hit her, and she looked at him sharply. “Unless you have it.”

He helped her to her feet. “Why would I take your wallet?” Clearly, he seemed puzzled by her accusation.

To check up on me? To see if I’m really who I claim to be?

Paranoia seemed to be leaking out her pores. If she wasn’t careful she would give him a reason to do just that. “I meant, maybe you found it and forgot to give it to me,” she finished lamely.

“I haven’t seen it,” he said.

She gave him a bright smile. “Then it’s still in my car.”

“In this weather, it’ll be safe enough.”

“True, but I’d feel better if I had it. My credit cards, checkbook, driver’s license, everything is in it.”

“I have to ride out and check on some cows that are due to calve. I’ll look for it on my way home. Can I bring back anything else from your car?”

She sat down on the bench. “If you think you could manage my suitcase, that would be great. So you really are a cattle rancher, not simply an architect who lives in the country?”

“Yes, ma’am. You’re looking at the breeder of some of the finest Charolais cattle in the Midwest. That’s what I was doing out last night. Moving cattle into the barns. Most of the calves have already been born, but I still have a few cows that are due to calve soon. I didn’t want the little critters to be born out in a snowdrift.”

Cheryl burst out laughing at the image.

“What’s so funny?” he demanded.

“That paints such a great picture. You trying to round up white cows and their little white calves in a snowstorm.” Her laughter died away when she saw the speculative look on his face. Suddenly, she knew she’d made a mistake.

“How does a girl from New York City know what color Charolais cattle are?”

She raised a hand to her temple to ease the sudden pain in her head. How could she answer? She couldn’t lie to him, but she didn’t want Sam to know who she really was. Cheryl Steele from New York was talented, self-assured and witty. Cheryl Thatcher had been a sad, pitiful creature. It would be best if she never came back.

The cat chose that moment to leap into her lap. Cheryl jumped, startled by the animal. “Bonkers, you scared me to death. Don’t you get tired of attacking people?”

“Hardly ever,” Walter supplied as he came in with a steaming mug in each hand. He gave one to Sam.

Cheryl avoided looking at Sam or his grandfather. “I have such a headache this morning. I think I’ll go lie down for a while.”

“Is there anything we can do?” Walter asked, his concern evident.

“No, thank you.” She pushed the cat off her lap and left the room moving slowly on her crutches.

Sam watched her go and realized she hadn’t answered his question. And what had caused the dark pain that filled her eyes so briefly? Maybe it had been her headache, but he had the feeling there was more to it than that. She presented an interesting puzzle. One minute she was smiling and laughing, the next minute she looked like a scared, lost waif.

She’s not your puzzle to solve, Sam reminded himself. Don’t forget that fact.

After discussing his plans for the day with Gramps, Sam headed downstairs to his office, but he couldn’t get his mind off his houseguest. He admitted he was attracted to Cheryl, intrigued by her even, but he wasn’t a fool. For his own peace of mind, it would be best to remember she’d be gone soon.

He busied himself in his office for the remainder of the morning and worked on his latest project. He loved designing homes almost as much as he loved ranching, and he’d missed it since he came back to take over the homestead. In spite of his father’s and grandfather’s experience, years of poor cattle markets, dry weather and bad investments had left the ranch on the verge of ruin.

It’d taken every scrap of Sam’s time and most of his money to get the place back on its feet. This year, with the income from his breeding program, he stood to make a real profit for the first time in years. Enough to let the ranch survive.

That time might have come sooner if he hadn’t spent so much money building this house. He had used the construction to try to keep Natalie happy. And she had used it to dupe him.

Every trip she’d taken to Kansas City for the best glass, the right tile, the most unique rugs, had only been a cover to meet her lover, and Sam had never suspected anything until it was too late. It had been a bitter lesson to learn.

He turned his attention back to his design. Thanks to his former partner in Kansas City, he now had the chance to work for the firm again. The added income would provide a much-needed cushion for the ranch. A lot hinged on the home he was designing here. If all went well, construction would begin on the massive stone house on a hillside outside of Kansas City within the month. The only drawback was that it meant he’d need to travel to Kansas City frequently over the next few weeks.

A little after one o’clock, he put his plans away and headed upstairs. There was no sign of Cheryl, so he fixed a tray of toasted cheese sandwiches and a salad, then knocked on her door.

“Come in,” her groggy voice called.

He opened the door and carried the tray inside. “I thought you might like some lunch.”

“Um, sounds great.” She raised up on one elbow and pushed her hair out of her face. “What time is it?”

“One-thirty. The wind’s died down, and I’m going to ride over and check the cattle. I wanted to let you know I was leaving.”

“Be careful out there.” Worry tinged her voice and put a small frown between her beautiful blue eyes.

“I will. Besides, Dusty always comes straight home after work.”

“Make sure you’re on him.”

She looked adorable with her hair mussed and her eyes still cloudy with sleep. He deposited the tray and quickly turned to leave. Bonkers made a dash inside as Sam started to close the door. The cat jumped on the bed and began to butt his head against her side for attention.

She ran a hand down his back and he purred loudly. “I think your cat is beginning to like me.”

“I think you’re beginning to like my cat.”

“He’s persistent. I admire that.” She picked Bonkers up and rubbed a knuckle under his chin. A look of bliss crossed the big cat’s face.

Sam turned and stomped out of the room feeling ridiculous. He couldn’t be jealous of a cat. What he needed was a long, cold ride in the snow to take his mind off his very charming visitor.

Hours later, Cheryl sat in Sam’s living room waiting with his grandfather. Both of them anxiously watched the clock. Sam had been gone far longer than he should have been. It was almost dark. At the sound of the door opening, she and Walter hurried out to the entryway. Sam paused inside the doorway and set her suitcase down. He looked cold, tired and worried.

“Is everything okay?” she asked.

“I’ve got some bad news, New York.”

“Did we lose some calves?” Walter asked.

She crossed her arms over her chest and shivered in the cold draft. She knew the loss of even a few head could spell financial disaster for some ranchers. How many ranchers had been put in financial jeopardy by her family? She hated to think about it.

“The cattle are all okay, but your wallet wasn’t in the car, Cheryl.”

“What? Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Walter said, “You look terrible, Son. Cheryl made hot cocoa earlier. Would you like some? I could make coffee if you’d rather.”

“Cocoa sounds great.”

Cheryl hobbled to the kitchen with them. Sam shed his coat with a weary sigh. Walter filled a thick, white mug with the steaming drink and held it out to Sam. He took the cup and sipped it. “Man, this hits the spot.”

He sank into a chair at the table. “I searched all through your car. There weren’t any tracks in the snow, so no one else had been in it since the snow stopped. Is it possible it fell out on the ride back?”

“I guess it’s possible—my purse was unzipped. Did you look around the outside of the car?”

“I tried, but there’s too much snow yet. Hey, we know we only rode along the highway and down my lane, so it’s out there somewhere. We’ll find it when the snow melts.”

“When the snow melts! When might that be?” Cheryl snapped. She couldn’t wait for the snow to melt. The longer she stayed, the more likely it was that Sam would find out who she really was. The daughter of a felon, one of those “thieving Thatchers,” as people in the community had labeled her family. Someone who had spent time in reform school instead of prison only because of her age.

It wasn’t fair. She wasn’t that person anymore. She was the “Steel Ballerina,” the darling of New York’s young ballet set. How would her fans or the press react when they heard she had been convicted of cattle rustling and assaulting a sheriff’s deputy? At best, she’d become a laughingstock. At worst, her career would suffer. All because she’d taken this stupid side trip.

“I can’t believe my rotten luck!” She shuffled to the far side of the room, narrowly missing the cat’s tail with her crutches when she swung around. Bonkers scrambled out of her way.

“Take it easy,” Sam cautioned. “You’re making me feel like I should take cover with the cat.”

“This is serious, Sam!”

“I know, but don’t worry. We’ll find it. Have a little faith.”

“Don’t worry? I need my driver’s license, my money and my credit cards. I need to catch up with my company before they leave Kansas City. If I’m not dancing by then, I’m out of a job for the entire spring. Don’t worry? I can’t even go back to New York. I sublet my apartment until the end of June because I was going to be on this tour.”

She was tired, her foot ached like a bad tooth and all he could say was, “Don’t worry.”

“What about your sister? Can you stay with her?”

“Yesterday was my sister’s wedding, remember? She’s on her honeymoon in Hawaii. I doubt the happy couple booked an extra room for me.”

“Okay, calm down. Things will work out, you’ll see. The snow can’t last more than a few days.”

“Oh, that’s just like a man. Calm down and wait till the snow melts! I can’t believe this! Nothing has gone right since I set foot in this stupid state!” She hobbled out of the room slamming the bedroom door behind her.

Walter stared after her. “There’s something about that gal that seems familiar.”

“She has a temper like Natalie’s. That’s what makes her seem familiar. Women like her don’t have any understanding or patience for the forces of nature. They want the world to jump for them when they snap their fingers.”

“You’re wrong to judge all women using Natalie as a yardstick, Sam.”

“I know, but I can’t help it. Once burned—twice shy.” What he didn’t admit was how attracted he was to Cheryl and how it scared him. He couldn’t explain it or reason it away. In his head he knew she was a woman every bit as wrong for him as his ex-wife had been. Lord, help me to remember that.

Chapter Five

Cheryl opened the bedroom door early the next morning and peeked out. There was no sign of Sam or Walter. Bonkers came to weave around her legs and meow at her. She picked him up and rubbed her chin on his head. The blinds on the glass wall were open. Now that the driving snow had stopped, early-morning sunshine poured through the tall windows. She put the cat down and crossed the room on her crutches to take a closer look at the spectacular view spread before her.

Sam’s home sat on the very edge of a steep bluff. The balcony that ran the full length of the house outside the windows gave the illusion of a house suspended in midair. In the valley below, frosted trees outlined the winding course of a small creek. Beyond them the prairie rose again to flat-topped, snow-covered bluffs and sparkling rounded hills that rolled away as far as she could see. Overhead, the brilliant blue sky arched like an azure bowl over a dazzling, glittering world. Her mother would have loved this view.

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