Jack was looking for something else today—a pretty face, a soft voice, a sassy smile.

Mike’s daughter was the complete package. To hear Mike tell it, his daughter was a fair ranch hand herself, not to mention good student, good teacher, good cook, good mother, good-looking—hell, you could zone out, tune back in and Mike was still talking about Lily.

She’d given him her name, caught his eye, and he’d been damn grateful for the shelter of his hat brim. Felt like he’d touched a live electrical wire. Crazy. First time he’d felt that kind of sensation absent a power source. Unless that’s what she was.

Damn, what was he, sixteen?

Dear Reader,

The hero of my first Mills & Boon® Cherish™ was a rodeo cowboy. I’ve since put dozens of cowboys between the covers of Cherish—bull riders, ropers, horse trainers, ranchers and cowboys for hire. Jack McKenzie is what’s known as a “day worker.” He’s a highly skilled ranch hand who hires out to as many ranchers as he can fit into his schedule.

Times have changed since my husband and I were in the cattle ranching business, and few operations can afford the full-time “hired man.” The small-scale cattleman faces seemingly overwhelming competition from mega ranches. It’s a classic David and Goliath story, and the day worker is one of David’s best allies.

With no shortage of work for an experienced cowboy during calving season, Jack is hard-pressed to devote his time to one aging Montana rancher who’s too stubborn to admit that his health might be failing. But Jack knows what it’s like to be a loner. His sympathy for his boss is only the beginning of this cowboy’s commitment when Mike’s daughter, Lily, reluctantly returns home.

I love writing about cowboys, and I know you love reading about them. I hope you’ll check in with me on Facebook, my website kathleeneagle.com, and my blog, ridingwiththetopdown.wordpress.com. We’ll talk cowboys and Indians, horses and kids and books, books, books.

Happy tales!

Kathleen Eagle

About the Author

KATHLEEN EAGLE published her first book, a Romance Writers of America Golden Heart Award winner, in 1984. Since then, she has published more than forty books, including historical and contemporary, series and single title, earning her nearly every award in the industry. Her books have consistently appeared on regional and national bestseller lists, including the USA TODAY list and the New York Times extended bestseller list.

Kathleen lives in Minnesota with her husband, who is Lakota Sioux. They have three grown children and three lively grandchildren.

One Less
Lonely Cowboy
Kathleen Eagle

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For David and Shawna

May you live happily ever after

Chapter One

Iris reminded her mother of a hatchling popping out of its shell. She’d slept through much of western North Dakota, missed crossing the state line, and now she was about to get her first look at her new stomping grounds. Her new airspace. Plenty of air, plenty of space—two more points Lily Reardon could add to the plus side of the next pointless discussion about the move they had to make. It didn’t matter that Iris only bothered with one minus—leaving her friends—against Lily’s multitude of pluses, or that the discussion was no longer a discussion but a fait accompli. It would come up again, mainly because Iris was waking up in more ways than one.

She blinked, head bobbing atop a long, slightly wobbly neck as she emerged from the white folds of her old Minky blanket, still the hatchling for another second, maybe two. Blink, blink. No judgment in the big blue eyes that searched first for assurance that Mommy was nearby. Last year’s Iris. Lily’s little girl.

Then the curtain came down in those eyes.

“Where are we?”

It wasn’t the question that was hard to take; it was the tone. It was like the landscape surrounding the second-hand Chevy that was one missed payment away from getting repossessed: beautifully straightforward and unforgiving. The answer wasn’t important.

“We’re almost there.”

Iris drew a deep breath as she took a look at either side of the two-lane road. Winter had receded from the brown grasslands, but spring wasn’t ready to put up any green shoots. Nights were still too cold, and the sky was still untrustworthy. The beauty would come. They only had to wait a little longer, drive a little farther. But Iris could only know what she was seeing here and now. Montana was Lily’s birthplace. It had narrowly missed being Iris’s.

“I hope there’s a ‘there’ there,” Iris said. “I don’t see any here.”

Lily chuckled. Whether trying her patience or plumbing her trove of trivia, her daughter loved testing her. Being both mother and teacher, Lily lived in double jeopardy.

Lily took the bait. “You know where that comes from, don’t you? ‘There’s no there there’?”

“Gertrude Stein.”

Lily smiled at the road ahead. Point for knowing the answer, extra point for not saying duh. They passed a turn marked by the sign that told Lily they were getting close. Iris had stopped noticing signs the day before, two or three hundred miles back. She’d been asleep when Lily had turned off the road at a truck stop near Dickinson, North Dakota, when she’d started nodding off herself.

“She was talking about California,” Iris said. “Can you imagine?”

“Oakland.”

“Whatever.”

Point docked on Lily’s mental scoreboard. But this wasn’t the time for a tally.

“Cali-freakin’-fornia,” Iris said, as though she knew the place firsthand. “If there’s no ‘there’ there, I quit.”

“Quit what?”

“The journey. Life’s a journey, right? Literally and figuratively both. And this—” Iris made a sweeping gesture toward the brown fields and foothills beyond the windshield. “—is just a layover. Who goes to a place like …” She sucked in the deep breath her dramatic sigh required. “Back to my original question. Where are we?”

“As far west as your thirteen-year journey has taken you so far. We just passed Lowdown, Montana.”

“Who goes to Lowdown, Montana, Mom? Who? Oh, God, we do.” Iris slid back down, tucking her chin into her blanket. “We two, we unhappy two, and we don’t even stop in Lowdown. We drive right through on our way to Bottom Feeder Farm.”

“The Rocking R Ranch.”

Iris groaned. “That is so Roy Rogers, Mom.”

Lily laughed. “And what do you know about Roy Rogers?”

“Enough to beat Rachel Varney at TV trivia. We were running neck and neck until we hit the fifties, and then I—” She slid one palm across the other and whistled through her teeth. “Because I never miss American Pickers on TV.”

“You and your grandfather will get along just fine. He never throws anything away.” Except people, Lily reminded herself. But her quick follow-up reminder—water under the bridge—helped her keep her foot on the gas pedal. Her father would be glad to have them. His words. No qualifiers, no pregnant pauses.

“OMG, speaking of Roy Rogers …” Iris straightened in her seat. Lily chuckled. Iris hadn’t noticed old man Tyree’s fence post boots until they’d passed the first few. Old boots capped steel fence posts along the right of way for at least a mile, kicking their weathered heels at heaven. Iris swung her head back and forth, counting under her breath as they passed each one. Finally she laughed. “Is this what passes for recycling here?”

“I never thought of it that way.” Some of the leather looked like beef jerky. Lily wondered whether her father’s neighbor was kicking up his heels somewhere beyond the big sky. “The exhibit has been growing ever since I can remember. Supposedly the man who lived here started it when he got stuck up to his boot tops during a gully washer and he hung them up there thinking the rain would clean them off.”

“Did it?”

“I don’t even know whether the story’s true.” Lily glanced over at her daughter, hiking her eyebrows. “Could be a rural legend. Think Snopes dot com would have something to say about that?”

“I think it’s called ‘Lies My Mother Told Me.’”

“Oh, come on. Lighten up.”

“You kids with your boots on the ground,” Iris mocked in a crackly voice. “We had to leave ours on the fence post so we didn’t lose them in the mud. We walked to school.” She wagged her forefinger at the windshield. “Twenty miles each way. Barefoot.”

“Only when it rained,” Lily said with a smile.

“Carrying your Roy Rogers lunch boxes, which are now worth more than— Don’t tell me this is it,” Iris said, as Lily flicked the turn signal. The last fence post boot was a speck in the rearview mirror. A break in the four-wire fence was marked by a sparsely graveled approach, a new cattle guard and an old sign. “Mom, there’s nothing here. Just … Omigod, you weren’t kidding. The Rocking R Ranch. Really.”

“Really.”

It was hard to keep a straight face, but Lily had to put forth the effort. Otherwise she wasn’t sure whether her mouth would turn up or down. She hadn’t seen much of her father since she’d left the ranch over thirteen years ago. She’d seen him twice, to be exact, and both times he’d been the one to initiate the contact, and pay his only child and grandchild a visit in Minneapolis. It had been four years since the last visit. She’d told herself she was going to make this trip with Iris one of these days, just as soon as the right day came along. It never had.

Lily wasn’t kidding herself thinking this was the elusive right day. On the right day she would have been at the top of her game, returning on terms of her choosing. If she’d made the time when times were good, this trip might not be so difficult. But she hadn’t. Once she’d lost her job, times had gone from tight to tough to agonizingly tense, but she wouldn’t call for help from her father until she had no other choice. And no home plus no money equaled no other choice.

So here they were, and here, at the very least, was a place to be. The house hadn’t changed—a box with a top—but it promised a roof over their heads, over doors that opened and closed, over quiet rooms with safe beds. It wasn’t home anymore, not since she had walked away carrying Iris inside her. But it was a place to be. Nothing quite like an eviction notice to put a necessity once taken for granted into perspective. All they had now was each other, and Iris would never have less. She would never be alone, certainly not by Lily’s choice. Pride didn’t go down easily, but it did go quietly. For Iris’s sake.

“Does the Rocking R Ranch have wi-fi?” Iris’s voice had lost all its edge, all its humor. Could this be the sound of a thirteen-year-old’s reality setting in?

“I don’t know.” It wasn’t a lie. She didn’t know for sure, and what were the words I doubt it really worth?

“It didn’t occur to me to ask,” Iris said. “Until now. Not that it would have mattered.”

Lily stared straight ahead. They were nearing the place she’d last seen in the rearview mirror of a friend’s pickup. Not a boyfriend’s pickup. The driver hadn’t been the father of her unborn child. Molly Taylor had driven her to Glendive, where she’d boarded a Greyhound bus and headed for Minneapolis, which hadn’t been exactly what Mom had it cracked up to be. Nothing ever was. But it was a place to be until Lily took matters into her own hands and made it more than that. She’d worked her butt off to get her degree and her own place and her teaching position, and she’d almost gotten tenure. Almost. But then she’d lost her job, and she hadn’t been optimistic about the prospect of getting on at another school. You pay your dues so you don’t have to take any more chances. She’d had her standards, her requirements—damn it, she’d earned the right to hold out for more. At the very least for nothing less. Security, maybe?

Okay, subsistence.

How about survival?

She had fought it, cursed it, and finally she’d made her peace with reality. But she wasn’t ready to force the whole reality enchilada on a thirteen-year-old. There had to be some scrap of fantasy left for Iris. Lily couldn’t provide internet, but surely she could come up with something wonderful and wireless.

She pulled the car around back of the house, and there was her something.

“Horses, Iris.” The old barn’s new metal roof glinted in the sun. Two sorrels stood in the small pasture outside the corral, where a man was working a beautiful black-and-white paint on a lunge line. “You’ve always wanted to ride,” Lily said. “Now’s your chance.”

“Oh.” Iris released the buckle on her seat belt as she leaned closer to the windshield. “Hey. That’s not Grandpa.” Closer still. Lily wondered whether it was time for an eye exam. “Mom, who’s the cowboy?”

“No idea.”

“Really? Good.”

Iris got out of the car, shut the door a little harder than necessary and met her mother on the other side. Lily was pretty sure she’d made the entire move without taking her eyes off the corral, not even for the motley-colored dog that darted out from behind the barn growling and then, at a glance from the cowboy, quickly retreated to the fence and sat. Lily glanced back at the cowboy, whose connection with the dog was clearly below the radar.

“Okay, this place is suddenly looking a lot better.” The comment was sotto voce, not that the cowboy seemed to be paying them any mind. “His pants are kinda tight and geeky, but maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”

“They fit.” Lily gave her daughter a who-are-you? look. “Not that it matters.”

Iris squinted, gave a tight smile. “I saw him first.”

“Iris, really.”

“You keep telling me to look on the bright side. I finally found one.” She turned back to the corral. The man was concentrating on his horse. “We should go introduce ourselves.”

“We should go present ourselves to your grandfather. He knows we’re coming, but …” Lily put her arm around her daughter’s shoulders and urged herself by urging Iris toward the back door of the house. “I wasn’t sure exactly when.”

After several knocks the door still stood closed.

“Is it locked?” Iris wanted to know.

“We’ll wait for him to let us in.” Lily could feel the doubt, the disbelief, the adolescent impatience growing on her left flank. Or was it really her own uncertain center, the feel of her tail stuck between her legs? Her head was telling her to get on with it—the first few moments would be the hardest—but the strings to her limbs were tied somehow to the knot in her stomach. She glanced at Iris, who questioned her with a puckered brow.

“You can try it if you want.” With a gesture toward the doorknob, Lily took a step back.

Seriously? the voice in her head scolded.

“He’s your father.” Iris’s frown deepened. “He’s expecting us, isn’t he?”

“Yes, but … I should have called him before we left. Or when we stopped in Fargo, maybe.” Lily gave her head a quick shake. She was making a complete fool of herself. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Trying to time it just right, I guess. After chores, before bed. You don’t want to …” … get him on the phone when he’s been drinking. She turned away from the door and looked elsewhere. “Let’s ask the cowboy.”

“Oh, let’s.”

Iris’s delight was understandable. From a distance the man was promising. He knew what he was doing, and he looked good doing it. Smooth, sure, confident. The horse didn’t question it, and neither did the dog. Lily wanted some of that right now. The confidence, not the man. But the closer they got, the better he looked. His long, lean body, his deft hands, his handsome face all kept faith with the promise he’d shown at a distance. Lily was sure he’d noticed them, but the easy-loping paint had his full attention.

A man who minded his business. Always impressive.

Iris was the first to call out to him. A bold “Hi!” No shrinking violet, her daughter, but Lily sensed a little deflation when the cowboy spared no more than a glance and a nod. She laid her hand on Iris’s shoulder and pressed on. The ball was in Mom’s court now.

“We’re looking for Mike Reardon,” Lily called out as she stepped up on the bottom corral rail and folded her forearms over the top one.

A low-pitched, authoritative “Ho” changed the horse’s pace. The lunge line went slack, and the cowboy finally turned about half his attention to the women. “You came to the right place at the wrong time. He went into town.”

“I’m Lily, Mike’s daughter. He went to Lowdown?”

“I’m Iris, the granddaughter.” She’d scrambled up two corral rails, putting her head and shoulders above her mother.

“Jack McKenzie.” He touched a gloved finger to the brim of his black hat. “The hired hand.”

“Really. Grandpa has a hired hand.” Iris glanced down, grinning at her mother.

What a difference a cowboy made, Lily thought.

“That sounds so cool. Like a real ranch,” Iris added.

“Like Roy Rogers?” Lily teased.

“The Double R Bar. I know my TV trivia.” Iris wasn’t going to let the man go too easily. “What are you hired to do, exactly? Are you like a real cowboy?”

“Iris …”

The cowboy cracked a smile, which changed the whole attitude of his chiseled face, put a spark in his dark eyes and gave his full lips potentially delicious animation. He let the rope slide loosely through his grip as he turned his back to the horse and approached the fence. The line went slack as the horse followed, seemingly of its own volition. “As real as they come these days. I’m all about chasing cows.” He pulled off his right glove and offered Lily a handshake. “Mike talks about you a lot. Does he know you’re coming?”

“I just talked to him a couple of days ago. Yes, he said we should …” She watched him offer Iris the same greeting, and it occurred to her for the first time that the man was American Indian, at least in part. It was the handshake—a brief, warm, easy touch offered to everyone present, adult and child alike.

She glanced up, suddenly anxious. “Is he okay?”

“He’s doing good, yeah. He doesn’t—”

“I know. He says he goes to meetings and all that. Just making sure we aren’t walking into …” Lily clamped down on her tongue. Too much information. The drinking was something she would deal with like an adult. She’d been to a few meetings herself. Adult children of people who shouldn’t have been parents. The group had another name, but that was what it came down to. She gave half a shrug and offered a tight smile. “Making sure nothing’s changed since, you know, he invited us here.”

The cowboy answered her shrug in kind. “I just work here.”

“Of course. I’m sorry. I should have—”

“That’s a great-looking horse,” Iris put in cheerfully. “Is he Grandpa’s?”

Jack grinned. “She’s mine. Mike lets me keep my horses here. The filly’s just getting settled in. Got her out of that wild-horse adoption program down in South Dakota.”

“She’s wild? She doesn’t look wild.”

He laughed. “You can’t tell by looking. Kinda like people.”

“So you can’t ride her?”

“Not yet.”

“What’s her name?”

He turned his smile to his horse, tipped his head as though he expected the answer to come from her. “Yeah, we haven’t quite decided.”

“I’m named for a flower,” Iris said. “So’s Mom.”

“Was that his idea?” Jack nodded toward the house. Iris and Lily turned their heads, following the direction of his gesture and becoming aware of the soundless arrival of the man they’d been looking for. “Hell of a romantic, that guy. Nice flower garden you’ve got here, Mike.”

Parking rules must have changed, Lily thought. Don’t want no vehicle left in the front of the house. The less of our business people can see, the better.

Her father’s appearance registered hard on the heels of that thought. Maybe he walked more quietly than she remembered because he’d lost some weight. But he’d gained a ready smile, and Iris went straight to him.

“A bright spot for sure.” His voice had gone the way of his walk—quieter, a little raspy. But any vigor the years had taken away, the blue eyes that greeted Lily’s made up for with a vibrancy she hadn’t seen before. “Real nice surprise, too,” he said as he accepted Iris’s eager hug in the way of a man who was trying something out that he’d spent much of his life avoiding.

“Surprise?” Lily wasn’t going to compound the awkwardness with more hugging.

“You didn’t say for sure. I mean …” He gave Iris’s back a parting pat. “I’m glad you’re here. Look at this one, will you? You were just …” His leathery hand measured four feet up from the ground. “Maybe less. Growing like a weed.”

“A flower,” Jack said, turning to Iris. “What kind did you say?”

“Iris.”

“Iris and Lily.” He touched a finger to the brim of his hat. “Pleasure.”

“Pleasure?” Iris whispered.

“To meet us,” Lily explained, as they watched the cowboy amble across the corral, the paint homing in on his shoulder and following along like a well-trained dog. She glanced at Iris. She knew cowboys. Had known. One cowboy, anyway. It could be mesmerizing, just watching them walk with fluid, natural ease. “They don’t like to waste words.”

“They? Who’s they, Mom. Don’t tell me you’re being—”

“Men.” Lily chuckled. “Some men. Westerners. Right, Dad?”

“We don’t like to waste anything. We’re conservative. Or conservationists.” He gave Lily an oddly hopeful look. “Which is it, English teacher?”

“I’d say you’re both.” She wasn’t sure what he was hoping for. The opening for a touchy-feely moment between them had come and gone. “I guess I should’ve called again, but I thought you knew we were on our way after you gave us a green light.”

“I was gonna fix up the bedrooms. Yours hasn’t changed since you left.” Mike laid his stiff hand on his granddaughter’s shoulder. “You want your mama’s old room, girl? It’s small, but it’s—”

“Iris, Dad. I’m ‘girl.’ She’s Iris.” Lily tried to exchange a glance with her daughter, but Iris wasn’t doing her part. The cowboy and his horse were more interesting.

Yeah, okay, so maybe they were. But even so, Lily wasn’t letting anyone call Iris girl.

“Haven’t had a girl on the place since you left, and now there’s two. Gonna take some getting used to.”

“We’ll make it easy on you, Dad. I haven’t forgotten how to drive a tractor.”

“You can drive a tractor?” Doubting Iris was back.

“She can, but she won’t have to,” her father said. “Drivin’ tractor’s about all I do lately. Jack takes care of the heavy lifting. If you can still bake that strawberry rhubarb pie you used to make, that’s all I ask.” He winked at his granddaughter. “What’s your specialty, g—Iris?”

Iris laughed. “Guy-ris? How’s that, Mom?” She raked her finger through her strawberry-blond bob. “I’m letting my hair grow out. Does Jack live here?”

“I wish he did.” Mike glanced at the weathered red barn, where the cowboy and his filly had taken refuge. The dog was gone, too. “Jack’s a day worker, and he’s in high demand. I can’t afford him full-time.”

“What’s a day worker?” Iris wanted to know.

“Cowboy for hire. Jack’s a top hand. I let him keep his horses here, and like I said, he takes care of the heavy stuff. That’s where he lives.” Mike pointed to a long white gooseneck trailer, hooked up to a red dually pickup that was parked upwind of the barn.

“Isn’t that for horses?”

“Part of it is.” Mike folded his arms across his narrow chest. “He’s a gypsy, Jack is. That’s his wagon.”

Iris smiled, casting a wistful glance toward the open barn door. “So that’s what Gypsies look like.”

“Jack’s part Chippewa, Cree, something like that. Métis, he calls himself. Mixed-blood. Gotta admit, I never paid much attention to the different tribes around here until Jack came along.”

“I had Native American friends in Minnesota,” Iris said. “That’s not the same as Gypsy.”

“All I know for sure is Jack McKenzie is one hell of a cowboy. Without him, I don’t know … I’d’a been in deep trouble this winter.”

“Is he married or anything?” Iris persisted.

“He ain’t married. Don’t know about anything. He’s got a couple kids up around Wolf Point. Goes up there to visit pretty regular.” Mike’s eyes narrowed in amusement. “You writin’ a book or somethin’?”

“He’s a hottie.” Iris gave her grandfather her recently perfected bug eyes. “Duh.”

“That’s it, Iris. No duh,” Lily said.

“Sorry, Grandpa.” Iris hung her head. Like the blush that followed, the hangdog posture was rare. “It just means, like, obviously,” she explained quietly.

“Hottie, huh?” Mike chuckled. “Like I said, it’s gonna take some getting used to, havin’ girls around.”

Mike helped them carry luggage and a few boxes through the kitchen, down the hall and into the bedrooms. Lily said more was being shipped—she hadn’t been able to fit everything in the car—but what she didn’t say was that she’d sold everything she could. She wasn’t looking forward to the day when the boxes arrived and Iris started missing things. Among other things, her bike had been sold, and all but three of her stuffed animals had gone to the Salvation Army.

Iris had left the apartment each time Lily asked for help sorting their stuff out. She’d been warned. If you leave it to me, you might be sorry later. Lily had been grateful for Iris’s silence on the matter, but she knew her daughter’s denial had been considerably deeper than her own. Sooner or later there would be tears.

It felt strange to haul her suitcase full of women’s clothes to their temporary quarters in the bedroom she’d painted pink and green when she was a teenager. Stranger still, the room hadn’t changed. Her father hadn’t been kidding about that. As much as he’d hated her music, he hadn’t taken her posters down. The Dave Matthews Band, Hootie and the Blowfish, beautiful Gloria Estefan, whose dress was the same shade of pink she’d chosen for her walls. The quilt her grandmother had made—the one she regretted not taking with her—the Breyer horses, the ruffled café curtains, everything looked the same as the day she’d hauled her pregnant self out to Molly’s pickup.

“Wow, Mom, this was you?”

Lily turned to find her daughter standing next to the chest of drawers and holding a silver picture frame. There were more frames on top of the chest. They hadn’t been there before, so she had to step up and take a look. With a nod she acknowledged her high school portrait, even though it was hard for her to recognize the carefree smile on the girl in the picture. Not the way she remembered the time the picture was taken. What had she been doing that day to put that look in her eyes?

“Wow. You were hot.”

Lily laughed. “Duh.”

“Nope. No duh.” Iris set the picture back on the bureau and picked up another one. Lily standing beside Juniper. “Whose horse is this?”

“Mine. Well …” Could she really say that? She’d left the horse, along with everything else in the room. “She was mine then.”

“Beautiful.” Iris set the picture back in its place and turned her attention to the rest of the array. “It’s almost worth it, coming here, just to see what you looked like when you were young.”

“When I was young?” Aloud Lily chuckled, but in her mind she puzzled over the mere fact that the pictures were on display, neatly framed.

“Okay, young-ger. How old were you here?” Iris pointed to a picture of Lily wearing a dress. A rare image for those days.

“About fifteen.”

“I hope I look this good when I’m …” Iris rested her hand on top of a small album. Lily recognized the flowered cover. “Are there any of my father?”

“I don’t know what’s still here, sweetie.” She knew she’d bought that album herself, but she couldn’t remember what she’d put in it.

Iris tapped her fingers on the cover. “You’re gonna let me find out for myself?”

“It’s your room. I didn’t take much with me when I moved out, so it’ll be fun to see what you dig up.”

Fun? Maybe that was pushing it. But oddly enough, the word wasn’t hard to say. It could be fun. The girl in the pictures looked surprisingly happy.

Iris turned to one of two sets of wall shelves her father had put up—grudgingly, as Lily remembered—for her books and other treasures. He’d complained about putting holes in the wall. “What’s all this about?” Iris asked.

“I was in 4-H. State fair competitions, mostly. Different kinds of …” Iris picked up a small silver horse. A big blue ribbon was looped around the base. “That’s for Western Pleasure.”

“‘Grand champion,’” Iris read aloud from the ribbon. She examined more ribbons, all dusty, mostly faded, but the recognition stamped in gold still shown. “First place. Second place. First place.” Grinning broadly, she looked up at her mother. “You got first place in rabbits?”

Lily couldn’t help smiling. “I raised rabbits one summer. Hoppsie and Poppsie.”

“For pets?”

“Well, that’s just it. There’s an auction at the end of the show, and you never know what the buyer will do with your prize animal. Maybe use it for breeding. Maybe for eating.”

“Really?” No more grin.

No “duh.”

“I raised a shoat the next year. You know, a little pig. Grew to be a big pig.” There was probably a picture around somewhere. Lily had half a mind to go looking for it. That was the half that made her smile. “Made a good profit on that guy.”

“What was his name?”

“I learned my lesson about naming 4-H projects. I called him Pig. Grandpa called him Bacon. Said that was a 4-H project he could really sink his teeth into. Threatened to bid on him.”

“Did he?”

“I didn’t stay around for the auction that year. I learned lots of good lessons in 4-H.” She was still smiling as she watched Iris reach for a black case on one of the other shelves. “That’s my clarinet. I was in band. When we get you enrolled in school, you can—”

Iris opened the case and lifted the instrument from its blue nest. “I’m not gonna join any Lowdown school band, Mom.”

“You’ll be going to Hilo Consolidated. Two districts merged—High Water and Lowdown. Let me see that.” Lily welcomed the familiar weight of the instrument. “You’ll be a Hilo Hawk. You soar high up.” She put the mouthpiece to her lips and actually got the thing to tweedle. “You dive low down.” Yes, she remembered how to sound a low note. The sound made her laugh. “It’s poetry in motion.”

“You never told me you could play the clarinet.”

“It’s not my best talent. I’m more of a …” Lily put the instrument back in the case. She was feeling a little cocky now. “Your mama’s not a playuh.”

“Then why do I have to be?”

“You don’t.” Lily sat down on the single bed. “If I could’ve kept one piece of furniture, it would have been the piano. You’re getting to be so good.” With a forefinger she traced a rose on the coverlet. “We used to have one here, but I’m sure your grandfather got rid of it. He’s not a music lover.”

“Why haven’t I seen any pictures of you as a kid until now, Mom?” Iris had taken one of the yearbooks down from the bookshelf. “I was starting to think there aren’t any. Like maybe cell phones didn’t have cameras back in your day.”

“I wouldn’t know. I didn’t have a cell phone until, I don’t know, after you were born.”

“But you did have cameras, right?”

“Your grandfather wasn’t much of a photographer.”

“Well, somebody took pictures of you, and you didn’t even take any of them with you when you left home.” Iris scanned the room. “And here they are, like some kind of ode to Lily Reardon.”

“An ode is a—”

“Poem, I know. And this all seems very poetic—your father keeping this room the way you left it. Are you surprised?”

Lily shook her head and shrugged, one gesture cancelling the other out. Surprised? Maybe a little. Did it mean anything? “I guess he had no use for the room. No need to clear it out.”

But you didn’t frame the pictures, Lily. Who do you suppose did?

“You sure you don’t want to keep your room?” Iris asked. “I can use the guest room.”

“You just want the double bed.” Lily smiled affectionately. “And it’s the spare room. For spare people.”

“Who would be guests. Seems like he’d let Jack use the extra room.”

Lily shrugged. “Jack isn’t a guest. He’s an employee, and he has his own place.”

“Yeah, but it’s a horse trailer.”

“Which is clearly what works for him.”

Iris spread her arms dramatically. “Omigod, he is such a hottie.”

“Iris!” Good Lord, where has my child gone?

“Just sayin’. It doesn’t hurt to look, does it?”

“It’s just that your last hottie was a baby-faced singer with a moppet haircut.”

“He spikes his hair now.”

“Cowboys don’t spike their hair.”

“I’m not looking at hair anymore. I’ve moved on. Speaking of which …” Iris glanced toward the open door. “Hey, Grandpa, is it okay if I change the posters?”

“That’s up to you and your mom.” Mike braced his forearm against the door frame. “We’ve got some supper out here, girls. Care to join us?”

“Dad, you don’t have to—”

“Mostly cold cuts and leftovers,” he said.

“Us, Mom,” Iris whispered to her mother, flashing a smile. “He said us. There’s a guest.”

“Just Jack and me. Room for two more.” He dropped his arm to his side. He looked uneasy, as though he were the visitor. “I cleared off the dining room table and set four places.”

“I’m totally famished,” Iris said, all breathless teenager.

“Famished,” Lily echoed quietly, slipping her daughter a skeptical glance.

Iris answered her mother with a perfunctory smile. “Totally.”

The table wasn’t quite clear, but it was long enough to accommodate stacks of magazines and paperwork at the far end and still give them plenty of room to eat. Lily recognized the red vinyl place mats with the bandanna pattern, and the plates with the apples on them hadn’t changed, either. She doubted he put them out every day. The little table in the kitchen was only big enough for two, but that was the one she and her father had always used after her mother left. That and the plastic plates and whatever utensils happened to be in the drainer.

“Cold drinks in the fridge. Everything else is …” Mike gestured toward the kitchen. “Pop and iced tea. Pretty much all we carry this time of day. But I can make coffee.”

“So can I, Dad. Iced tea sounds good.”

“Jack’s getting cleaned up.” He waved his hand toward the table. “Have a seat and dig in.”

“Oh, no, we’ll wait for Jack,” Iris said, even as she followed the first half of the invitation.

Lily offered her daughter a smile, props for minding her manners. Her father had always been a stickler for good manners.

Tense silence took over, disrupted only by the sounds of Mike drinking. Water. He gulped it down—always had—three thunderous gulps, just so you knew he was there at the head of the table. Lily adjusted the position of the fork her dad had placed beside her plate as she glanced furtively across at Iris, who was fooling with something beneath the edge of the table. No toys at the table. Who would say it first?

The sound of booted footsteps brought three heads up in unison.

Jack stopped short of the table, swept off his cowboy hat and bowed his head. And yes, he was a hottie. Black hair—watered down a bit, if Lily wasn’t mistaken—square chin, full lips, broad shoulders, working man’s hands gripping the brim of what some women might say was the best kind of hat a man could wear.

Mike laughed. “Hell, man, take a seat.”

Jack glanced over at Lily. Hard to tell, but she was pretty sure he was blushing. Iris had been so right. The man was easy on the eyes.

And the innocent look in his eyes right now was utterly charming. “Thought I was interrupting a prayer or something.”

“More like you answered it,” Mike said. “Nobody wants to start without you.”

“I thought you said cowboys didn’t spike their hair, Mom.” Iris, Iris, Iris. She slipped her phone—what else could it be?—into the pocket of her jeans. “What do you use? Gel or spray?”

“Water. It’s called hat hair, and I was trying to …” Jack raked his hand through his thick wet hair. He glanced at Lily and smiled. “Should I go out and come in again?”

“Oh, no,” she said. “We’re glad you’re here.”

Chapter Two

Jack studied the back side of the barn roof, mentally calculating the square footage of the section that had yet to be resurfaced. Mike was strictly a do-it-yourselfer, but there was no way Jack was letting him get up there. It had been at least two years since the front and nearly two-thirds of the back had been covered with galvanized steel roofing. Jack remembered feeling relieved when Mike hadn’t asked if he was available to add the roofing job to his schedule. He would have had to say no, and back then it might not have been too hard. Mike had two whole lungs back then.

It probably wouldn’t take Jack too long to finish the job if Mike would get him the supplies. Since Mike’s surgery, Jack had offered more than once. Hinted, more like. Jack didn’t have to go looking for work. If there were thirty hours in a day he could easily fill every one of them with jobs he would enjoy, which didn’t include roofing. Mike was the only person on God’s green earth he would even consider doing that kind of work for. But you didn’t offer to help Mike do anything he hadn’t hired you for. You might get away with quietly doing something he hadn’t asked for, but if he noticed, he would for sure try to pay you for your time. Jack had half a mind to buy the materials himself—sure would be nice to plug up the leaks—but he hadn’t figured out a way to apply sheets of metal to a roof without making any noise.

On the ground, sitting close to his right boot, Hula roused herself, pricking her envelope-flap ears. The dog’s nose was like an arrow, and Jack’s glance followed her direction. It was a moment before he heard footsteps, another before Mike rounded the corner of the barn. He looked tired, and he was clearly trying hard to hide some new pain that had him gimping lately.

He gave Hula a leathery hand to sniff, patted her head, hitched up jeans that were already riding too high, looked up at the roof and folded his arms over his withering chest. “I’m gonna get to that this spring for sure.”

“After we finish calving.” Jack followed Mike’s lead, and the two men stood side by side, arms folded, eyeing the barn roof.

“Absolutely. I’ll have plenty of time then. Before it gets too hot. I’m countin’ on you to help me with calving.”

“You’ve got me. First on my list. Whenever things get slow here, I’ve got Jensen and Corey on there, too, but you know you come first.”

“You ever thought about taking on a partner?”

“You lookin’ for work?” Jack grinned as he adjusted the brim of his hat against the sun. “If I ever thought about it, which I haven’t, I don’t know too many other men I’d take on.”

“How about women?” Mike slid him a straight-faced glance. “Just kidding.”

“You got one in mind?”

“If you ever decided to expand, you’d want to go equal opportunity.” Mike was back to studying the roof. He lifted a shoulder. “A woman can cowboy as good as a man.”

“She’s trained for teaching. That’s about as good as it gets, I’d say. Lots of schools out here have trouble hangin’ on to good teachers. But cowboy like a man?” Jack shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“I didn’t say like. I said just as good. Tell you what, Jack, my girl can ride.”

“When was the last time you said that to her?”

“I don’t know. Maybe never.” Mike slid one hand down the side of his left thigh and rubbed. “She didn’t need to be told. She knew what she could do, and she did it.”

“What’s going on with your leg?”

“It’s gettin’ old, just like the rest of me.”

Jack adjusted his hat again. “Did you skip your checkup again?”

“No. I did not. And if I needed a secretary I wouldn’t hire a cowboy.”

“So you finally kept an appointment.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I got it done.”

“And?”

“They tell me I’m gettin’ old.” Mike turned, hands on his nonexistent hips, a scowl on his leathery face. “Patch, patch, patch. You just wait, boy. It ain’t pretty.”

“Trying to imagine you looking pretty,” Jack said after a moment’s study.

“I never turned female heads the way you do, but I did all right. Lily’s mother was a real beauty. You can tell, can’t you, just lookin’ at my two girls?”

“Sure can. Just so I don’t put my foot in it, did you ever tell Lily about your surgery?”

“Hell, no. The docs took care of it. Chopped that sucker out, sewed me up, good to go.” Mike gave a flat-handed wipe-away gesture, folded his arms and turned away again. “So now you’ve got your answers. Yes, I saw the doctor, and no, I don’t talk to nobody but her about my innards. If you hadn’t hung around the hospital that time like you were waitin’ for spare parts, I wouldn’t be havin’ this conversation with you, neither.”

“Her?” Jack grinned. “I never met your doctor. Man, you are equal opportunity.”

“She’s gentle. The one who took the knife to my lung was a man. I told him, leave no stone unturned, take no prisoners, just kill the bastard. And he did. And I don’t plan on ever seein’ that man again.” His thin lips stretched into a wistful smile, momentarily erasing the creases around his mouth. “My regular doctor’s a woman. Early forties, nice voice, good hands, laughs easy.”

“Surprised you’d ever put off going to see her.”

“You maybe haven’t noticed, but my charm is limited. I gotta save it up.” Mike grinned, raising his eyebrows. “I know what I’m doin’.”

“Knowing and doing are two different things.” Jack lifted his gaze. “I could finish this roof in a day if I knew how you wanted it done.”

“Take you three days at least. We could do it together in a day.”

“All right. Order up the materials.” Jack looked down at his boss. “Today, Mike. Those calves start dropping, we need a dry barn.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to make work for yourself.”

“And if you said it I’d take offense, so it’s a good thing you know better.” Jack tapped Mike’s shoulder with the back of his hand. “Have we got a plan? ’Cause I’ve got things to do.”

“You’re not on my clock today.”

“What clock? I didn’t say I had work to do. I said things.”

“Messin’ with horses?”

“Messin’ with your daughter.” He allowed a two-count hush. “And horses.”

Jack grinned, and Mike gave him a watch-it-kid look, which was just what Jack was aiming for. He wasn’t messing with anybody except Mike, who needed a little poking every so often. He was the kind of guy who thrived when push came to shove, and Jack wanted him to thrive. Wanted him to keep on shoving until it was time to shove off. If Mike felt better keeping people in the dark, so be it. Jack had eyes like a cat.

“So you’re taking Lily for a ride?”

“Might be the other way around. She asked me.”

“Did she, now.”

“Asked what kind of horses you’re keeping around these days. Did I know of any she could start Iris on? Did I have time to take a ride with her and show her where the rest of the horses are?” He chuckled. “Shouldn’t’ve said that in front of Iris. They were heading out to get her enrolled in school, and the girl was already looking to put it off. Her mom was having none of that, so off they went.”

“Did Lily ask about her mare?”

Jack frowned.

“Pretty little palomino.” Mike glanced away, guiltylike. “I sold her. Lily left, and I just closed all the doors.”

“Water under the bridge, Mike. You can always get her another horse.”

“Not like that one. Lily raised her, trained her, showed her.”

“She can do that again.”

“They won’t be here that long. She’ll get things straightened around real quick. That’s the way she is. No grass growing under that girl’s feet.” Mike stepped back. The plan for the roof had been made. He gazed off in the direction of his pastures. “You’d better get a move on, check those cows.”

“Did that first thing. Nothin’ yet. Thought I’d head over to the Corey place. Calves are startin’ to drop over there.”

“I was thinkin’ I might need you here.” Mike nodded toward a distant ridge. “Bring them cows in closer.”

“I did that last week. They’re right over the hill, Mike. You want me to move them into the horse paddock?” The question was meant to make a point, not call for an answer. The two-acre horse paddock was in close but far out of the question. The cows needed space. They were fine where they were for now. “What else you got? I ain’t gonna stand around.”

“Not even if I pay you for it?” Jack returned a level stare. Mike knew better, so he sighed, surrendering with a chuckle. “Okay, I need you here because I’m … gonna order up the roofing materials.” He lifted one shoulder. “And go to a meeting.”

“Fair enough.”

“Hell, you don’t need me to tell you what to do, Jack. You know this operation as well as I do. I don’t worry about you standing around.”

“Get the hell going, then.”

Jack turned away smiling. Mike was big on meetings. The grass-fed cattle co-op he’d started kept him pretty busy these days, and keeping his mind busy was good for Mike’s health. That and staying off the bottle. Mike was still a step ahead of the devil in that regard. Jack would know if he wasn’t. He knew all the signs. To each his own struggle, Jack figured, but if Mike went down, Jack would know the reason why. And he would return Mike’s many favors, try to be his good neighbor. If it hadn’t been for Mike, Jack wouldn’t even know what that meant.

With his morning chores done, Jack had already put in what most people would call a day’s work, but he would have more work and another paycheck coming if he went over later and spent the afternoon at the Corey ranch. Corey was a friend of Mike’s. It was a neighborly friendship, but it was also a business association. Jack didn’t know much about either kind. He knew cousins and pals, and he’d walked away from some of each. Had to. It was the only way he could make any sense of who he really was or could become.

He remembered turning off the road the first time he’d followed the arrow on the sign. Lowdown, Montana. Population: 352, Give or Take a Few. He’d figured on taking a few. Up to that point, sobriety hadn’t been all it was cracked up to be. He’d been out of work for three months and sober the whole damn time. So he’d taken that good turn, then done another for a lonely old man, and he’d been rewarded with steady work, a secure place to park and a new kind of friend.

Jack upended the wheelbarrow at the edge of the compost pile and caught himself checking the approach as he reversed the wheel. He was looking for a little red Chevy.

Didn’t mean anything. People who lived out in the country always looked for cars. It was a rare enough sight. He could still hear his grandfather calling out Car comin’! from the yard. Footer, he would hollered if someone walked into sight, or two-footer if it was a couple, rider for a horseman. But the approach of a vehicle brought curious faces to windows and opened doors. Footers and riders didn’t take you anywhere. Drivers just might.

But Jack was looking for something more than just a car today. A pretty face, a soft voice, a sassy smile. Mike’s daughter was the complete package. Her interest in looking at horses made her even more interesting. They would have something to talk about besides the big city, which he knew nothing about. Anything else he could think of offhand was bound to destroy the zone defense he’d learned to play pretty well. Comfort zone.

But she had asked him to go riding. And horses always worked for Jack. He’d always been a good hand, even when everything else was slipping through his fingers. To hear Mike tell it, his daughter was a fair hand herself, not to mention a good student, good teacher, good cook, good mother, good looking—hell, you could zone out, tune back in and Mike would still be talking about Lily. But now that he’d met her, Jack wouldn’t be zoning out anymore.

She’d given him her name, caught his eye, and he’d been damn grateful for the shelter of his hat brim. Felt like he’d touched a live electrical wire. Crazy. First time he’d felt that kind of sensation minus a power source. Unless that’s what she was.

Damn, what was he? Sixteen?

Hula wheeled right along with him, sticking to his side through every move. That was a herding dog for you. The only true partner Jack had taken on since his divorce. She’d started out pretty useless—the runt of Mike’s Catahoula Leopard Dog’s last litter. Old Dancer had been devoted to Mike the same way Hula was to Jack. The two men had given her a proper burial under a big old gnarled cottonwood near the river. For Mike the dog had been irreplaceable. He’d gotten a nice chunk of change for the pick of the litter, then sold the rest except for little Hula. If Jack hadn’t known better, he would have accused Mike of saving her for him. The old man didn’t want to keep the pup for himself, but he couldn’t send her away, either.

Jack stored the wheelbarrow in the barn and surveyed the interior, alley to loft to rafters. The sun was leaking through the roof big-time. Nothing he could do about leaks of any kind without roofing. That metal sheeting was damn good stuff. Jack had built a simple pole barn on his own place years ago, back when he’d had his own place. He could do it again, better this time. Build it bigger and better in half the time, now that he knew what he was doing.

You know what your problem is, Jack? You’re not happy unless you ’re on the move. I don’t know where you want to be, but I know it isn’t here.

Even before they were married, Edie’s nickname for him had been Lonesome. She said he’d called her once and claimed he was “real lonesome.” He didn’t remember doing it, but since it sounded like beer talk, he took her word for it. They’d known each other since they were kids, and they weren’t much more than that when they’d gotten married. Edie had been ready for marriage; Jack was okay with it. They’d had two sweet years with lots of laughs, two salty years with plenty of tears, two sour years with silence, and in the middle of it all they’d had two babies. Now that they were friends again she was letting him see the kids.

He didn’t mind being alone, and he didn’t think of himself as the lonesome cowboy type. He’d always kept to himself on the inside even when he’d been a big party boy on the outside. It had seemed like a good combination—real manly—but it hadn’t made him a good husband. Maybe he wasn’t husband material. The party boy had become a sober man, but he’d lost most of what he’d had in the process, and he was keeping the rest to himself. Safer that way. For everybody.

Still, the sound of a car in desperate need of a tune-up had him turning toward the open barn door. Hula was standing at attention, ready to sound her warning if he would allow. Yeah, the car sounded as if it was still chewing on the bones of its last victim, but it carried a person of interest. The good kind. He stepped outside into the sunlight.

“Are we still on?” Lily asked as she strode purposefully in his direction, a flirty sparkle alight in her eyes.

She wore tall leather boots with chunky two-inch heels—the kind that couldn’t be easy to walk in but sure as hell looked good on a woman—and a tan wool coat that hit her about mid-thigh, showing off some of her black skirt. She smiled as she reached back and set her hair free. Her hand came away with a big brown clip, and her reddish-brown hair unfurled like a flag lifted on the crisp March breeze.

He couldn’t find the voice to ask On what?

“You were going to show me the horses, remember?”

“Sure,” he said. “I’ll round up a couple of saddle horses while you …”

“Get changed.” She tucked the clip in her coat pocket. “As long as I was going to be at the school, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to go looking the part. And guess what. They do need subs. It doesn’t pay very well, but it’s a start.” She glanced down at Hula. “Yours?”

“Yeah, she’s—”

“Is it okay to pet her?”

“Sure.”

“I always make sure.” She knew enough to let the dog sniff her hand first. Hula’s gyrating tail put Lily at the top of the smells-good chart. “What’s her name? She looks like a Catahoula. I had one once. Is she good with kids?” She bent her knees and started sinking toward eye-level with the dog, but she turned her ankle.

Hula jumped back, and Jack caught Lily before she toppled.

“Oops!” She looked up and surprised him with a quick laugh. “Nice save. Thanks.” He steadied her while she reset her feet, and then she made kissing noises at the dog, offering her hand again. Hula moved back in, and there was a whole lot of licking and giggling and scratching and petting.

Jack felt a little cheated.

“She’s not around kids that much, but she’s never offered them any trouble. She’s at her best with cattle. And me.” Lily stood up smiling, wiping the dog slobber off her chin with the back of her hand. “And now you.”

“Iris has always wanted a dog, but I wouldn’t have one in the city.” Hula whined for another pat on the head, and she got it. “Aw, you’re such a love.” Jack would have given the dog a warning, but he didn’t want to wipe away whatever points his gallant catch might have gained him. “What’s her name?” Lily asked again.

“Hula.” He shrugged diffidently. “My daughter named her.”

“Your daughter? How old is she?”

“She’s just about Iris’s age. Two kids,” he added. Hadn’t been asked, but he was unwilling to leave anyone out. “My boy is eleven.”

“You didn’t mention children last night.”

“Nobody asked.” Still hadn’t, but for some reason he felt like getting some facts out. “I’ve been married. I’m not now.”

“I never was. As I’m sure my father’s told you.” Her eyes challenged him for a denial, but then she let him off the hook with a quick shrug. “Which is probably why we kept the conversation to a minimum last night.”

“About a week ago Mike mentioned you might be moving back home, you and your daughter. Said you and her father weren’t together.” Now they were even. She knew as much as he did. “That’s about it.”

“I didn’t give him much notice. My father, not Iris’s. Her father and I were never together, really. I mean, we were, but …” She shook her head, made a funny little sound as though they were still talking about kids other than themselves. “Teenagers. What’re you gonna do, huh?”

“You tell me. Being one is a real rush. Watching your kid turn into one …”

“Scary.” She glanced past him toward the barn. “You sure you have time?”

“Oh, yeah. Long as we ride through the cows on our way to look at the horses.”

“I’ll go change. Just be a minute.”

“No rush.” They looked at each other and laughed. “You left all this behind, right? Ended up east of here, about … what? Six, seven hundred miles?”

“Something like that.”

“Time’s nothing here. But daylight?” He flashed her a wink and a smile. “Now that’s something you don’t wanna burn.”

When Lily stepped out the back door she found Jack half sitting on the hood of her car with the reins of two saddled sorrels in his gloved hands. She hesitated. Gloves. All she had were a pair of thin stretchy ones she kept in her coat pocket and her heavy-duty mittens. But he was already pushing away from her car, and she wasn’t sure how much time their ride would take. And she wanted to save plenty of daylight for Iris.

“Where’s Hula?”

“You need a chaperone?” He laughed. “Cows are edgy enough right now without having a dog around.”

“I knew that.” She gave a quick smile. “Just sticking up for a friend.”

“You changed your boots,” he said with a pointed glance, and she knew what he was thinking. These boots were navy blue with tan wingtips and fancy stitching to match her favorite show outfit, which she’d found—to her surprise—hanging in the back of her old closet.

“I haven’t worn these in years. I’ve had them since high school.” She planted her heel in the dirt and turned her toe up, hoping he would notice that they were broken in and had a few scuffs. She remembered a time when she’d felt pretty damned dazzling wearing her blue boots. “At least they’re comfortable.”

“I don’t know how they do things in the big city, but out here, you find a boot that works for you, you stick with it.”

“And don’t worry about looking the part?” She took the reins he offered and swung up into the saddle. “Freeedomm!”

His laughter rang out behind her as they urged the two sorrels through their paces and made for the wide-open spaces.

The closer pastures were reserved for calving this time of year, and the size of the bellies on the mostly black white-faced expectant mothers gave proof that the smallest of the pastures would soon be a busy place. For now the cows moved slowly or stood quietly, showing no interest in anything but nibbling last year’s grass or soaking up this afternoon’s sun.

“The heifers calved out pretty easy this year,” Jack told her as the horses wended their way through the herd. “Cows should start dropping their calves any day now.”

“Perfect weather for calving. Nice and dry.”

She wasn’t even missing her gloves, but that was partly because it felt so good to be back on a horse that all she wanted to do was sit on top of the world and enjoy the warmth of fuzzy winter coat, silky mane and muscles not her own working in concert with hers.

“We had an easy winter out here,” Jack was saying, and his voice became part of the warmth until he added, “Mike thinks that means we’re in for a spring snowstorm.”

Lily groaned. “Either that or he thinks we’re in for a drought. The weather is one glass that’s always half-empty, whatever the forecast.” She looked to him for agreement, but he wasn’t smiling. She shrugged. “Which is fine, unless he half emptied the glass while he was grumbling about it.”

“In his business you’re always at the mercy of the weather.”

“How long have you been working for him?”

“About seven years.”

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