His hat shadowed his eyes in the dim light of the foyer,

So when he nodded briefly Angela couldn’t read his expression. Something seemed to keep him from opening the door, made it feel like there was more to her question than she’d voiced—and more to his answer.

When she finally thought he must be able to hear her heart beating through her chest, he opened the door. Angela let out a deep sigh of relief, until he turned and tipped his finger to his hat in farewell.

A gentleman.

She shut the door behind him. Perhaps. But not like any gentleman she’d ever known. And perhaps that was the problem.

Dear Reader,

Welcome to Cadence Creek—home of the sprawling Diamondback Ranch and two very sexy men: Sam Diamond, rancher, and his cousin Ty—a real down-to-his-boots cowboy. These two bachelors need two good women to make them settle down, and I’ve got just the pair. These girls may come with baggage, but they’re made of strong, resilient stuff. Angela Beck is a social worker on a mission, and Clara Ferguson’s a sweet, nurturing soul looking for a place to call home.

It all starts with the launch of Butterfly House, a special women’s shelter for victims of abuse. Angela won’t let anyone stand in the way of her plans—not even Sam Diamond, who saunters into a board meeting with a devilish smile. She and Sam don’t exactly see eye to eye. But as we all know, things are rarely as simple as they seem. Turns out Sam is exactly the kind of man Angela needs—and Angela is the woman he’s been waiting for his whole life.

I loved writing this story from start to finish, and I hope you enjoy it too. And don’t forget to look for Ty and Clara’s story, coming soon!

I love hearing from readers—you can find me at my site at www.donnaalward.com!

Until then—happy reading!

Donna

About the Author

A busy wife and mother of three (two daughters and the family dog), DONNA ALWARD believes hers is the best job in the world: a combination of stay-at-home mum and romance novelist. An avid reader since childhood, Donna always made up her own stories. She completed her Arts Degree in English Literature in 1994, but it wasn’t until 2001 that she penned her first full-length novel and found herself hooked on writing romance. In 2006 she sold her first manuscript, and now writes warm, emotional stories for Mills & Boon®’s Cherish™ line.

In her new home office in Nova Scotia, Donna loves being back on the east coast of Canada after nearly twelve years in Alberta, where her career began, writing about cowboys and the west. Donna’s debut romance, Hired by the Cowboy, was awarded the Booksellers Best Award in 2008 for Best Traditional Romance.

With the Atlantic Ocean only minutes from her doorstep, Donna has found a fresh take on life and promises even more great romances in the near future!

Donna loves to hear from readers. You can contact her through her website at www.donnaalward.com, her page at www.myspace.com/dalward, or through her publisher.

The Last Real
Cowboy
Donna Alward

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Jayne, who rescued a very special kitty. And to Chippie—truly one of a kind.

CHAPTER ONE

ANGELA Beck tapped her fingers against the boardroom table and frowned. The seat across from her was noticeably empty and she grew more irritated by the moment. They’d held things up long enough, though why Molly Diamond was running so very late was a mystery. Molly was usually right on time.

“Angela, we really can’t hold off any longer.” Charles Spring, the President of the Butterfly Foundation board, folded his hands and looked down the table at her, his gray eyes stern over the rims of his glasses. “We need to get started.”

Charles had graciously agreed to let the foundation meet in the boardroom of his oil and gas company’s headquarters. It meant a drive into Edmonton, but Angela knew it was easier for her to commute than for the entire volunteer board to drive to Cadence Creek for a meeting. As a result she’d put together a list of things she needed for the renovations, determined to make the most of the trip. She didn’t have any time to waste if she wanted to make her projected opening date.

“I know.” Angela forced a smile and made herself remember that every person in the room was volunteering their time. She was the only one drawing a salary from the foundation. The reminder was enough to ensure her patience. The shelter was her dream, but success relied on a lot of people—people who didn’t have this project as their top priority the way she did. She couldn’t afford to alienate any of them—she’d come too far and invested too much.

“I’ll call the meeting to order, then, at 2:18.”

For an hour the board members discussed the latest fund-raising campaign; Angela outlined the latest PR push and upcoming open house, adding her input to the proposed operating budget and counseling services she’d organized for residents of Butterfly House. She’d thought she’d worked long hours before as a social worker for the province, but that was nothing compared to her days lately, especially as she was a staff of exactly one.

“And now,” she said, “I wanted to bring up the suggestion that we hire some short-term help for the minor renovations still needed to the house.”

Charles tapped his lip and looked over at the board treasurer, a graying woman with glasses and a stern demeanor. “Iris?”

“Leave it with me,” she suggested. “But don’t get your hopes up. The budget is already stretched. What’s allocated is barely going to cover the cost of materials. Start adding in labor costs and I start seeing red ink.”

“Perhaps if we can get more donations …” Soliciting sponsors was definitely not Angela’s favorite part of the job; she hated feeling like the center of attention and preferred to be behind the scenes. But it had to be done and so she did it—with a smile and an eye on the big picture.

The talk then turned to drafting up letters requesting sponsorship. Angela pinched the bridge of her nose. The place needed paint and window coverings and the floor in the living room was in dire need of replacement. Who would come good for all of that?

She straightened her back. She would do it, somehow. She was thrilled that her vision was becoming a reality and it was worth the long hours, the elbow grease and the worry. It would be better when the house was actually ready for residents. In its present state it looked the way she felt—tired and droopy. She’d make it right if she had to do it all herself.

They were down to the last item on the meeting agenda when the door opened and he sauntered in. Sam Diamond needed no introduction, Angela thought with disdain. Everyone knew who he was. She resolved to keep her expression bland as she looked up, wondering why on earth Sam had shown up instead of his mother, Molly, the Diamond family representative to the board.

Sam turned a slow smile on the group and Angela clenched her teeth. He was going to be trouble—with a capital T. She’d known it from the first moment he’d sidled up to her at the Butterfly House fundraiser and had asked in his smooth, deep voice, “Have we met?” Her tongue had tangled in her throat and she’d hesitated, feeling stupid and predictable as a purely feminine reaction warred with her usual timidity when it came to dealing with members of the opposite sex—especially in social situations. Well, maybe he’d had her at a disadvantage during their first meeting, but she’d kept the upper hand in the end and she would today, too. She was far more comfortable in a meeting room than at a cocktail party.

But she’d have to do it delicately. His family had made Butterfly House possible, and it wouldn’t do to bite the hand that was feeding her project.

“Mr. Diamond.” Charles lifted his head and offered a wide smile. “I’m afraid we started without you.”

Started without him? Angela silently fumed. He was over an hour late and had just walked in as though he had all the time in the world! And Charles Spring … she felt her muscles tense. Old boys’ club, indeed. Spring might frown at her over his glasses, but to Diamond he was as sweet as her mother’s chocolate silk pie!

“I got held up.” Sam gave the board a wide, charming smile and removed his hat. “I hope I didn’t inconvenience anyone.”

“Not at all! There’s always time for the foundation’s biggest supporter.” Heads around the table nodded. Sam shook Charles’s hand and then put his thumbs in his pockets.

“I didn’t realize I’d be in the company of such lovely ladies,” he drawled, popping just the hint of a dimple. Angela swore that she could hear the sighs from three of the board members old enough to be Sam’s mother. “I would have made a better effort to be here earlier.”

Angela thought she might be sick from all the flattery stuffing up the room. Where was Molly? Why had Sam come in her stead?

“I do hope your mother’s okay,” Angela said clearly. She took off her reading glasses and put them down on the table. Sam pulled out his chair and met her gaze as he took a seat. Recognition flared in his eyes for a moment, then cleared as if they were perfectly polite strangers.

“She’s fine, why do you ask?”

There was an edge to his voice and Angela didn’t like it. Maybe he was still nursing a bit of hurt pride where she was concerned. She blinked. Men like Sam Diamond weren’t used to being refused. Especially when they bought a lady a drink and told her she was a pretty little thing.

She’d simply said, “No, thank you.” It was only afterward that she’d realized that she’d given a Diamond—a pillar of the community—his walking papers. It put her in an awkward position. She needed his family’s support.

She ignored the uneasy glances from the board members and pasted on a cool smile. “Molly hasn’t missed a meeting yet. She’s been so supportive of the foundation. So I’m a bit surprised to see you here today, Mr. Diamond.”

Dark eyes met hers, challenging. “And you are?”

Oh, the nerve! He knew exactly who she was. She could see by the gleam in his eye that it was a deliberate cut, intended to throw her off her stride. She lifted her chin and rose to the challenge. “Executive Director of Butterfly House, Angela Beck.”

“You obviously didn’t receive my message. I called this morning.”

And this morning she’d been outside chasing Morris around, trying to get the infernal creature indoors before she had to race into Edmonton. She hadn’t stopped to check messages. She resisted the urge to bite down on her lip. She wasn’t feeling quite as in charge as she’d like. She was well aware that the Diamond family had a place on the board; after all, they’d donated the building and land for Butterfly House and promised an annual donation toward maintaining the facility. Which was all down to Molly’s generosity, she knew. The younger Diamond had a reputation that preceded him and it wasn’t all favorable. The fact that he’d tried his charms on her only made it more awkward. Maybe the deed was already signed, but without the continuing support the program would die a quick death unless she could find another sponsor with deep pockets.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t receive it. I’ve been in the city for several hours already.”

Angela was aware that every pair of eyes were on the two of them and that everyone seemed to be holding their breath. Everyone knew Sam. He was a big man, with big money and a big ego. Most of the residents spoke of him as if he were a god. Men respected him and women wanted him—until he trampled on their affections. She’d had her ears filled about that already.

But Angela could see the appeal. He was over six feet in his boots, sexy as sin and looking scrumptious in jeans and a shirt with a sport jacket thrown over top as a concession to business attire. Paired with his unassailable confidence, he made quite the package.

Just because she could understand the attraction did not mean she was interested, though. He was too … Well, he was too everything. She’d known it from the moment he’d tipped his hat and looked down at her with his bedroom eyes. And after she’d refused his overtures, he’d gotten this little half smile. “Do you know who I am?” he’d asked. Clearly she hadn’t. But she did now. They both knew exactly who had the upper hand—and he was enjoying it.

How kind, gentle Molly Diamond had spawned such an egomaniac was beyond her. Did he really think his transparent charm would work on her now when it hadn’t the first time?

“My mother won’t be attending any board meetings for the foreseeable future. My father suffered a stroke last week and she’ll be looking after him for the time being. She requested I sit on the board in her place.”

Oh, brother. Sympathy for the lovely Molly and her husband Virgil warred with annoyance at the turn of events. Angela and Molly had hit it off from the start, and she’d so looked forward to talking things over with the older, friendly woman. Molly had insisted that she’d love to be involved with turning the house into a real home and had even helped plan the upcoming open house. Angela couldn’t imagine Sam helping with those sorts of things. Undoubtedly his impression of “service to the community” was throwing money at it, then smiling and shaking a few hands and feeling proud of himself.

“I hadn’t heard.” Angela forced herself to meet his gaze. “I’m very sorry about your dad, Mr. Diamond. Please tell Molly that if she needs anything to give me a shout.”

“Thank you.”

But the words came out coolly, without the warm flirtatious charm he’d used on the other board members. Great. It seemed his pride was still smarting from her response that night. His question—Do you know who I am?—had struck a nerve and made her so defensive that goose bumps had popped up over her arms. “Should I?” she’d answered, looking over her shoulder as she walked away. Her insides had been trembling, but she’d covered it well. She was done letting domineering men run roughshod over her.

She’d utterly alienated Sam and she’d done it in front of the board. He turned his head away now, effectively ending the conversation. And why wouldn’t he? She’d been prickly as a cactus. Both times they’d met.

Charles wrapped up the meeting, but before he adjourned he smiled at Sam.

“I’m sure Angela would be happy to fill in the gaps, Sam. She knows more about the project than anyone.”

Angela felt the blood rush to her face as Sam’s gaze settled on her again. “Of course,” she murmured. She would just have to suck it up. What was important was getting Butterfly House off the ground no matter how often she had to smile. Maybe Sam wouldn’t even be interested in the details and this would be short and relatively painless.

She could afford a few minutes as long as she could make it to the hardware store in time to pick up her supplies. By the time she finished running her errands, it would be evening before she returned to Cadence Creek. Her whole day would be gone with little accomplished.

The meeting adjourned and the board members filtered out of the room. Sam pushed back his chair just far enough that he could cross an ankle over his knee. Angela organized her papers, avoiding Sam’s penetrating gaze as long as possible. Finally she put her pen atop the stack and folded her hands. She looked up and into his stupidly handsome face. “Shall I bring you up to speed, then? Or will you be on your way?”

Sam forced himself to stay relaxed. Lordy, this Ms. Beck was a piece of work. She looked as though she had a perennial stick up her posterior and she clearly didn’t approve of him any more now than she had two weeks ago when he’d offered to buy her a drink and she’d flatly refused, looking at him like he was dirt beneath her heel. Which was of no great importance. He didn’t need her to like him. In fact, he didn’t need anything from her. She needed him, especially now that his mother was otherwise occupied.

He ignored the shaft of fear and concern that weighed him down when he thought of his father and focused instead on the budget in front of him. He was only here because his mother had asked and he couldn’t say no to her. Especially not now. In his mind, today’s meeting was supposed to be a token appearance and then he could be on his way attending to more important matters.

Instead he found himself sticking around. Aggravating Miss Prim and Proper was a side benefit he hadn’t anticipated, and it took his mind off the troubles at home.

“By all means,” he said slowly, letting a grin crawl up his cheek purely to irritate her. “Educate me.”

Damned if she didn’t blush, he thought with some satisfaction. He tilted his head, studying her. Pretty, he decided, or she could be if she let her hair down a little. Now, as it had been at the fundraiser, it was pulled back into a somewhat severe twist, with only a few nearly black strands rebelling by her ears. Her eyes were a stunning color, too, a sort of greeny-aqua that he’d never seen before and he wondered if she wore tinted contacts. As he watched, she put her glasses back on—armor. He recognized the gesture. He was the same way with his hat.

“Is your father going to be all right?” she asked quietly, surprising him. He’d expected facts and figures from Miss Neat and Tidy.

“I think so,” he replied honestly. “He’s home from the hospital and Mom insists on nursing him herself. Since he requires round-the-clock care, something had to give in her schedule. Your foundation was it.”

“Of course. Please give her my best and tell her not to worry about a thing.”

Sam uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Let me be honest, Ms. Beck. I don’t want to be here. With my dad sick, the running of Diamondback Ranch falls solely to me. I don’t have time to sit on charity boards and shake hands, okay? All I’m concerned about is the responsible management of the foundation so my mother’s donation is held to a … certain standard.”

She looked like she’d just sucked on a lemon. “The Diamonds won’t be associated with anything substandard,” she replied sharply. “I get it, Mr. Diamond.”

She made it sound as though it was a bad thing. Four generations had gone into making Diamondback what it was—the biggest and best ranch in the county. The standards set by his ancestors were a lot to live up to. And it wasn’t just the responsibility of taking the ranch into the future that he carried on his back. Lord knew he loved his mother, but at age thirty-seven he was getting tired of the question of when he was going to provide a fifth generation. When the hell did he have time? His father was seventy-two, his mother in her late sixties. The ranch was bigger than ever and facing new challenges every day. His latest idea—making Diamondback more environmentally friendly—was taking up the rest of his waking hours. And now, with his father being so ill, it made him think about what would happen to Diamondback. To the family. He rubbed a hand over his mouth. Good Lord. Now he was starting to think like his mother. Men weren’t supposed to have biological clocks, were they? So why did he suddenly hear ticking?

Now his mother had lassoed him into sitting on this silly board because the Diamonds had donated some land and a house for Miss Goody Two-Shoes to turn into a women’s shelter. And he had said yes because Molly had looked very tired and worried and family was important. He didn’t plan on being actively involved. He’d write a damned check and keep his hands off.

“Look, we provided the location. What more do you want?”

He hadn’t thought it was possible that she would sit up any straighter but she did—her spine ramrod-stiff as her nostrils flared. “The spot on the board was your mother’s condition, not mine.”

“I know that,” he answered, his annoyance growing. What had he done that had made her so hostile? Surely offering a smile and a glass of wine wasn’t a crime? And he hadn’t meant to be late today. “What I mean is, what in particular do you want from me?”

He heard the sharp intake of breath and could nearly hear the words spinning in her head: not a thing. Instead she put down her pen, looked him dead in the eye and said, “Your assurance that you won’t withdraw funding and that you’ll stay out of the way.”

“That’s blunt.”

“Would you rather I was less direct?”

There was a glimmer of respect taking hold in the midst of his irritation. “Not at all. Please. Be honest.”

But his invitation was met with silence. He wondered what she wanted to say, what she was holding back.

“Perhaps I should mention the elephant in the room,” he suggested. “The fundraiser.”

“What about it?”

But now he heard it—a tiny wobble, the smallest bit of uncertainty. “You really didn’t know who I was?”

“And that surprises you, doesn’t it? Because everyone knows Sam Diamond.”

He raised an eyebrow at her sarcastic tone. “Frankly, in this area? Yes.”

“You really do have an inflated ego.”

Sam chuckled. “Are you trying to hurt my feelings, Ms. Beck? Look, you passed up the opportunity for a free drink. I’m not going to cry in my beer over it.” But the truth was he had felt snubbed. Not because he thought he was God’s gift but because she’d been standing alone and he’d taken pity on her. She was too beautiful to be hidden in a corner all night. And all he’d got for his trouble was a cold no, thank you and a chilly breeze as she left his presence in record time.

“Well, that’s settled then.” She ran a hand over the side of her hair, even though he couldn’t see a strand out of place. It probably wouldn’t dare be so impertinent. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have more important things to do.”

“More important than impressing your main benefactor? Tsk, tsk.”

He didn’t know what made him say that. Sam didn’t usually resort to throwing his weight around. Something about Angela Beck rubbed him the wrong way. It was as though she’d sized him up at first glance and found him wanting. And that grated, especially since he was already in a foul mood. He’d been late when he prided himself on punctuality. His last meeting with the engineers for the biogas facility had gone well over the time expected and had had less than satisfactory results. Sam was used to being ahead of the curve, not behind it.

He was set to apologize when she stood, placing her palms flat on the table. “This is about helping abused women, not stroking your ego. Your mother understands that. Perhaps you can suggest an alternative proxy for the board position as clearly you do not care about the cause.”

Well, well. She had fire, he’d give her that. And it was all wrapped in a package that momentarily took his breath now that he could see her from head to … well, mid thigh, anyway. She had curves under the neat and tidy librarian clothes—straight black skirt and plain buttoned-down blouse. But she had him to rights and he knew it. And they both knew that Molly had stipulated a Diamond family member sit on the board and not the other way around. He was the only other Diamond in Cadence Creek. There was no one else.

He stood slowly, reached for his hat and put it back on his head. “Ma’am.”

He was nearly to the door when he heard her sigh. “Mr. Diamond?”

He paused, his hand on the door handle. He turned his head to look at her and realized she’d taken off her glasses again. Her eyes really were stunning. And he shouldn’t be noticing.

“Your mother didn’t believe in simply throwing money at a problem,” Angela said quietly. “She believed in being part of the solution. I find it strange she’d ask you to take her place if she didn’t think you’d hold up that end of the bargain.”

It wasn’t that he didn’t care, or that Butterfly House wasn’t a good cause. He just had too much on his plate. Angela Beck was being far too smart. She’d worded her last statement in just the right way to flatter and to issue a finely veiled challenge at the same time.

A challenge he wasn’t up to accepting. The foundation had its land, had its house free and clear. That would have to be enough.

“Good day, Ms. Beck,” he replied, and walked out, shutting the door behind him.

CHAPTER TWO

SAM pulled into the yard and killed the engine, resting his hands on the steering wheel. He hadn’t been going to come. He had planned simply to leave well enough alone, go home to Diamondback, grab something to eat and collapse in bed so he’d be on his game for his daybreak wake-up call. Instead he’d found himself turning off the main road and driving through Cadence Creek, putting on his signal light and turning into the Butterfly House driveway. Angela Beck’s last words bothered him more than he cared to admit, and he couldn’t escape the need to make things right. He didn’t necessarily want to apologize. He just wanted to explain why he’d acted the way he had today.

Angela was right. His mother was counting on him to step in now that she couldn’t. He was a Diamond, and family was everything. He’d learned that at a young age, and it had been reinforced daily as he grew up alongside his cousin, Ty. Blood stuck together—no matter what Ty insisted these days. The ranch wasn’t the same with him gone, and Sam wished both Ty and Virgil would mend fences.

Sam was only doing this for Molly—Lord knew she’d sacrificed enough over the years for the Diamond men. It didn’t sit well that he was probably going to let her down, too. So when Angela had accused him of just that, it had smarted more than he wanted to admit. He hadn’t exactly acted like a gentleman by walking away. So now he’d just smooth things over and ease his conscience.

Resolved, he hopped out of the truck and shut the door. The rambling yellow Victorian house was full of add-on rooms, giving it a boxy, unsymmetrical appearance. It had once been in its glory but now the gingerbread trim beneath the eaves was dull and the paint was chipping. The front porch sagged as he took the first step. This was what the Diamond money had paid for? This falling-down monstrosity was going to be a progressive women’s shelter? He frowned, then jumped as a train whistle sounded to the west, followed by the faint rumble of the cars on tracks. What a dump! And on the fringes of town. What had his mother been thinking, endorsing such a place?

He knocked on the door. It would be better if he just explained and left. He’d find the right time to deal with his mother. If he bided his time, she might even be back on the board within a month or two.

The door opened a crack. “Mr. Diamond?”

Ms. Beck’s voice came through the crack, clearly surprised at seeing him standing on the ramshackle verandah. “Sam,” he corrected, angling his neck to peer through the thin gap between door and frame.

“Sorry. If I open it further, Morris will get out. Again.”

Morris? Sam sighed. Who on earth was Morris? Give me strength, he thought. He was starting to think that growing a conscience had been a big mistake. But he was here now. Might as well press on and then put it behind him. He had far bigger things to worry about when he got home. Like how to save the family that was falling apart.

“May I come in, then? I’ll shut the door behind me.”

Indecision twisted her face. She didn’t want him inside Butterfly House. He knew it as sure as he knew he was breathing. What he didn’t know was why. Maybe he’d been a little heavy-handed this afternoon, but nothing that should keep the door barred against him.

“I only want five minutes of your time,” he said. “I don’t like how we left things this afternoon.”

She opened the door and he stepped inside, only to find it quickly shut again.

There was barely room to move around in the foyer. Plastic bags were scattered everywhere, along with cans of paint in various shades, the colors announced by dots on the silver lids. He sidestepped around them and pressed against the wall to allow Angela to move past and ahead of him. When she did, the panels of his sport coat brushed against her blouse. Something slid through him, something dark and familiar that came as a surprise. Angela sucked in a breath, clearly wanting to keep from touching him in any way, her eyes wide with alarm.

Just as well. She was pretty tightly wound and he preferred his women to be a little more easygoing. Angela Beck was the kind of woman who was work, and he had enough of that to last him a lifetime.

“I just got home a while ago,” she said, leading the way into the kitchen. “Excuse the mess.”

“I dropped in uninvited. No need to apologize.” He walked around boxes stacked with linens and came to stand in the middle of the room.

“I was just having something to eat. Can I get you anything?”

He looked down at the concoction in cardboard she held in her hand. It appeared to be some sort of chicken and rice in a brownish sauce. “Not if it looks like that,” he replied.

She performed a perfect shoulder shrug and said, “Suit yourself.” She took another bite, but then got a strange look on her face and put the meal down on the counter. He wondered if she was going to ask him to sit down as the silence wound out awkwardly.

“So this is the house,” he said casually, trying to put things on an even keel. He looked around the kitchen and then ignored his customary good manners and took a seat at the table, hoping she’d follow his lead and they could stop standing in the middle of the room. Small talk. He could manage a few minutes of that, couldn’t he?

“It is.”

“And how many residents will you have?”

“We split up the master bedroom and added a bathroom. At full capacity, we’ll have five women and myself.” She remained stubbornly standing, which made him feel even more like an unwanted guest she’d rather be rid of.

He nodded, wondering where to go next. Five tenants weren’t many, but the shelter was only meant to be temporary—for as little as two months with a maximum of a year’s occupancy. It would mean that a lot of abused women could find help in the run of a year. She was doing a good thing. He just didn’t fit into the picture.

“Begging your pardon,” she asked, “but why are you here … Sam?”

“Are you always this abrasive?”

Her mouth dropped open and she stared at him. “Are you always this blunt?”

“Yes,” he replied without missing a beat. “What’s the point in dancing around anything? I tell it like it is. Makes it much easier to deal with issues.”

Her mouth twisted. “In answer to your question, no,” she admitted. “I’m usually not.”

“Should I be flattered?” He couldn’t resist asking. Flapping the seemingly unflappable Ms. Beck was an intriguing pastime.

“Hardly. You seem to bring out my worst.”

Sam couldn’t help it, he laughed. A low, dry chuckle built in his chest and the sound changed the air in the room, made it warmer. He looked up at her, watched as her gaze softened and her lips turned up the slightest bit in a reluctant smile. Desire, the same feeling he’d had as they’d brushed by each other in the foyer, gave a sharp kick. Angela Beck was an attractive woman. But when she became approachable, she was dangerous. The last thing he needed was to be tangled up in something messy and complicated. He’d been there and done that and it wasn’t fun.

“Careful,” he warned her. “You might smile.”

“It’s been known to happen. Once or twice. I’ll try to restrain myself.”

He was starting to appreciate her acid tongue, too. It spoke of a quick mind.

“Look,” he said a little more easily, “I didn’t feel right about how I spoke to you this afternoon. I have nothing against you personally, or your project. It’s simply a case of hours in a day and only so much of me to go around, and I was in a bad mood when I arrived at the meeting. I meant what I said,” he continued, “but I didn’t put it in a very nice way.”

“You’re stepping back from the board then?”

She didn’t have to sound so hopeful about it. He frowned. “I didn’t say that. I just mean that the Diamond family assistance will be more of a behind-the-scenes kind of thing.”

He didn’t like the way her lips pursed. She should be glad he was still amenable to signing the checks.

“Your mother …”

“I know,” he replied, cutting her off and growing impatient with the constant reminder of his mother’s wishes. He stood up and faced Angela, wondering how it was possible that she could be getting under his skin so easily—again. “But I’m not my mother. My mother is in her sixties, her family is grown and she was looking for a cause to champion, something to fill her day with purpose. I don’t need such a thing. Surely you can see how our time demands are completely different? My being here is entirely because it means something to her. But don’t ask for more than that. I don’t have it to give.”

“That’s what most people say,” she responded. “I thank you for wanting to mend fences, but you’re really just repeating yourself, Mr. Diamond. Butterfly House is low on your list of priorities.”

Why did she have to make it sound like a character flaw? Sam bit his tongue, but she was making it hard with her holier-than-thou stance.

“What if I asked you to come out to the ranch tomorrow? Spend the day, take a tour?”

“I can’t afford to take a day away from here!” Her lips dropped open in dismay. “There’s too much to be done!”

He sat back, pleased that she’d taken the bait. “Exactly my point.”

“It’s hardly the same,” she argued, wrapping her arms around her middle, the movement closing herself off from him even further. “You can hardly compare the Diamondback Ranch with this place. The differences are laughable.”

She thought the Diamondback ranch was a joke? His blood heated. “Why do you disapprove of me so much?”

“Please,” she said, contempt clear in her tone. “I’ve worked with people a long time. I know your type.”

He bristled. His type? What exactly was his type? He didn’t profess to be perfect but all he tried to do was put in an honest day’s work. He knew he had a bit of a reputation for being single-minded, but what was so wrong with that? He knew what he wanted, and he went after it. There was something else in her tone, the same negative inflection she’d used the night of the benefit. It grated that she made that sort of snap judgment without even getting to know him at all. She had no idea of the pressure he was under these days.

“Really. And you came to this judgment somewhere between me offering you a drink at the fundraiser and walking through the door at the meeting today?”

She looked slightly uncomfortable and he noticed her fingers picked at the fabric in her skirt. “Among other sources.”

“Ah, I see. And these other sources would be?”

She lifted her gaze and something sparked in her eyes. “You are not going to turn this on me, Mr. Diamond.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Ms. Beck.” He put particular emphasis on the Ms., hoping to get a rise out of her. Snap judgments that she wouldn’t even qualify annoyed him. He was gratified to see her nostrils flare the slightest bit. “Because I know your type, too, but I’m too much of a gentleman to elaborate.”

“A gentleman!” she exclaimed. Sparks flashed in her eyes. “From what I hear, you’re far from a gentleman.”

Sam wasn’t in the mood to defend his character as well as today’s actions. He had never, not once, been dishonest with a woman. He wondered where she’d gotten her information from and if it had anything to do with Amy Wilson? Dating her had been a mistake and he’d done her a favor by setting her free. But Amy hadn’t seen it that way and had felt compelled to complain all over town. Most people knew to take it for what it was—sour grapes and hurt feelings. But Angela was new here and Amy could be very persuasive.

He had come here to apologize only to have his good intentions thrown back in his face and his character maligned. His temper flared. “Before you say anything more, think very carefully,” he cautioned. “I’m sure you don’t want to lose Diamond funding. If I recall, even with the house bought and paid for, there are operating expenses to consider. Not to mention your salary.”

He saw her face go pale and felt his insides shrivel. Dammit. They were right back where they’d started despite all his resolve to smooth out the wrinkles. It was beneath him to threaten funding and yet he couldn’t bring himself to back down. He’d look even more foolish. He should have put a stop to Amy’s gossip ages ago, but he’d felt bad after the breakup, knowing he’d hurt her without intending to.

Now he’d gone and acted like a bully. He sighed and wiped a hand over his face, uttering a low curse. “What is it about you that brings out the worst in me?”

“The truth?” she replied acidly.

Angela’s stomach seemed to drop to her feet as the words slid from her lips. She couldn’t take them back and they echoed through the kitchen. He had just confirmed her opinion. Everything Amy had said about him really was true. He was caught up in himself and no one else, wasn’t he? She really should learn to shut her mouth. More than anything else, the need to smooth the waters rather than make waves was the one thing she’d never quite eradicated from her own life.

Her head said to placate him because his funds were crucial to the project. But her pride—and her heart—wanted to tell him exactly what she thought. What sort of example would she set if she allowed him to threaten her job, the very existence of the project? The whole purpose of the shelter was to help women stand on their own two feet, to be strong. How could she allow herself to be weak? She certainly couldn’t give in to the urge to back down every time she faced a challenge.

While she was contemplating her response, Morris chose that moment to strut through the kitchen. Lord of the house, master and protector, the orange-and-cream-colored cat stopped and regarded Sam with a judgmental eye.

“The infamous Morris?” Sam asked.

“I should have called him Houdini,” Angela responded.

“He’s quite the escape artist.” It was unusual for Morris to come out when strangers were around, and she watched as he made his way over to Sam. Maybe she’d judged Sam too harshly before. You could tell a lot about a man by watching him with animals.

Morris went directly to Sam, surprising her, and he sniffed at Sam’s jeans suspiciously. Sam looked at Angela helplessly, shrugging his shoulders. Angela saw the fur on Morris’s back stand up and his tail stiffen. She took a step forward, opening her mouth to warn Sam. But she was too late. Sam shouted and looked down at his leg, rubbing the denim just above the top of his boot.

Morris scooted away, but Angela knew exactly what had happened and wanted to sink through the floor. She hadn’t thought this meeting could get any worse, but Morris had taken matters into his own … teeth.

“Your cat bit me!”

Heat rushed to her face as his words moved her to action. She scrambled after Morris and picked him up. Cursed animal, he snuggled into her arms sweet as honey. “He has a thing about strangers. Particularly men.” She rushed to the half bath and locked Morris inside. “I think he was abused as a kitten,” she continued, wondering if there was anything more she could do to make Sam Diamond more aggravated. “The vet said his tail was broken in three places, that’s why it’s crooked. But he really isn’t a bad cat, he just has a protective streak. He …”

Her voice trailed off. Sam was staring at her as though she was crazy. “I’ll shut up now,” she murmured.

“Really,” Sam said drily, as if she’d stated the impossible.

Morris meowed in protest, the howl only barely muffled through the door.

“You’re a real bleeding heart, aren’t you, Ms. Beck?” He glowered at her. “Maybe I need to come up with a better sob story, eh? Maybe that’ll get you off my back.”

That did it. “Since when did helping others become a flaw, Diamond?” She took a step forward, feeling her temper get the better of her. “Maybe if you took your head out of your charmed, privileged life for two seconds you’d see someone other than yourself. And as far as Morris goes, maybe I am a bleeding heart because I can’t stand to see another creature abused. And if he’s a little leery of men, he has good reason. I consider him a fine judge of character!”

Sam’s dark eyes flared. “A fine judge of …” He made a sound like air whistling out of a tube. Morris howled again. “You know nothing about me. Nothing.”

“I know you’re a big bully who thinks I’ll dance to his tune because I need his money. But I won’t pander to you like Charles Spring and the others on the board. You can threaten, you can take funding away. Go for it. Because I would rather that than me betray all Butterfly House stands for by letting myself be pushed around by the likes of you.” She finished the speech out of breath.

“Without the funding, this place never opens.”

“Don’t be so sure.” Several times today she’d allowed Sam Diamond to mess with her confidence. But she was done with that. She’d faced worse than Sam Diamond over the years and come through with flying colors. Besides, she had an ace in the hole. She knew Molly Diamond was dedicated to this project. Molly believed in it and in her.

“You think I haven’t faced adversity before?” She pressed her hand to her collarbone, felt her heart pounding against her fingertips. “I’m stronger and more resourceful than you think. So go for it. Pull the funding.”

She wasn’t sure what made her dare him to do such a thing when they clearly pushed each other’s buttons so completely and quickly. That had only happened to her once before when she’d been seventeen and so very vulnerable. She’d fallen for Steven in record time and found herself smack in the middle of a volatile relationship. Her mother had taken one look at Angela’s face and said quietly, “Passion burns as hot as anger, dear.” But that wasn’t the kind of passion Angela ever wanted, and her parents certainly hadn’t set a shining example for her to follow.

It took everything she had to stand toe-to-toe with Sam Diamond now without cowering. And yet, as she looked into his handsome face, she somehow knew that she wasn’t being entirely fair. She was making connections, assumptions without basis. All through her career she’d worked very hard to be objective. She’d had to be.

So Sam Diamond shouldn’t be any different. But he was. And she admitted to herself that he had been from the moment he’d sauntered over and spoken to her in his slow, sexy voice at the benefit. Nerve endings had shimmered just at his nearness. He posed a different threat than physical fear. And that threat came from inside herself and her own weaknesses.

He hooked his thumbs into his pockets. “I’m not going to pull the funding. The Diamond family made a commitment, and we honor our commitments despite what some may think.”

The tension in the room seemed to settle slightly, no longer at a fever pitch amplified by sharp words.

“I appreciate that.”

He took a step closer and her heart started a different sort of thrumming. Earlier she’d taken great care to make sure she didn’t touch him as they passed in the crowded hallway. She stood her ground. She didn’t want him to know she was afraid. Goodness, she was a strong, capable, resourceful woman. It was ridiculous that one person could make her forget all of that just by breathing. She tried to remember what it was that Amy had said. That Sam Diamond took what he wanted until he was done and then he tossed it away like yesterday’s garbage. Amy’s words were completely opposite from Sam’s pledge, so which should she believe?

“You’re tired,” he noted, and to her shock he lifted his hand and ran his thumb along the top of her cheekbone. She knew there were dark circles beneath her eyes. Makeup had concealed it for most of the day, but it was growing late and as the makeup faded, her fatigue came to the surface.

But more than that—he was touching her. She flinched slightly at the presumptuous yet gentle touch, but he didn’t seem to notice. His thumb was large, strong and just a little rough. She was tempted to lean in to the strength of his hand for just a minute, but she held her face perfectly still instead as her insides quivered with a blend of attraction and fear. “I’ve been putting in long days,” she breathed. “There’s a lot to do.”

“I won’t keep you, then,” he replied, dropping his hand. She missed the warmth of his thumb and took a step backward, shocked at her response. No one ever touched her. Ever. And certainly not in such an intimate way.

“I’m sorry about Morris. He’s a very naughty cat. Did he get you very badly?”

And then it happened. Angela saw the barest hint of a smile touch his lips. Not the smooth, charming grin from this afternoon. A conspiratorial upturning of his lips that Angela couldn’t resist. It sneaked past all her misgivings and lit something inside her. She found herself smiling in return and chuckling. He joined in, the warm sound filling the kitchen.

Angela sighed as the laughter faded, looked over at Sam’s face, now holding a spot of devilishness that made her understand why the women of this town all swooned in his presence.

“I’ll live,” he said, the earlier hostility gone. “It was more of a surprise, really.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Just as well I have a tough skin. Maybe he smelled our dog or something. Buster has a way of putting cats on edge.”

Was he teasing her now? The idea made an unfamiliar warmth curl through her. She had to admit, knowing he was a pet owner added to his appeal. She had a momentary image of Sam on a huge horse with a dog following at their heels….

Dangerous. And trouble. At the very least, Amy had that part right.

“Don’t take it personally,” she offered weakly. “It’s not you …”

“If you say so.”

“I couldn’t just leave him,” she continued, not knowing why it was important that Sam understand about her cat but feeling compelled just the same. Another meow sounded behind the door. “He was hurt, and just a baby.”

Sam’s face was inscrutable. “Do I strike you as the kind of man who kicks puppies, Ms. Beck?”

Did he? Lord, no. He might use charm as a weapon, and he might have a ruthless streak—that single-mindedness he’d mentioned—but she found it hard to believe he’d be deliberately cruel. There was something about the way he’d touched her face …

She shook her head, not quite trusting her judgment.

“Well, that’s something, then.”

He turned to walk down the hall, back toward the front door, around the bags of home-renovation supplies and paint and everything else that would take up all her waking moments for the next several days. Perhaps weeks.

Maybe she could sweet-talk someone local into donating their time. School would be out for summer soon. Maybe a couple of students at loose ends … There was so much to do before the open house. The logistics of organizing that alone were taking up so much time and energy, and she’d already drafted the press release and sent it out….

The press release. The media was going to expect to see Molly at that, too. New nerves tangled as she thought of dealing with the press alone. She looked up at Sam. Getting more from him would be like getting blood from a stone. She’d figure something out. She had a little bit of time.

“I’d better let you get back to your dinner,” he said, putting his hand on the doorknob.

Her dinner. The tasteless glazed chicken that she’d popped in the microwave in lieu of a real meal.

“I trust that I’ll see you next month at the board meeting, then?”

His hat shadowed his eyes in the dim light of the foyer, so when he nodded briefly Angela couldn’t read his expression. Something between them hesitated, seemed to keep him from opening the door, made it feel that there was more to her question than she’d voiced—and more to his answer.

When she finally thought he must be able to hear her heart beating through her chest, he opened the door. Angela let out a deep sigh of relief, until he turned and tipped his finger to his hat in farewell.

A gentleman.

She shut the door behind him. Perhaps. But not like any gentleman she’d ever known. And maybe that was the problem.

CHAPTER THREE

SHE’D been kidding herself.

Exhausted, Angela sank down on the lopsided front step and put her head in her hands. For ten days she’d worked her tail off, and there was still so much to do her head was spinning. Having to do the renovations herself meant no time for working on the embellishments, the little special touches she’d had in mind. The basement was littered with used paint cans and rollers, and she’d missed a stud trying to install a curtain rod and ended up having to do a substantial drywall repair in the yellow room. Yards of material gathered dust waiting to be sewn into curtains and duvet covers. Boxes of supplies were still taped up, needing to be unpacked. The carpet was torn up in the living room but the local flooring business had postponed installation of the new hardwood until tomorrow. The place was a mess.

The open house was only four days away. She needed Molly’s help. Molly had been on board to look after feeding the crew from the youth center on Saturday. She was also supposed to be a spokesperson to the media so Angela could stay in the background, where she liked it. Angela had been so annoyed by Sam’s attitude that she’d squared her shoulders and determined she’d show him and do it all herself.

But she’d been wrong. She needed help. And she needed his help if Molly wasn’t able. It wasn’t just about a pair of spare hands. The press release had gone out before that horrible board meeting and the local angle had been playing up Diamond involvement. To go ahead with the day and have the Diamonds conspicuously absent … to stand in front of a camera and have her picture taken, her words put into print …

Her stomach tied up in knots just thinking about it. This wasn’t about her, it was about them—the women the foundation would help. The last thing she needed was anyone digging around in her past. She closed her eyes. It was truly a bad state if she was relying on the likes of Sam Diamond to be her ally!

She wiped her hands on her overalls, resigned. It came back to the same thing every time, no matter how much she didn’t want to admit it.

She needed Sam Diamond’s help.

She found him coming down a beaten track on horseback, sitting a trot effortlessly while a golden retriever loped along behind. Growing up in the city she hadn’t really believed that cowboys and ranchers, like those in storybooks and movies, really existed. But they did. The Diamondback Ranch sprawled over the foothills, dotted with red-and-white cattle. The house was a huge log-type mansion that reeked of money and Western tradition at once. Just beyond a gigantic barn was a paddock where half a dozen gleaming horses snoozed in the warmth of the summer sun. And Sam Diamond was getting closer by the second, all six foot plus of him in his own über-masculine element.

She’d never felt so out of place in her life, and she’d been in some pretty uncomfortable spots over the years.

“Well, well. Must be important to tear yourself away from Butterfly House on such a gorgeous day.”

She had to squint against the sun to look up at him. “You manage to compliment the weather and antagonize me all in the same sentence,” she said. She forced a small smile. “And I might get mad, except for the fact that you’re right. It is important.”

He’d slowed to a walk but she still had to hustle to keep up with him.

“And it has to do with me … why?”

With a slight shift of the reins, horse and rider came to a stop. The dog, sensing home, bounded off in the direction of the house. Angela held her breath as Sam turned in the saddle and looked directly at her. On horseback he was an imposing figure, and he had a direct way of looking at a person that was intimidating. She wasn’t comfortable being one hundred percent of his focus, but she made herself meet his gaze. He looked far too good for comfort in his jeans, boots and dark Stetson, and she took her sunglasses out of her hair and put them on, shading her eyes.

The horse Sam rode was big and black, and the way he tossed his head made his bridle hardware jingle. He was exactly the kind of mount she’d expect Sam Diamond to ride—big and bossy and used to having his way. But Angela refused to be intimidated.

When she didn’t answer, he grinned. “Let’s try that again, shall we? Good mornin’, Ms. Beck. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

There was a mocking note to his words and Angela felt his gaze drop over her clothing and back up again. She’d considered changing out of her paint-streaked overalls and sneakers but decided not to. She felt safer in the shapeless garment rather than her work clothes that skimmed her figure more closely. Besides, the scale of work that had to be done was enormous. Fixing herself up would have taken valuable time she couldn’t afford to lose.

“I need your help.”

There, she’d said it, and it only hurt a little. Mostly in her pride.

“My help? My, my. That must have been hard to say.”

“Yes. I mean no. You see … I had counted on your mother’s help and without it I’ve fallen behind. I know it couldn’t be helped,” she rushed to add. “I don’t blame Molly. She belongs with your father, of course. I’ve tried for the last week and a half to keep pace on my own, but we’ve got a press opportunity happening this Saturday and I’m not ready.”

“As you can see, I’ve got my hands full here.”

“Surely you can spare some time? I’ve been doing the renovations myself but there are some things I’m just not equipped to do. The front step is a hazard and the furniture needs to be moved into the living room before Saturday and somehow I have to have refreshments on hand for a dozen teenagers who will be at the house. Not to mention the press.”

She was quite breathless at the end and felt a blush infuse her cheeks as Sam merely raised one eyebrow until it disappeared from view beneath his hat.

“Come to the house. I’ll write you a check and you can hire some help for a few days.”

Her blood began to simmer. For most people she would have said put your money where your mouth is. But for Sam, writing a check was an easy way to rid himself of the inconvenience of her and of Butterfly House. Her annoyance temporarily overrode her personal discomfort.

“You don’t understand. This isn’t just about slapping on some paint. It’s about perception.”

“Perception?”

“Yes, perception.” She sighed. “It’s not even so much the renovations. When you replaced Molly on the board, the press releases had already been sent and the arrangements made. You’re the foundation’s biggest sponsor, Sam. And everyone expects to see a Diamond presence this weekend. If there’s no one there …”

“If it’s perception you’re worried about, I’m not sure I’m the image you want to present to the public. You’ll do fine without me.”

He laughed, but Angela wasn’t amused. This project was about more than helping women reclaim their lives. It was about changing attitudes. And Sam Diamond, with his money and swagger, was the perfect test case. If she could bring him around, she figured she could accomplish just about anything.

“I won’t say no to the check because the foundation needs it. But we need more than that, too. We need a showing of support. We need the backing of the community. I don’t like it any more than you do. I wish I didn’t need your help. But I sat on the step this morning trying to figure out how I was going to manage it all and I kept coming up blank.”

“Maybe I can spare a man for a day or two, but that’s all. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

But that wasn’t all. How easy was it for Sam to solve a problem by scrawling a dollar amount and washing his hands of it? “All I’m asking for is one day. One day for you to show up, be charming, give a visible show of support. As much as it pains me to admit it, the people of Cadence Creek follow your lead.”

He rolled his eyes. “Here we go again. You don’t give up, do you? Do you ever take no for an answer?”

She gritted her teeth. If he only knew how much she hated confrontation! She lifted her chin. “Do you?”

A magpie chattered, breaking the angry silence. “From the look of the house, it needs more than a slap of paint. It needs a demolition order. You’ll never get it fixed by Saturday.” Sam adjusted the reins as his horse danced, impatient at being forced to stand.

Angela got close enough that she had to tilt her head to look up at Sam. She wanted him to see what was at stake. It wasn’t enough for him to sit atop his ivory tower of privilege—or his trusty steed—and bestow his beneficence. It was too easy. And the women she wanted to help hadn’t had it easy. Their lives couldn’t be fixed by a blank check.

“I have to. The house has been neglected, that’s all. It just needs some TLC.”

“Ms. Beck.” He sighed, looking down at her from beneath his hat. “Do you want me to do everything for you?”

She felt her cheeks heat. “Of course not. But, for example, I was going to look after the painting and minor renovations while your mother lent a hand with some of the aesthetic needs—like window fashions, linens. On Saturday she was not only going to represent your family to the community and press, but she was in charge of all the refreshments. That’s all fallen to me now. I do need to sleep sometime, Sam. And then there’s the issue of what to say to people on Saturday when they ask about our biggest sponsor and their conspicuous absence.”

“You tell them we’re busy running a ranch. You tell them we’re occupied with adding a new green facility to our operation. Or that we’re busy employing a number of the town residents. All true, by the way.”

“Have you heard of volunteering, Mr. Diamond?”

His dark eyes widened as his brows went up. “I beg your pardon?”

“Volunteering—offering one’s time with no expectation of reimbursement.”

“I know what volunteering is,” he replied, impatience saturating each word.

“Millions of people volunteer every day and still manage to work their day jobs. Most of them also have families of their own—and you don’t have a wife or children that I can see. You can spare Butterfly House the cash, but can you spare it the time?”

Angela swallowed, took a breath, and stepped forward, grabbing the reins of his horse with far more confidence than she felt. She stood in front of the stallion’s withers, her body only inches away from Sam’s denim-clad leg as it lengthened into the stirrup. “What are you so afraid of, Sam?”

He slid out of the saddle and snatched the reins from her hands, his movements impatient. “You can save the holier-than-thou routine. I’ve made up my mind.”

She could sense success slipping away from her and frustration bubbled. “You go to great lengths to avoid personal involvement. Why is that? Maybe it’s true what they say about you.”

“And what’s that?” He stood before her, all long legs and broad chest. She felt incredibly small and awkward next to his physicality, dumpy in her overalls next to his worn jeans and cotton shirt that seemed to hug his shoulders and chest. She felt a little bit awed, too, and it irritated her that she should be so susceptible to that because, despite the fact he was a pain in the behind, Sam Diamond was also drop-dead sexy. The sad thing was she was nearly thirty years old and had no idea what to do with these feelings. She’d gotten very good at presenting a certain image, but inside she knew the truth. She had no idea how to be close to anyone.

“Never mind.” She turned away, hating that he was able to provoke her without even trying.

He reached out and grabbed her wrist. “Not so fast. I think you’d better tell me.”

Her heart seemed to freeze as her breath caught for one horrible, chilling moment. Then, very carefully and deliberately, she reached down and removed his fingers from her wrist and stepped back. She wasn’t sure which emotion was taking over at the moment—anger or fear. But either one was enough to make the words that had been sitting on her tongue come out in a rush.

“That you’re a cold-hearted …” She couldn’t bring herself to say the word. She kept her gaze glued to his face for several seconds.

Finally the hard angle of his jaw bone softened a touch and he said quietly, “Where’d you hear that? Let me guess, Amy Wilson?”

She had, and her lack of response confirmed it.

“You shouldn’t judge someone by what you hear.”

“I don’t.” At his skeptical expression, she sniffed. “I don’t,” she insisted. “I form my own opinions. I deal with people all the time, you know. And I judge people by what I see them do.” And right now he wasn’t scoring many points. Her wrist still smarted from the strength of his fingers circling the soft flesh. She touched the spot with her fingers.

His gaze caught the movement and then lifted to meet hers. There was contrition there, she realized. He hadn’t really hurt her; he’d merely reached out to keep her from running away. It was her reaction that was out of proportion and she suspected they both knew it. Awkward silence stretched out as heat rose once again in her cheeks.

“And so you’ve judged me.” The horse got tired of standing and jerked his head, pulling on the reins. Sam tightened his grip, uttered a few soothing words as he gave the glistening neck a pat. “I suppose you won’t believe me if I say I’m sorry about that.” He nodded at her clasped hands.

It was a backward apology, and did nothing to change the situation. That was what she had to remember. “Sam, you give from your pocketbook if it means you don’t have to get involved. I just haven’t figured out why. Is the ugliness of real life too much for you?” She kissed her last hope of success goodbye, knowing she was crossing a line but needing to say it anyway. How many times over the years had people turned a blind eye to someone in trouble? How many people had avoided the nasty side of life because it made them uncomfortable? How many people had known what was happening in front of their faces and hadn’t had the courage to make the call? Angela’s life might have been very different. It was the only thing that kept her moving forward in spite of her own fears.

“That’s ridiculous.” He turned his back and started leading his horse across the barnyard.

“Then prove it. Try giving of yourself.” She went after him, desperately wanting to get through. “These women have been through it all, Sam. They’ve been beaten, degraded, raped …” She swallowed. “By the men who professed to love them. Despite it all, they got out. They sought help, often leaving everything they owned behind. This house will help bridge the gap between overcoming an old life and building a new, shiny one. What in your life is more important than that?”

He didn’t answer. But she sensed he was weakening, and she softened her voice. “All I’m asking for is a few hours here and there. You have a gorgeous house, food on the table, a purpose. I just want to give these women the same chance. If you show the people of Cadence Creek that you support these women, doors will open. They’ll have a chance to be a part of something. People look to you to lead. Lead now, Sam. For something really important.”

She took a step back, uncomfortable with how impassioned her voice had become. For a few seconds there was nothing but the sounds of the wind in the grass and the songbirds in the bushes.

“You realize how busy this ranch is, right? And that I’m going it alone now that Dad’s sick?”

“But you have a foreman, and hands. Surely they can spare you for a few hours?”

“You’re forgetting one important detail.”

“I am?”

“If I help you, we’re going to be seeing more of each other.” He made it sound like a prison sentence. “And I don’t mean to be rude, but we’re kind of like oil and water.”

She felt her vanity take a hit before locking it away. Her personal feelings weren’t important here. It shouldn’t matter if Sam liked her or not. She only needed his support.

“Don’t worry. There’s lots of house to go around. We hardly have to see each other. I can stand it if you can.” Besides, there were lines she didn’t cross, ever, and it was a big leap from noticing the fit of a man’s jeans to personal involvement. They rubbed each other the wrong way. Then she remembered how he’d brushed by her the other night and how her body had suddenly become attuned to his. The real trouble was in the few moments where they had rubbed each other exactly the right way. At least on Saturday there would be tons of other people around and she’d be too busy keeping the kids busy and the food on the go to worry about Sam.

They were at the fence gate now and there wasn’t much left to say. He threw the reins up over the saddle horn and mounted, settling into the saddle with a creak of leather. “I’m not afraid,” he said. “Two hours. I’ll give you two hours Saturday afternoon to talk to whatever press you’ve lined up. Just keep your social-worker analysis to yourself, okay? I’m not interested. Save it for your clients.”

“Scouts’ honor,” she replied, lifting two fingers to her brow. She couldn’t help the smile that curved her lips. It wasn’t all she’d asked for, but more than she’d dare hoped and she counted it as a significant victory. Perhaps she’d be spared the public face after all.

He shook his head and gave the horse a nudge. As they were walking away he twisted in the saddle, looking back at her. “I’ll send over a check. I’d advise you to cash it before I change my mind and stop payment on it. Maybe you can cater your food for Saturday with it.”

He showed her his back again and they took off at a trot, stirring up dust.

Sam looked up from his desk and realized it was nearly dark outside. That meant … He checked his watch. It was going on ten o’clock. He’d been at it longer than he realized. But he wanted to start the construction on the new project before the end of summer, marking a new era for Diamondback. As he got older the more he realized he was caretaker not only of the Diamondback name but the land. The environmentally friendly initiatives were exciting, and he loved the idea of reducing Diamondback’s footprint. But his father’s stubborn refusal to sign off on the contracts was stressing him out.

He sighed, rubbed a hand over his face. It grated on his nerves, having the responsibility of the ranch without also having the authority to make the changes he wanted. And with Virgil’s health so precarious, he was doing some fancy footwork these days trying to get his way without upsetting the proverbial apple cart. Between his father and the everyday running of the ranch, he hadn’t been lying when he’d told Angela that he didn’t have a moment to spare.

But then she’d had to go and challenge him and he’d been suckered in. It rankled that she knew how to push his buttons without really knowing him at all. He didn’t think he was usually so transparent.

She’d looked exhausted. There was the annoying realization that she’d been right in just about everything. A Diamond family member had promised to appear and her assertion that Butterfly House would need community support was valid.

But for Sam it had been more than that. It had been the look in her eyes, the way all the color had leached from her cheeks in the split second he’d grasped her wrist within his fingers. The expression had been enough to give even his jaded heart a wrench. There was more to Angela than the prim and proper businesswoman he’d met at the board meeting. This was personal for her and he wanted to know why.

He scowled. It was none of his business. The last thing he needed was to get sucked into someone else’s problems. If only his mother would agree to a hired nurse, she could go back to being Angela’s right hand and cheerleader. He worried about Molly, taking on all of his father’s care herself and refusing any help. With a sigh he closed his eyes. He was trying to hold everything together and not doing a great job of it.

A light knock sounded at the door and he turned in his chair. “Mom. You’re still up?”

Molly Diamond came in, and Sam thought she looked older than she had a few short weeks ago. There were new lines around her eyes and mouth, and she’d lost weight. The light sweater she wore seemed to hang from her shoulders.

“I just got your father settled. You’re up late.”

“Just going over the latest information on the biogas facility. I’m close to finally having the details nailed down. The sooner the better, we’ve had enough delays. I’m excited about it.”

“Sam …” Molly’s brow furrowed. “Right now those plans are more like building castles in the sand.”

“Then help me convince him,” he replied easily. “He won’t listen to me. This will take Diamondback into the future.”

“What sort of future? Who for, Sam?”

There it was again. The constant tone that said when are you going to start a family? Surely she realized it wasn’t a simple snap of the fingers to find the right woman. There had to be love. Whoever he married was taking on not only him but Diamondback as well. He gritted his teeth. “Two different subjects, Mom. And right now this facility is the right thing.”

Molly sighed. “It’s a big undertaking. And your father sacrificed a lot to make Diamondback what it is. He’s just … cautious. Please don’t trouble him about it. Not now.”

“It’s the way of the future. And I’ve spent a lot of hours putting this together.” Disappointment was clear in his voice.

“And it’s taking its toll,” she said, coming to the desk and pulling up a chair. The desk lamp cast a circle of cozy light and despite the recent troubles, Sam thought how lucky he was to have grown up here. It hadn’t always been easy, and there’d been a good many arguments and slammed doors, especially in younger years.

But he’d never once questioned their love, never once felt insecure. He thought of Angela, standing in the farmyard in paint-smeared, shapeless overalls and dark glasses. He wondered what her upbringing had been like, thought about the women who would benefit from Butterfly House. Not everyone had had the advantages that he’d had.

“What’s really on your mind, Sam?”

“Nothing, really. Just trying to keep up.”

“You met Angela Beck,” Molly said, leaning back against the cushion of the chair and crossing her legs. “She’s a worker.”

“A dog with a bone, more like it,” he muttered. Molly laughed and it was good to hear the sound. Ever since she’d found his father on the floor of their bedroom after his stroke, there hadn’t been much to laugh about.

“She’s doing a good thing, Sam.”

“I know. But you’re much better at this kind of thing than I am. I belong out there.” He lifted his chin, looking out the window. In the darkness, only the reflection from the lamp looked back at him. “We totally rub each other the wrong way. We can’t occupy the same space without arguing. I have intentions of being nice, and I end up being an idiot.”

To his surprise Molly laughed. “At least you acknowledge when you’re an idiot,” she answered, “which puts you a step ahead of most of the population.”

“Mom, why don’t you let me hire some help for you?” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “Then you can still work on this project. It’ll be good for you.” Plus it would mean he wouldn’t be pulled away from the farm, and he wouldn’t have to come face-to-face with Angela’s acute observations—never mind her smoky eyes and delicious curves. She’d tried to hide them in the overalls, but they were still there. He didn’t like that he kept noticing. Didn’t like that she seemed to be on his mind more often than not.

“Because I want to be with your father.” Molly looked tired, but Sam noticed how her eyes warmed. “You’ll understand someday, when you’re married and you’ve been in love with that person for most of your life.”

Sam sighed. “Mom, I’m thirty-seven. Don’t count on it, okay? At this rate, Ty’s your best chance for a grandkid.”

Ty. Sam’s cousin by blood but also his adoptive brother. Any child of his would be considered a grandchild. But Ty was barely on speaking terms with the family. Neither said it but they knew it was true. He hadn’t even come home for Virgil’s seventieth birthday.

“I’m not saying that, don’t panic. I’m just saying that I need to do this for Virgil. And that leaves Butterfly House up to you. It’s not a long commitment. Once it’s fixed up, the management of it will be in Angela’s fine hands. A board meeting here and there is not too much to ask.”

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