Table of Contents

Cover Page

Excerpt

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Epilogue

Copyright

“You Know What’s Happening Here, Don’t You?”

Shep asked.

“Yes,” Andrea whispered. He was going to kiss her, and she rose on tiptoes to bring their lips closer together.

That was all Shep could take. His mouth covered hers in a kiss of utter possession. His hands roamed her back and hips.

“Shep…oh, Shep,” she managed to whisper raggedly between the second and third kiss.

Then she lost count. She was barely aware of being backed up against a wall, and only dimly cognizant of him sliding her skirt up and then lifting one of her legs to wind it around his hips.

“Tell me you want this,” he demanded gruffly, hoarsely.

Her lips were parted to take in gasping breaths. “How can you doubt it?”

“Tell me. Say it.”

“I want it. I want you.”

Dear Reader,

Happy holidays from the staff at Silhouette Desire! As you can see by the special cover treatment this month, these books are our holiday gifts to you. And each and every story is so wonderful that I know you’ll want to buy extras to give to your friends!

We begin with Jackie Merritt’s MAN OF THE MONTH, Montana Christmas, which is the conclusion of her spectacular MADE IN MONTANA series. The fun continues with Instant Dad, the final installment in Raye Morgan’s popular series THE BABY SHOWER. Suzannah Davis’s Gabriel’s Bride is a classic—and sensuous—love story you’re sure to love. And Anne Bames’s delightful writing style is highlighted to perfection in Christmas Elopement. For a story that will make you feel all the warmth and goodwill of the holiday season, don’t miss Kate Little’s Jingle Bell Baby.

And Susan Connell begins a new miniseries…THE GIRLS MOST LIKELY TO…—about three former high school friends who are now all grown up in Rebel’s Spirit. Look for upcoming books in the series in 1997.

Happy holidays and happy reading from

AND THE STAFF OF SILHOUETTE DESIRE

Please address questions and book requests to:

Silhouette Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

Montana Christmas
Jackie Merritt

www.millsandboon.co.uk

JACKIE MERRITT

and her husband live just outside Las Vegas, Nevada. An accountant for many years, Jackie has happily traded numbers for words. Next to family, books are her greatest joy. She started writing in 1987 and her efforts paid off in 1988 with the publication of her first novel. When she’s not writing or enjoying a good book, Jackie dabbles in watercolor painting and likes playing the piano in her spare time.

One

The town of Rocky Ford, Montana, was picture-postcard pretty on this wintry December morning. An eight-inch blanket of snow sparkled in the bright morning sun, shining from a sky so blue it made Andrea Dillon’s eyes water to look at it. Wearing dark glasses against the glare, and dressed in warm clothing, she began shoveling out her driveway.

The air was cold and invigorating, bringing color to her cheeks. Her exhaled breath came out of her mouth in puffy little clouds. She had to smile, if a bit wryly; the long driveway had been one of the features of her rental house that had pleased her so much. This was the first major snowfall since she had moved in last summer, and she was certainly going to rack up her quota, and more, of exercise today by clearing the driveway enough to get her car to the street.

But being outside on such an incredible day felt wonderful. Other than at ski resorts in California, she had never seen snow like this. Her front lawn looked as smooth as a sheet of paper. The top of each bush and shrub was shaped into a rounded snow-bump. Every branch and twig on the leafless trees seemed artistically layered with a coat of glistening snow. The roof of her house looked as though someone had iced it with white frosting.

Lucas Wilde’s roof, too, looked decorated with icing, Andrea thought with a fond glance at the one home she could see from her driveway in the sparsely populated neighborhood. Lucas was several years past sixty, Andrea estimated, and her best friend in this small town. Her only friend, she amended quickly.

Sighing softly, she began shoveling again.

“Andrea! Good morning!”

Recognizing Lucas’s voice, she turned to smile at him as he walked toward her from the street. He was carrying a shovel. “Hi, Lucas. Isn’t this a glorious morning?”

Lucas’s rolling laugh rang out. “It is if you enjoy shoveling snow. I’ve already done my driveway and sidewalks, and now I’m going to help with yours.”

“Lucas, that’s not at all necessary.”

“Course it’s not.” Lucas grinned. “Big, strapping girl like you could shovel for three days and not get winded.”

Andrea had to laugh. She was definitely not “big and strapping.” In fact, she was on the small side, barely five foot four inches tall and weighing in around one-ten.

“I might not be big,” she retorted pertly, teasing him as he was teasing her, “but I’m strong.”

Lucas laughed again. Compared to his six-foot-two height and two-hundred-forty-pound weight, she was a little bit of a person, and her proclamation of physical strength was obviously funny to him.

“But how much snow have you shoveled before?” he asked. “I’ll bet this is your first time.”

“Okay, so I’ve never shoveled snow before today. But I’m truly enjoying the job. Lucas, since you’ve already cleared your own driveway and sidewalks, you’re probably tired. Please don’t overdo it by helping me.” She worried about Lucas at times. He was at least forty pounds overweight, carrying most of the excess poundage in his chest and belly. If he had a heart attack shoveling her driveway, she would never forgive herself.

“For your information, young woman, I’m not tired and I’m not ready to go back inside. I’ll shovel a bit more, if you don’t mind.” Lucas set to work.

He sure could be stubborn when he wanted to be, Andrea thought. Stubborn in a nice way, though. Giving up on the friendly debate, she dug her own shovel into the snow. “Did you hear the storm in the night?”

“Sure did. Thought the wind was going to blow the roof off for a while there.”

“I loved hearing it. There’s something about a storm at night that makes me feel cozy and safe.”

“It does that, all right. Makes one think of his own good fortune—having a warm bed, comfortable home, enough financial security to get by without worrying all the time. Not everyone’s so lucky.”

“True,” Andrea agreed, frowning a little. Her financial security was not of her making. As she bent and scooped at a brisk tempo, her thoughts went to her mother. Sandra had died last February, and Andrea had been the only recipient of her estate. It was shortly after the funeral, when she’d been given access to her mother’s private papers, that the series of events began that had changed the course of her life. She’d been working for the Los Angeles Times, still an unimportant cog in the production of the huge newspaper but harboring a longtime dream of journalistic success. Going through Sandra’s papers, tying them together and finally grasping their import had been a shock. More of a shock, in fact, than her mother’s sudden demise had been.

All of her life, she had believed her father to be the man named on her birth certificate: Harry Dillon. Harry was a total mystery to her. Sandra had waved the subject aside as trivial every time Andrea had tried to talk about him, as though it didn’t matter that her daughter’s father never visited, never called, never even sent birthday cards. Because of several documents in her mother’s files, Andrea had deemed it essential to finally meet Harry Dillon. She’d hired a detective agency to locate him, which proved surprisingly easy to do. Then, armed with those documents, she’d paid Harry a visit.

He was a cordial man, married many years with grown children. After a little prodding and an explanation of her curiosity, Andrea had finally learned the facts of her own life.

“Your mother was pregnant with you when we got married, Andrea. She was pregnant when she went to Nevada to obtain a quickie divorce from your real father, a man called Charles Fanon. No, I have no idea where you might find Mr. Fanon. I agreed to my name being used on your birth certificate, as I was very smitten by Sandra and would have agreed to anything she asked.”

Harry had smiled ruefully. “But she never loved me, and proved it by leaving me before you were a year old. I’m sorry you had to grow up thinking your father didn’t want you, but the truth was that Sandra wouldn’t permit even the slightest contact. Apparently, when she was done with a man, that was it.”

Andrea’s own memory had reinforced Harry’s comment. Counting Charles A. Fanon—she had the divorce papers between Sandra and Charles as proof of Harry’s story—Sandra had been married five times. And yes, when she was through with a man, she wouldn’t even- speak to him on the phone. As Sandra’s last three husbands had all been wealthy men, Andrea could only surmise that her mother had married Harry, a common laborer, to legitimize her unborn child. In spite of Sandra’s many missteps and indiscretions with men, she had possessed an innate sense of propriety. In fact, even while she was flitting from man to man—she hadn’t married them all—one would have been hard-pressed to label her anything but a lady.

Anyhow, the same detective agency that had located Harry had tracked Charles Fanon to Rocky Ford, Montana. Andrea had quit her job, left her mother’s very nice house…which now belonged to Andrea—in the hands of a trustworthy couple who had been in Sandra’s employ for many years, and traveled to Rocky Ford with every intention of immediately confronting Mr. Fanon. Once there, however, her courage had deserted her, and after seven months, she was still procrastinating.

At times, she was furious with herself for delaying something she knew had to be done. At others, she rationalized her cowardice by concentrating on the things she had learned about Charles—or Charlie, as he was called in Rocky Ford. For one, she wasn’t his only family. He had a daughter, Serena Holden, and a niece, Lola Sheridan. Also, there had been a son, Ronald, who had died in the military. Ronald’s widow, Candace, and their young son, Ronnie, had lived with Charlie until Candace remarried. Candace’s new husband, Burke Mallory, was the only person in Montana who knew Andrea’s background. Burke was now a cattle rancher, but he’d been a cop on an undercover investigation in Rocky Ford when he’d run into Andrea under suspicious circumstances. It had taken him only a few days to unearth her true identity, which had greatly upset Andrea until Burke promised her that he would not reveal her secret to anyone. She had enormous respect for Burke Mallory, but was glad his and Candace’s ranch was eighty miles from town, which pretty much eliminated chance meetings.

As for Charlie, he’d been living alone in his big old house on Foxworth Street since Candace and Burke’s wedding. Andrea often wondered if he was lonely now, although he did have a coffee shop in the front portion of his house to keep him busy. Every night while lying in her bed before falling asleep, she pictured herself walking into that coffee shop and introducing herself. Hello, Charlie. I’m Andrea Dillon, your third child, your second daughter. She usually went to sleep with a sickish feeling in her stomach because of that fantasy.

And maybe that’s all the whole thing was, she was beginning to think—a fantasy. If Charlie hadn’t wanted a third child at the time of his and her mother’s divorce, why on earth would he want one now? Why was she so driven to see this through and, at the same time, too cowardly to do it? Why was she afraid? She hadn’t been afraid to call

on Harry, after all. Maybe leery was a better word for whatever it was inside of her that kept her from accomplishing her goal with Charlie. But if she was never going to confront him, why stay in this small Montana town?

These were not new questions. Andrea had been asking them of herself for months, without being able to supply the answers. Surprising her, however, was an answer about why she stayed in Rocky Ford: she liked it there. For the first time in her life, she was putting down roots. Sandra had moved them around California so much, Andrea had never felt connected to any one place. Here, in this unpretentious little country town, she was at long last discovering the tranquillity of belonging.

Even so, she wasn’t entirely content. There was Charlie, of course, almost constantly on her mind, and she knew liking a town was no excuse for living a purposeless existence. A job might do wonders for the doldrums she often suffered, and hopefully tire her enough to make her sleep better. At the very least, she would have something to think about besides the Fanon family.

Lucas broke into her somber thoughts. “Ready for Christmas, Andrea? It’s not far off now, you know.”

Andrea stuck her shovel into the snow and then leaned on it. She was neither ready for Christmas nor thrilled that the holiday season was upon her. Looking at Lucas’s pleasant face, ruddy from the cold, she wondered how to answer his question. He knew very little of her background, mere bits and pieces that she had thought were safe enough to pass on. One brief conversation had been about the death of her mother.

She fell back on that. “With Mother gone, I’m afraid I’m not feeling very much holiday cheer, Lucas.”

He stopped shoveling and conveyed embarrassment by clearing his throat. “Course you’re not. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

Guilt struck Andrea. Sandra had rarely spent Christmas with her. Instead, she was off to the Bahamas, or Bermuda, or somewhere else elegant and sunny, with one man or another. Andrea’s Christmases had usually been spent with some of Sandra’s friends or with servants. That was during her childhood, of course. Once she was old enough to make her own decisions, she chose which of her own friends with whom she wanted to celebrate the holiday.

The truth was that Christmas simply didn’t excite her. It never had.

But it seemed important to Lucas, and he, too, was alone. His only offspring was a son living in Los Angeles, an extremely successful plastic surgeon, happily married, according to Lucas, and too busy to come home for the holidays.

“Lucas, do you have any plans for Christmas Day?” she asked.

He looked off into the distance, appearing wistful to Andrea. “I’ll probably do what I usually do, drop in on a few friends.”

“Would you like to have dinner with me?”

His head came around. “I don’t want to impose, Andrea.”

“You wouldn’t be imposing. You’d be doing me a favor. I’ve been planning to cook a turkey with all the trimmings, and eating it alone wouldn’t be any fun.” She’d been planning no such thing, but once out of her mouth, it seemed like the best idea she’d had in a long time.

A smile broke out on Lucas’s face. “Since you put it that way, yes, I’d love having Christmas dinner with you. Thanks for the invite.”

Andrea smiled, too. “You’re very welcome. Hey, guess what? I’m suddenly looking forward to Christmas.” She realized it was true and smiled again as she started shoveling. She would even buy Lucas a present, nothing that would embarrass him because he didn’t have one for her. Just some little thing she could put under the tree.

A tree? she thought with some amazement. My goodness, she really was getting into the holiday spirit, wasn’t she? Well, why not? She and Lucas could have a very nice day together, and neither of them would be alone and despondent.

She thought of Lucas’s son, Dr. Shepler Wilde, who was too busy to visit his aging father on Christmas, and snorted derisively. He was probably a self-centered, inconsiderate, better-than-thou jerk.

Maybe she could give Lucas a merry Christmas. It wouldn’t completely make up for his son’s negligence, but it would help.

By that evening, Andrea had to admit she was really looking forward to Christmas Day. If nothing else, planning a holiday dinner took her mind off the Fanons. Ready for bed, with her dark auburn hair damp from a shower and wearing her nightgown and robe, she curled up in her favorite chair with a pad and pen to prepare a grocery list. Even though she wouldn’t be shopping for the ingredients for another week or so, she liked the idea of early organization.

The list grew quickly, but after a while she had to stop to think about it. As she did, her gaze drifted around her cozy living room and ultimately fell on a black-bound notebook tucked into a small bookcase along with several dozen books, all of which she had purchased and read since coming to Rocky Ford. Her thoughts immediately turned from her grocery list to the contents of that notebook. Everything she knew about the Fanon family was in it, including handwritten notes describing her own observations and every newspaper article mentioning the Fanons she had run across in the Rocky Ford News, which she had neatly clipped and pasted on various pages. Her last entry was a newspaper accounting of Candace Fanon and Burke Mallory’s wedding. Burke had invited her to attend the affair, and she had wanted to go very badly. But she’d stayed away, knowing how uncomfortable she would be with Burke aware of her lurking in corners and spying on the Fanons, as she had done on several previous occasions when she’d been able to hide in a crowd. Then, however, no one had known who she was.

That notebook disturbed her, blatantly reminding her that she was on the outside looking in, yet she couldn’t get rid of it. It was the most detailed documentation of any portion of her life, and destroying it would be like destroying a piece of herself.

Sighing with a profound sense of unrest, she forced herself to concentrate on Christmas dinner again.

For someone who had initially tried to ignore the holiday season, Andrea became very involved in it. Happy about it, too. She shopped for Lucas’s present in Rocky Ford’s stores, and enjoyed seeing the decorations the town had put up. Several businesses had outside speakers playing Christmas music, and every window in every shop was bright with holiday displays.

On impulse, she went into the drugstore and spent an hour picking out Christmas cards to send to the friends she had left behind in California. Leaving without a goodbye hadn’t bothered her at the time; her mind had been overloaded with grief over her mother’s death and the shocks that had come after. But, in retrospect, her hasty, unannounced departure seemed terribly rude, particularly so with the man she had been dating, Hale Jackson. Not that theirs had been a serious relationship. Hale was an aspiring actor, as vain as they came and too involved in his career to give any woman top billing. But he knew a lot of people and had been fun to go out with. She picked out an especially nice card for Hale. She also bought a load of decorations for the tree she planned to purchase when she was finished with her other shopping.

It surprised Andrea to walk past the Men’s Western Wear store a few minutes later and see a sign in the window among a nativity scene and various Christmas decorations. It said, in bold print, Under New Management.

Lola Sheridan, Charlie’s niece, must have sold her store, Andrea thought with a small frown. The Fanons managed to always stay one step ahead of her, forever altering or changing their status in some way. Those changes shouldn’t disturb her peace of mind, but they did. The Fanons seemed to be a close-knit family, and maybe that was why she couldn’t bring herself to barge in and boldly pronounce herself to be one of them.

Of course, she’d known nothing of Charlie’s family when she first got to town, and she’d done no bold announcing then, either. The truth, bitter as it was to accept, was that she was a spineless wimp when it came to Charlie. And it hurt because she wanted to meet the father she’d never known so much she ached from it. She wanted him to open his heart to her, to welcome her into the family.

But would he?

Swallowing the sudden lump in her throat, she hurried on past the Men’s Western Wear store, returned to her car parked down the street and got in.

But she wouldn’t let herself rush home to lick her wounds, as she had done so many times in the past months. Rather, she bravely lifted her chin and drove to the vacant lot on which someone was selling Christmas trees.

The area had gone through several thaws and snowfalls since that first storm, and Andrea’s yard was patchy with old snow and bare ground. It pleased her to see softly falling snow on Christmas Day.

By noon, she had everything well under control for a oneo’clock dinner. She had told Lucas they would eat early, watch old movies on TV, which she knew he liked, then have turkey sandwiches and leftovers for supper. Lucas had seemed thrilled with her plans, and she expected him to come knocking on her door at any minute.

She had dressed festively for the day, choosing a striking dress and high-heeled pumps in the same emerald green color and gold jewelry. Anytime she wore green, her eyes appeared more green than gray, and the color also brought out the red in her dark auburn hair. Feeling good because she looked good and was going to have company for dinner, she puttered in the kitchen with an ear cocked for Lucas’s arrival.

When the phone rang at twelve-fifteen, she nearly jumped out of her skin. Rarely did her phone ring. Other than Lucas, no one in Rocky Ford had her unlisted number. But why would he be calling today? “Maybe it’s one of those bothersome salespeople,” she muttered under her breath as she walked over to the kitchen extension and picked it up with a cool, unapproachable “Hello?”

“Andrea, this is Lucas. Um…something’s come up.” Lucas uttered what sounded like a nervous laugh to Andrea, and her heart sank. Surely he wasn’t going to tell her that he wasn’t coming. The house was permeated with good smells from the turkey roasting in the oven and the other dishes she had prepared, the tree had turned out so pretty with its twinkling lights and tinsel, and she was so emotionally ready for a genuine Christmas celebration that disappointment was already digging its claws into her.

“Is something wrong, Lucas?” She tried to speak normally, but she was so afraid he was going to cancel coming to dinner that she sounded forlorn. Wincing at her childishness, she added in a stronger voice, “What came up, Lucas? Are you all right?”

“Heck, it’s not me, honey. It’s Shep.”

Shep? Who or what was a Shep? “I don’t understand, Lucas.”

“Shep, Andrea, my son. He got here about thirty minutes ago. We’ve been unloading his car ever since. Mighty fine surprise it was to open my door and see him standing there. But…well, I’m a mite confused about the day now. I mean, you’re expecting one guest and—”

Andrea broke in. An enormous sense of relief made her sound breathless. “Lucas, I have enough food prepared for ten people. By all means, bring your son with you.”

“You’re a sweet lady, Andrea. That’s what I was hoping you’d say, and I was pretty sure you would, too. What I’m not sure of is if Shep will agree to go with me. I’m calling from my bedroom while he’s doing some unpacking. Had his car loaded to the roof. Must have brought every stitch he owns. You see, he’s here without his wife. Ex-wife, I should say.” Lucas’s voice had taken on a saddened note. “They’re divorced, Andrea, and Shep’s not very happy about it.”

“Oh, dear,” Andrea murmured sympathetically. “It happened awfully fast, didn’t it?”

“Apparently not. Shep just never said anything to me about their troubles when we talked on the phone. I thought everything was great with them. I still don’t know what really took place, but as I said, he’s only been here about a half hour. Anyhow, you’re sure it’s okay to bring him along?”

“Of course I’m sure. I’ll put another place setting on the table, Lucas. Do your best to convince Shep to come, and I’ll do my best to make him feel welcome.”

“Thanks, Andrea. You’re a peach.”

She put down the phone, realizing that Lucas had not said he would come even if Shep wouldn’t. With a helpless sensation, she looked around her small but efficient kitchen. The house had come furnished, but she had added her own pretty touches to it, making it hers. Today the counter was loaded with food, and so was the refrigerator. Telling Lucas that she had enough to feed ten people had been only a slight exaggeration. Easily she could feed six or seven.

And if Lucas didn’t come and help her eat some of it…?

Resentment for a man she’d never met suddenly assailed her. It was only natural for Lucas to be thrilled to see his son, but Dr. Shepler Wilde just showing up on his father’s doorstep on Christmas Day with no warning whatsoever seemed darned inconsiderate to her. Would it have killed him to stop at some point in his journey north to call his father? For that matter, since his marital troubles weren’t all that sudden, he could have informed Lucas weeks ago of his situation, and that he was coming home for Christmas.

He was probably exactly the kind of man she’d thought of before—an arrogant, self-centered jerk. And with a wonderful man like Lucas for a father, too. Andrea’s lips thinned in potent disapproval. She had desperately yearned for her own father for as long as she could remember, and Shep Wilde treated his like dirt. Life certainly wasn’t fair.

Well, she had no choice but to finish making dinner. There were potatoes to mash and gravy to make. If Lucas came, wonderful. If he didn’t…?

“Merry Christmas,” she mumbled as she set to work while battling a surge of self-pity. She wallowed in it for a few minutes, then cast it aside. She wouldn’t die from eating alone, and she could watch her movies alone, as well. Maybe she’d take a walk in the snow after dinner. It was coming down in huge, fluffy flakes, once again turning her yard into a wintry fairyland.

Determinedly she marched into the living room and inserted a disk into her CD player, a gift she had bought for herself. Christmas music wafted from the speakers, and she adjusted the volume so she could hear it in the kitchen. Then she returned to her cooking.

Such was life, she thought with a sigh as she stirred the gravy. Rather, such was her life, she amended in the next breath. After all, if she wasn’t such a flaming coward, she might be spending Christmas with Charlie and the rest of the Fanons.

Maybe she deserved to eat alone.

Intent on her own thoughts, she was startled to hear someone knocking on the back door. “Lucas,” she said with instantaneous relief and excitement. He had come, after all. Whether his son was with him or not was immaterial. Lucas was here, and that was all that mattered.

Hurrying to the door, she pulled it open. It was Lucas, all right, and he wasn’t alone. Standing just a little behind was the most handsome man Andrea had ever seen. As tall as his father, Dr. Shepler Wilde was lean where Lucas was heavy. His hair was thick and black and stunningly attractive with snowflakes in it. She assessed him quickly. Wide shoulders in a black leather jacket. Long legs in faded jeans. A white turtleneck sweater. Naturally dark-toned skin. A chiseled, sexy mouth. A strong chin and high cheekbones. Brooding, dark eyes.

She swallowed nervously, suddenly feeling giddy as a schoolgirl. “Come in before you turn into snowmen.” Stepping back, she held the door open for them to enter.

Lucas was beaming proudly. “Andrea, this is my son, Dr. Shepler Wilde. Shep, Miss Andrea Dillon.”

Andrea offered her hand. “Very nice meeting you.”

Shep’s hand around hers gave her an unexpected jolt. “Nice of you to have me over,” he said without so much as a hint of a smile.

His coolness was so unexpected, Andrea flushed. Swiftly she withdrew her hand from his. “Give me your jackets, and I’ll hang them in the closet.”

Both men removed their jackets and handed them to her. “Come on into the living room, Lucas,” she said, heading in that direction herself to hang the jackets in the small guest closet near the front door.

“Your tree is beautiful,” Lucas said. “Isn’t it nice, Shep?”

“Very nice,” Shep agreed.

Closing the door of the closet, Andrea turned to her guests. “Please sit down. Dinner will be ready in about ten minutes. Just make yourself comfortable while I finish up.” She had dinner wine chilling in the refrigerator, but no other spirits in the house. If Dr. Wilde enjoyed a beforedinner drink, she had nothing to offer him. He would have to content himself with a comfortable chair, a view of the tree and the lovely music on the CD player.

Smiling weakly, she hurriedly returned to the kitchen. Her heart was pounding. Good Lord, she thought, disgusted that she would be so physically affected just from meeting a man. Especially when he hadn’t shown any signs of the same affliction with her.

But he was newly divorced and unhappy about it. What kind of person would he be if he could forget that sort of pain in the space of two minutes just because another woman had entered his life?

Placing her hands on the edge of the counter, she let her head drop forward. This was ridiculous. She had to calm her racing pulse and behave like an intelligent human being.

But no man she’d ever met had done to her what Shep Wilde had just from a handshake. She’d felt electricity throughout her entire body during those few seconds, and it wasn’t disappearing as quickly as she would like it to. As she lifted her head to stare out at the falling snow, her eyes narrowed slightly. How could she have felt so much without him feeling something, too?

Oh, Lord, that was all she needed right now, to fall for a guy who viewed her as all but invisible.

Shaking her head, she began mashing potatoes.

Two

Lucas couldn’t compliment her enough during dinner. Andrea thanked him nicely and pretended that everything she cooked turned out so well. In truth, she had barely known how to boil water when she arrived in Rocky Ford. Teaching herself to cook had been one of the activities she’d used to pass time while she waited for the right moment to approach Charlie. Lucas had eaten with her before, and her first efforts at putting a full meal on the table hadn’t been all that great.

But he was a man with an appetite and had seemed to like whatever she’d served him. Today even she thought dinner was delicious. The turkey was moist, the gravy rich and smooth, and the side dishes perfect complements to the meat. Dessert was pumpkin or apple pie, but both Lucas and Shep declined when she offered it, declaring they were too full to eat another bite.

She believed Lucas wholeheartedly. He had filled his plate twice and had appeared to enjoy every mouthful. Shep, however, had eaten very little. He’d taken small portions and eaten them slowly, as though there was no hunger anywhere in his system and he was merely being polite.

“We’ll have dessert later,” Andrea said with more cheeriness than she felt. Shep Wilde had had her sitting on the edge of her chair throughout the meal, although he had certainly done or said nothing to cause such an unusual reaction. Lucas had chattered away a mile a minute, talking about the weather, Shep’s long drive from California and Andrea’s good cooking, and she had tried her level best to keep the conversational ball rolling. But even Shep’s voice affected her—the few times he’d spoken during the meal…and looking directly into his dark eyes actually gave her goose bumps.

The two men were waiting for her direction, she realized. Rising, she smiled. “Why don’t you make yourselves comfortable in the living room while I put away the food? I’ll only be a few minutes.”

Lucas pushed back his chair. “I’m going to help with these dishes, young woman. And don’t try to argue me out of it. Shep, you go on into the living room and relax. Andrea and I will have everything shipshape in ten minutes.”

Shep looked at Andrea standing there, awaiting her guests’ decisions with an anticipatory expression, and felt a stirring in his groin. He’d felt the same thing the minute he’d set eyes on this woman and, in fact, all during the fine meal she had put on the table. When Lucas told him that he’d called the lady next door, and that she had said to bring him along to dinner, he had immediately gotten a mental picture of an older woman, someone around his father’s age. He’d only agreed to come because Lucas had been so insistent. It had been a long time since he’d seen his father, and it was Christmas. Otherwise, he would have refused. His mood wasn’t one for meeting new people, even his father’s friends.

Then the door to Andrea’s house had opened, and he’d felt that zap of awareness. Miss Andrea Dillon was young, beautiful, stunningly dressed and as sexy as any woman he’d ever seen. In fact, she was probably sexier, because sex was what he’d thought of all during dinner. Not that he’d arrived in Rocky Ford with any silly ideas about sex and women. Lord preserve him from another heartrending relationship. Natalie’s desertion had all but destroyed him, and the last thing he wanted was another woman. In truth, he had wondered if he would ever want another woman.

But here was fate, or something, causing his traitorous body to respond to the first attractive woman he’d met in ages. It really was too much, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to do anything about his ludicrous physical reactions to the sensuous Miss Dillon. It made him angry that he couldn’t seem to eradicate those reactions, but he wasn’t blaming Andrea and the anger was aimed at himself. After all, she couldn’t help being beautiful, sultry and sexually intriguing. Nor was it her fault that his hormones were raging as though he were an adolescent ogling his first unclothed female breast.

Drawing in a long breath, he nodded and headed for the living room. Andrea left to help his father with the dishes.

In the living room, Shep sat in an easy chair from which he could look out the front window at the lazily falling snow. It was a pretty sight, but the Christmas music on the CD player was emotionally wrenching. Thoughts of the past few months deluged him: learning by accident that Natalie was seeing another man; confronting her with expectations of denial and hearing instead, “I want a divorce”; then the arguments; the pleas on his part; Natalie’s rock-solid determination; his last-ditch effort to win her back by willingly signing a property settlement giving her everything she asked for; her departure for Mexico to get it over with quickly; and finally the day she returned home with divorce papers and told him to pack his personal possessions and get out of her house.

There was no hope left; it was truly over. He had moved into a hotel and tried to resume his life. But most of his patients were rich, spoiled people who spent a great deal of their time fighting old age, and he had found himself canceling appointments. The reason for his successful practice was a bitter pill to swallow. Natalie’s father was a major producer in the movie industry. He had sent stars, directors and everyone else he knew that wanted a new nose, tummy tuck or some sort of surgical procedure, to Shep’s office.

Shep had dreamed of a much different practice before meeting Natalie while he was still interning. He had wanted to limit his vocation to accident victims or people born with congenital defects, people who truly needed reconstructive surgery.

But he’d let himself be dazzled by the life-styles of the rich and famous, and had opened a fancy office in a fancy building and had started making incredible amounts of money from breast implants and face-lifts. For a man from a small town in Montana, it had all seemed like a dream-a gorgeous wife, famous friends and more money than he could spend.

It wasn’t more than Natalie could spend, however. The truth was that he had worked his fanny off, having become addicted to those astonishing fees. But no matter how much money he put in the bank, it had a way of disappearing. With what Natalie had received in the divorce settlement, he found himself close to being broke. Disillusioned, unhappy with his work and broke. Yes, he could have geared up and built up his bank account. But nothing had held much meaning anymore.

A week ago he’d parceled out his remaining patients to other doctors, closed his fancy office, packed his car and headed for Montana. Not to burden Lucas with his personal problems, God forbid, but to give himself some breathing space. And maybe to find himself again, to figure out what he wanted to do with the rest of his life.

Staring almost hypnotically at the falling snow, he felt the emptiness within himself, the lack of purpose and ambition and the strangest urge to do nothing but watch snow fall or something equally mundane from this day forward. What had working hard gotten him? Why exert so much effort when this was the result?

He could hear Andrea and his father in the kitchen, moving about, talking to each other and laughing every so often. With a wall between him and Andrea, he could think of her as just another person. During dinner, he had not had that luxury. Her every movement had impacted his libido. Her eyes were especially beautiful, heavily lashed and that striking shade of green, and he doubted if her face and figure had ever been altered by a surgeon.

But there was something about her that didn’t ring a hundred percent true. Take that comment Lucas had made about her being from California, for instance. Shep hadn’t been contributing much to the conversation and had been feeling a little guilty about it—after all, he was a stranger she’d invited into her home and deserved some courtesy no matter how down in the dumps he felt—so he had pursued the topic his father had introduced. “What part of California?” he had asked Andrea. His eyes narrowed as he remembered how cleverly she had evaded a straight answer. And how she had immediately changed the subject.

Now, why would she avoid an innocuous discussion of her life before moving to Rocky Ford? And what had brought her to Montana in the first place? Did she have family here? If so, why wasn’t she spending Christmas with them?

Yes indeed, there was something a little off kilter about Miss Dillon.

Shep sighed. Hell, she could have a scandalous or even a criminal past, and he wouldn’t care.

He suddenly couldn’t sit there any longer. Rising, he went to the closet for his jacket and put it on. Taking a pair of leather gloves from a pocket, he began working them onto his hands as he entered the kitchen.

“I’m going for a walk,” he announced.

Andrea was loading the dishwasher, and Lucas was putting a covered dish into the refrigerator. They both became statue still and looked at him.

“Uh…sure,” Lucas finally said. “Enjoy yourself, son.”

“We’ll have dessert and coffee when you get back,” Andrea said.

He wanted to tell her not to wait for him, that he didn’t know when he’d be back or even if he’d return to her house at all.

But he only nodded and walked out the back door.

Andrea and Lucas looked at each other. “He really is very unhappy, isn’t he?” she said quietly.

“I’m afraid he is,” Lucas said, sounding deeply concerned.

“Lucas, if you want to go after him, please don’t feel as though you need to keep me company.”

Lucas placed the dish in his hand on a refrigerator shelf and closed the door. “I think he wants to be alone, Andrea. He’ll talk to me when he’s ready.”

“Well…I guess you know your own son.”

“I used to,” Lucas said in a saddened tone of voice.

Andrea began wiping down the counter. “He came to you, Lucas. In his time of trouble, he came home. That has to mean something.”

Lucas’s countenance brightened a little. “Yes, he did, didn’t he?”

Andrea looked out the window above the sink. “It’s snowing harder. Oh, it’s lovely.” But it was also freezing cold out there, and she couldn’t help worrying about Shep Wilde walking around in such weather in an unhappy daze.

But he was a grown man and none of her business.

Briskly she turned to Lucas. “Everything’s in order in here. Thank you very much for the help. Now, shall we retire to the living room? I’ll build a fire in the fireplace, and we can either watch a movie or just sit and relax until Shep gets back.”

They started for the living room. “How about if I build the fire and you pick out a movie?” Lucas said.

Andrea smiled. “If that’s what you want, sure. What’ll it be, a Western, a mystery or a romantic comedy?” She opened the cabinet that contained her collection of movies.

Lucas was already bending over to lay a fire. “Anything you choose is fine with me.”

Andrea sighed inwardly. Lucas didn’t care what movie she put in the VCR because of Shep out walking in the cold and snow.

Well, wasn’t that where her mind would be, as well?

Today was not turning out at all the way she’d planned. But had any Christmas of her life been storybook perfect? Sighing again, she grabbed a movie without checking its title and inserted it in the VCR.

The best part of the next few hours was the fire crackling in the fireplace. Andrea didn’t even attempt to concentrate on the movie, and twenty minutes into the film, Lucas was dozing. She looked at him with great affection. Men were such strange creatures. As worried as Lucas was about his son, he could still fall asleep in front of the TV.

She should be so lucky. Insomnia had been a problem ever since coming to Rocky Ford. When she was worried or upset, she simply couldn’t sleep soundly, and rarely did she go to bed without something heavy on her mind. And she couldn’t remember the last time she’d napped during the day.

The movie ended. Using the remote control, Andrea rewound it and then ejected it from the VCR. Getting up, she laid chunks of wood on the dying fire. It blazed again, and she sat on the hearth rug to watch the flames.

“I must have dozed off.”

Turning to look at Lucas, she smiled. “You had a very nice nap.”

“That was darned rude of me.” Lucas got out of his chair and went to the window. “Any sign of Shep?”

“Your taking a nap was not rude, and no, I haven’t seen Shep.” Her sympathies were with Dr. Wilde. She had never gone through anything remotely similar to his divorce, but she was able to imagine how alone and lost one might feel over such an experience.

She got to her feet. “This is a good time to give you your present.” Ignoring Lucas’s startled expression, she went to the tree, reached way under it and came out with a gaily wrapped package.

“Andrea, you shouldn’t have,” Lucas said. “I didn’t get you anything.”

“And don’t you dare be embarrassed by it.” Andrea held out the package. “This is something I wanted to do and I didn’t expect anything in return.” She placed the gift in his hand. “Open it.”

“This is really nice of you.” In spite of her admonition to not be embarrassed, Lucas looked a little red in the face. But there was also a twinkling excitement in his eyes, making Andrea smile.

“Open it, Lucas,” she repeated.

“Okay.” Returning to his chair, he tore off the wrapping and removed the cover of a small box. “Well, look at this,” he declared.

It was a soft, wool-blend maroon scarf, quite beautiful and much more expensive than what Andrea had planned on spending when she thought of buying him a Christmas gift. Running across it in a nondescript little shop with an eclectic assortment of merchandise had been a surprise, as Rocky Ford’s stores normally didn’t carry what she considered fashionable items of clothing. She would have bought it at any price. Lucas’s best jacket, which he’d worn to her house today, was a dark gray wool, and she’d known at first sight that the scarf would be perfect with that jacket.

“How’d you know I needed a new scarf?” Lucas asked, holding it up and fingering the fabric. “Andrea, this is really nice. As soft as can be. Never could stand scratchy things around my neck.”

“You like it, then?”

“Sure do.”

“I’m glad. I thought it would go well with your gray jacket.”

Lucas grinned impishly. “I’ll look so smartly turned out, I’ll probably have to fight off the ladies.”

Andrea teased right back. “I’m sure you’re already having to fight off the ladies.”

Lucas chuckled. “Not anymore, honey.” Carefully folding the scarf, he laid it in its box. “Well, I feel like a darned fool for not thinking to buy you something, but thank you. I appreciate your thoughtfulness.”

“You’re very welcome. I appreciate your friendship.”

* * *

While this pleasant scene was unfolding in Andrea’s house, Shep was pacing his father’s home. He had walked in the heavy snowfall for about an hour, when he’d started feeling the cold, then bypassed Andrea’s place in favor of Lucas’s.

But he was feeling guilty about it. And besides, the house was so empty. Regardless of his personal upheaval, it was still Christmas, and it wasn’t a good feeling to be alone on Christmas. Shep’s guilt increased. How many Christmases had Lucas spent alone? Shep knew how badly he had neglected his father for years, and Lucas was just next door. He should be spending the day with him, wherever he was.

It finally got to him enough that he again donned his jacket and gloves and plowed through the snow to Andrea’s back door. Swearing that he was going to be friendlier than before—his problems were neither Lucas’s nor Andrea’s fault, and they shouldn’t have to endure his foul moods—he knocked.

Lucas’s face brightened. “That must be Shep.”

“Must be,” Andrea agreed. “I’ll go let him in.” It felt as though her heart were doing flips as she hurried through the house to the kitchen door. It was incredibly exciting to be so dizzily attracted to a man, even if she wished he weren’t Shep Wilde and newly divorced.

She opened the door with a smile, expecting to see him covered in snow and half-frozen. But he was neither; rather, appearing as though he had just come from next door as he had earlier today.

She knew he had gone to Lucas’s home instead of taking that walk. He really wasn’t a very nice person, was he? Coming up with a lie like that to get away from her and his father? She knew he’d been bored and impatient with the day’s quiet activity, but for his father’s sake it certainly wouldn’t have killed him to pretend to enjoy himself.

Her expression became frosty. “Come in.”

Then the biggest surprise of the day thus far occurred. Shep smiled. Not just smiled, but smiled at her! Andrea suddenly couldn’t breathe, and the frost in her expression melted into a puddle of totally female emotions. “Do come in,” she repeated huskily, this time sounding sincerely welcoming.

“Thank you.”

Shep stepped inside and Andrea shut the door. My Lord, she thought. If his smile could make her breathless, what would a kiss do to her?

“Shep?”

Lucas was calling from the living room.

“I’m here, Dad.” Removing his jacket, Shep looked at Andrea. “I can hang it up myself, if it’s all right with you.”

Anything you want to do is all right with me. “Yes, of course. Go right ahead.”

They paraded into the living room. Shep spotted the fire. “That looks great.” He hung his jacket in the closet and immediately went over to the fireplace.

“You were out there a long time, son,” Lucas said. “You must be cold clear to the center of your bones.”

Shep turned around and stood with his backside to the fire. “I wasn’t walking all the time I was gone, Dad. I went home for a while.”

So, Andrea thought, inordinately pleased. He wasn’t a liar, after all. And he probably hadn’t been trying to avoid her and Lucas; he’d merely needed to be alone. Poor guy. Since he was so broken up over it, the divorce must not have been his idea.

“Well,” Andrea said brightly. “Is anyone hungry?”

“I could use a turkey sandwich,” Shep said, giving her another of those dazzling smiles.

“I can always eat,” Lucas said with a chuckle.

“Great. I’ll put everything on the table. It’ll only take a few minutes.” Breathless again, Andrea sped to the kitchen. The day had taken a marvelous turn, simply because Shep Wilde was smiling instead of scowling. His hike in the snow had worked some sort of miracle. Or maybe he was finally glad to be home for Christmas.

Or maybe, just maybe, he had come to grips with liking her. With finding another woman attractive so soon after his divorce. Hadn’t she noticed his brooding glances at the dinner table?

Hastily she sliced turkey and set the table, all the while thinking about Shep. Okay, she admitted, so she had it bad for him, and it could be very dangerous business. But what if he felt the same about her? Would a rebound romance be dangerous if both parties felt the same overwhelming emotions for each other?

“Don’t put the cart before the horse,” she muttered under her breath in a sudden burst of common sense. A few smiles were hardly an admission of attraction. And what was sadder than a person—man or woman—falling for someone who didn’t reciprocate? She really must watch her step around Shep, especially when Lucas was looking on. Appearing foolish or pathetic in Lucas’s eyes would be unbearable. No, she could never let that happen.

Squaring her shoulders, she went to the doorway between kitchen and living room. “Everything’s ready,” she said with an inviting smile. “Come and eat.”

Andrea enjoyed listening to Lucas and Shep talk about old friends in Rocky Ford while they ate. It occurred to her that Shep could be asking about this person or that just to make conversation, but she still read it as a good sign. At least he was trying, which was a lot more than he’d done before.

Most of the people mentioned were strangers to Andrea, but her ears pricked up and her pulse began racing when Shep asked, “And how are the Fanons doing?”

Lucas grinned. “That’s right. I’d forgotten you were sweet on Lola Fanon for a while.”

Shep grinned, too. “In high school, Dad. A very long time ago. Anyhow, do they still live around here?”

“Sure do. Charlie lives in the same house he always did, as a matter of fact. You know about his coffee shop, don’t you?”

“You took me there the last time I was home,” Shep reminded. “About eight years ago,” he added quietly.

Andrea saw a glint of remorse in Shep’s eyes. Obviously, he was regretting his long absence, probably feeling guilty over neglecting his father for eight long years.

Well, he should feel guilty, she thought to herself rather fiercely. If she ever connected with her father, she would never neglect him.

She cleared her throat. “I’ve run across the Fanon name several times. What kind of man is Charlie?”

Lucas answered. “Real nice guy, Andrea. I doubt if there’s anyone in Rocky Ford who doesn’t like him. If they’ve met him, of course.”

“What about the rest of the family?” Shep asked. “Does Ron still live here?”

“Ron’s dead, Shep,” Lucas said gently.

“Dead! What happened?” Shep inquired, obviously stunned.

“He died while in the military. I don’t know the particulars, but Charlie went to Germany—that’s where Ron was stationed—and brought his body back here for burial. Brought his wife and little boy with him, too. Candace-that was Ron’s wife—remarried about a month ago. Maybe a little longer.”

Shep fell silent for a few moments, then inquired quietly, “And Serena? Lola?”

“They’re both married and living in the area. Serena’s a lawyer with an office in the Ridgeport Building. Her husband, Travis Holden, owns a string of car lots all over Montana. Lola married Duke Sheridan and they, of course, live on the Sheridan Ranch. I’m sure you remember the Sheridans.”

Lucas’s knowledge of the Fanon family surprised Andrea, though she didn’t let on. But she was learning more about life in a small town all the time. Even if people weren’t close friends, they seemed to know what everyone else was doing. This was new to her. Sandra had always shied away from small communities, preferring cities and elegant neighborhoods where people were rather standoffish. Actually, Andrea had to admire her mother. While her life-style hadn’t been wonderful for her daughter, she had certainly gotten around, and however often they had moved, it had never taken Sandra very long to insinuate herself into a new neighborhood and become a part of it, however reserved and aloof the residents were.

And she’d been so beautiful. So stylish, so chic. Small wonder she’d attracted men by the droves.

Andrea sighed. While she’d obviously inherited some of her mother’s best physical features, she certainly hadn’t gotten much of her intrepidness. Nothing had ever daunted Sandra as facing Charlie Fanon daunted Andrea.

Around six, Lucas said it was time they went home. Andrea hated to see them go, but she put on a smile and saw them to the door. Just before leaving, Shep shook her hand again. “Thank you for today, Andrea. You’re a gracious hostess.”

Looking into his dark eyes, she again felt that constrictive band around her chest. If she counted every man she’d met in her whole life, Shep Wilde was the most handsome. And no other man had ever caused such volcanic reactions in her system, not even those she had liked and dated.

Lucas broke up the handshake by holding up the box he was carrying. “Thanks again for the gift, Andrea.”

She saw Shep look at the box, but he said nothing about it. Father and son walked out the door and called goodnights. It was dark outside and still snowing. The biting cold had Andrea quickly closing the door behind them.

Then, sighing, she went to the living room and added wood to the fire. It was too quiet now, and she put another CD into the player. Seated in her favorite chair, she laid her head back and thought about the day. Overall, it had been a good Christmas, she decided.

Far better than many she remembered.

Shep and Lucas hurried into the house. It wasn’t a night to linger outdoors, and Lucas’s modest home was warm and cozy. After hanging up their jackets, they sat in the living room. Shep could tell that his father wanted to ask questions, and he decided to make it easy for Lucas by telling him everything without prompting.

“She left me for another man,” he said bluntly.

Lucas looked stunned and incredulous. “Shep, are you sure?”

Shep gave a sharp little laugh, one with no humor in it whatsoever. “I’m sure. A friend told me she was seeing someone—using every subtlety in the book to say it without actually saying it. I called him a liar, backtracked and said he must be mistaken and then talked to Natalie that night, expecting denials and anger that anyone would intimate such a thing about her.” Shep’s expression became bitter. “She said it was true and asked for a divorce.”

Lucas was still stunned. “But, son, a woman who is happy and contented with her marriage doesn’t go looking for another man.”

Shep’s lips twisted cynically. “Maybe they don’t in Rocky Ford, but southern California isn’t Rocky Ford, Montana, Dad.”

“Are you telling me you never had a clue that something was wrong before your friend mentioned it? Incidentally, I don’t have a lot of respect for someone who’s supposedly a friend carrying tales like that.”

“If there were clues, I never picked up on them,” Shep said. “As for Jeff talking about Natalie like that, wasn’t he trying to do me a favor? It was damned hard for him to broach the subject, and he risked our friendship to let me know what was going on. I don’t hold anything against Jeff, Dad. It would have been worse for him to know about it and not say anything.”

Lucas shook his head sadly. “Don’t see how it could have been any worse, Shep. All this time, I believed your marriage was solid as a rock and that both you and Natalie were happy. Now, here you are, divorced and miserable. You two should have had kids.”

“So we could have fought over their custody? Kids don’t hold a marriage together, Dad. Only love does that. Apparently, Natalie didn’t love me.”

“She did at first, didn’t she?”

“I thought so,” Shep said, letting his bitterness show again.

“Well, at least you have your practice,” Lucas said, obviously assuming Shep would find comfort in his work.

Shep wasn’t ready to talk about that. He didn’t know what he was going to do about his career. He’d spent so many years in getting an education, and they’d been hard years. Lucas had helped out financially with what he could afford, but a medical education, especially when it included a specialty, was extremely costly. Those were years of doing without, of barely getting by, years when he’d done very little beyond studying, working at whatever job he could find to earn a few extra bucks and living without enough sleep.

He’d been interning at Los Angeles General Hospital, on the very last leg of his education, -when he met Natalie Draper.

Her world had dazzled him. She had dazzled him. Beautiful, vivacious and without a care in the world, Natalie had had hordes of friends, most of whom had seemingly existed for one reason—the next party, whether it be a fundraiser, the opening of one more elegant or campy restaurant, or film-industry events, such as the Academy Awards gala. Always dressed in designer clothing, Natalie missed nothing that Hollywood and its icons had had to offer.

It had taken Shep a while to believe that a fashionable, wealthy, gorgeous young woman like Natalie Draper would want him. He’d definitely been head over heels for her, but a penniless intern was so far from her realm of existence, it had been a massive shock to finally realize that she was truly serious about him.

She’d taken him home to meet Daddy—and Daddy’s third wife. Brad Draper hadn’t been nearly as charmed as Natalie was by an almost doctor with a yet unknown future. But Shep still to this day had to hand it to Brad; he’d put aside his own misgivings and eventually welcomed him into the family.

Ten years, Shep thought with another onslaught of bitterness. Ten years down the drain. He was back to square one, or damned near. No wife, no practice and very little money weren’t exactly consoling, especially when he hadn’t seen it coming.

What kind of fool had he been?

He suddenly realized that Lucas was watching him with an uneasy expression. But why wouldn’t his dad be uneasy? He hadn’t given him any kind of answer to his comment about him at least having his medical practice, had he?

Well, he had none to give. When he himself knew what was coming next, he’d be glad to inform Lucas about it. Getting to his feet, he stretched and yawned. “I’m beat, Dad. I’m going to hit the sack.”

Lucas frowned. “Well, sure, son. Go right ahead.” Before Shep made it out of the room, he added, “What do you think of my next-door neighbor?”

“Andrea’s a very nice person,” Shep said evenly, omitting deliberately so much as a hint of the libidinous urges she had aroused in him all day. “Good night, Dad. See you in the morning.”

“Good night, Shep. Sleep well.”

Three

Andrea slept well, but she awoke at 8:00 a.m. with prickly feelings of dissatisfaction. It had happened before in Rocky Ford, and she always blamed the sensation on impatience with herself over forever delaying that meeting with Charlie Fanon.

This morning, she wasn’t thinking of Charlie. The image in her mind’s eye was most definitely that of Shep Wilde. Too handsome, she told herself, even while tingling all over because he was so handsome. But Shep wasn’t the reason for the uneasiness she felt, either.

It took only a few minutes to come up with a logical diagnosis of the problem: there was no reason to get up. She could stay in bed for the rest of her life, and who would care? This doing nothing, or almost nothing, had to stop. It seemed she had made an unconscious decision to live in Rocky Ford, whether or not she ever introduced herself to Charlie, so it was time to start living.

And she knew precisely where the starting line was, too.

Throwing back the covers, she got up and padded barefoot to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. A glance out the window to her backyard had her grimacing. Before she could put her plan in motion, before she could go anywhere, for that matter, she had to shovel the driveway again. It wasn’t snowing this morning, but there were at least six inches on the ground.

Returning to her bedroom, she dressed in warm clothing and lined boots. Heading for her small garage and the snow shovel, she stopped and blinked in surprise. Her driveway had already been shoveled!

Lucas, bless his heart, must have done it before she was even awake. What a sweetheart.

She would thank him later on today, she thought as she returned to the house. After she had called on Kathleen Osterman, the owner and publisher of the Rocky Ford News. Yes, she was going to ask Ms. Osterman about a job. If there was nothing available at the newspaper, she would look elsewhere, but her first choice was definitely the local paper.

After coffee, toast and orange juice in the kitchen, she showered, did her hair and makeup and dressed in an attractive gray wool pantsuit. Under the jacket was a plain black sweater with a high neck. Her jewelry was gold earrings, a gold-and-black onyx pin on the lapel of her jacket and her gold watch. Stepping into her best black leather boots, she checked her appearance in the full-length mirror on her closet door. Satisfied with her reflection, she donned a long, dark gray overcoat, pulled on black leather gloves, slung her black leather bag over her shoulder and left the house for the garage.

Raising the door of the garage, she got into her car and started the engine. Giving it time to warm up, she thought of how differently one lived where winter was a true season. Cars needed extra antifreeze and snow tires, and people needed a wardrobe of warm clothing. She had never owned a winter coat before this year, for instance. Fashionable ski suits, of course, but nothing like what she was wearing today. She had found some of her cold-weather clothes in Rocky Ford, and some she had purchased from catalogs. Her overcoat, for example, had been purchased from an exclusive and very expensive house of fashion through their catalog.

When the heater was blowing warm air, she quit her meandering thoughts and backed out of the driveway to the street. Granted, there were butterflies in her tummy over this unannounced visit to Ms. Osterman, but they were flutters of excitement. Just the thought of working again, having something to do and somewhere to go, was exhilarating. She should have looked for a job long before this.

Andrea drove to the newspaper office, found a parking space and walked into the one-story building. She loved it at once, from its unique smell of newsprint to its air of productivity. It wasn’t large and it wasn’t noisy, but newspapers were created here. She would love to be a part of it.

The front of the building was one large room. Several doors drew her attention; one had to lead to the pressroom. Two women sat at desks, one of whom was talking on the phone. The other looked up.

“May I help you?”

Andrea smiled. “I’d like to speak to Kathleen Osterman. Is she in?”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“Is an appointment necessary?”

“No, but I thought she might be expecting you.”

“She isn’t, but I really would like to see her.”

“I’ll check with her. What’s your name?”

“Andrea Dillon.”

The woman dialed a number on her phone. “Kathleen, there’s an Andrea Dillon out here who would like to speak to you. Do you have time to see her now?” After a beat, the woman said, “No, she didn’t say what it was about. Should I ask her?” There was another pause, then she said, “Fine, I’ll send her back.” She put down the phone and looked at Andrea. “She’ll see you. It’s the door on the left. Just go on in.”

The woman had pointed to the back of the room. “Thank you.” Andrea rounded a short counter and crossed to Ms. Osterman’s office door. But she couldn’t just walk in, regardless of the instructions she’d received.

Drawing a breath, she knocked.

“Come in” came from the other side of the door. Though deep, gravelly and rather strident, it was unquestionably a female voice.

Andrea took another quick breath and opened the door. Her initial impression was of clutter. Papers, books and file folders were piled on anything that would hold them. Her gaze moved to the woman behind an enormous desk. “Ms. Osterman?”

“Ms. Dillon?” Kathleen sounded amused over their greeting. “Any relation to the Dillons who live on Green Street?” She gestured to the chair at the front of her desk. “Come in and have a seat.”

“Thank you.” Andrea shut the door and went to the chair. Settling herself, she smiled. “To answer your question, no, I’m not related to any Dillons in the area.”

“Really.” Kathleen sat back and blatantly sized up her visitor.

Andrea was doing a little sizing up herself. Kathleen Osterman was an extremely attractive woman, in her middle fifties, she estimated. Her clothing—a pair of taupe slacks and matching sweater—looked expensive. So did the cut of her short blond hair, her makeup and her jewelry. Several rings with large diamonds adorned her long, thin fingers. Her face was more striking than pretty, and her eyes—a deep, dark blue—looked hard as marbles.

This lady was no cream puff, Andrea decided.

“So, what can I do for you, Miss Dillon?” Kathleen asked, sounding blunt, businesslike and to the point.

“I’m looking for a job, Ms. Osterman.”

Kathleen cocked an eyebrow. “And you think I have an opening?”

“Do you?”

“Do you know anything about the newspaper business?”

“Not as much as I would like to know,” Andrea said. She was getting too warm and she slid her arms from her overcoat and let it fall back against the chair. “I worked for the Los Angeles Times for almost a year, but I have to be truthful. I was more of a secretary and a gofer than anything else. I want to be a reporter, Ms. Osterman. I’m a good writer, although the only paper that ever published anything of mine was the student gazette at the college I attended. I have clippings of my articles in my purse, if you’d care to see them. Incidentally, I majored in journalism,” she added as a final note. “And graduated with honors.”

“Back up a minute. You worked for the Times for almost a year? If your heart’s so set on journalism, why did you leave the Times? You had your foot in the door of one of the most widely read papers in the country. If you’re as good a writer as you claim, eventually you would have worked your way into reporting. I think an explanation is in order, Miss Dillon.”

Andrea maintained an impassive expression, although her heart had started beating faster than normal. She couldn’t be honest and she didn’t want to lie, but there was no way to avoid giving this woman some sort of explanation.

“My mother passed away last February. Her estate demanded my full attention. I would have stayed at the Times if not for that.” It was as close to the truth as she could get.

“Your mother’s estate brought you to Rocky Ford?” Kathleen looked skeptical.

“In a roundabout way, yes. Things have settled down now, and I’d like to go back to work.” Andrea smiled. “But something happened during my stay in Rocky Ford, something I certainly didn’t expect when I came here. I’ve grown to love Montana and this little town. The thought of returning to L.A. is not at all appealing.”

Still appearing skeptical, Kathleen picked up a cup and drank from it. “Coffee,” she said. “Would you like some?”

“No, thank you.”

Kathleen set down her cup. “Let me tell you how it is, Miss Dillon. My paper comes out only three times a week, and—”

“I know,” Andrea murmured. “I’ve bought and read it since the day I came to Rocky Ford.”

“Then you also know that we pick up only the most urgent national and international news from the wire services, and that most of the paper is dedicated to reporting events that would only be of interest to the locals.”

Andrea nodded. “I think it’s a wonderful format for a small-town paper. Those residents interested in moredetailed stories of world events can find them in any number of other newspapers.”

Kathleen’s expression became slightly sarcastic. “So glad you approve.”

Andrea flushed. “I’m sorry if I sounded patronizing. I merely intended to convey my own enjoyment of reading your publication.” Working for Kathleen Osterman would not be easy. But then, there was probably no reason to worry about it. Ms. Osterman wasn’t exactly elated over this interview.

“Getting back to how my organization functions, I’m the only reporter on the payroll, Miss Dillon.”

Startled, Andrea blinked. “You write every article yourself?”

“I didn’t say that. I said I’m the only full-time, salaried reporter. I have three employees. You saw two of them on your way in. Grace Mulroy handles the classifieds, without which we wouldn’t stay in business for long. The woman who sent you to my office is a jack-of-all-trades, secretary, receptionist, delivery person, et cetera, et cetera. You name it, Sally does it. My third employee is the pressman. Now, besides those three very essential people, I hire a photographer when necessary and buy free-lance articles. Anyone can bring something in. If I think it’s good enough, it goes in the paper. I pay sixty-five cents a line. Can you live on sixty-five cents a line, Miss Dillon? Assuming your articles are published, of course.”

“Money isn’t an issue,” Andrea said quietly, disliking this topic immensely. It really was no one else’s business that she had enough money to live very comfortably for the rest of her life. “But I need something to do. Naturally, your newspaper was the first thing I thought of when I came to that realization. What kind of articles are we talking about?”

Kathleen shrugged. “Weddings, funerals, any sort of social function, accidents. Anything, actually. Let me warn you. If you’re thinking of free-lancing, you’ll have lots of competition. Especially with weddings and events of that nature.”

“I understand.” Andrea began working her arms back into her coat. “Well, thank you for seeing me.”

“You’re disappointed.”

“I won’t lie about it, Ms. Osterman. I came here hoping for a full-time job.”

Kathleen got up from her chair. “You want to know something, Miss Dillon? I have a feeling that the most intriguing story you could write for this paper would be about yourself.”

Andrea rose. Kathleen definitely had a nose for news. It was blatantly obvious she wasn’t satisfied with Andrea’s explanation of why she was living in Rocky Ford.

Andrea forced a laugh, as though Kathleen’s curiosity was funny and certainly of no consequence. Then she picked up her purse. “Again, thank you for your time.”

“Will we meet again, Miss Dillon?” Kathleen’s agate eyes bored into Andrea.

“You’re asking if I plan to free-lance. I don’t know, Ms. Osterman. I’m going to think about it. Goodbye.”

Andrea felt Kathleen’s hard blue eyes on her back all the way to the front door of the building. Apparently, the publisher had left her office to watch her departure, probably with a rapidly working mind just teeming with all sorts of questions.

Well, Kathleen had a right to her curiosity, just as she had a right to her disappointment. Heading for her car, she got in and drove away.

Instead of going home, however, she made several turns until she came to Foxworth Street. Then, as she’d done a hundred times in the past seven months, she slowly cruised by Charlie’s Place. It always looked the same and it always affected her emotionally. Inside that sprawling structure was her father. Physically, it would be so simple to park and enter Charlie’s coffee shop. It was at that point that her imagination usually failed her.

This morning was slightly different, though. Lucas pronouncing Charlie Fanon a nice guy yesterday was fresh fodder for thought. Nice guys didn’t turn their backs on their offspring, did they?

But he had turned his back on her, before she was even born.

That was the wall she kept hurling herself at and never quite managed to scale. If only her mother would have talked about Charlie. Sandra could have told her so much.

Andrea’s heart hardened a little. Sandra hadn’t been fair with her, not fair at all.

Disappointed with her talk with Kathleen and despondent about Charlie again, Andrea pointed her car toward home.

That afternoon, Andrea knocked on Lucas’s door. When he opened it, she put a large covered pan in his hands. “I meant to give you this last night, Lucas. It’s turkey and pie. There’s no way I would be able to eat all the leftovers.”

Lucas beamed. “Thank you. Would you like to come in?”

Still unnerved over the morning’s depressing events, Andrea sighed. “No, but thank you. I’m going to run now.” She’d thrown on a sweater for the short hike from her house to Lucas’s, and was feeling the cold. She started to go, then remembered something. “Oh, by the way, thanks for shoveling my driveway again.”

“You’re welcome, honey, but I didn’t do it. Shep did.”

“Shep did?”

“He was up early and did mine before first light. When I got up, he was pacing like a caged tiger. I told him if he wanted some more exercise to go next door and do yours.”

“Well,” Andrea said, surprised and unable to conceal it. In a few seconds, she had gathered her wits enough to add, “Tell him thanks for me, okay? See you later, Lucas.” Shivering, she dashed home.

In the kitchen, she stood over the furnace vent to warm up. It was a gray day and much too cold to be running around outside in only a sweater. She hadn’t caught a cold or a flu bug yet this winter, though both were certainly going around, and getting herself chilled was a foolish risk.

But she’d wanted to take that food over to Lucas and simply hadn’t thought beyond that. More accurately, she’d been preoccupied, mostly thinking of her chat with Kathleen and wishing she could write something so brilliant, it would knock Ms. Osterman’s costly boots right off of her undoubtedly elegantly pedicured feet.

The problem, of course, was a topic to write about. Since she knew so few people in Rocky Ford, weddings and other social events weren’t a consideration. Besides, she wasn’t even a tiny bit interested in writing that sort of piece, although if Kathleen had deigned to hire her as a full-time reporter, she would have written anything.

Free-lancing was a whole other ball game. Of course, she could chuck the whole idea and seek some other kind of work. Deep down, though, she wanted to prove something to Kathleen Osterman. Prove herself, probably. Some people brought that urge out in others, and, in Andrea’s opinion, Kathleen was definitely in that category—hard as nails, exceedingly sure of herself and not particularly sympathetic toward would-be journalists.

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