Make-Believe Mom
Elaine Grant

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is lovingly dedicated to my husband,

Tony, and son, Justin, for their constant love and

support in spite of my obsession with made-up

worlds; my mother, Julia, who patiently read and

reread the different versions; and my Aunt Grace,

whose faith in me never wavers.

CONTENTS

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

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

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

I would like to thank the following people for their knowledge, support, willingness to help, encouragement and input. Any misinterpretations or errors belong to me, not them.

My critique partners: Eleanor, Sylvia and Kris, who know this story backward and forward.

Barb McCritty, an extremely knowledgeable rancher from Wyoming, who gave me invaluable insights; Sandra Cahill of 63 Ranch near Livingston, Montana, who answered my questions about Kaycee and made her look good. Also, Noelle in Big Sky for pointing me to the ambience of Rainbow Ranch for that special date.

Bora Sunseri, who answered question after question about Child Protection Services and how a good social worker would interact with a family. Flavia Wright, science teacher, for input on school disciplinary issues.

Wally Lind and all the folks on his Crimescenewriter group, who answered many technical questions on child abuse, law enforcement and search and rescue.

Dr. C. J. Lyons, pediatric emergency physician, for emergency medical procedures.

CHAPTER ONE

TOMORROW HAD TO be better—if only he could make it through today. In weary frustration, Jon Rider wiped the sweat off his forehead with his upper arm. The anxious mother-to-be in front of him, held immobile by the headgate of the calving pen, lowed in distress and kicked at her swollen belly.

“Yeah, I don’t blame you,” Jon muttered. “I wouldn’t want to be in your position.”

His own position wasn’t ideal, up past the elbow in the slippery birth canal of a first-year heifer. His hand measured the breadth of the two hooves stuck in the pelvic opening with little room for them to push through, and none for the calf’s head. Jon’s bare chest gleamed with sweat, blood and sticky amniotic fluid. For most of an hour, he’d been trying to turn the big calf so he and Clint could pull it, but he had resolved himself to the hard truth. This baby wasn’t coming out the back door any way you looked at it, and a C-section was out of his league. If he didn’t get help soon, he stood to lose both mother and calf—something he couldn’t afford just now.

“No luck, huh,” Clint said, striding loose-jointed down the aisle of the calving barn.

Jon extricated his arm and got up. “Not a bit. Is the vet coming?”

“Got the answering service.” He raked his tousled sandy hair back and reset his hat. “Said she’d send out somebody named Dr. K. C. Calloway soon as she could.”

“Great,” Jon said. “Must be the young vet that took over old Doc Adams’s practice. Know anything about him?”

“Naw, no reason to.” Clint Ford had been foreman at the R-Bar-R ranch for thirty years. The veteran cowhand held to the old way of doing things, hands on and without outside help.

K. C. Calloway. Sounded like an outlaw’s name. Hopefully the new vet could handle the job. Having learned from the best—his dad and Clint—Jon prided himself in rarely needing a vet. Birth was a natural progression on a ranch, as was death. Repositioning and pulling a calf was routine. But this narrow heifer needed help he couldn’t give her. He had an excellent calving setup, so a C-section on the premises wouldn’t be a problem—if the vet ever arrived.

“I’ll finish feeding in the other barn unless you need me for something here,” Clint said.

“I don’t know anything we can do right now. Go ahead.”

In the washroom, Jon lathered his chest and arms, toweled off, then slipped his flannel shirt on, letting it hang loose over his jeans. Pacing to the end of the barn, he scowled down the empty road leading to the ranch, then glanced toward the house.

Hopefully, things were going better there than with the heifer lowing behind him. Jon still expected Alison to walk out, waving for him to come in for breakfast. He shook his head. Impossible. She was gone.

And so was the last housekeeper. So, maybe the twins had locked her in the cellar and maybe they had threatened to burn her at the stake if she didn’t bake cookies. Was that really a good reason to walk out on him? They were five years old—they couldn’t even reach the matches. A smile twitched at his lips. They were just boys.

Clint joined him at the door, restless, shuffling his six-foot-four frame from foot to foot.

“Aren’t you supposed to be somewhere with Claire this afternoon?” Jon asked.

“Some kinda music recital she’s in. Don’t matter. You need me here….”

“And what are you going to do if you stay? You can’t get that calf out any better than I can.” He knew how much it meant to Clint to make up for lost time with his daughter. She’d only come to live with him this year, to attend Montana State University in Bozeman. They’d been separated by distance since Clint’s divorce when Claire was nine. “Once the vet comes, the section won’t take but the two of us. Go on with Claire.”

Gratitude and relief swept over Clint’s leathery face. “You sure, Jon? You know I’ll hang around.”

“Claire’s more important. Clean up and get out of here. If I need help, I’ll pull somebody off another job.”

Clint bobbed his head once and disappeared around the corner. Alone in the shadow of the barn, Jon’s gaze drifted to the wild beauty of the high country, but even with the sun glinting off the snowcapped peaks, it didn’t touch him today. Only hinted of early floods.

Everything about this winter had bitten him hard. Stunned into slow motion over the past year, he’d inadvertently let some things slip between the cracks—important things, things he’d never been careless of before. This heifer for example.

He always bred a first-year heifer for a small calf, but during breeding season, his in-laws hit him with that lawsuit over custody of the kids….

Jon pivoted on his heel toward the suffering heifer, his jaw clenched so hard the muscles ached. He couldn’t absorb many more losses.

Where the hell was that vet! He strode to the phone on the post and was punching in the number when the crunch of tires on gravel followed by the slam of a door caught his attention.

“Well, finally,” he said, hanging up. Silhouetted against the bright sunshine outside, the vet walked into the dark barn holding a large metal case in either hand. Jon couldn’t make out any features but he noticed the vet’s frail frame. Somehow he had a hard time picturing this guy pulling an obstinate calf out of a cow’s backside or manhandling an irate bull.

As the vet approached, Jon’s gaze traveled slowly upward, taking in coveralls tucked into Justin boots, shapely legs and sleeves rolled to the elbows displaying smooth, well-muscled forearms. A baseball cap shaded one of the prettiest faces he’d ever seen.

A woman?

Just showed how much he got into town these days, else he’d have heard about this. The new vet was a woman. And she was watching him with intense green eyes. Her light brown hair was swept back into a ponytail and looped through the hole in back of her cap, but a few curling tendrils had escaped.

She smiled as she put down one of the medical cases and held out her hand. “Hi, I’m Katherine Calloway, Kaycee for short. I believe you’re Mr. Rider?”

“Yes. Jon Rider. Glad you’re here.” Impressed with her firm, confident handshake and enthralled by her soft-spoken Southern drawl, Jon reserved judgment about her vetting ability.

Kaycee cocked her head slightly. “Yes, I’m a woman. Yes, I’m a vet. Yes, I can pull a calf.”

Jon hoped the dim light hid the embarrassment he felt. She smiled again, released his hand and picked up the metal box.

“Let’s see what we can do for you.”

Jon cleared his throat and tried to clear his head as he led the way. “Pretty sure she needs a C-section. Calf’s huge, she’s not.” He stepped aside when they reached the heifer.

Kaycee didn’t look around, but she could sense Jon Rider watching her every move as she opened her cases. She’d learned to get on with the job before the ranchers had time to object to her being a woman. Generally, once she successfully treated their animals, they grudgingly accepted her.

Although he hid it well, she sensed Jon’s skepticism, but to his credit, he hadn’t been rude to her like some had. No snide comments, no come-on for a date or worse—at least not yet. Whatever he might think of a young female vet, he was keeping it to himself and Kaycee appreciated that.

Or maybe he was just worried about his livestock. With good reason, Kaycee saw at once, as the heifer strained. Kaycee slipped on a shoulder-length OB glove and did a quick exam. This calf was locked solidly behind the mother’s pelvic bone.

“You’re right, she needs a Caesar. Let’s prep her.” Kaycee pulled a pair of electric clippers from her equipment chest. “Where can I plug these in?”

“I can shave her while you wash up,” Jon said. He pointed out the washroom across the aisle.

“I’m going to give her a sedative to calm her, then a paravertebral block on the left side. Shave along her spine and from here to here and down her side.” Kaycee indicated with her hands the area from the heifer’s top midline to low on the flank.

By the time she returned, Jon had done an expert job of shaving the cow. Kaycee prepped the area, injected lidocaine along the edges of the vertebrae to block the nerves and laid out her instruments beside Jon’s pulling chains. By now, the barn smelled strongly of antiseptic mingled with warm animal hide, sweet hay and human tension, the familiar scent of the career Kaycee had chosen long ago. Clean hay had been spread around the calving area.

Kaycee cast a glance at Jon. “Nice spread. How many head do you run?”

“Thousand to fifteen hundred, year to year.”

Kaycee raised her eyebrows as she calculated the range necessary to graze that big a herd. Forty or fifty thousand acres. And this was the first time she’d been called out here.

Kaycee’s scalpel sliced smoothly just behind the ribs, through thick hide and muscle. The anesthetized heifer munched contentedly on a sheaf of hay, unconcerned that her side now lay open under the surgical drape. “How long has she been in labor?”

“Couple of hours before I called you, maybe. We had her on close watch since yesterday. She was fine through the night, started showing signs of trouble this morning,” Jon said, his voice edged with concern. “Calf locked up. I tried to turn it, but she was pushing too hard. Couldn’t budge it.”

“It’s way too big. Sometimes Mother Nature plays tricks like that.”

A careful second cut opened the peritoneum. Kaycee gently moved the rumen aside, then reached into the heat of the heifer’s body, searching by feel for a foot to use as a guide to cut into the uterus. Finding it, she made a precise incision and extended the opening enough to deliver the calf without tearing. As she drew the foot out, Jon passed her a pulling chain, which she popped over the calf’s leg above the fetlock adding a half hitch below to give surer purchase on the slippery legs. Handing the first chain off to Jon, Kaycee groped through the warm blood until she found the calf’s other hind leg and attached the second pulling chain. Once the uterus was open, there was precious little time to get the calf out alive.

She worked quickly, with deft, practiced hands, ignoring the trickle of sweat down her forehead. She didn’t want to admit that this baby’s life might already be beyond saving. She sensed that same dread in Jon Rider, as he watched in silence.

Kaycee nodded. “Okay, let’s get it out.”

Jon set his full weight against the chains. She grabbed the calf’s slippery hindquarters. Together they struggled to tug the sodden calf out of the steaming security of its mother’s body.

“Daddy! Oh, yuck, what are you doing?”

Startled, Kaycee hazarded a quick glance at the breathless little girl pushing long, sun-streaked hair out of her eyes and staring in disgust at the cow’s bloody side.

“Not now, Michele.”

“But, Daddy, you have to come in—”

“Not now,” Jon said in a sterner voice.

“But, Daddy, Rachel says—”

“Is Bo worse?”

“No, sir.”

“Is anybody hurt?”

“No, sir.”

“Is the house on fire?” Jon shot the questions at her in staccato succession, his voice choked from the effort to free the calf.

“No. But—”

“Then it can wait. Go back in the house.”

“Dad-dy.”

“Go!” Jon ordered, repositioning his weight, subtly changing the direction of the leverage.

“Good,” Kaycee said. “It’s coming. Just slow.”

The wide-eyed girl turned and ran. Kaycee concentrated on her work, but it worried her that the child had seemed frightened. Maybe it was just the shock of coming upon a cow with her belly slit and a calf hanging half out.

Jon made no further comment as he strained harder against the chains.

“We need somebody else to pull,” Kaycee said, her knuckles white as she gripped the slippery skin.

“I don’t have anybody else around right now,” Jon muttered between clenched teeth. “Stubborn little fellow.”

Kaycee dug her heels in, knowing her strength would fail soon. Stinging sweat trickled into her eyes. Jon braced a booted foot against a support post and widened his stance. Sweat streamed down his face, too, veins popped out in his neck and his hard thigh muscles swelled beneath his jeans as he grunted with the effort. The chains inched back, digging into his leather gloves.

The calf’s body shifted and the suction of the uterus gave way with a soft whoosh. The massive black calf squirted into Kaycee’s arms, its weight staggering her backward. Jon caught her against his chest. He reached around her, grasped the big calf by the hind legs and hauled it out of her grip, gently shaking it to clear the mucus.

“Take care of my heifer,” Jon said. “I’ll see to this one.”

Kaycee jerked her head toward one of her cases. “There’s a resuscitator in there. Looks like you might need it.”

Finding no postpartum problems, Kaycee cleaned and sutured the incision layer by layer. Behind her she heard Jon working feverishly with the calf, talking softly, urging it to live. All the while the mother stood patiently, her pain relieved by the anesthetic. She tried once or twice to look around for her calf, but the headgate restricted her. After a penicillin shot to waylay infection, Kaycee gathered her equipment.

She flicked a glance at Jon. He sat on the floor of the barn, his broad shoulders hunched over the black calf gathered in his arms like a child. He’d given up on the artificial resuscitator and was blowing his own breath into the calf, determined to force life into it. He jumped when Kaycee stooped beside him and put her hand on his shoulder.

“It’s too late. He was probably dead before we pulled him.”

“It’s not too late.” Jon blew another stubborn breath into the calf’s nostrils.

“Use the resuscitator.”

“Tried it,” Jon said between breaths. “This is better.”

Kaycee ran her fingers up and down the limp calf’s sides, encouraging circulation. Still the baby didn’t move. She watched Jon’s desperate attempt to infuse life where there wasn’t any.

“Jon,” Kaycee said. “It’s too—”

A tiny hoof quivered. Jon blew gently into the baby’s nose again. A shiver ran down the slick black body. Jon grinned. “Told you.”

Another five minutes of nurturing and the newborn was breathing without help. Gently Jon carried it to a box stall and laid it in the corner. He took off the soiled leather gloves and pulled his shirt collar over to wipe his mouth.

“I’ll milk the heifer and get a first meal down this little one,” he told Kaycee. “Then hope Mom takes over.”

While Jon coaxed colostrum from the heifer’s udder and made up a bottle, Kaycee removed the chains from the slender hind legs and laid them across the top of the stall door. Jon gave her the bottle to feed while he steadied the newborn calf. When the bottle was empty, he released the heifer into the stall.

“Maybe there’s enough afterbirth left for her to recognize her baby. Never should have happened this way, but looks like it turned out okay.”

“Looks like,” Kaycee said with a smile. “Really big calf, though. Over a hundred pounds, I’d guess.”

“Yep, felt that way. My fault, too. I should have had my mind on my business when I bred her, but I—” Jon stared at the confined heifer nosing her calf. “I just didn’t,” he said finally.

He studied Kaycee with eyes as deep blue as the Montana sky. His dark good looks overshadowed his somber, drawn expression. As tall as she was at five foot ten, she still had to look up to meet his gaze.

“You did a good job,” he said. “I’m impressed.”

“Thank you. I’m glad I could help.” Warmth spread through Kaycee’s midsection. Why did it thrill her that this particular rancher was pleased with her work? Before this, she’d only felt a satisfying triumph when she proved one more cowboy wrong about her.

They reached for the chains at the same time. Jon’s hand accidentally closed over hers. A frisson of electricity crackled through her body. He tightened his grip and lifted her hand off the chains, so he could pick them up.

“I guess we need to clean up,” he said, in a deep, low voice that resonated through her.

Kaycee cleared her throat and nodded. The barn was suddenly awfully close and overly warm.

“Urmmmm!”

Jon and Kaycee jerked apart at the sound of the accusatory grumble. A woman wearing a severely cut gray business suit glinted a hard look at them from a few feet away. No doubt they were a pretty sight, covered as they were with the drying remnants of new life.

Jon frowned at the newcomer. “Can I help you?”

Michele, along with another girl about her age and identical twin boys about five years old darted around the woman and regrouped behind Jon.

“I’m Nancy Hawthorn, the county social worker. Are you Jonathan Rider?”

“Yes,” Jon said with a hesitant nod.

The woman approached, clutching a writing pad to her chest. Her eyes darted to the pool of blood and fluid on the floor, then to the cow and calf in the stall.

“May I speak to you alone, Mr. Rider?”

Jon indicated for her to follow him, detouring briefly to the washroom to wash his hands and arms and roll his shirtsleeves down. They stopped to talk in the doorway of the barn. Kaycee couldn’t quite make out the conversation from where she stood with the children.

Before Kaycee could make a move to collect her things, she saw Jon’s face suffuse with anger and he clenched his fists.

“Child neglect? What in hell are you talking about?”

Kaycee wasn’t sure what to do. To get to her truck, she’d have to pass close enough to Jon and the social worker to eavesdrop. Although she’d always been a bit nosy, this conversation seemed too personal for idle curiosity. The four children, however, had no such qualms. Little by little they inched closer to the adults. Kaycee crossed the aisle to clean up. She slipped out of the soiled coveralls, rolled them into a ball and tucked them into a plastic bag in one of her medical cases, then washed her hands again. Wiping her boots clean in the thick hay, she glanced around for another way out of the barn.

She spied a back door, but couldn’t be sure if she could get to her truck that way. The voices at the end of the barn grew louder, more strident. She turned, staring at the two dark figures against the bright light, so focused on each other that Kaycee doubted they would notice if she made a discreet escape around them.

Hoisting her cases, she edged down the aisle, stopping when she reached the tight cluster of wide-eyed children hanging on every word of the argument.

“Mr. Rider,” Mrs. Hawthorn said, holding the notepad to her chest, “I’m here for your children’s welfare.”

“By scaring them out of their minds?” Jon snapped.

Kaycee wanted to tell him to calm down. He wouldn’t do himself any good by losing his temper.

“I have no intention of frightening them. But, I must advise you that Montana law gives me full authority to speak to your children, without your consent and without your being present. Now, if you’ll just answer a few questions, perhaps we can resolve this quickly.”

Jon’s jaw muscle ticked. He took a couple of breaths before he spoke again. “I’m sorry. You took me by surprise. Who made this accusation?”

“By state law, I can’t reveal that information.”

“Wait a minute,” Jon said, his voice growing harsh again. “You can come into my house—harass my children, interrogate me—because of somebody’s unsubstantiated accusation? And you won’t tell me who made it?”

“Can’t, Mr. Rider. I am not allowed to give you that information.”

“I don’t believe this.” Jon raked a hand through his already disheveled hair. “How am I supposedly neglecting my children?”

Mrs. Hawthorn consulted her notes. “According to the report I received you do not have proper supervision for your seven…?”

Mrs. Hawthorn cocked an inquisitive eyebrow at Jon. Kaycee automatically raised her eyebrows, too. Seven?

Jon nodded and Mrs. Hawthorn went on, “Seven children. That the younger children may be suffering from neglect. That there is a scarcity of food in the house, that the kids are not being fed, clothed or tended properly.”

“That’s not true. I have two freezers full of food in there. Who around here would say something like—” Jon’s eyes narrowed. “My in-laws! That’s who it is, isn’t it? The Arants from San Francisco.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t—”

“Yeah, I know, you can’t give me that information. You don’t have to. All right, ask your questions.”

“Your children are Rachel, aged twelve, Samantha, eleven, Wendy, nine, Michele, eight, twins Tyler and Zachary, five, and Bowie, two. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Your wife Alison passed away last year?”

“Fourteen months, five days, three hours and I can give you the minutes if you need that, too,” Jon said, hiding whatever emotion he might be feeling.

Kaycee’s lips parted slightly at the startling revelation and she looked at the motherless children through new eyes.

Mrs. Hawthorn’s expression was a mix of sympathy and impatience as she jotted a note. “And you make your living by ranching alone?”

“Yes.”

“Who supervises your children when you’re busy?”

“I keep a full-time housekeeper.”

“It’s my understanding she quit.”

“What makes you think that?”

“A report was filed, as I said. Judging by the condition of your house and children—”

“I’ve got seven kids, lady. It doesn’t take long for the house to get cluttered, even with a housekeeper.”

“So you do have a housekeeper?”

“I just said so, didn’t I?”

“Good, that will help matters. May I meet her?”

“She’s not here today.”

“Why?”

Kaycee watched Jon fidget. She’d bet her next year’s profit he did not have a housekeeper at the moment. Lying to a social worker was definitely a bad idea.

“Everybody needs a day off, Mrs. Hawthorn. Even my housekeeper.”

“Your son has a fever. I assume you know that.”

“Yes, I know that.”

“He’s had medical attention?” She looked at him for confirmation.

Jon took a deep breath. “Children’s Tylenol every four to six hours,” he said patiently as if quoting from the back of the medicine bottle.

“Why didn’t you take him to the doctor?”

“He didn’t need to go. It’s just a low fever. Could be catching a cold.”

Mrs. Hawthorn continued to stare at him expectantly.

“Okay, okay. If he’s not better by tomorrow I’ll take him to the doctor, all right?”

“As I understand this is not the first time you’ve been without proper supervision for the young children. Nor the first time you’ve failed to get medical attention when the children were ill. Can you defend these accusations?”

“Look, I don’t take my children to the doctor for every sniffle. Neither did my wife. And yes, I’ve had housekeepers quit. I’ve also had ranch hands quit. People move on. It’s a fact of life. Have you checked up on any other ranch families in the area? How many of them have someone to watch their kids? Probably none. Rachel’s old enough—”

“Frankly, Mr. Rider, I’m not convinced that you’re able to provide a stable environment for the children without a wife.”

“Without a wife…?” Jon looked bewildered. “I can’t help it if my wife died. I’m taking care of my kids.”

Listening to the heated exchange, Kaycee was hesitant to leave until she knew what was going on. Even though Jon’s personal matters were none of her business, she had a soft spot for children and wondered if a man who had doggedly brought a stillborn calf to life would neglect his family.

“I don’t see evidence that you’re caring for the children today.”

“It’s calving season. Life around here gets hectic. It’s got nothing to do with wife or no wife.”

“Nonetheless, your children should be your first priority—”

“They are my first priority!” Jon practically shouted. “I am taking care of them. How dare you—”

“Do you have an anger management problem we need to address? I’m beginning to consider removing the children from your home until a hearing can be arranged.”

The color drained from Jon’s face as he stared at the social worker.

“Like hell you will.”

“Mr. Rider, profanity and anger won’t help. Now, you can calm down or I’ll take measures to remove the children today.”

In front of Kaycee, the children looked at one another with wide eyes and gaping mouths.

“What’s she talking about, Wendy?” Michele asked in a low voice.

“She said we need a mother or she’s going to take us away from Daddy,” the sister said in disbelief.

“That’s what I thought.” Warily, Michele glanced up at Kaycee. She leaned and whispered in Wendy’s ear.

Wendy shook her head fiercely, her straight blond hair whipping back and forth. “That won’t work,” she whispered back loud enough that Kaycee heard.

“Well, it might. You got any better ideas?” Michele’s eyes locked on the arguing adults as Jon grew more upset with everything Mrs. Hawthorn said.

Kaycee didn’t know Jon other than the few hours she’d spent with him, but she felt the urge to help him—she just didn’t know how. There was a lull in the argument, and Kaycee heardWendy’s agitated voice. Tears welled in the girl’s brown eyes as she clutched her sister’s arm.

“You’re going to get in trouble, Michele. I just want Mama back.”

“Get real, Wendy,” Michele said. “You know she’s not coming back.”

“My children are not leaving this ranch!” Jon’s shout echoed off the walls, the effect of his words clear on the small, pale faces and eyes dark with fear.

Mrs. Hawthorn took a step backward and pulled a cell phone out of her briefcase. “If I have to call the authorities and have you arrested, I will, Mr. Rider.” Her voice left no room for doubt that she would follow through on her threat.

“Make ’em stop fighting,” sobbed one of the twin boys. “I don’t want to go away. Make ’em stop, Michele!”

Michele looked boldly at Kaycee, her face determined despite the apprehension imprinted there. She grabbed Kaycee’s hand and pulled her down to eye level. “I’m Michele. What’s your name?”

Startled, Kaycee replied, “Kaycee Calloway.”

“Hurry!” Michele dragged Kaycee until she stumbled forward—straight into the fray. Jon jerked toward them in surprise. Mrs. Hawthorn eyed her over the rim of her glasses. Kaycee’s sudden intrusion shut them both up instantly.

“This is her,” Michele announced firmly. “This is our new mother. We don’t need a housekeeper anymore.”

CHAPTER TWO

“MICHELE!” JON SAID.

“Kaycee’s shy like Wendy,” Michele rushed on. “But Mrs. Hawthorn needs to know we have a mother so you can take care of us. Well, here she is and now you can.”

Mrs. Hawthorn narrowed her eyes and looked suspiciously from Kaycee to Jon and back to Kaycee. “Aren’t you the veterinarian?”

“Well, I…I…yes, I am a vet.”

“And you’re married to Mr. Rider?”

Jon looked at his four kids with a stricken expression. Kaycee recognized sheer desperation when she saw it. He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her to his side, his strong arm squeezing the breath out of her so that she had no chance to speak. She could feel his body humming like a strand of barbed wire pulled too tight. Dangerous.

“We’re not married yet,” Jon said without hesitation. “But we soon will be.”

“Why didn’t you say so earlier?” Mrs. Hawthorn pressed, her skepticism obvious.

“You didn’t give me much chance,” he answered, then gazed down at Kaycee with adoring eyes that melted her to his side in spite of the tenuous situation—and the fact that the look was faked.

On her other side, Michele squeezed Kaycee’s hand so hard it hurt. There was no way she should involve herself in this family’s problems, whatever they were…. But there were three more little kids panicking behind her.

Kaycee held out her right hand—thank goodness she’d washed it already. “I’m Katherine Calloway.”

Hesitantly, Mrs. Hawthorn took it as if it might be contaminated, pulling away as quickly as she could. “And you plan to marry Mr. Rider?”

Kaycee swallowed hard. “We’ve been seriously discussing it lately. The children do need a mother, I agree. Everything will be back to normal before you know it.” Kaycee spoke carefully. She wasn’t exactly lying. She was only filling the role for a few minutes, until this social worker left. Then Jon Rider would have to figure out his problems on his own.

“I see. When?”

“When?”

“We have to get calving season behind us,” Jon said quickly. “But as you can see, Kaycee’s here today and between the two of us, the housekeeper and my oldest girls, we’ll make out until the wedding.”

Good line, Kaycee thought, but was the social worker buying it? She didn’t seem to have much of a case against Jon. If he’d kept his temper, the woman might have been gone by now. Kaycee’s gut feeling told her the children weren’t in danger of anything other than a messy house and a missing nanny, but she would make sure before she left.

“If you’ll excuse me, I need to fix lunch for these hungry mouths.” Mostly, Kaycee wanted to escape before she said something wrong to cause Jon more trouble. And get the kids away from here.

Jon released her with a twitch of his lips before turning back to the social worker. “Now, if you’re satisfied, you can leave.”

Mrs. Hawthorn made a long note on her pad before looking up at Jon. “I’m not satisfied, but I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt since you have help. I am going to need four or five collateral references, Mr. Rider. People who can vouch for your character and fitness as a father.”

Jon shook his head in disbelief. “It’s bad enough you’re nosing around here. Now you’re wanting to spread this nonsense all over the community? Embarrass my children? Start some ugly rumor you can’t prove? I don’t think so.”

Kaycee gathered the children around her. Michele kept a tight grip on her hand. Wendy watched her warily, but the twin boys fought to grab her other hand. Mrs. Hawthorne took a business card from her notebook and handed it to Jon. “You really don’t have a choice. It could be a close relative. Dr. Calloway can be a reference. I’m not closing this case yet. I want to meet with you next week. Call to give me those references and make an appointment.”

One of the boys tugged on Kaycee’s hand. “We’re hungry. Come on.”

As they crossed the barnyard to the large ranch house, Wendy ran ahead and disappeared inside. Michele looked up at Kaycee and said, “Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome. But what we did wasn’t exactly honest, was it?”

Michele shrugged, tears in her eyes. “We don’t want to leave Daddy. Daddy loves us. Why would that woman take us away?”

“I don’t know,” Kaycee said.

Behind them, an engine started and the social worker’s compact car eased down the road. Jon caught up to them.

“Michele,” he said, taking the child by the arm and pulling her aside. “You didn’t have any business dragging Dr. Calloway into our family problems.”

“I didn’t want that lady to take us, Daddy. I couldn’t think what else to do.”

“I’ll handle things next time. Go on in with the boys. I want to talk to Dr. Calloway alone.”

“But, Daddy,” one of the twins whined, refusing to relinquish Kaycee’s hand. “She just said she’d make us something to eat and I’m starvin’. Rachel’s been too busy to feed us since breakfast.”

“I’ll feed you in a minute.”

The look of disappointment on the boy’s face was more than Kaycee could take. “How about we all go fix a sandwich together?”

“Yeah, Daddy, please!”

Jon gave Kaycee a lingering look. “You don’t have to. I know you’re busy.”

“No problem, I need lunch, too. Y’all lead the way. I’m right behind.”

The children’s faces brightened.

“What’s ‘y’ all’ mean?” the boy asked.

“That’s the way we say ‘you’ or ‘you all’ where I come from. You’ve never heard that before, huh?”

The kids shook their heads.

“Southern girl,” Jon commented, bringing up the rear.

“South Carolina, born and bred.”

“You’re pretty far from home. Like it out here?”

“It’s cold. But yes, I like it. I suppose you’ve always lived here.”

“Yep, grew up in this house. Went away to college because my dad insisted, did some bull riding on the rodeo circuit. He passed away fifteen years ago and most of the ranch came to me.”

Kaycee followed the brood through the back door into a utility area. Coats, caps and all sizes of shoes and boots were piled up in the corner nearest the entryway on the tile floor, scuffed and tracked with mud. Soiled clothes formed mountains on the washing machine and dryer. A rustic wooden bench stretched along one wall and floor-to-ceiling cabinets occupied another.

A doorway on the opposite wall opened into a great room. Action figures, toy animals, game pieces, coloring books and crayons, dolls and miniature clothing carpeted the floor of the sitting area. Broad windows across one wall framed snow-topped mountains and greening bottomland in pristine, orderly contrast to the shambles inside. Over the stone and wood mantel hung a large oil painting of the family. In a flower-strewn meadow, a youthful blond woman sat on the ground next to Jon, surrounded by the kids. As she gathered her brood close around her, her natural beauty and loving expression made her face radiant. Kaycee studied the picture for a long moment before moving on.

Wendy was already clearing the center island of plastic cups, plates crusted with dried food and a baby’s sipper cup. An only child, Kaycee grew up in a serene, immaculate home, but she felt sure seven kids could easily make this big a mess in a day.

“Excuse me a minute,” Jon said to Kaycee. “I need to wash up and make a phone call.”

He disappeared down a hallway. The twins scrambled to claim their stools from the assortment scattered around the large island. A copper hood encased in a brick wall covered a gourmet cooktop. Two ovens were set into the adjacent wall, with a microwave built in nearby. Michele opened what looked like a double-doored pantry, but turned out to be a restaurant-quality refrigerator with doors custom-made to match the kitchen cabinetry.

This kitchen was designed for somebody who loved to cook, but from the few items in the refrigerator, it hadn’t been overused lately. Kaycee looked around the island at the faces staring at her. Were these children being ignored, like the house? She hoped she’d done right by helping send off the social worker. If they were being neglected, she’d never forgive herself.

“Are you really going to be our mom now?” one of the twins asked eagerly.

Kaycee hesitated. “I think you’d better ask your dad about that.”

“Okay, I will,” he said with a decisive nod then tilted his head. “Can you bake cookies?”

“I can,” Kaycee assured him. “Why?”

“Just wondering,” he said innocently enough, but the look he gave his brother made Kaycee smile.

“I’m at a disadvantage here,” Kaycee said to the two boys as she worked. “Y’ all know my name, but I don’t know yours. You look so much alike, I’m not sure I’ll be able to tell you apart.”

“I’m Zach,” the talkative one piped up. “This is my brother Tyler. We’re twins. But I’ve got a scar right here where I fell when I was learning to walk.” He pointed to a tiny blemish on his chin.

They were robust, cheerful, with curling dark hair and their father’s deep blue eyes. And identical other than Zach’s inconspicuous scar.

“We’re five years old,” Tyler offered. “Both of us. ’ Cept Zach’s three minutes older than me. My daddy said so.”

“And you’re Wendy.” Kaycee spoke to the quiet girl with straight blondish hair and somber brown eyes who nodded once then ducked her head.

“She’s shy,” Michele explained. “She doesn’t like to talk. She likes to read.”

“I see,” Kaycee said, smiling at the bashful girl. Wendy ignored her.

Michele put turkey, ham, mustard, mayonnaise, peanut butter and jelly on the counter. Then Kaycee made sandwiches according to the instructions from the girls. Wendy slid a paper plate in front of her for each one. Michele then took it, dropped a handful of chips onto it and passed it along the counter for distribution with the timed precision of an assembly line worker.

Jon came into the kitchen, looking and smelling much better than when he left. His dark hair was still damp from a shower, ridged with comb marks, and he wore clean jeans and a long-sleeved, thermal knit shirt that hugged his fit body like a glove.

“Thanks for getting started,” he said with a grin. “And for helping me out.”

“I’m not sure if I helped or made things worse in the long run. Mrs. Hawthorn won’t be happy when she learns the truth.”

“Well, maybe we can keep her in the dark for the moment, if that’s okay with you.”

“I don’t know. This worries me. We’re not playing a game. The ramifications could be serious.”

“Far from a game. I just need some time.”

Kaycee didn’t mind giving him time if it would help, but the thought of even a mock engagement didn’t set well with her at all. She’d been there, done the real thing in South Carolina. And then there was the question of the kids’ well-being. She wanted hard evidence that they were being cared for.

“Mrs. Hawthorn mentioned a baby with a fever.”

“Bo.” Jon put a gallon jug of milk on the table. “He’s almost three. Rachel and Samantha are upstairs with him. That woman was overreacting. Babies run a fever sometimes. If I thought for a minute it was serious, I’d have already taken him to the doctor. A little medicine, keep him quiet today. He’ll be fine tomorrow.”

Seven children, Kaycee mused. She took in his broad shoulders, the chiseled planes of his well-muscled chest under the shirt, his easy smile and dark good looks. Yes, Kaycee could see the lure of making multiple babies with Jon Rider. He might talk like a mother hanging around the carpool line exchanging fever remedies, but he sure didn’t look like one.

“Our mama’s gone,” Zach said. “Daddy takes care of us now.”

“I guess you heard, she passed away last year.” Jon’s words were matter-of-fact, but Kaycee detected the underlying grief in his voice. The loss of their mother reflected in the children’s eyes as they watched their father.

“I’m sorry,” Kaycee managed, not knowing what else to say. “You must be pretty self-sufficient,” she said to the children.

“We can take care of ourselves, ’ cept that old Mrs. Hawthorn won’t believe us,” Michele said. “She can’t take us, can she, Daddy?”

“Don’t worry about that. We’ll talk about it later.” Jon pointed to a cabinet beside the refrigerator and said to Kaycee, “Would you pour the milk? Plastic cups are up there.”

Meanwhile, he parceled out the loaded paper plates to each child. He put a couple of plates on a tray along with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for Bo, plastic cups, Bo’s washed sipper cup and the partial jug of milk. “Wendy, run this upstairs. Tell Rachel I’ll be there in a few minutes to check on them.”

“Yes, sir.” Wendy picked up the tray carefully and left.

Kaycee made a sandwich for herself and a couple for Jon with the remaining meat and bread. What would they eat tomorrow, she wondered, noting the pitifully empty refrigerator.

“No more milk,” Kaycee said to Jon. “How about water for us?”

“Sure. Let’s go in the other room,” Jon suggested.

They settled at a round table in an adjacent room. Quaint mullioned bay windows looked out over expansive grazing land running up the mountains. Jon sat back in his chair and exhaled a long sigh, contemplating Kaycee with a thoughtful expression.

“So, you’re to be my new wife, are you? And not a minute too soon.”

“Sorry, no mail-order bride here,” she replied. “Not my style. But I would like an explanation. I feel like I walked into the middle of a war zone.”

“So do I,” Jon said. “Talk about being blindsided. But, thanks for what you did. My live-in housekeeper left without notice and I need to find a new one.”

“No notice?” Kaycee said, between bites of her sandwich. “That’s not very professional.”

Jon shrugged a shoulder. “It happens. Seven kids are more than most housekeepers bargain for. I called everybody I knew yesterday, but no luck. Even called an agency in Bozeman, but from the way the woman snorted, I doubt they’ll be sending anybody my way. With that heifer calving, I didn’t have a chance to look this morning. Then, that damned social worker…I guess I should have expected something like this sooner or later.”

“Under the circumstances, I think I’m entitled to know why a social worker would be checking on the children. Are some of them stepchildren?” The twins’ eyes were a perfect match for the dark blue ones studying her now, but Michele and Wendy’s were chocolate-brown.

“No, they’re all mine. After my wife died, I let the children visit their grandparents in San Francisco, and my lovely in-laws tried to keep them. Filed a custody suit.”

“You’ve got to be kidding. Why would they do that?”

“They think I’m not capable of raising the kids without Alison. They say I can’t take care of the little ones or give the girls a proper social life out here ‘in the wilderness,’ as Alison’s father calls it.” Jon’s face hardened, the light gone from his eyes. “Wouldn’t allow me near the house to even talk to my kids. Took me a month to get them home again, and a hell of a lot of money to fight that lawsuit.”

“It must be difficult managing with so many small children and a ranch to run,” Kaycee ventured. She didn’t want to make a judgment until she understood the situation.

Jon frowned and set his water glass down. “It is hard, damn near impossible sometimes. So what? Life’s hard. I’m supposed to give up my children because of that? Alison would turn over in her grave if I let somebody take those babies away from me. Never going to happen.” He leaned forward in his chair toward her, his jaw set. “And if you’re thinking they might be better off with their rich grandparents, living in the city, you’re wrong. They might be better dressed, they might have fancier food, they might be kept squeaky clean all the time—”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Let me tell you what they wouldn’t have,” he went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “They wouldn’t get the love that I give them. They wouldn’t have one another to depend on for support and attention because their grandparents are firm believers in boarding schools and au pairs. Alison would tell you horror stories of her life growing up…” Jon clenched the water glass with both hands and looked away, blinking.

Kaycee’s appetite gone, she laid the unfinished sandwich on her plate.

In the uneasy silence, he cleared his throat. “I won’t sentence my own children to that fate. She wouldn’t have wanted it and I won’t allow it. It’s as simple as that.”

But Kaycee knew better. “It’s not, is it? You’re still worried.”

He shoved his plate aside and leaned back in his chair. “The Arants are too wealthy for their own good. After their lawsuit failed, anytime I let the kids talk to them, they tried to use their money to lure them away from me. So I cut off communication.”

Only Kaycee’s paternal grandmother had survived long enough to be part of her life and she was dead now. Kaycee still missed her terribly. How empty her life would have been without Granny. No doubt Jon’s children were feeling a similar loss.

“Do you mean they can’t see their grandparents?”

“Can’t see them, can’t talk to them. Phone’s off limits to San Francisco.”

“Jon, that’s severe. How do the kids feel about it?”

Jon shrugged slightly. “I’m sure they miss Hal and Marjorie. As far as the kids are concerned, their grandparents are wonderful. But it doesn’t change what they tried to do to my family.”

“The children might not understand—”

“Daddy,” Michele said from the doorway, “we’re finished eating and the twins want to go out to play.”

Kaycee wondered how long she’d been standing there listening.

“Did you clean up,” Jon asked.

“Yes, sir, but the trash can is full.”

“I’ll take care of it. You and Wendy watch the boys for a few minutes.”

When Michele was gone, Jon nodded toward Kaycee’s plate. “You didn’t finish your sandwich.”

“I’m not very hungry.” She hesitated before asking, “Jon, don’t you think you could find some common ground? For the sake of the kids?”

“Not anymore.” He wiped his hands on his napkin then stood abruptly and picked up his plate. “Finished?” he asked, reaching for Kaycee’s.

“Yes, thanks. I’ve got it.” She took her glass and plate and followed him into the kitchen. “So what now?”

“I’m sure Hal turned in this complaint, and now I have my very own personal social worker. I wonder if he’s got a private eye watching me and knew the housekeeper quit or just lucked out on his timing?”

Jon put her half-eaten sandwich on a paper towel then forced their plates into the stuffed trash can under the sink.

“I called my lawyer earlier,” he said, transferring the trash to a large black garbage bag and tying the top. “Frank said he would try to get this case closed as unfounded. He strongly advised me to hold my temper next time, that Hawthorn could snatch the kids in a heartbeat, if she wanted to…and it could take months to get them back. That scares the hell out of me.”

“I wanted to tell you the same thing—about the temper,” Kaycee said, running hot water to wash the dishes. The girls had cleared the center island, but left the glasses and utensils in the sink. “My granny always said you catch more flies with honey than vinegar.”

Jon arched an eyebrow. “Well, I’ll try to remember that sage advice next time I see Mrs. Hawthorn. Be right back.”

He took the garbage and her uneaten sandwich outside, and Kaycee heard him whistle. Through the open back door she watched him divide the food between the two dogs. He came back and washed his hands.

“You don’t have to do the dishes,” he said. “I’ll put the girls to work later.”

“There are only a few left. Did you tell the lawyer we’re engaged now?”

He chuckled softly and snapped his fingers, then shot her a playful grin as he picked up a dishtowel and began to dry the glasses. “Darn, I forgot to mention that.”

“Come on, Jon, be serious. Maybe you should come clean and beg Mrs. Hawthorn’s forgiveness.”

“I haven’t done anything to be forgiven of—well, maybe dragging you into this. But that’s for you to forgive, not her.”

Kaycee shook her head doubtfully. “I don’t know. I don’t want to be party to you losing custody of your children when she catches us lying.”

“Why does it have to be a lie?”

She jerked her head toward him in surprise. “I’m sorry…come again?”

“I mean, if we agree we’re engaged, it’s not for her to say we’re not. And if we decide to break it off later, that’s our business, too. Another one of those bad breaks in life that happen all the time.”

All the time, Kaycee thought, rinsing the last fork and drying her hands. Through the window above the sink, she stared at the distant mountains, the snow-blanketed peaks sparkling like a glittering postcard. She didn’t want to be reminded of those bad breaks—those reversals of fortune, as her ex-fiancé Brett had called them. The bastard. She hoped he and his new bride were happy. She sure didn’t want to go through that again, not here, when she’d just begun to feel at home. Not even make-believe.

“I don’t think it’s the best idea,” Kaycee said, her gut churning. “If news of this so-called engagement gets around town and you break it off as soon as you find a new housekeeper, I’ll be in an awkward position.”

Jon considered that for a moment. “Don’t worry about it. When the time comes, you can jilt me in Little Lobo, in the middle of Main Street at high noon. That way there’ll be no doubt who dumped whom.”

Kaycee still didn’t like the deceit. And a public breakup would be embarrassing for both of them.

“I really hate that I got caught off guard and let this happen,” he continued, drying the utensils as he talked. “But, will you just go along until I can call off my in-laws? I know it’s an imposition, but you don’t have to do anything physical.” Jon fumbled for an explanation. “I mean…”

Kaycee cocked her head, waiting for him to extricate himself. He wouldn’t look her way.

“I mean like coming out here or anything. We’ll manage fine.” He cleared his throat self-consciously. Still avoiding her gaze, he began to drop the forks and knives into the drawer beside the sink. “I don’t think it will get around Little Lobo anyway and we can let it die a natural death, this lie. I’ll tell the kids not to say anything. I’m sorry to put you in this position.” He gave her a quick, frustrated look. “I wouldn’t want you to…to…”

Kaycee bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. He was trying hard. Finally she let him off the hook. “I guess I’ll let it ride—for the time being anyway. Just hurry and get a housekeeper before we’re caught.”

Relief transformed the tension in his face to a smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Thanks, Kaycee. I guess we both have to get back to work and I need to check on Bo.”

“Um, if you don’t mind, I’d like to see Bo, since I vouched for him being okay to Mrs. Hawthorn. And I guess I need to know all my future children, just in case I’m questioned.”

“Sure, come on.”

The upstairs nursery was in much better order. The two preteen girls finishing their lunch looked up when Kaycee followed Jon into the room. One, a blonde with brown eyes, reminded Kaycee of the woman in the painting in the den; the other, a lanky girl with an unruly tomboyish, brown bob had her father’s eyes.

“Rachel, Samantha, this is Dr. Calloway, the new vet.”

The girls smiled at her and Rachel, the blond one, said, “Michele told us. Thanks for rescuing Dad. Is that nosy old biddy coming back?”

“Probably. If she does, don’t be rude to her. Understand?” Jon said.

Both girls nodded.

“How’s Bo?” Jon asked, moving to the side of the crib against the wall.

“He’s better,” Rachel said. “The fever broke a few minutes ago.”

Kaycee looked into the crib. A beautiful, chubby little boy slept peacefully, his thumb stuck in his mouth. Kaycee gently laid her hand against his cool cheek. “He’s a sweetie.”

“He’s a handful,” Jon said.

Jon brought the empty tray as they returned to the kitchen. Kaycee took the liberty of opening the refrigerator to examine the almost bare shelves.

“Jon, I have to ask, as the children’s pretend mother, what do you intend to feed them?”

“Well, let’s see.” Jon came to stand directly behind her, his nearness making her appreciate the cold air. “Hmm, that could be a problem. I swear I’ve gotten behind the past couple of days. Yesterday would have been the day the housekeeper bought groceries, but she quit on Thursday.”

He reached around Kaycee and opened the meat drawer. Empty. A few eggs were stashed in the door compartment, along with a small chunk of cheese. Jon scratched his head. “Well, I have stew frozen that I can heat for tonight. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for tomorrow, until I can get to the store. And we can get eggs from the henhouse in the morning.”

“We finished the loaf of bread. And no milk, either.”

Jon pulled a face. “Guess we’ll have eggs and stew for breakfast, too. I’ll pick up groceries while they’re in Sunday school.”

“What about the cook in the bunkhouse? Maybe you could borrow some bread.”

Jon chuckled. “Obviously you’ve watched too many reruns of Bonanza. Not many ranches have bunkhouses and cooks these days. Two of my hands are married and live in houses on the ranch. The three single men are bunked in another house closer to the grazing land. My foreman, Clint, lives a few miles from here. Don’t worry, we’ll manage on stew for breakfast. Some people have worse.”

“How about this. I’ll treat y’ all to breakfast in the morning—Southern style at my place.”

“You’re kidding. All of us? You don’t know what you’re getting into.”

“I’ll take my chances. I have plenty of room and I scramble eggs like a pro. Then you can go on with your plans afterward.”

“Kaycee, you don’t have to—”

“No, but I want to. Look, you need help right now. And I’m offering.”

From the surprised look on Jon’s face, Kaycee wondered if she had insulted him. Men could be like that. Then he smiled and nodded.

“Okay, then. We’ll be there. What time?”

“Around eight.”

On the way back to town, Kaycee had time to think about Jon’s predicament. She could see the grandparents’ position in a way. Seven kids, no mother, a harried father with a ranch to run and now nobody to look after the children. Of course they would worry. It should be none of her concern, Kaycee knew, but she couldn’t get the family out of her mind…. She couldn’t shut out Jon Rider’s rugged face and deep, smooth voice, either, as much as she tried.

And that surprised her. Brett’s unfaithfulness had left her with a bitterness and distrust toward men. What a rude awakening she’d had on the day of their wedding. Five years loving Brett—and her heart had been obliterated in two seconds, two sentences: “I don’t love you anymore. I’m going to marry Marissa.”

Since then, although she worked almost exclusively with men, she maintained a wide emotional distance from them, especially the wild cowboys she’d come across since she’d been out west. But something about Jon touched her…the concern he showed for the newborn calf he resuscitated…the love and pride in his eyes when he looked at his children.

In spite of that—or maybe because of it—Kaycee knew she should stay away from him. Jon Rider was trouble on the hoof.

AFTER KAYCEE LEFT, Jon called all the children except the napping Bo to the long table in the dining room where they once held family meetings. This would be their first one since Alison died. Staring for a long minute at the chair at the end of the table where she used to sit, he wished he could conjure her spirit to help him out.

“Okay, kids, I’m going to lay it on the line. We’ve got a problem and you need to know about it.”

“That social worker?” Michele said.

“Yes. Do all of you know what a social worker is?”

The older girls nodded.

Tyler shook his head.

“Mean,” Zach offered.

“A social worker is somebody who makes sure children are safe from harm.”

“Then why was she here? We’re safe. You wouldn’t let anybody hurt us,” Sam said. “Did you tell her that?”

“I tried. But, honey, the problem is that somebody else has told her I might hurt you.” He saw their surprise register. “I’m sure she doesn’t believe I would hit you, not that kind of hurt. But by not having a housekeeper to watch over you all the time, she thinks I might not be able to take care of you.”

“But Rachel takes care of us when you can’t,” Tyler said.

“I know, and she does a wonderful job, but she’s not a grown-up and the social worker thinks we need a grown-up.”

“I don’t mind, Daddy,” Rachel said.

“I know you don’t. But you have school and you need time to do things you like to do, not just do chores and take care of your brothers and sisters every day.”

“It doesn’t have to be Rachel all the time,” Sam said. “I know perfectly well how to babysit.”

“Fact is, in a couple of years, when Bo and the twins are older, we’ll be able to make do without a housekeeper. But right now, we need an adult here when the boys are home. I’ll find another housekeeper soon.”

Zach pouted. “I like Rachel better than any old housekeeper.”

“And…” Jon’s tone silenced Zach, but the boy crossed his arms across his chest in protest “…this time we’re going to keep her. There’ll be no pranks played and no backtalk. Absolutely no locking her in the basement.” Jon leveled a severe look at the twins. “Understand?”

The twins squirmed and exchanged worried looks. Everybody nodded.

“Then will everything be okay? When we get a new housekeeper?” Wendy whispered, on the verge of tears.

“Don’t cry, sweetie,” Jon said, holding out his hand. Wendy ran into his arms. He pulled her into his lap then addressed the others watching him intently. “Everything will work out. But this lady, Mrs. Hawthorn, may show up at school wanting to talk to you. It’s all right if you talk to her. If she asks questions, tell her the truth.”

“I don’t want to talk to her,” Zach said.

“Me, neither,” echoed Tyler.

“Listen, guys,” Jon said. “If you don’t talk to her, she might think something really is wrong and we don’t want that. Don’t let her upset you. I’m not going to allow anybody to separate us.”

“But, Daddy,” Michele ventured, “I heard her tell you she can take us away from you and make us live somewhere else if we don’t have a mother. Is that true?”

Jon tried never to deceive his children. In fact, being caught up in the charade about marrying Kaycee pricked at him. He should have shot that down when Michele started it—but the look on the kids’ faces, that fear deep in their eyes…. At that moment, he’d have done anything to protect them.

Quietly, he said, “Yes, it’s true. She has the authority to do that if she decides you would be better off somewhere else.”

“Where would she take us, Daddy?” Wendy sobbed.

“Maybe to a place like a hotel where other kids would be. Or maybe to stay with nice people in their homes until I could come get you. It wouldn’t be for long,” Jon said, careful to keep his own anxiety out of his voice. “But it’s not going to happen, okay? We’re going to convince her that we don’t need her anymore and she’ll go away.”

“I wish Mommy hadn’t died,” Wendy whispered.

“So do I, darling,” Jon said, lightly kissing the top of her head. He had never seen a paler bunch of kids and his heart hurt to see his children so frightened. “I know this scares all of you, but we can’t run from everything that scares us. We have to face our problems. We’ll make it though and we’ll be a stronger family in the end.” He wiped the tears from Wendy’s cheeks and kissed her forehead.

“But, Daddy, Dr. Kaycee said she’d be our mom. She said so,” Michele said, tugging at his sleeve. “Just get her to do it.”

“No, we tricked her into saying that. I don’t want you to tell anybody she’s going to be your mother. Not the social worker or your teacher or your friends. Do you all understand that? Until Dr. Kaycee decides for herself what she wants to do, you’re not to mention her name. If the social worker asks, tell her she has to talk to me about grown-up things. Everybody promise me you’ll do what I say.”

All around heads nodded, although Michele’s agreement was reluctant.

“I think we need to clean up the house, too,” Rachel suggested, “so the social worker knows we can take care of ourselves.”

“That’s a good idea,” Jon agreed. “From now on, we pick up our own things, every one of us. Bring dirty clothes to the laundry room. Put the toys away when you finish playing. Don’t leave wet towels on the floor in the bathrooms. Agreed?”

The kids bobbed their heads in unison.

“Good. Now who wants ice cream?”

Six hands shot up amid a chorus of “Me! Me! Me!” Jon set Wendy down and pulled the last two ice-cream containers from the freezer while Sam put bowls on the table. Rachel pulled out the drawer for spoons, but suddenly turned to Jon and threw her arms around his waist.

“It’ll be all right, Daddy. I love you.”

“Me, too!” Zach cried, flinging his arms around Jon’s legs.

Tyler did the same. “Me, three!”

Wendy, Michele and Sam came running and Jon sank to the kitchen floor amid a flurry of arms, legs and wet little mouths kissing his face. Which was good because that way they didn’t notice the tears in his eyes as he gathered them close and sent a silent prayer heavenward to help him keep his family together.

CHAPTER THREE

SUNDAY DAWNED like fireworks when the sun crested the mountaintops. Brilliant white rays exploded across the sky, igniting streaks of scarlet in the scattered clouds. Jon poured the last of the morning’s feed into the trough then stood in reverent appreciation of nature’s beauty.

His soul thrived in these mountains, where he and his family had worked the land for three generations. This was his heritage, his children’s heritage—the wisdom gained by witnessing the cycle of life on the ranch, the respect instilled by experiencing firsthand the awesome power of God and nature. How dare a bitter old man threaten to steal that from them?

Under his breath, Jon swore for the thousandth time that he would not let that happen. But he couldn’t quell the gnawing worry in the pit of his stomach. Not since talking to his lawyer, Frank Thompson. Hal could do serious damage without ever proving a thing, just by convincing the social worker or local law enforcement Jon might have done something wrong.

“Daddy,” Michele called, running toward him, so pretty in her simple blue dress, her tawny, beribboned hair streaming out behind her. “Rachel said to tell you we’re all finished with our chores and dressed for Sunday school.”

The young girl leapt toward him and he caught her in midair. “Let’s go, then.” He swung her in circles until she giggled hysterically.

Michele wrapped her arms tightly around his neck as he carried her toward the house. “Daddy, you look worried this morning. Because of that social worker?”

Jon smiled. “Everything is going to be all right. I’ll see to it.” He hoped he was right. Knowing his in-laws’ controlling mentality, he couldn’t afford a misstep. He intended to call Mrs. Hawthorn to try to mend his fences with her, hopefully get her off his back, but he needed to have a full-time housekeeper in place before then.

“Hey, Jon,” Clint called, catching up to them. “Anything in particular you need me to do today other than what we’ve already scheduled?”

“Check on that C-section heifer and calf. They looked good this morning, but I don’t want to take any chances.”

“Gotcha. Thought I’d get Rory and Cal to keep an eye out for any calving problems among the herd so I can spend some time with Claire later this afternoon, if that’s okay.”

“Sounds like a plan. I’ll be around this afternoon.”

Clint chucked Michele under the chin. “You’re off to church mighty early. You been extra bad?”

“Has she ever,” Jon said, giving the girl a mock frown.

“What’d you do?” Clint asked her.

“I’m not supposed to say,” she said, looking up at Jon through her lashes.

“She’s trying to get me married off again,” Jon said. Clint was like family and would need to know what was going on with the social worker, but Jon was proud of Michele for not mentioning Kaycee.

“If Daddy will just cooperate,” Michele said with a lopsided smile.

“Wha…?” Clint stopped, agape.

Jon laughed and kept walking.

“You’re kidding me, right?”

Jon looked around at his foreman in amusement. “Not if Mish has her way. I’ll fill you in later. Right now we’re off to breakfast with my pretend fiancée.”

A few minutes later the family piled into the four-wheel-drive Suburban that the kids had dubbed “Mom’s Limo” and headed for town. During the half-hour drive into Little Lobo, Jon avoided glancing toward the passenger seat. Alison’s seat. Now occupied by Rachel, tall and willowy for her age, who looked more like her mother than any of the girls. Right now, he didn’t want to imagine Alison so close, yet not there at all.

The last time he saw her alive she’d been sitting beside him in his truck, laughing about some silly thing the twins had done. Out of the corner of his eye Jon had caught a glimpse of her beautiful face turned toward him and in that same instant saw the elk bound out of nowhere…directly into the truck’s path. He couldn’t dodge it, couldn’t stop on the black ice. It was an accident. Nothing he could do…. A cold sweat popped out on Jon’s body.

Stop thinking about it. How long would it take for the pain to ease? How long would he have to do penance for being behind the wheel that day?

In town, the children barreled out of the Suburban and, before Jon could stop them, the young ones blasted into Kaycee’s clinic like a hurricane. Kaycee met them in the waiting room, bundling all that energy into her arms without missing a beat. Tyler and Zach went headlong. Bo hung back, wary of the woman he’d never seen before, until jealousy of the hugs and attention bestowed on his brothers got the better of him and he shouldered his way in. Kaycee gave him a hug, too. Michele stood close, beaming at Kaycee, already in love with her, Jon realized. The two older girls found a middle ground, waiting to take over the little ones by habit. Wendy stayed firmly behind Jon, her small hand in his, watching, but not participating.

Kaycee already had biscuits and toast prepared along with a huge bowl of scrambled eggs, crumbled bacon and cheese. Toasted cheese sandwiches cut into triangles waited on a warming plate on the counter. A bowl of fresh fruit sat in the center of the table. She produced a high chair for Bo stamped with the logo from the café next door. Amid the lively chatter, Rachel set Bo in the chair and gave him a plate with a piece of toasted cheese sandwich, slices of banana and poured juice in his sipper cup. The other girls helped Kaycee distribute orange juice and milk.

Soon the room was filled with the familiar bantering and squabbling of the kids. Jon watched Kaycee meld into his family so seamlessly that he had a hard time believing they’d met only the one time. If they were an imposition, she didn’t show it. She appeared to enjoy them.

Her sun-burnished brown hair fell loose around her shoulders. A trace of makeup enhanced her large green eyes, and up close Jon noticed the gold flecks that made them sparkle. The yellow sweater she wore over tweed slacks molded to her curves.

Battling a blaze that started in his groin and worked its way up, Jon forced himself to look somewhere else. A sense of melancholy settled heavily in his chest as he realized how badly he missed his wife, missed the rapport of planning out their schedule each morning, of raising these children together. He hadn’t allowed himself to admit how lonely he was until this moment.

Kaycee caught Jon’s eye and smiled over the sea of heads. He answered with one of sincere gratitude and tried to shake off his gloom as she offered him a plate full of food and sat beside him. Jon mediated the minor disagreements between the children when necessary, kept up his end of the conversation with Kaycee and pondered how to manage the rest of the day. Sunday school and church for the children—he hadn’t been since Alison’s funeral—grocery shopping, getting everybody home and settled again so he could work the ranch. Call Hal. Somehow he had to find a compromise with his in-laws before this dangerous game irreparably damaged his family.

Jon checked his watch. “Let’s move, kids. We don’t want to be late for Sunday school.”

In a flurry of activity, the children scurried to help Kaycee put the dishes in the sink.

“You want to come with us, Dr. Kaycee?” Michele asked hopefully.

“Michele,” Jon admonished. This child would have Kaycee living with them if she could.

“Just asking, Daddy.”

Unflappable Michele. Jon had to smile.

“I don’t think I can dress in time for Sunday school. Suppose I join you for church?” Kaycee suggested, looking at Jon. “Are you going?”

Everybody in the room, Kaycee included, seemed to be waiting for his answer. Michele gazed up at him hopefully. Jon ran a hand through his hair. Truth was, he wasn’t ready. He still had some differences to work out with his Maker before he could set foot in church.

“I can’t buy groceries for all of us in an hour’s time. Maybe next week.”

“Will you come anyway?” Michele said to Kaycee.

“Sure, I’d love to. I’ll meet y’ all there.”

Michele beamed as she climbed into the SUV with the others.

“You’d better stop that, Michele,” Wendy said, buckling into the seat beside her sister.

Jon settled into the driver’s seat, listening.

“What?” Michele said evasively.

“You know what. Trying to get her to be our mother. Just stop it.”

“You can’t make me. I want her to be our mom. Don’t you think she’s nice, Daddy?”

“I’d say she’s real nice considering how you roped her into being mommy-for-a-day. How about leaving the mother-finding to me.”

“But you’re not doing too good,” Zach piped up. “We gots to have somebody!”

Jon grimaced. “The fact is, she’s busy and has a job of her own to do. She may not be in the market for a ready-made family. But don’t worry, I’m going to find another housekeeper as soon as I can.” Jon stopped in front of the church. “Now out you go. I’ll be back for you.”

He took a deep breath as he pulled away from the curb. The sudden silence in the car was unnerving. This is how the world will sound if Hal gets the kids. Sweat beaded on his upper lip. He almost turned around to go back for them. Gripping the wheel, he forced himself to keep going, to buy the food they needed and try to keep life normal for them.

Later that night, when everybody else was in bed, he poured himself a strong drink, something he rarely did—but then he rarely called his father-in-law, either. The worst call had been to tell him his only child, his baby girl, had been killed in an accident. That he’d never see her again or hear her voice, never make amends for the way he’d treated her since she married. Jon held himself responsible for her death. And so did his father-in-law.

Jon nursed the drink until he felt the soothing heat spread through his muscles and calm his overactive brain. He closed the door to his office and sat behind the massive oak desk. Beyond the open drapes, the black night spread into infinity.

Ten o’clock. Nine in San Francisco. He couldn’t put off the call. In another half hour Hal would be in bed. Slowly he picked up the phone, punching in the numbers with agonizing deliberateness. He hated this phone number. Hated it.

“Hello.”

He hated that voice more. Jon flinched at the sound. He gripped the receiver until his hand hurt. Fighting the urge to hang up, Jon forced himself to speak.

“Hal.”

There was a long silence on the other end, then Hal said, “What do you want?”

“Call off this social worker.”

Jon waited, listening to Hal’s accelerated breathing.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, hell, you do. You filed that complaint. Don’t bother denying it.”

Hal grunted, sounding pleased with himself. Funny, Jon had never really hated Hal until after Alison died, when he attempted to take custody of the kids. Before that he’d tried to tolerate the man in spite of his treatment of Alison—for her sake.

“Do you realize what you’re doing to my children? That woman came here and terrified them. Is that what you want?”

“I want the children in a good home. You can’t take care of them. You don’t even have someone to watch them while you work. No food for them to eat. And you claim to be a good father?”

“What are you doing, spying on us? A private investigator?”

Hal laughed. “You’d like to know, wouldn’t you? I have my ways. You should know that by now.”

“Call them off, Hal. Leave my family alone.”

“Not until I’m satisfied the children are being cared for.”

“Then let me satisfy you. We do have food in the house. Did yesterday, too. A freezer full of it. These kids have never gone hungry a day in their lives. As for a housekeeper, that’s a luxury I indulge to keep you happy. Ranch children learn young how to take care of themselves. But I’m going to have someone here so you don’t have any excuse to say they’re neglected again. I still can’t believe you reported me to Child Protection Services,” Jon said, amazed that Hal would have stooped so low.

“I didn’t have any other way of checking on them since you cut us out of their lives. You forced me to take drastic action.”

“Come off it, Hal. What did you do when I let them visit you after Alison died? Took out a restraining order against me, then had the gall to challenge me in court for custody. Why would I trust you to even talk to them, the way you bribe them? You tried to steal them from me once, but it won’t happen again.”

“You didn’t have any qualms about stealing my child from me.”

Jon closed his eyes and took a deep breath, frustrated at the old man’s stubborn refusal to admit the truth after all these years. “Alison was a woman, not a child. Perfectly capable of making her own decisions.”

“You lured her out there to that hinterland and then you killed her.”

The venom in Hal’s words was palpable, but the truth in them hurt Jon more.

Hal obviously understood Jon’s prolonged silence. “Yes, you know you’re to blame, don’t you? No wonder Marjorie and I are worried about the safety of our grandchildren after what happened to their mother. We want them off that ranch and in a civilized environment.”

Jon’s body went rigid. “My children are where they belong. Don’t pull this stunt with CPS again, Hal. It’s not a game and you don’t have any idea what that social worker might decide to do with the kids.”

“No, I’m not playing around. I’m dead serious. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure my grandchildren are safe. Even if it means proving you an unfit father so we can get custody.”

Jon slammed the receiver down. He’d planned to offer Hal some compromise. Laying his head against the back of the chair, he stared at the ceiling. How had life ever come to this? What the hell was Alison thinking, leaving him this way? Jon blinked back tears.

He had to come up with some way to stop Hal. The idea of calling Kaycee crossed his mind, but he decided against it. No need pulling her any farther into this. He threw back the rest of his drink and went out to make night rounds.

KAYCEE SAT DAYDREAMING AT THE desk in her office, the only room with lights on in the building. Her door was propped open, as was the door across the hall leading into the waiting area. She liked the arrangement—her living quarters were attached to the back of the veterinary clinic with access from the interior of the office complex, as well as from the outside. Several of the businesses along this strip of Little Lobo were built that old-fashioned way. Whoever popularized the idea of living in the suburbs and commuting had to be nuts.

She forced herself to concentrate on the form on her desk. She’d been trying to fill out the report on her visit to the Rider ranch for the past half hour. She couldn’t get beyond Jon’s name without becoming distracted. Hopefully he could call off his in-laws and they could break off their so-called engagement.

Like you really want to.

“Sure I do,” Kaycee muttered.

In truth, maybe not yet. She’d enjoyed spending the morning with Jon and the kids. Even church had been an adventure, keeping the restless little ones from disturbing the sermon. Rachel and Sam did an exemplary job of mothering them. However, with the extra hour of church, they couldn’t repress some squirming. Michele had then wanted to stay the rest of the afternoon at the clinic, but Jon wouldn’t let her. So Kaycee had promised she could come back to visit soon, and invited the other girls, too.

She blew out a frustrated breath when she looked at the paper under her hand. Name: Jon Rider. As if on command, his face materialized, his troubled smile touching her heart.

Kaycee forced her pen to the next blank. Phone number: she copied the number from her notepad then picked up the phone almost without thinking. Just a short call to check on her new surrogate family. Jon wouldn’t be in bed this early. But a tap at the glass of the outer door interrupted her.

Sarah James peered through, waving exuberantly, her curly hair bouncing like shiny red springs. Sarah owned the café and coffee shop next door, aptly named the Little Lobo Eatery and Daily Grind, and was trying to restore the huge rambling house behind it to open as a bed-and-breakfast. She was always in the kitchen by 4:00 a.m. to start the morning’s fresh-baked pastries and biscuits and worked in her spare time on the renovation. Always on the lookout for extra money for her pet project, Sarah had offered to take the clinic’s phone calls and do the day-to-day filing until Kaycee established her practice.

Sarah let herself in with her key. Kaycee had never had time for a close girlfriend before, but Sarah was so friendly and happy to have a neighbor other than Doc Adams, that Kaycee had already grown fond of her.

“Saw your light on,” Sarah said. “Do you need help?”

“No, just catching up on paperwork. Come on back.”

“Interesting day today, huh?” Sarah wiggled her eyebrows.

“Only if you enjoy driving forty miles to find out the rancher’s already taken care of the problem and didn’t bother to call back. Mr. Caldwell didn’t call again, did he?”

“Nope. Those were the only calls after you left.” Sarah pointed to the yellow slips on Kaycee’s desk, then picked up the paperwork in the outbox and began to place the reports into their folders in the filing cabinet. “That’s not exactly what I was talking about, and you know it.”

Kaycee gave a little shrug. “What?”

“This morning?” Sarah motioned with her hand. “Come on. Come clean. I didn’t miss Jon Rider’s SUV at your place this morning. Neither did the rest of Little Lobo, I’d wager. So that’s why you wanted to borrow a high chair.”

The warmth crept up Kaycee’s neck. No way this fake engagement would stay secret. “He brought the kids into town for Sunday school. How’s the painting coming in the house?”

“Don’t change the subject—but not so well. And Jon Rider just happened to stop by your vet clinic on a Sunday with his whole brood?”

“I fixed breakfast for them.”

Sarah’s face lit up. “Wait a minute! Have I missed something? Didn’t I just see you the day before yesterday? You didn’t let on you’d ever met Jon. When did you start cooking for his family?”

Kaycee wouldn’t be able to put Sarah off for long. If she didn’t fill her in, Sarah would pick at her mercilessly. One good thing, Sarah was no gossip. Kaycee would never tell Jon’s business, but whatever she did say wouldn’t be repeated. If all of Little Lobo was watching, she might do well to have Sarah as an ally to waylay rumors. So she briefly touched on her visit to the ranch and the subsequent invitation to breakfast. She skipped the parts about the social worker’s visit and the fake engagement.

“And then there was church…sitting with his kids,” Sarah prodded.

“Boy, you were everywhere today, weren’t you?”

“You know, Jon would be hot property if he’d lighten up.”

“Really?” Although hearsay wasn’t necessary. Kaycee had been close enough to feel that heat firsthand.

“He’s got a big ranch, made some good money from bull riding when he was young so he’s better off than a lot of the ranchers around here. And he’s a genuinely nice guy. Yep, even with all those kids, he wouldn’t have trouble finding another wife. But he doesn’t want one.” Sarah leaned on the filing cabinet, staring outside. “All he wants is to have Alison back.”

“How do you know all this?”

“Small town. There are no secrets around here.”

That was exactly what Kaycee feared. And how long before her own private life was spread out for the town’s scrutiny?

“What happened to his wife?”

“A tragic accident. The way I heard it, the girls missed the school bus that morning. Jon and Alison took the girls to school and were on their way to Bozeman to shop. An elk ran into the road, smashed through the windshield on Alison’s side. She died in Jon’s arms.”

“Oh, no,” Kaycee whispered, recalling Jon’s determination to save the newborn calf yesterday. An unbidden image formed of him desperately trying to save his dying wife. “How horrible.”

“Thank goodness they’d already dropped off the kids.”

“Was Jon hurt?”

“Nothing major. They say he blames himself.”

“Still wounded then.” Kaycee recalled the sadness in Jon’s ice-blue eyes.

“Well, there you go. You’re a doctor—you can heal him.”

Kaycee laughed and shook her head. “I’m a vet, Sarah, not a physician.”

“Well, looks like you’re doing pretty well after just one visit. Maybe the way to a rancher’s heart is through a cow C-section.”

“Oh, stop it, Sarah. There’s nothing going on.”

“Knowing Jon, I don’t doubt that. Still, he did bring his brood over for breakfast. That’s got to mean something.”

“Means they were hungry. Any luck on getting a restorer for the house?”

“No,” Sarah said, the frustration evident in her voice as she resumed filing. “Nobody wants to touch it. I’ve put ads in papers as far away as Denver, but no bites. But, thanks for this job. The extra money means I can move faster.”

“Then it works for both of us. Full-time help’s out of the question until I get more business. And don’t worry about the restoration. Somebody will come along. Just the right person at the right time. You’ll see. What all did you get done tonight?”

As she finished her work, Sarah rattled on about her favorite subject. By the time Sarah left, Kaycee decided it was too late to call Jon. She went to bed, but lay awake a long time thinking about his predicament. She fell asleep wondering what more she could do to help.

CHAPTER FOUR

“THERE’S THE BUS, everybody out!”

Jon watched the last of the girls’ backpacks disappear into the yellow bus, then turned the SUV around and headed down the long lane to the house with the three boys. The twins normally attended preschool half the day, but for today, they would stay home because Jon didn’t want to lose the time driving them to town only to have to pick them up a few hours later.

Glancing in his rearview mirror, Jon smiled broadly, his day already better. His pretend fiancée barreled down the gravel road behind him in her red pickup truck. At the house, Kaycee pulled up and parked, hopped out and was around the front of the SUV by the time Jon opened the door, so full of life Jon felt sluggish in comparison.

“Hi,” she said. “I was out this way and thought I’d check on our little bull and his mama.”

“They’re doing well. We put them outside this morning. He’s gaining weight and frisking around. I hate that you drove all the way out here for that.” The increased thrumming of his heartbeat told him he really didn’t hate it. Not at all.

“I like to see my patients when I can. Besides I was curious whether you resolved your housekeeper problem.”

“Afraid not.”

She peered into the Suburban. “So I see.”

Jon pulled Zach and Tyler out of their toddler seats while Kaycee unfastened Bo’s baby seat and lifted him out. She bounced him on her hip as naturally as if she did it every day, talking to him, making him giggle.

The sunshine brought out the gold in the wispy curls fluttering around her face in the early morning breeze. Her thick ponytail flipped back and forth as she played with Bo. Jon loved ponytails. Had since he pulled Maisey Gibson’s long blond one every day in third grade to hear her squeal.

“You like kids, I see,” Jon observed.

“I do,” she said. “I was an only child, but I always loved babies—cousins, neighbors, strangers, it didn’t matter.”

A sudden longing for the companionship he’d lost hit Jon like a thunderbolt as she entertained his youngest child. Over the past year, he’d been so immersed in grief and the stress of keeping his family going that the thought of being attracted to another woman never entered his mind. So why was he thinking about it now? All he needed was a competent housekeeper, not a replacement for Alison.

And not with this woman who had a fledgling veterinary practice. She certainly wouldn’t have the time to give the children the attention they needed.

“Stop,” Jon snapped.

“What?” Kaycee looked startled. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, nothing. Sorry.” Regaining his composure, he said, “Come on, we’ll check out that heifer so you can get to work.”

Jon reached to take Bo from her. To his surprise, Bo pushed his hand away. “No, no, no!” The toddler clung to Kaycee with his other hand. “I stay here.”

“I guess you’ve made a friend,” Jon said with a laugh.

“Good.” She gave Bo’s round tummy a tickle with her knuckles, doubling him over with laughter. “I like him, too.”

“Come on,” Zach yelled. “We’ll show you where the corrals are.”

He and Tyler, in their clunky cowboy boots, ran ahead to the calf pens. Jon set the twins on the top fence rail on either side of him to watch the solitary heifer with the bull calf by her side. Other spindly legged calves played in an adjacent pen with their mothers. Kaycee agreed that the heifer and calf were thriving and could probably go out with the others soon.

“I can rope them calves, you know,” Zach said, puffing out his chest with pride.

“That so?” Kaycee asked.

“Yep. My brother can, too. But he’s not good as me.”

“Am, too,” Tyler protested.

Zach shook his head, and whispered loudly, “Really, he ain’t, cause he’s younger than me.”

“A big three minutes,” Jon said, with a wink to Tyler. “That’s not a whole lot, is it, buckaroo?”

Tyler shook his head vigorously. “I’m bigger, anyway. And I know how to steer wrassle.”

“Me, too,” Zach shot back.

“Okay, enough. Both of you.” Jon lifted the arguing boys down. “Run along to the house. I’m right behind you.”

“We could show you, Dr. Kaycee,” Zach persisted. “We could rope and wrassle some calves for you right now.”

Kaycee laughed at the eagerness in their ruddy little faces. “Like a rodeo?”

“Yeah, a rodeo! You want us to?”

Kaycee slanted a look at Jon and smiled. “I don’t think this is the best time. Your dad has other things to do and I have to be going shortly. Maybe another day. I’d want to see everything you can do.”

“Oh, boy! Daddy, can we have a rodeo for Dr. Kaycee? Like we used to?”

“Like she said, another day,” Jon responded.

“How about Saturday?” Zach suggested.

“Rachel and Sam can barrel race, and Michele’s a trick rider on her horse, Dusty,” Tyler said.

“And guess who’s the rodeo clown?”

The boys jumped around like little kangaroos, talking at once to her, to Jon, to themselves, to the two herd dogs also getting rowdy at the excitement in the air.

“Bo?” Kaycee guessed.

“No. He’s too little,” Zach said.

“Am not,” squealed Bo, wriggling to get out of Kaycee’s arms and on the ground with his brothers, who seemed to be having more fun than he was.

“Who, then?”

“Wendy,” Zach said.

“Wendy? The shy one?”

“Uh-huh. She’s funny when she’s gots on clown paint.” Zach screwed up his face to mimic his sister’s. “And we dress up Tilly and Chloe like clowns, too.”

“The dogs,” Jon clarified.

“That sounds like lots of fun. I’ll look forward to it.”

“Saturday, Daddy?” Zach pressed.

“We’ll see,” Jon said. “Now get along like I told you.”

The twins took off running for the back door of the ranch house and Bo toddled behind without complaint as fast as his chubby legs would carry him.

Jon and Kaycee drifted toward her truck as they talked. “I was going to put on another pot of coffee after I settled the kids to play,” Jon said. “Do you have time?”

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