Chance Reunion?

Bumping into her ex-fiancé shatters Millie Wilson all over again. Now that she’s back in Montana to care for her dying father, her real burden is the secret she’s never divulged to Hunter McKaslin. Millie can’t blame Hunter for his anger upon learning he’s a father. He’s never gotten over opening his heart, only to have it broken. Yet Millie senses a new goodness in Hunter. Finding their lost dreams now seems possible—if forgiveness and trust can find a place in this fresh start.

Enjoy a special 15th anniversary bonus story from Love Inspired Suspense, Key Witness by Terri Reed

Panic licked through Millie. He was coming this way. A cart wheel squeaked as Hunter’s shopping cart pulled in behind her.

She nearly dropped her coupon envelope. He still smelled the same—like pine, hay and summer sun. His black T-shirt hugged a powerful physique that had matured impressively.

She felt his gaze rake over her again like a cold hard punch. He froze, finally really looking at her. Recognition snapped through him. His entire body went rigid. His jaw dropped and he fell silent, leaving the rest of his thoughts unspoken.

She didn’t glance at Hunter as she took her receipt, turned her back and grabbed her single bag of groceries from the end of the check stand.

Don’t look back, she told herself. She didn’t need one last look at the man. She’d learned all she needed to in his shocked and silent stare. Not that she’d held even the faintest hope of a friendly reunion. No, not after the way they’d left things. But she hadn’t expected him to look at her with horror, either....

She could still feel Hunter’s gaze as she crossed the lot—a cold gaze, when it had once been so loving. Why did that hurt so much?

JILLIAN HART

grew up on her family’s homestead, where she helped raise cattle, rode horses and scribbled stories in her spare time. After earning her English degree from Whitman College, she worked in travel and advertising before selling her first novel. When Jillian isn’t working on her next story, she can be found puttering in her rose garden, curled up with a good book or spending quiet evenings at home with her family.

Montana Dreams

Jillian Hart

Dear Reader,

Welcome to Love Inspired! We’re celebrating our 15th anniversary this month, and you’re invited to the party!

Love Inspired Books began in September 1997, offering readers inspirational contemporary romances. Fifteen years later, Love Inspired has never wavered from our promise to our readers; we are proud to publish short contemporary romances that feature Christian men and women facing the challenges of life and love in today’s world.

In honor of our anniversary, we are showcasing some of our top authors in September. Irene Hannon, Arlene James and Lois Richer were part of the original lineup in 1997, and we’re supremely blessed that they are still writing for us in 2012. Jillian Hart and Margaret Daley have been part of the Love Inspired family since the early 2000s. And newcomer Mia Ross rounds out the month. We hope you enjoy these sweet stories full of home, family and love.

As a special thank-you to our readers, each book this month contains a bonus story. Give them a try, and we know you’ll find our authors the very best in Christian romance!

Thank you for reading Love Inspired.

Blessings,

Melissa Endlich

Senior Editor

I will love you, O Lord, my strength.

—Psalms 18:1

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Chapter One

“You always were good for nothing, girl.” Her father’s bitter voice grumbled through the small, unkempt house. “Get the lead out of your lazy butt and fetch me something to eat. I’m gettin’ hungry.”

Millie Wilson straightened up, mop handle clutched in one hand, closed her eyes and prayed for strength. The Lord had to help her because she wasn’t sure she could do this without Him. The call in the middle of the night, a doctor’s voice on the other end of the line, her father’s collapse and terminal prognosis. If only there had been anyone—anyone at all—to take over his care. “I have to go to the market, Dad.”

“You should have thought of that earlier,” he barked from the other room.

And I came back, why? She swished the mop into the sudsy bucket, wrung it out and scoured the last patch of kitchen floor. Marginally better, but it was going to take more than one pass over. She didn’t want to think how long it had been since the floor had a proper cleaning—it would take a scrub brush and a lot of elbow grease to get out the dirt ground into the texture of the linoleum—a job for another time. Her back ached just thinking of it.

“Millie?” A knock echoed above the hum of the air conditioner. A familiar face smiled in at her, visible through the pane of glass in the door. The foreman tipped his Stetson and rolled the tobacco around to his other cheek while he waited for her to open the door.

“Hi, Milton. What’s up?” She squinted in the bright summer sun.

“We got problems. Paychecks bounced. Again.” Milton paused a moment to gather his spit, turn aside and spew a stream of tobacco juice into the barren flower bed. “The boys aren’t going to stand for this. They’ve got rent due and mouths to feed.”

“I know.” Why didn’t this surprise her either? She rubbed her forehead, which was beginning to pound. “I’m overwhelmed here. I haven’t even thought about Dad’s finances.”

“They’re a shambles, that’s what.” Milton shook his head, his weathered face lined with a mixture of grief and disgust. “Work is scarce in this part of the county. No one wants to walk away from a job right now. I know Whip is sick, but if he doesn’t take care of his workers, then we can’t work for free. Those cows need to be milked no matter what.”

“Give me a day to problem solve. Can you ask everyone to wait? I’m here now, I’ve been here for two hours. Let me figure out what’s what, and I’ll do everything I can to make good on those checks.”

“We appreciate that, Millie. I know you’ll do your best by us, but I don’t know what the boys will go for.” Milton tipped his hat in a combination of thanks and farewell before he ambled toward the steps. “Keep in mind that if things don’t get better...”

“I hear you.” Someone had to do the work, and it took a team of men to do it. As Milton headed off back down the driveway, Millie wondered if she remembered how to run a milking parlor. That part of her life seemed a world away, nearly forgotten. Probably intentionally.

“Put ice cream on that list, girl, and get a move on.” In his room, Pa must have hit the remote because the soundtrack from a spaghetti Western drowned out every other noise in the house and kept her from arguing. The pop of gunfire and the drum of galloping horses accompanied her while she upended her mop bucket over the sink, stowed the meager cleaning supplies and made a mental grocery list.

Time to blow this place. She grabbed her purse and the big ring of farm keys. She called out to her dad, not sure if he could hear her over the blaring television and hopped out the front door.

“Mom.” Simon looked up, pushed his round glasses higher on his nose with a thumb and held out a handful of wildflowers. “I picked them for you.”

“You did?” Just what she needed. One look at her nine-year-old son eased the strain of the tough last couple of hours. Love filled her heart like a tidal wave as the black-haired boy with deep blue eyes ran across a lawn that had gone wild. Blossoms danced in his fist as he held them up to her.

Better than roses any day. “Thank you. They’re wonderful. I love them.”

“I thought you needed something, you know, to make you smile.” He shrugged his shoulders, his button face puckered up with worry. “You’ve frowned the whole time, ever since you said we had to come here.”

“Really? Oh, I didn’t mean to. Sorry about that, kiddo.” She took a moment to admire her bouquet of yellow sunflowers, snowy daisies, purple coneflowers and cheerful buttercups. “These certainly should do the trick. Am I smiling?”

“Yeah. Much better.” When he grinned, deep dimples cut into his cheeks, so like his father’s that it drove straight to her heart.

It was one pain that would never fade. She’d stopped trying to make it disappear years ago. There was just no use. Once, she’d loved Simon’s father with all the depth of her being. Losing him had shattered her. Ten years later and she still hadn’t found a way to make her heart whole.

Being back home in this little corner of Montana made her wonder. Just how much would she remember—things she couldn’t hold back? She sighed, thinking of how young she’d been, of how truly she’d loved the man and, yes, it hurt to remember. She ran a hand along her son’s cheek—such a sweet boy—and kept the smile on her face.

Simon was what mattered now.

“Guess what?” she asked. “I need a copilot.”

“I’m on it.” Simon leaped ahead, dashing toward the old Ford pickup. “Where’re we goin’?”

“To the grocery store, unless you want to eat stale crackers and dried-up peanut butter for supper.”

“Not so much. Can we have pizza?” He yanked open the black truck’s door. The rusty old thing squeaked and groaned as he scrambled behind the steering wheel and across the ripped bench seat. “It could be the on-sale kind. Want me to see if we got a coupon?”

“That would be a big help.”

She eyed the truck warily. It had been a long time since she’d driven a pickup. Totally different from her compact car and she had to adjust the seat, the mirrors and dig for the seat belt—it was buried in the crumbs, hayseed and grain bits that had accumulated in the crack of the seat over what had to be decades.

“I’m on it.” Simon slipped his hand into the outside pocket of her handbag, extracted an envelope and began sorting through her coupon collection. His forehead furrowed in concentration. His cowlick stood up straight from the crown of his head in a lazy swirl.

Just like his father’s.

Stop thinking about that man. She had enough to contend with without borrowing heartache. She refused to wonder what had happened to the man. The love she had for him was long dead and buried. Did he still live around here or had he moved? It wasn’t as if she’d kept in touch with anyone in the valley, so she’d never heard a scrap of the news since her father had thrown her out of the house when she was nineteen.

“Found it!” Simon’s triumph was drowned out by the roar of the badly timed engine. He waved the coupon while she dug out his seat belt, too. “I hope they have the pepperoni kind at the store.”

“Me, too.” She couldn’t help trying to smooth down the ruffle of hair, but his cowlick stayed up stubbornly.

“Mom?”

“What?” She wrestled the truck into Drive, which shouldn’t be so hard with an automatic, and nosed the pickup down the driveway.

“How long do we gotta stay here?” He tucked the coupon in the front of the fat envelope.

“I don’t know. I wish I did, believe me.” Gravel crunched beneath the tires as she fought the pickup around a curve. “I want to go home just as much as you do.”

“I miss my friends.”

“Me, too.”

They smiled together as the pickup bumped down the last stretch of driveway. Cows grazed behind sagging fences. Across the county road, moss glinted on the barn’s roof, which happened to be missing more than a few shingles. As she cranked the steering wheel to the right hard, manhandling the rattling truck onto the pavement, she wondered just how long Dad had been letting things slide and why no one had looked her up to tell her. She may have moved out of state, but she wasn’t that hard to find.

Amber fields whipped by, grass bronzing in the hot summer sun.

“How come Grandpa doesn’t share his TV?”

“That’s just the way he is.” Her mother had a small set in the kitchen, but it was not there now. She had no idea where it went or what had gone on around here in the last ten years. One thing was for certain, a lot of things had changed. The farm was no longer top-notch, money was apparently wanting and her father? The robust man he’d once been had withered away.

“I know we’ve got to get by and you’re not working or anything.” Simon took a deep breath. “But how am I gonna watch my shows?”

“That’s a good question. I’ll try and figure something out, okay?”

“Okay.” He stared off down the road. “Maybe we won’t be here long.”

“Maybe.” Simon didn’t know that they would be leaving only after her father died. Sorrow burned behind her eyes, which was unexpected considering how she’d once loathed her dad with every fiber of her being. She checked her rearview mirror for traffic out of habit—of course, there was none, not on this rural road—and flicked her gaze to the pavement ahead. Farmland spread around her like a patchwork quilt in irrigated greens, dried ambers and barn roofs glinting in the sun.

One more corner and they zipped past the little row of rental houses, bright with new paint, where her one-and-only love had lived. Was he still there or had he moved on to bigger and better things? Maybe he’d left town entirely—that’s what she dearly hoped. The last thing she wanted was to run into him, face-to-face. Pain seared her heart, tender after all these years.

Why did it still hurt to remember Hunter McKaslin? She didn’t know—it was a mystery she might never solve.

“Did you go to school there?” Simon asked, pointing toward a squat gray block building hugging the outskirts of town. The windows were dark. Students wouldn’t fill those classrooms for another month.

“Yes, I did. I jumped rope in that courtyard. And see that last door right there? That’s the library where I spent every rainy recess.”

“It looks awful small, Mom.”

“Welcome to life in Prospect, Montana,” she quipped. “Where everything is small.”

“This is the main street?” Simon scratched his head, looking around with a wrinkled nose and a slight look of dismay. He’d been asleep on the drive from the Bozeman airport. Milton had met their plane, a tiny prop that lurched and swayed with every gust of wind. She dreaded getting back up in the air for her return trip.

“I know it doesn’t look like much, but it’s the quality and not the quantity that counts,” she said of the town.

“What does that mean? More is better, Mom. You know it is.”

“I was talking about the people. That’s what makes the difference anywhere.” She swung into a lot, yanking hard on the wheel. Boy, did she miss power steering. It was all she could do to grapple the big truck into a parking space. At least she hoped she’d managed to fit between the lines. Who knew? She was afraid to pop open her door and take a look. Good thing there was plenty of room in the nearly empty lot. The engine shuttered to a stop, she tossed the keys into her purse and unbuckled.

A hot, dry wind puffed over her as she led the way into the store. The grocery hadn’t changed much. It was still family owned, sporting fading posters in the front wall of windows, and the automatic doors gave a long pause before they wheezed arthritically open.

Just get in and get out, she thought as Simon tromped alongside her. If she hurried, then maybe no one would have time to recognize her and see what had become of her.

“I’ll grab a cart!” Simon leaped forward to pick apart the wire carts and took charge of one, steering it by its red handlebar. He stopped dead in his tracks when he looked around. “This is it?”

“I’m afraid so.” They were used to a large chain store in Portland bursting with selection. This little place had ten aisles—short aisles—and hadn’t been remodeled since she’d left town. The fifties decorating scheme added charm, but it didn’t come close to impressing her son. She smiled and rubbed his shoulder encouragingly. “Maybe their pizza selection isn’t too bad. See the refrigerated cases along the back wall? Why don’t we go check ’em out?”

“Okay.” Leading the way like an intrepid explorer who just discovered the terrain was much more perilous than expected, Simon shoved the cart ahead of him.

“Millie? Millie Wilson? Is that you, dear?” An elderly voice quivered with excitement.

Millie skidded to a stop. Up ahead of her, Simon did, too. He turned around with curiosity bright in his dark blue eyes. So much for getting in and out of here without running into someone she knew. “Mrs. Hoffsteader, how are you?”

“Fine, just fine. I can’t believe my eyes. Little Millie, all grown up. I almost didn’t recognize you.” The white-haired lady tapped up with her loaded cart, her cane hanging on the handlebar. Her smile turned serious. “I suppose you’re back in town to help with your father.”

“Yes.” She nodded at Simon, letting him know to go ahead without her. Not only was the pizza case in plain view, but she was a little afraid of Myra Hoffsteader’s sharp gaze. What if someone recognized Simon’s dimples and dark blue eyes a shade lighter than his father’s?

“Whip has his faults and he’s the hardest man I’ve ever met, but I hate to think of anyone ill.” Compassion wreathed the woman’s lovely face. “It has to be hard for you, too.”

“I’ll be fine. Wherever I am, I’m not alone.”

“No, God is watching over us all, and that’s the truth.” Myra’s gaze narrowed, perhaps eager to bring up a certain subject. “He’s still in town, you know.”

“H-Hunter?” She gulped for air, nearly choking over the name she hadn’t spoken aloud in so long that it felt foreign on her tongue. The one name she’d once loved most of all.

“In fact, there he is, walking this way.” She nodded her silver head in the direction of the front windows where a tall, wide-shouldered man stalked across the parking lot, his Stetson brim tipped to hide the sun. All she could see of his face was the firm, unyielding line of his mouth and the square manly cut of his jaw.

Hunter. Her heart rolled slowly in her chest, flipping upside down. Hunter, here, after all this time. And so close. She stumbled a few steps back. Her first instinct was to run. She cast her gaze down the aisle where Simon stood in front of the glass doors, fist to his chin in thought.

There was no reason why Hunter would suspect, she told herself. But those words didn’t comfort her. “Mrs. Hoffsteader, it’s been good seeing you, but honestly, I don’t want to be standing here when Hunter walks through that door.”

“I understand, dear. He broke your heart.” Sympathy softened her voice. “I suppose you’ve got a lot on your plate tending your father. That’s enough adversity for a girl to deal with. You go on now.”

“It was good running into you.” Millie backed down the aisle, taking refuge between the tall shelves of cooking oils on one side and spices on the other. “I’ll see you Sunday?”

“Absolutely. I’ll keep an eye out. We’re having a church picnic. Rumor has it that you are a Christian now. Be sure to come.”

“I’ll try.” She glanced toward the door—it whooshed open, meaning Hunter was almost in sight, so she took off. No way would he recognize the back of her as she skedaddled down the aisle.

“They had pepperoni.” Simon smiled, dimples flashing, holding up the box. “It’s the large size, but that’s okay. The coupon covers it.”

“Good boy.” She glanced at the price tacked inside the case, but it was hard to concentrate with her heart drumming a thousand beats a second.

“I found a coupon in there for cookie dough.” Simon’s gaze slid sideways to the rolls of premade tubes sitting in bright yellow packages. “It’s okay if we can’t afford it, but they just look good.”

“Yes, they do.” Impulsively she yanked open the door and snagged a roll of chocolate chip, Simon’s favorite. She heard a man’s boots thud nearby, a gait she’d know anytime and anywhere, it was sewn into the fabric of her being.

Hunter. His step hesitated directly behind her. Her blood pressure rocketed into the red zone. He tugged at her like a black hole’s gravitational field—a force she had to resist. Her palms went slick. She slowly set the dough tube in the cart. Maybe if she didn’t make any sudden movements, he wouldn’t look her way. Let him go on with his shopping without noticing her. That way she wouldn’t have to look him in the eye and feel her heart break all over again.

“Mom?” Simon grasped the bar and gave the cart a shove. “What’s next?”

“Uh—” She stared at Hunter’s reflection in the glass refrigerator case. He was tall enough to steal a woman’s breath, well-built in a country sort of way—those were solid muscles beneath his T-shirt. His dark hair, still thick, tumbled over his forehead. Her fingers remembered the silken feel of those locks. If he wasn’t wearing that Stetson, his hair would stick up just a hint at the crown, where a cowlick whirled.

She swallowed hard, feeling a bump against her elbow. Simon. She saw her reflection, too. Not the youthful girl she’d been when Hunter had loved her, when the most handsome man in the county had chosen her as his girlfriend. Time and hardship had worn their way onto her face. Faint creases marked the corners of her eyes, the plane of her forehead and bracketed her mouth. No, she was so not the girl she’d been.

That wasn’t the reason she didn’t answer her son right away. What if the sound of her voice drew Hunter’s attention? She pointed to the dairy case. Simon turned the cart with a rattle and headed toward the egg cartons lined up in the next case over.

There was a thump behind her as something landed in Hunter’s cart. Wheels squeaked and boots knelled on the tile. Thank the heavens above, he walked away in the opposite direction. Thank You, Lord.

Relief blasted through her. She risked a glance over her shoulder just as he turned down the next aisle, his attention on his shopping. Iron jaw, granite features, he’d become a man who looked harder than she’d remembered—the father of her son.

Chapter Two

Guilt wrapped around her as she faced the little boy checking the prices on the various egg cartons.

“This is the best price.” Simon slipped it into the basket. “I got a carton of milk, too. The generic stuff. We don’t have coupons for either of ’em.”

“That’s okay. We need bread and peanut butter next.” And ice cream, she remembered through the rattled terrain her brain had become.

Hunter. She wanted to get a better look at him and see how deep that rock-hardness went. He’d been tough but tender in their teen years, but it looked as though time had hardened him more.

Maybe he was too harsh for anyone to reach. She didn’t have to wonder if he’d married—he’d been very clear on his opinion of matrimony. Nothing but a ball and chain for a man and misery for a woman, he’d told her. There’s not one thing on earth that would ever make me do something that stupid.

Sure, he’d been twenty-two at the time and embittered by his father’s betrayals. She hadn’t seen, until too late, how she’d been attracted to a man similar to her father—too remote and unfeeling to ever soften, a man who became more unreachable as the years went by.

Her heart broke a little walking away.

“Mom.” Simon held up a loaf of bread. “Score.”

“Good job.” She grabbed a pint of ice cream, not bothering to check her coupons.

“Mom?” Simon clunked a jar of peanut butter into the cart. “What else?”

“Crackers.” She plucked several cans of her dad’s favorite soup off the display.

“Roger, captain!” Simon made a jet-engine sound as he spun the cart around and headed off for the saltines at the end of the aisle.

Her mission had changed—to get everything they needed and get out of the store before Hunter recognized her.

“Okay, we’ve got everything, right?” Simon dumped a box in the cart. There wasn’t much there, just enough food to get them by for a couple of days. It would have to do.

“That’s it for this run. Let’s get out of here.” She grabbed the cart by the basket to get Simon moving faster.

“Howdy there,” a friendly older lady Millie didn’t know tossed them a genuine smile from behind her register. “Nice day, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is.” She unloaded her cart as fast as she could, breathing a sigh of relief when she dropped the last item—the cracker box—onto the conveyer belt. Simon shoved the cart through while she unzipped her purse.

“Did you find everything all right?” The checker scanned in each item with a beep. Her name tag read “Enid.”

“We did.” The familiar beat of cowboy boots on the tile distracted her. She resisted the urge to look over her shoulder as Hunter’s quick, no-nonsense cadence knelled louder.

He was coming this way. Panic licked through her. A wheel squeaked as his cart pulled in behind her. Her skin prickled like a storm the instant before lightning struck as Hunter began unloading his cart.

At least he hasn’t recognized me yet. She sorted through her coupon envelope, doing her best not to look. He still smelled the same—like pine, hay and summer sun. Her uncooperative gaze slid sideways to sneak a peek. A black T-shirt hugged his powerful physique that had matured impressively. Muscles rippled as he dumped paper plates, paper towels and hamburger buns onto the conveyer, working fast, concentrating solely on his task. Not a man to look around—the Hunter she’d always known.

“Oh, I have coupons,” she told Enid and handed over the cluster.

“Okay, deary.” The older lady sorted through them before she scanned them in, one by one.

Hunter’s foot tapped impatiently. He’d finished unloading his cart. She could feel him standing behind her, radiating heat and pent-up male energy.

Every breath she took was torture. Knowing Hunter, his mind was probably somewhere else. Maybe he wouldn’t notice her, or—did she dare hope?—recognize her. Was that too much to ask?

“Sorry, deary. This one’s past date.” Enid handed over one of the coupons.

She feared the attention would draw Hunter’s scrutiny. Her hand shook as she took back the coupon. Please, don’t recognize me, she prayed.

“That’ll be seventeen oh three.”

Her hands shook so badly that she had trouble pulling out dollar bills. It took a beat before she realized her budget had been fifteen dollars. She searched through her change, but didn’t have it. Heat flooded her face. “Uh, can you take off the box of crackers?”

“Sure thing.” Enid kindly took back the box and beeped it over the scanner.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake.” Hunter flipped two dollars onto the conveyer belt. “Enid, take it. I’m done with waiting—”

She felt his gaze rake over her like a cold hard punch. He froze, finally really looking at her. Recognition snapped through him as his entire body went rigid. His jaw dropped, leaving the rest of his thoughts unspoken.

“Hi, Millie,” someone called out from behind his big hulking presence. Hunter’s brother, Luke, peered over to smile at her. “Good to see you in town again. How’s your dad?”

Hunter kept staring at her blankly, stiff with shock. She couldn’t help maneuvering a little, trying to hide Simon from him. It was easy to lift her chin, holding on to her dignity for all she was worth and push away Hunter’s two dollars. They lay awkwardly on the conveyer belt, their crumpled ends ruffling in the breeze from the air conditioner.

“Dad’s holding his own, but it’s bad, I guess.” She bowed her head to count out her money. “They caught it way too late to do anything.”

“Word has gotten around. The whole congregation is praying for him.”

“Thanks, Luke.” She handed exact change to Enid. “If anyone needs prayers, it’s my dad. It was nice seeing you.”

She seized her receipt, turned her back on Hunter and grabbed her single bag of groceries from the end of the check stand. Back straight, she followed her son to the rows of carts near the door.

Don’t look back, she told herself firmly. She didn’t need one last look at the man. She’d learned all she needed to in his shocked and silent stare. He’d been traumatized seeing her—they shared that in common. Not that she’d held even the faintest hope of a friendly reunion. No, not after the way they’d left things. But she hadn’t expected him to look at her with horror either.

“Mom, I’ll carry that.” Simon left the cart neatly with the others and tromped over to take the groceries from her. “Is there any chance Grandpa has neighbor kids my age?”

“I have no idea. I’ll give Myra a call when we get home. She knows everyone around here.” Her feet may be carrying her forward, but her mind remained with the man dressed in black. She could feel Hunter’s gaze as she trailed her son into the ovenlike heat of summer.

Suddenly aware of her wash-worn clothes and the hair she hadn’t fussed with before leaving the house, she headed toward the truck. She could still feel Hunter’s gaze as she crossed the lot—a cold gaze, when it had once been so loving. Why did that still hurt so much?

Their first meeting could have gone worse. She dug the keys out of her purse. Thank You, Father, for that.

* * *

Millie? Hunter couldn’t get over the shock watching her walk away. Millie was back?

“Hunter, move along, we’re waiting.” Luke nudged his brother, his tone teasing.

Fine, he deserved that. He hadn’t meant to be impatient; shopping always put him in a mood. The automatic doors opened and closed. Millie and the child were out of the building but not out of sight of the long front windows where a rusty, thirty-year-old Ford waited for them. It had taken a while to recognize her because she’d changed so much.

“Are you all right?” Luke asked, kindly, always a good brother.

Hunter cleared his throat and gave his cart a shove forward. He wanted to look unaffected, as if seeing Millie didn’t bother him one bit. He was tough. No woman was going to bring him to his knees. He’d learned a long time ago the best way to protect yourself from a broken heart was not to have one.

Not that that was the truth, but he didn’t have to admit it, did he?

Because he didn’t trust his voice, he said nothing and faced Enid with a nod. Maybe Luke would get the hint and go back to talking with his girlfriend. Over the beep-beep of the scanner he watched Millie disappear behind the far side of the pickup—probably getting the door for her kid.

That kid. Agony tore through him at the thought of Millie’s child. No, he couldn’t think about her married to another man. Too painful. As he swiped his card and punched in his PIN, his gaze stayed stuck to the window.

Millie. She stepped into view, far from the bright, sunny girl he’d loved so deeply that she outshone everything in his life—every other thing. There had been only her, beautiful and precious, and his great overwhelming love for her.

“That’ll be eighty-seven dollars and forty-six cents.” Enid punched a button and her cash register spat out his receipt. “Would you like paper or plastic?”

“Whatever.” He didn’t care—he’d forgotten the reusable bags again. He hardly noticed the box boy moving in to bag his purchases. All he could see was Millie climbing into her dad’s rusty old pickup. What had happened to the bounce in her step? To her wide, beaming smile that made everyone around her smile, too, unable to help themselves?

“Out of the way, you’re holding up the line.” Judging by the laughter in Luke’s voice, he was enjoying this.

“I don’t want to get back with her if that’s what you think.” He rolled his eyes, glad Luke couldn’t read his thoughts. Millie, on her own, with a child? Nothing angered him more than a mother on her own struggling to pay for groceries. Where were the fathers? Why weren’t they better men? A man takes care of his family, that’s the way it was supposed to be.

Sure, it was an old issue with him. It brought back memories of how hard their dad had been on Mom. Never reliable, always out gambling or drinking, always shirking his responsibilities. Hunter’s guts twisted up thinking Millie’s life obviously hadn’t turned out much different. There hadn’t been a wedding ring on her left hand.

He’d checked.

“I’ll see you back at the ranch.” It wasn’t easy to unclamp his jaw. He took charge of his cart and steered it toward the automatic doors. Out of the corner of his eye he watched Millie—still slim and graceful—hop onto the seat. When she closed the door, he lost sight of her. Too much glare on the side window.

She wasn’t going anywhere in that truck, or didn’t she know it? He frowned, arrowing his cart at his vehicle, parked two spaces away from the rusted heap Whip Wilson should have junked long ago. While Hunter was sorry the man was dying, he should have at least told his daughter about the barely working transmission. Whip had never been a good dad either.

Not your business, Hunter, he told himself passing by at top speed. The cart rattled and bucked in protest, but minding his own business turned out to be impossible. Behind him, the rusted pickup’s engine coughed to life, pistons misfiring. He yanked the cart to a stop, wedging it against the side of his truck so it wouldn’t roll away. Disappointed in himself—a truly tough man, one who was completely over a breakup—would put his groceries in the truck and drive away.

But did he?

No, you are a fool, Hunter McKaslin. His feet took him around to the driver’s side of Millie’s truck. She’d rolled down the window, concentrating so hard on trying to figure out what was wrong, frowned brow, pursed lips, and he made himself like steel. Not going to notice how pretty she was.

Surprised, she jerked in her seat. “Hunter. You about gave me a heart attack. What are you doing sneaking up on me?”

“I wish I knew.” He leaned his forearms against the hot metal door, peering in at her. “Guess Whip should have told you the truck doesn’t have Reverse.”

“What do you mean? It says R right here on the gearshift.” She blew out a huff of frustration. “Of course it has Reverse. It just doesn’t want to go into Reverse.”

“Whip’s been driving around without Reverse for a good year.” Hard times had come to the Wilson spread, where Hunter had started working right out of high school. While he wasn’t fond of Whip, the old man had taught him a lot about running a successful dairy. He was sorry for the Wilsons’ misfortune. “You’ll have to keep that in mind next time you’re parking. Want me to give you a push?”

“No.” The word popped out, showing Millie’s stubborn side, which still drove him crazy. He gritted his teeth until his molars hurt.

“Just put it in Neutral and make sure the parking brake is off.” He shoved away from the door, turning his back on her protests. Did she think he liked this either? No, not one bit. His heart felt ripped open looking at her, but he held himself as hard as stone. Maybe that way he wouldn’t feel the pain or the loss.

Or the fact that some other man’s son sat beside her, looking at him with owlish eyes.

Don’t think about the kid, he told himself, lock-jawed. Millie’s face drew him—pinched and worried behind the glass. He couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away from the wide blue eyes a man could fall into or the sweet set of her mouth that no longer smiled. His chest felt tight and achy wondering why.

Not your business. He planted his hands on the hood, braced his back and put some muscle into it. The truck eked backward a few slow inches before it gained momentum. Through the window shield, the dark, sleek cascade of Millie’s hair flipped as she looked over her shoulder, one slim hand on the steering wheel.

“There.” He let go, stepped back and watched the decrepit vehicle roll a few more feet. “Good luck with that truck.”

“Thanks, I need that and a whole lot of prayer.” She studied him through the window frame, the breeze tossing the ends of her soft hair.

She was definitely changed from the Millie he’d known a decade ago. A stab of grief settled deep in his chest for the girl she’d been, the laughing girl who he could no longer see in the serious-eyed woman. She nervously folded a flyaway lock of rich brown hair behind one ear.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know.” Her chin went up in either a show of stubbornness or a statement of pride, but her expressive eyes shone with hurt.

This wasn’t easy for her either. That helped. He shrugged his shoulders, trying to let go of the stress and the old wounds between them. “Prayer, huh? The Millie I used to know didn’t pray.”

“I do now.” She dipped her chin as something private and vulnerable passed across her face, and he wondered at it. He opened his mouth to ask her what had happened, but instinct held him back.

Wouldn’t that open a can of worms, one he wasn’t interested in? Millie had been the one to leave him. She’d broken it off. She’d fled him, obviously for someone better. He tamped down the strike of agony and kept his eyes on her—only on her—and not the boy sitting beside her. She’d obviously left him for another man, just as her father had said.

“I’m a praying man these days. Surprises you, right?” He tossed her an easy grin, one that said he wasn’t hurting and that he didn’t care one whit that she’d left him. Not true, but a man had his pride.

“Absolutely. I would never have guessed independent, trust-no-one Hunter McKaslin would become a man of faith.” A hint of a smile, and only a hint, touched the corners of her mouth.

“Miracles do happen.”

“Guess you’re proof of that.” No twinkle gleamed in her eyes. Only the faintest warmth of humor touched her voice, which had once been so bright.

Only hard times could do that to someone. He steeled his spine, fighting the natural need to care about her. An old habit, that was all. It didn’t mean a thing. Just like it didn’t mean anything wanting to go to her and try to brush the worry off her face. He jammed his hands in his pockets instead. “I’m sorry about your father. He isn’t an easy man.”

“No, he isn’t.”

“But he taught me what I know. I wouldn’t have a successful dairy if it wasn’t for him and Milton.” He swallowed hard, warring with himself. The smart thing to do was to tip his hat and walk away and pray he never saw the woman again. But was it the right thing to do?

“Oh, you did get your own dairy?” She tipped her head slightly, and a sleek dark lock of hair tumbled from behind her ear and back into her eyes. She shoved it away impatiently and the corners of her mouth turned upward into a genuine smile. “Hunter, I’m so happy for you. It’s what you always wanted.”

“Luke and I run it together.” He heard the rattle of a cart and the murmur of voices. When he checked over his shoulder, he spotted his brother and his girlfriend emerging from the store, pushing a loaded cart. “I’ve got to go. We’re having a family barbecue.”

“Sounds like fun. I got an email from Brooke last week that I’ve been meaning to answer, but no time.” She gripped the steering wheel tighter. “I hear she got married.”

“She did. I’ll tell my sister you said hi.” He took a step back, chest swelling with a sense of loss he couldn’t explain. There had never been any might-have-beens when it came to him and Millie. She hadn’t wanted him.

Not that he could honestly blame her for that, not completely. She’d needed what he hadn’t been able to give—and never would. “Let me know if Whip needs help. Word has it he’s not up to managing the dairy.”

“Thanks, but I’ve got it.” The smile vanished, her chin went up and pure hurt shone in her eyes. The echoes of that hurt filled him as she put the truck in gear and drove away, the engine misfiring.

“Hey, are you okay?” Luke called out.

“Yeah, fine.” He waved away his brother’s concern, doing his best to hide his sorrow. Some things weren’t meant to be—he and Millie were one of them.

Chapter Three

“Who was he?” Simon asked as the truck backfired, the sound echoing like a gunshot along the peaceful town street.

“You mean the man who gave us a push?” Her pulse stuttered but she tried to pretend it hadn’t.

“He was real strong. Think I could shove a whole pickup like that? Probably not.” Simon squirmed on his seat, restless and full of little-boy energy. “I liked his hat. No one wears hats like that in Portland. Not that I’ve seen.”

“Me either, but they’re everywhere around here. See?” She pointed in the direction of the sidewalk where a Stetson-wearing man headed into the dime store. “Everywhere.”

“My head would get really hot.”

“Mine, too.” She couldn’t help smiling, a genuine one this time. Her pulse evened out as the sputtering truck took them farther away from Hunter.

He’d changed so much since she’d known him last. He’d matured, looking like a dream in a Stetson. It seemed as if he’d mellowed a bit, too. Time had definitely improved him.

Not that she was interested. No way. It hurt too much. She slid her gaze across the bench seat to where her son sat, gazing out his window, taking everything in. It hadn’t been an easy decision not to tell Hunter about his son. Through the years guilt continued to claw at her, but she’d done what was best for Simon.

She knew there was a problem the instant the farm came into sight. A thousand Holsteins stood in a gigantic black-and-white cluster at their pasture gate, mooing. She lifted her foot from the gas pedal, and their combined chorus made enough sound to drown out the truck’s backfire.

“Mom, what’s wrong with them?”

“They’re waiting to be milked.” That didn’t seem to be the problem, though. The lack of farmhands did. She pulled onto the shoulder of the road. Only one vehicle sat in the shade of the barn—Milton’s old, battered truck. Had everyone else gone?

“I’m sorry, Millie.” He stepped out of the shadowed doorway, lean shoulders slumped. “This time was just the last straw. I got the boys to agree to come back when you can cover their checks if they haven’t found other jobs.”

“How long has this been going on?” She opened her door, stepping away from the truck so Simon wouldn’t overhear.

“For the last six months. Whip hasn’t paid us on time. The checks don’t clear. It takes most of a month to make good on ’em, and then it starts all over again.”

“I can’t blame them. I’d walk off, too.” She didn’t add that she’d had the experience of holding a worthless paycheck in her hands followed by a long stint of unemployment. It was a hollow-stomached experience she wouldn’t want for anyone. “Thanks for staying, Milton. I appreciate it.”

“No problem. The thing is, I can’t milk all these cows on my own. I’m gonna need help.”

“I know.” She blew out a sigh. “Is there anyone you can call in?”

“No one who will come without cash in the bank. Your pa has burned a lot of bridges over the past few years. He’s gotten old and cantankerous.” He winked to soften the truth. “I’ll make a few calls and see what I can come up with.”

“Thanks, Milton.” She checked on her son, still buckled up, craning his head to get a good look at the cows. Their udders were full, they had to be milked and couldn’t wait. “I’ll call you as soon as I can about the money.”

“All right.” Milton strolled away. Spotting him, the cows mooed harder, making so much racket that she couldn’t hear herself think.

Simon watched her with wide eyes as she climbed behind the wheel. The door didn’t shut on the first try. She had to give it a good slam before it caught. No matter what, the cows had to be milked. Just one more thing to add to her list, which was getting very long and overwhelming.

I’m trusting You, Lord, that this is all going to work out. She didn’t know how, but she had faith. She gave the pickup some gas, yanked hard on the wheel and bumped across the county road and up the driveway. Clouds of dust rose up behind her, fogging the air and cutting off all view of the barn in her rearview mirror.

It had been a long time since she’d worked in the dairy and her skills might be a little rusty, but that was okay. She’d look at the books while she fixed supper and afterward head down to the barn to help Milt.

I can’t believe I’m back, she thought. Right back where I started. She’d grown up miserable here, but it surely had to be different this time. It wasn’t as if she were staying.

Leaving was nonnegotiable. And if Hunter’s face filled her thoughts—high cheekbones, straight blade of a nose, magnetic deep violet eyes—then that was all the incentive she needed. That man had torn apart her heart, leaving nothing but pieces. He wasn’t going to do that again. And that’s exactly what he would do if he ever found out the truth.

“Mom?” Simon’s voice bumped along as the truck bounced over ruts in the driveway. “I can help with supper if you want. I know you’ve got a lot to do.”

“Why, I’d appreciate a helping hand.” That put a smile on her face. “You can be in charge of the pizza.”

“I’m good with pizza. But I sorta heard what that man said. I could help with the cows, Mom. I know I could.”

“I don’t want you having to work in the barn the way I did when I was your age.” She swung the pickup across the edge of the lawn and circled around, nosing it toward the driveway before shutting off the engine. It coughed to a slow stop. “I’m sure God has a plan in mind. Don’t worry, it will all work out.”

“Okay.” Simon unbuckled. “Mom?”

“Yeah?”

“Bein’ here’s not so bad. I just want you to know you’re not alone.” He dropped to the ground and manhandled the grocery bag off the floor. “I’m gonna help you. You left your friends behind, too.”

“Thanks, kiddo.” She let the Montana breeze blow through her hair as she gave the door a good slam. Judging by the shape everything else was in around here, she sure hoped the oven worked or supper would be quite a challenge.

* * *

Hunter barely heard his cell ring over the noise. Whenever his family got together, noise was a given. He left his sisters talking at the picnic table over their desserts and hiked across Luke’s back deck to get a little privacy. He shouldered through the back door where there was bound to be some quiet. “Hello?”

“Hunter? Glad I caught you.” Milton Denning’s voice crackled over the line. Sounded like he was in the barn with the roar of machinery in the background, making him hard to hear. “Don’t suppose you’re lazing around with nothin’ going on by any chance?”

“Me, lazing?” He glanced out the kitchen window where his family—brother, sisters and half sisters—roared in laughter about something. Something obviously hilarious. “What’s up? Are you running low on milk replacer again? I got a bag you can have—”

“Thanks, but that’s not my biggest problem, not right now.” Milton’s words rumbled with severity. “I’m in the middle of milking without a single hired man.”

“Milking?” He glanced at the clock. “Shouldn’t you be done with that by now?”

“Yep, and I’m not even halfway through—” The phone cut out on Milton’s end, leaving only static and crackle. “—just the two of us—be past bedtime when we finish up if I don’t get more help.”

“This wouldn’t have something to do with Cal stopping by looking for work, would it?” He leaned against the counter, his thoughts drifting to Millie again. He gritted his teeth, trying to banish the woman from his mind. “I suppose it’s inevitable your men would try to find another position knowing Whip’s condition.”

“That’s not it. Money trouble. I can’t afford to pay you, but we can work something out. Maybe trade man hours or something.” Milton blew out a frustrated breath. His phone crackled again. “—I need help tonight. I’m too old for this. Should have retired years ago, but I saw how Whip was. He’s been sick for a long time, he was just too stubborn to admit it. Someone has to look after the cows and fight for the hired men.”

“The thing is, it’s almost my bedtime.” He glanced at the clock above the stove. Seven-eighteen. “I’m up at four for the morning milking.”

“I know what I’m asking, but I’m struggling here.” Milton’s tone stung with wounded pride.

That had to be a tough thing for a hardworking man to admit. Hunter blew out a sigh, did his best not to let the image of Millie into his mind, the one of her standing in line counting coupons, looking too thin and poor and worn-down. He couldn’t stop the lurch of his heart, just like he couldn’t stop hurting for her.

So, her plans hadn’t worked out. It surprised him his bitterness had gone, leaving only regret in its place. Unaccustomed to the ache dead center in his chest, he pressed the heel of his hand there and rubbed.

“Sure, I’ll come.” It wasn’t as if he’d have to see her. She wouldn’t be in the barn. Millie had Whip and her son to take care of—best not to think about the boy—so she’d be busy up at the house. It would be just him, Milton and the cows. “Let me tell Luke. I’m guessing he’ll want to volunteer to help you in the morning.”

“What? Why, that would be Christian of him. Of both of you.” Milton swallowed hard. “You don’t know what this means.”

“Hey, remember when I hired on at Whip’s place? You showed me the ropes. You taught me everything you knew about cows. This is the least I can do for you.” Hunter disconnected, pocketed his phone and checked the window again.

Judging by the way everyone was gaping and pointing at him, Luke had likely told them about his run-in with Millie. Great. He rolled his eyes, shouldered through the door and hiked up the walls around his heart. No way was he letting anyone know, even those he loved most, exactly what having Millie back in town meant. Pain seared with each footstep he took toward those hopeful faces.

“We just heard the news.” His half sister Colbie preened from the picnic table.

“And now he gets a call and he’s going out. Look at him.” His sister, Brooke, gave a flip of her dark hair, violet eyes warm with optimism. “Those are his truck keys.”

“Milton has a problem at the barn.” Best to act cool, as if he didn’t know what on earth they were talking about. He glanced past Colbie and Brooke to where his brother sat beside the twins, who were the youngest of the group. “Luke, I told him you’d pitch in come morning. He’s alone over there.”

“With all those cows?” Luke’s brows shot up with concern. “Tell him I’m in.”

“Good.” Best to leave before they bring up Millie again. Nell, their dear old dog, lifted her head off her paws, her eyebrows quirking with a question. She was a good herd dog, but she’d already put in her work for the day. “Why don’t you stay here, girl, and keep an eye on all those troublemakers?”

She panted in agreement. He stroked her head on his way by her bed on the edge of the deck.

“Hey, Hunter!” Luke’s voice sailed across the yard on a warm wind. “Say hi to Millie for us.”

“Yeah, say hi!” the sisters chorused.

“That would be hard—” he quipped “—as she wants to see me even less than I want to see her.”

He turned on his heel, his boots crunching in the gravel as he headed to his own little house sitting at the end of the driveway. So, his family thought there was a possibility of a reunion? Really? Didn’t they know him by now? Through all the years he’d been a bachelor, including the long decade Millie had been gone, had he once taken an overt interest in a lady?

No. Because he knew where romance led. He knew that love ended. Sure, a marriage may survive, but love? It was too fragile to last. That was the plain and simple truth and nothing on earth could ever convince him differently. He’d seen it in his parents’ marriage and in his own life, thanks to Millie.

Agony shot through him with a crushing intensity that stopped him in his tracks. He pressed his hand to his chest again, reeling with the pain. If he didn’t know better, he’d fear it was a heart attack, but it was simply the old death throes of the love he’d once had for Millie, remaining like a ghostly pain long after the wound was healed.

A little help, please, Lord. He reached out in prayer, hoping the Father above would understand. Hunter opened his truck door, climbed onto the seat and turned the engine over. It hummed quietly as he whizzed down the windows to let out the heat. He knew God had a plan in bringing Millie back to the valley. Her father was dying, and she had issues with her father that she deserved to have resolved before he passed on. Hunter didn’t begrudge her that. He alone knew how hard the man had been on his daughter.

But that didn’t mean Millie’s path had to cross his ever again. Hunter slid the gearshift into Reverse, swung around and nosed down the hill. His family called out to him as he rumbled by, and he did his best not to hear their “helpful” advice as he waved. Thankfully, he left them behind in a cloud of dust when he pulled onto the county road.

No, with Millie in the valley again, his options were clear. Avoid her. That was his new goal in life. He couldn’t go walking around in this kind of torment. He drew a shallow breath, hardly able to get air with the pain pushing in on him.

He could use the crowd at church as a barrier between them. He could send Luke to town for groceries. And as for this evening, he’d keep to the barn with Milton and everything would be all right. Problem solved. If he played it right, he’d never have to see Millie again.

When he reached the Wilson dairy, things were just as he’d expected. The rusty pickup Millie had driven to town was parked neatly at the house across the road. Lamplight shone in the windows. No doubt she was there, finishing dishes or maybe watching TV with her son. No need to worry.

He pulled beside the barn and cut the engine. The hot evening air met him. A giant herd of cattle lowed the moment they saw him. Their unhappy bellowing followed him as he stalked away from the truck.

A shadow moved in the dark depths of the barn. Milton, probably come to say how relieved he was. Hunter tugged down the brim of his hat. The slanting rays made it hard to see who stepped out of the darkness to greet him.

“Hunter McKaslin.” Millie burst into the sunshine, burnished by it. “What are you doing here?”

“The bigger question is why aren’t you over at the house?”

“Because Milton needs help. That’s why you’re here.” She nodded, as if putting it all together. “That’s why he didn’t tell me who he’d put calls in to, and for good reason.”

“Don’t get worked up. I know that look—”

“What look?” She glared, like a warrior woman ready for battle.

“Glaring eyes. Chin tipped up so high you can barely see me over your nose.” He planted his hands on his hips. “It won’t do any good to try and get rid of me. I gave Milton my word.”

“He doesn’t need your help.”

“You mean, you don’t.”

“You’ve helped enough.” The earlier humiliation at the grocery store returned. He’d been a witness to the fact that she’d been unable to pay for all her groceries, and that he’d given the truck a push still rankled. “I can’t be obligated to you. You get that, right?”

“Doesn’t change my intentions.”

“How would you feel if the circumstances were flipped? What if you needed my help?”

“Darlin’, I’d never accept a woman’s help.”

“And I can’t accept yours. This is too much. You know full well I can’t pay you.”

“That’s right.” He squared his hat on his head. “I’m not doing this for money. I’m here for Milton, not you.”

“Oh.” A slap couldn’t have stunned her more. She should have known. Humiliation swept through her, remembering the days when Hunter had shown his sweet side always doing for her, always helping. Crazy that she’d just assumed...well, of course things had changed. “Sorry.”

“If I run the second carousel, can you keep up?” Brash, Hunter shouldered past her toward the door.

She nodded, listening to the beat of his boots against the cement and wishing she was anyplace but here. Being beholden to the man was going to be a bitter pill.

“Don’t worry, Freckles.” His voice rumbled low with a nostalgic warmth. “You’ll hardly know I’m here.”

Why did her pulse skip at the hint of his grin? “That’s what you used to call me when we were...”

“Close?”

“I was going to say in love.” She shrugged. “Water under the bridge.”

“I’ll say.” He shrugged a what-can-you-do? “I’ll take the present over the past any day. How about you?”

“Absolutely. The past is a bummer.”

“Then we’ll leave it floating down the creek with the current. How about it?”

“Sounds good. It’s probably heading toward the ocean about now.”

“Or floating on the tides to Fiji. We were a long time ago, Millie. I say we forget about it.”

“Agreed. Thanks for coming.”

“It’s what we do around here, neighbors helping neighbors.” He paused at the doorway, half swallowed by shadow. “No thanks necessary.”

“The thing is, I don’t see any other neighbors rushing in to help.”

“No, Whip likely broke their good will long ago. He’s a hard man, but he was hardest on you. That was never right.”

“Doesn’t that fall into the category of the past?”

“I’m just sayin’.” Hunter’s iron jaw softened, perhaps a momentary weakness. “Get back to the wash-down. If Milton knew I was standing around shootin’ the breeze when I ought to be working, he’d have my hide.”

“Tempting to say you’d deserve it.”

“No doubt.” An almost-smile curved the chiseled line of his mouth. He disappeared through the barn doors, leaving her alone in the sunshine.

A cow’s moo started the rest of the herd lowing, a loud bawling that shattered the evening’s peace. Shaking her head, she headed inside. Hunter McKaslin back on the Wilson farm again. How about that? She dearly hoped it was not a trend. Having him around here all the time? Could not happen. No way, no how. There was one piece of the past she couldn’t banish down, and it was sitting inside the house with Dad, watching spaghetti Westerns.

Chapter Four

Hard not to notice her, but as he unlatched the gate to send the batch of newly milked cows into the runway, he was able to keep the past downstream under the bridge. The faster he got this work done, the quicker he’d be home.

Milton’s radio squawked and Hunter braced hearing against the faint cadence of Millie’s gentle voice. Crazy how such a soft sound could carry above the hum of machinery and the clatter of hooves on concrete. The next batch of cows, freshly scrubbed down and shining clean clamored down the carousel, into place. A bold animal grabbed hold of his sleeve with her lips and tugged playfully.

“Hi, cutie.” He hit the lever, grain spilled into troughs and the cows dug in, eating contentedly. He turned his back to Millie. A smart man would pay her no mind. After he walked the line, made sure the connections were good, he left the carousel to check on Milton.

“Whew, this is the last batch.” The older man swept off his hat. “Just in time, too. I’m run ragged.”

“It’s a lot for one man alone.”

“Millie helped. She’s as good as two men when it comes to work.”

“Yeah.” He had to acknowledge that, but he wouldn’t say what was on his mind. It wasn’t right how hard Whip used to work Millie in her youth. It wasn’t right to expect the same of her now. There she was, hosing down the waiting pen, stopping to spray bleach. She grabbed a long-handled broom to scrub down the concrete. Still a hard worker. “I like to think I cut down your workload some.”

“Only a small bit. Hardly noticed you were here.” Quick to kid, Milton swiped sweat from his brow. “Can’t believe it’s only nine o’clock. Thought for sure I’d still be at it. You’re a good worker, too.”

“I had a great supervisor once.”

“That so?” A smile wreathed Milton’s face. “Good to know. Never thought I could make a difference in that hard head of yours.”

“Miracles happen. Why don’t you call it a night?”

“That’d be foolish, as the work isn’t done.”

“I’ll finish up. Go home.”

“Not sure I can trust you to do things right.”

“You’re not foolin’ me.” Hard to hide his fondness for the man who’d taken him under his wing long ago. “I got this. Get going.”

“Guess it wouldn’t hurt. Millie’s here to keep you in line.”

Right. Millie. Being alone with her would be a problem. He waved Milton off. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“For the evening milking. Don’t think I’m not in this for the long run.”

“That’s real neighborly of you.” Emotion brightened the older man’s eyes.

“It’s no problem.” He walked the carousel detaching suction cups, listening to Milton’s boots drum away into silence. Millie, just out of sight. The splash of water and the rasp of the broom reminded him she was near. Too near.

So much for his plan to avoid her.

What he needed was a temporary plan for the interim, until he could go back to steering clear of her.

“That’s it, girls, you’re done.” He opened the gate, freeing the cows. But did they leave? No, the first animal in line lipped his hat brim, so he rubbed her nose. “Go on, get some fresh air.”

The bovine batted her long lashes before ambling down the ramp. The others followed her, docile and placid, although more than a few of them expected a pat or two before moving on.

He left the door open to the wind, fragrant with mown grass. Late evening’s peace had settled in with long shadows. A few larks sang on the fence rails and as he circled around to check on the second carousel he smelled something else on the wind. The acrid scent shot alarm straight through him. A wildfire?

But, no, one glance outside told him all was well. Green grass, grazing cows, a few deer wandering across the meadow. No black smoke, no roiling flames anywhere.

“Hunter, you don’t smell smoke, do you?” Millie’s hose cut off. Her boots tapped closer. “Tell me you didn’t light up in the milking parlor?”

“I quit smoking after you left.” Ran off on me, he didn’t say because that was water under the bridge. He sniffed, following the scent. “It’s coming from the barn.”

“No, the smoke alarms would be going off.” Her forehead scrunched, as if she had second thoughts about that and shot past him.

Right. They would be going off if they were properly maintained. It didn’t take an expert to glance around this place and see maintenance wasn’t a high priority for Whip.

He followed her, fighting a bad feeling in his stomach. He dashed past the office and into the main barn. Smokey air, cloudy gray, confirmed his worst fears.

“It’s in the hay mow.” Millie stormed down the aisle, pitchfork in hand.

He grabbed an extinguisher off the wall, prayed it was in working order, and followed the crackle and roar. Orange light licked from between two bales, one of a thousand stacked bales that ran the length of the barn. Buried in there somewhere, heat had built up and made fire.

“We’re not too late. We had better not be.” Headstrong, she jumped in with her pitchfork, ripping away smoking bales with the pitchfork’s tines. “I’m not going to lose this barn. No way. Not today.”

“I like your determination.” He tucked the extinguisher in the crook of his arm and shot retardant into the heart of the fire. “It suits you.”

“Losing is not an option.”

“You keep saying that.” Instead of dying, flames writhed higher, snapping and popping as they consumed the tinder-dry fuel at an alarming rate.

A few minutes more and it would be out of control. They realized it at the same time. Their gazes locked, adrenaline pumped into their veins. She already had her cell in hand, punching in 9-1-1, as he kicked away a few bales of untouched hay to stair-step up the stack. Heat licked his face as he emptied the canister.

Still no good. Smoke doubled, turning black and thick. He coughed, barely able to see Millie through the haze.

“They’re coming!” Her shadow moved closer. A pitchfork’s handle materialized out of the smoky cloud and he seized it. He held out his hand, felt her smaller, softer one grab hold and ignored the sudden kick in his cardiac area. As long as he didn’t think about his heart then he could deny all feelings. One tug and she landed on top of the stacked hay, coughing, too.

He yanked the collar of his T-shirt over his nose and got to work. No words necessary, which suited him just fine as they worked together separating the fire from its fuel. He wished he wasn’t aware of every stab of her fork and every pitch of hay. He especially didn’t want to notice the lean, elegant lines of her arms as she worked, or the soft tendrils escaping her ponytail to frame her heart-shaped face.

Don’t think about her face. He clamped his molars together and kept pitching. Suddenly her face was all he could think about. The slope of her nose, the adorable little chin, the satin feel of her skin against his hand.

His cardiac region squeezed hard. No doubt about it, being close to her was a bad idea. Fine, so he cared for her. Hard not to like the woman she’d become, so strong, serious and determined. With her delicate jaw set, purpose carved into the flawless curve of her face, she stood boots braced and confident, pitching hay with military precision.

“I found it!” Millie’s pitchfork held fresh flames and hay turning to ashes. “It’s down in here, but how deep is it?”

“Hold on.” He dropped to his knees, heedless of the heat and the ashes raining down on him and grabbed the hem of her jeans. He covered it with both hands and heat seared through his gloves. Just a spark, nothing serious, but when he let go of the denim a chunk was missing. A black scar on her boot told him he’d caught it in time.

“Thanks, Hunter. I didn’t even realize.” More forgiveness shone in her eyes.

He hadn’t realized how much he needed to see it. He took the pitchfork from her and emptied the burning bits back onto the stack. Anywhere he threw it would start a second fire. “We can’t fight this with two pitchforks. It’s growing too fast.”

“I know, I know. But I can’t just let it burn.”

“I’m thinking.” Heat drove him back, and he tugged Millie with him.

Getting down proved tricky. The fire roared, licking and popping, shooting red-hot embers into the air. He batted them away from his head and Millie’s face, took her hand and led the way down, kicking out footholds as he went. By the time his boots hit the floor, the fire doubled. Flames spat at him. Red-hot ashes swooped in the air, landing on the tinder-dry hay and igniting another patch.

“It’s no good.” He leaned the pitchfork against the wall. “Get out of here, Millie.”

“No. What about the milking parlor and the office? They’ll burn if the barn does.” Something landed on her head. A red-hot ash. “You should go. There’s too much smoke—”

“Here.” He brushed the scorching ember out of her hair. Tender, when he could have been rough. “Do you really think I’d walk away?”

Guilt hit her like a hammer. She knew he wasn’t talking about the past, but she couldn’t help remembering her worst fear. That if he’d known the truth, he would have done just that. Abandoning her when she’d needed him the most. She choked on smoke and lost sight of him.

Keeping low, trying not to breathe in the black air, she raced to the loading bay, put her shoulder and weight into it and dragged the heavy wooden doors on their protesting wheels. The side of the barn opened, giving the smoke more places to escape.

“Mom, you’re okay!” Simon skidded to a stop in the gravel. “I called the fire department, but I didn’t know where you were.”

“Stay back, Simon. Go back to the house.”

“No, I’m gonna help.”

“You’ll help by staying out of the way, kiddo.” She grabbed her pitchfork and started pulling down burning bits of hay. Heat seared her face and burned her lungs. She had to shout over the fire’s roar. “It’s too dangerous here for you.”

“But I—”

A boom exploded from the other side of the stack. The backfire of an ill-tuned engine, she realized, startled. She grabbed Simon by the shoulder and marched him out of the way, across the road and onto the knee-high lawn. “Stay here. I need your word, Simon.”

The boy nodded, too engrossed watching the fire to speak. The distant wail of sirens accompanied her across the road. She watched hay bales topple onto the concrete. Wild, the fire writhed like a monster, blackening the rafters and twisting in protest as the stack’s end cap tumbled into the gravel, raining flame and red ashes. She caught a brief glimpse of Hunter behind the wheel before the swirling smoke cocooned him and the tractor squealed into Reverse.

This was crazy, he really should get out of there. This wasn’t his battle, but she appreciated him for it. She grabbed her pitchfork and slipped around the inferno. Too many ashes were falling onto the haystack and igniting, causing a greater hazard. She had to get to them now.

By the time she’d scrabbled up the side of the remaining stack, little infernos had ignited everywhere. There were too many. Maybe it’s time to let the barn go. The tractor’s engine roared and more crackling bales gave way at the ramlike punch of the tractor’s bucket. She caught sight of Hunter shifting into Reverse, covered with soot and brushing burning hay off his forearm. Sparks rained on him, incinerating chunks tried to land on him and still he made another go at the fire.

Definitely time to admit they were outmatched.

“Step back, missy.” A voice spoke behind her. Milton drove his pitchfork into a patch of burning hay. “We’ve got a barn to save.”

“We?” Through wisps of smoke, pickups pulled to a stop across the road. Men leaped from them, shouting orders.

“Hunter called on his cell,” Milton explained, pitching the flames and hay outside onto the gravel. “I turned around and called a few neighbors. Don’t worry, we’ll get this licked.”

Emotion pricked her eyes and she had to turn away. Hunter. Why did everything always come down to him? She watched him behind the wheel, in control, lowering the bucket to scoop burning debris away from the remaining haystack. So close she could see the heat reddening his face and an angry burn on his arm.

Her only goal in coming here had been to avoid him. Impossible. Somehow she was going to have to figure out a way to deal with him. She risked a glance across the road, where Simon sat next to Whip. She caught the nasty gleam in her old man’s eyes. He was the sole keeper of her secret.

The problem with secrets was that they rarely stayed truly hidden.

This one had to.

* * *

“I told Whip that hay was still a mite too damp.” Milton looked worse for wear as he sat on the bumper of the fire truck, letting Jerry, the volunteer fire marshal, patch him up. “But no, he wanted the men to stack it. Wouldn’t listen to me. You know how he gets.”

“Everyone knows how he gets,” Jerry assured him.

“You put up hay that isn’t totally dry, those damp spots build up heat. On a day as hot as today, it can ignite.” Milton sent a stream of tobacco into the ditch. “Truth is, those were some tough days with Whip sick and in pain and takin’ it out on us. Not sure the men stacking the hay cared much, and I was busy jury-rigging the water pump, so my hands were full.”

Hunter nodded, leaning against the fire truck’s fender. No doubt working conditions had been tough here for a while and considering his obvious financial problems, Whip hadn’t wanted to pay the hands an extra day’s work to wait around for the hay to dry. He took a moment to notice the peeling paint and the missing shingles. While he’d worked in this barn after high school, he and Whip had parted ways long ago, before Millie left. He’d never had much respect for a man who treated people the way Whip did.

“The fire’s out, we’ve mopped up, but you’ll have a big cleanup.” Jerry gave Milton a pat on his arm. “You make sure Doc Littlejohn takes a look at that tomorrow. Hunter, you’re next.”

“I don’t need patching up.” A few blisters were nothing to worry about. “Did you take a look at Millie?”

“First thing. She refused, too.”

“I’m not surprised.” That woman could take stubbornness to new levels. He’d nearly had heart failure seeing her climb the stack, standing in the rafters surrounded by flames. Not that he didn’t admire her for it. “If we’re done here, I’m heading home.”

“That’s what I’m gonna do.” Milton staggered to his feet. “It’s way past my bedtime.”

“Nearly midnight. Sleep tight, Milt.” Hunter followed the light of the moon to the open barn doors, where the volunteers rolled up the last fire hose. The dank smell of smoke and charred hay overwhelmed him as his boots hit the floor.

A close call. No doubt about it. He wandered down the aisle past vacant stalls to the fall of light from the office door. The wise choice would be to hop in his truck and head home, but he had to check on her. Some habits were hard to break, regardless of how bad they were for you.

“Okay, I’ll be there in a bit.” Nothing was prettier than Millie’s voice soft with affection as she talked into a handheld radio. “Just close your eyes and think of home.”

“But there’s funny noises in the wall.” The boy’s words crackled across the two-way.

“It’s nothing to worry about. Think of being able to play with your friends again. What’s the first thing you’re going to do when we get back?” Leaning against the wall, she smiled over at him, gave him an in-a-second look.

He nodded, message received, and stayed in the hallway. He jammed his hands in his pockets, just glad to see she was all right. Well, relatively all right, as she was streaked with soot and her T-shirt riddled with little burn holes. What was she doing refusing medical treatment?

“Then just think about Alexander’s tree house and going back to school with your friends and you’ll fall back to sleep, kiddo.”

The boy’s sigh rasped from the speakers. “I’ll try.”

“Good boy. Call again if you need me.” She set the hand unit on the battered wooden desk. Heaps of paper, junk mail and bills with red past due stamps were piled as high as the cracked computer monitor. Millie shook her head at the mess and focused on him. Big blue eyes full of gratitude. “You. Not sure what would have happened if you hadn’t been here.”

“Anyone around here would have done the same thing. No biggie.” He didn’t want her feeling beholden to him. That was a recipe for disaster. “Just wanted to check on you before I head out.”

“I’m glad you did. I owe you a huge, ginormous thanks.” She pushed off from the wall. “What you did tonight—”

“Forget it.”

“I can’t. You could have been badly burned. The entire stack could have come down on you.”

“I used the bucket as a shield. Not my first time knocking down a fire.” The air in the room vanished. He pretended it didn’t. “Had a big wildfire last summer. Most neighbors were out fighting it by hand. We stopped it before it got a hold and ripped through every field and barn in the valley.”

“Why am I not surprised? You were on the front line leading the charge, weren’t you?” She eased in, smelling of charred wood, smoke and faintly of lilacs.

Lilacs. That jogged his memory, flashing him back a decade. Easy to remember standing right here in this barn, with the haze of midsummer sunshine and the horses huffing softly in the doorway, waiting to get going with the trail ride. How he’d taken his time, laying his hand against the satin softness of her cheek, his pulse kicking double time, gathering up enough courage to kiss her. His chest squeezed, wringing out an old drop of affection. Affection he’d be a fool to give in to.

“Better go. I’ve got an early morning.”

“It is technically morning. You’re not going anywhere until I take care of those burns.”

“They’re fine.”

“Don’t even try that on me.” She opened a squeaky cabinet and hauled out a flat gray box. “Not sure how up-to-date this is.”

“It looks like World War II surplus.”

“Tell me about it. The cobwebs are a little worrying.” She swiped them off and opened the tin, shoving aside the pile of paper on the desk to make room to set it down. “There are a few cans of pop in the fridge, if you want to get them.”

“Now that does sound good.” He was parched from the inside out. The rumble of the fire truck faded, the men were gone and he and Millie were truly alone. Not sure he was comfortable with that. He yanked open the ancient refrigerator and let the cool wash over him before grabbing two cans from the shelves.

“Here.” He popped the tabs, set Millie’s down next to the first-aid kit and breathed in the sugary scent of grape soda. “Guess Milton won’t mind. We haven’t broken into his stash in ten years.”

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