Hank Brownlee felt betrayed…

He ground his teeth in frustration as he listened to his father babble on in praise about the new housekeeper. He’d pleaded with his father to eat, to talk, to smile and he was never able to get a peep out of the old man. Now, this impostor had invaded his home and seemingly won his father’s heart.

Hank ripped open the door and entered his house with every intention of firing the phony widow.

“I didn’t hire you,” Hank said with a snarl as he entered the laundry room.

Maggie Woodward straightened. Her trim figure was shown off to perfection in snug-fitting jeans and a T-shirt, not that Hank noticed, of course.

“I beg your pardon,” Maggie said.

“I didn’t hire you. I hired Maggie, the older lady in the picture,” he said indignantly.

“Oh…” Maggie said, nodding in understanding. “The woman in the picture was my aunt. She was standing beside me in the picture I sent you.”

“I had no intention of hiring someone like…you. You’ll just have to leave.”

But as soon as Hank said those words, he knew he would live to regret them….

Dear Reader,

What does romance mean to you? Sure, it could be sharing a candlelit dinner or strolling hand in hand on a spring day. But to me it’s even the smallest of gestures that tells you the person you think hangs the sun and the moon finds you equally unforgettable. As a lifelong romantic who met her future husband nearly twenty years ago, I’m delighted to be heading up Silhouette Romance. These books remind me that no matter what challenges the day has held, finding true love is one of life’s greatest rewards.

Bestselling author Judy Christenberry kicks off another great month with Finding a Family (SR #1762). In this sweet romance, a down-to-earth cowboy goes “shopping” for the perfect woman for his father but instead finds himself the target of Cupid’s arrow! Watch the sparks fly in Melissa McClone’s Blueprint for a Wedding (SR #1763) when a man who has crafted the perfect blueprint for domestic bliss finds himself attracted to an actress who doesn’t believe in happy endings. This month’s “Cinderella” is a feisty Latina, as Angie Ray continues Silhouette Romance’s commitment to offering modern-day fairy tales in The Millionaire’s Reward (SR #1764). Part of the SOULMATES series, Moonlight Magic (SR #1765) by Doris Rangel features a vacationing nurse who falls for a handsome stranger with a particularly vexing habit of vanishing into thin air.

And be sure to stay tuned for next month’s exciting lineup when reader favorites Raye Morgan and Carol Grace return with two classic romances.

Ann Leslie Tuttle

Associate Senior Editor

Finding a Family
Judy Christenberry

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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To my daughter, Christina, for her support, assistance and

ideas. Without her, this book would never have been written.

Books by Judy Christenberry

Silhouette Romance

The Nine-Month Bride #1324

*Marry Me, Kate #1344

*Baby in Her Arms #1350

*A Ring for Cinderella #1356

†Never Let You Go #1453

†The Borrowed Groom #1457

†Cherish the Boss #1463

**Snowbound Sweetheart #1476

Newborn Daddy #1511

When the Lights Went Out… #1547

**Least Likely To Wed #1570

Daddy on the Doorstep #1654

**Beauty & the Beastly Rancher #1678

**The Last Crawford Bachelor #1715

Finding a Family #1762

Silhouette Books

The Coltons

The Doctor Delivers

A Colton Family Christmas

“The Diplomat’s Daughter”

Lone Star Country Club

The Last Bachelor

JUDY CHRISTENBERRY

has been writing romances for over fifteen years because she loves happy endings as much as her readers do. She’s a bestselling author for Harlequin American Romance, but she has a long love of traditional romances and is delighted to tell a story that brings those elements to the reader. A former high school French teacher, Judy devotes her time to writing. She hopes readers have as much fun reading her stories as she does writing them. She spends her spare time reading, watching her favorite sports teams and keeping track of her two adult daughters.

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 One

“Hank? You mooning over some girl?” Larry had to repeat his query before his boss realized that he’d asked him a question.

“What did you say, Larry?”

“I asked if you’re mooning over some female? You’re sure not paying attention to the cows today.” Larry expected a funny answer. He and the boss bantered back and forth all the time.

Instead, he got a serious answer accompanied by concern on Hank’s face. “I’m worrying about Dad.”

“What’s wrong with the old boss? Is he sick?” Larry crossed his arms over his chest and frowned.

Hank Brownlee shrugged his shoulders. Life had changed since his mother had died last year. “I—I think he’s depressed.”

“Well, hell, Hank, his wife died. Of course he’s sad.”

“But that was over a year ago. I’m sad, too, when I think about Mom, but it’s time to move on.” Only his father hadn’t. The older Brownlee had turned the ranch over to Hank and didn’t seem to care what Hank did with the spread. He never asked about anything. He just sat and stared out the window. He wouldn’t even eat if Hank didn’t come in at night and cook.

“You’d better do something or he’ll die, too.”

Hank gave his friend a disgusted look. “I know that, Larry. But what? That’s the problem. I’ve tried to spark his interest in anything but he just sits there. He won’t budge.”

“I think he needs a woman,” Larry said with firmness.

Hank almost slugged his lifetime friend. “You’re crazy. Dad’s not interested in another woman.”

“He might be if there was one around. Too bad he doesn’t live in a city. I heard there are lots of widow ladies out there looking for nice, mature gents to hook up with. He’d probably have a sweetie in no time. One already trained to cook and clean ’cause she’s had a husband before.”

With a sigh, Hank nodded. “I wouldn’t mind having one of those around, too.” When he saw Larry’s face, he knew he’d misunderstood. “Wait a minute! I’m not looking for a wife. But I wouldn’t mind someone else taking over the kitchen.”

“Hey, you can kill two birds with one stone. Hire a nice widow to interest your dad and she could take care of the kitchen, and even the cleaning, too.”

Hank gnawed on his bottom lip, looking at the suggestion from every angle. What could go wrong? Even if the woman irritated his dad, at least she might get a reaction out of him. That would be better than nothing. And he’d get some better meals.

“You know, Larry, I think you’ve got the right idea. I think I need to go widow-shopping!”

That evening, after a lackluster meal and the cleanup, which was worse than usual because he’d burned the meat loaf, Hank told his father good-night. He watched as his father shuffled down the hall to the master bedroom.

Hank had had several second thoughts about his decision, but his father’s behavior tonight had strengthened his resolve to go through with his plan. There was no time to waste. He got out some paper and a pen and sat down at the kitchen table. What should he put in the ad?

By midnight, after much erasing, he’d come up with a simple advertisement.

Friendly widow needed to handle a male household. Cooking and cleaning required. Private bedroom and Sundays off. Send qualifications and photo to Brownlee Ranch, P.O. Box 512, Ashland, Colorado 80546.

He reread it several times. He’d get Larry to read it tomorrow. But he wouldn’t mention his plan to Dad. He knew his father would condemn the idea, but Hank had to do something. He refused to lose his father, too.

Several weeks later he opened the day’s mail with a sigh. Not much anticipation. None of the women who had contacted him thus far had seemed right. Most of them were too painted-up, the kind who would expect to be able to go to town two or three times a week. The closest town, Ashland, was twenty-five miles away. And it wasn’t even a city.

Several of them didn’t look as if they’d ever lifted so much as a finger for anyone, let alone run a household. Hank needed help; he sure didn’t want someone else to take care of in addition to his dad.

He checked the postmark on the one letter he’d gotten today. Denver. Another city lady looking for a free ride he presumed.

When he ripped the envelope open, a picture fell out. He picked it up. Three people were in the picture, a lady around fifty, a beautiful young woman in her twenties and a toddler.

He liked the looks of the woman. Maggie. Nice name. Good, down-to-earth name. He scanned the letter. It was well-written and brief, and told him she enjoyed cooking and cleaning. She was perfect! Almost too good to be true. Hank decided to hire her. And as a bonus, he’d even allow the woman to let her daughter and grandson visit her at the ranch. Why not? Hank could afford to be generous, particularly if having the older woman around sparked his father’s interest. Yep, this widow-woman would be just what his dad needed. Yeah, she would be perfect.

And her timing couldn’t be better. Hank had promised a friend that he’d help with a round-up. The round-up would take Hank away from the ranch for a couple of days. Fearing to leave his dad alone, Hank had been afraid he’d have to renege on his promise. But now he’d have someone here to take care of his dad while he was away.

He quickly wrote out a letter of acceptance. His spirits were soaring. His dad was going to be taken care of and maybe even spark back to life. And hiring the widow would get Hank out of the kitchen. Hank had to admit he was a lousy cook. In fact, he’d been losing weight ever since his mom had died. And his dad was as frail as could be.

Hank didn’t tell his father until the night before his departure. As the older man slowly rose and headed down the hallway, he stopped him. “Dad, I have a surprise for you.”

“Don’t want any surprises,” he muttered, still moving.

“I’ve hired someone to cook and clean. She should arrive tomorrow, but I won’t be here to show her around. I have to go to Ron Harper’s place. Five of his guys are sick with the flu and I told him I’d pitch in.” His father just snorted derisively as he continued down the hall.

“Dad, I hope you’ll let this nice lady take care of you. Dad—I’ll be back in a week.”

Later, Hank gave more specific instructions to Larry, who was remaining on the ranch. “I left her first week’s pay in an envelope for her.” He handed Larry a white envelope. “Give it to her at the end of the week.”

“What’s her name?”

“Maggie. Good name, solid.”

“Yeah. What did your dad say?”

“Nothing. He didn’t seem to care. I hope I’m doing the right thing.”

Larry leaned over and slapped him on the shoulder. “I’m sure you are. When is she coming?”

“Tomorrow, but I’ll be up and out of here before she arrives. I left a note for her. Keep an eye on Dad for me.”

“Will do.”

Maggie Woodward pulled up in front of a nice ranch house with an old-fashioned broad porch. Tim could play out there no matter what the weather. She turned her car motor off and looked at the little boy still sleeping in the back seat.

She breathed a sigh of relief. She’d taken this job for Timmy’s sake. She wanted him to have a country childhood like she had had.

Maggie had missed ranch life, but she’d gladly become a city girl when her husband took a job in Denver. She’d stayed home with Timmy, but after Derek’s death, she’d gotten a secretarial job in Denver to support herself and her son and moved in with her aunt.

As she gazed around at her surroundings, Maggie wondered if her new employer would allow her to invite Kate to visit. She missed the older woman already and Timmy had cried this morning when they’d told Kate goodbye. So had Maggie.

With a sigh, she opened the car door and got out to take her son inside. It was late July, the hottest time in Colorado. She slid his little body toward her. He was sturdily built.

“Mommy?” the little boy muttered as he turned towards her body.

“It’s all right, sweetie. Finish your nap.” She climbed the steps to the back door, hoping no one would mind that she entered the house that way.

She heard something behind her and turned to see a young man hurrying out of the barn in her direction. She stood there in the afternoon sun, watching his approach.

“Howdy, ma’am. Are you Maggie?”

She smiled in relief. “Yes, I am, Mr. Brownlee.”

“No ma’am. I’m not the owner. He’s not here. He asked me to make you feel at…home. Who’s he?” Larry asked, gesturing to the bundle of little boy in her arms.

“He’s my son. May I take him in where it’s cool? He’s getting a little heavy.”

“I’ll take him.” She shook her head so he stepped around her and held open the back door. “Did you mention to Hank that you’d be bringing him?”

She came to an abrupt halt in the kitchen and turned around. “Yes, I told him. Is there a problem?”

“I guess not,” Larry muttered. “Uh, your bedroom is through here.” He led her to the room behind the kitchen. After looking at the room, he said, “I guess Hank didn’t have time to fix it up much,” he muttered.

“That’s all right,” Maggie told him. The welcome hadn’t quite been what she was hoping for, but she could handle it.

Larry pulled down the grimy coverlet and discovered there were no sheets on the mattress.

“Can you find a sheet or quilt I can lay Timmy on?” Maggie quietly asked.

“Uh, yeah, sure.” Larry had no idea where those things were. He found Mr. Brownlee sitting in his usual place in the living room. “Sir, where are the sheets?”

At first there was no change of expression. It was as if Carl Brownlee hadn’t heard him. Then he frowned. “In the hall closet.”

Larry hurried there and found a folded sheet. He grabbed it and headed for the back bedroom.

Carl actually came out of the living room. “You don’t need to stay with me, Larry.”

Larry turned around and backed toward the bedroom. “No, sir. This is for the housekeeper.” Then he ducked into the room and laid the folded sheet on the bed.

Maggie, whose arms were aching with the weight of her son, breathed a sign of relief. “Thank you. If you’ll just unfold it a little.”

Larry did so and she laid her son down and gently covered him with part of the sheet.

“Who’s that?”

She whirled around to see a frail old man leaning against the door frame. “That’s my son, Timmy. I’ll try to keep him out of your way.”

“I like kids.”

Maggie smiled, unaware of the effect of that smile. “I’m so glad to hear that.”

Carl nodded slowly.

“Want me to help you carry your stuff in?” Larry offered.

“That would be nice if you have the time, but I can manage if you have work to do.”

“Nothing that can’t keep.”

“I’ll watch the child,” Carl said, his gaze never leaving the little boy.

After she and Larry reached her car, she asked, “Is he okay?”

“I think Hank told you in his letter. His dad’s been sad—I mean, depressed, since his wife died.”

“When did she die?”

“A year ago last May.”

“And part of my job is to take care of him?”

“Hank thought—I mean, he’s not much of a cook. And he thought you could make Carl feel better.”

Maggie flashed that beautiful smile again. “I understand, and I’ll do my best.”

By the time Larry left the house, after a well-cooked supper in a kitchen that already looked better, he was sure Hank had done the right thing. He didn’t know why Hank had changed his mind about hiring a widow for his father, but the woman was a beauty and kind, too. And boy, could she cook.

She’d asked Carl what he liked to eat. His response had been his usual response, namely “nothing.” But Maggie had told him what Timmy liked. The little boy asked for cookies, cake, hamburgers, all the things children like. To Larry’s surprise, Carl had agreed with him.

Things were going well.

The bed in the room behind the kitchen was a single with an old mattress. Though Maggie longed for her queen-size bed in Kate’s house, the smaller bed suited Timmy just fine. He’d fallen asleep soon after she’d put him down.

She returned to the kitchen to find Carl still sitting at the table.

“I’m sorry we didn’t have any dessert tonight, Carl. You need fattening up, you know. Would you like a cup of decaffeinated coffee while I make a chocolate cake for tomorrow?”

That seemed to be a strange idea to him, but he finally nodded.

She fixed two cups of coffee. Then, having checked the cabinets’ contents, she pulled out what she needed. “You’ve got a lot of good equipment here. It’s going to make my life easier.”

She thought he wasn’t going to answer, but he finally said, “My wife was a good cook.”

“I bet she was. Tell me about her.” She didn’t rush him. Going about the business of making a cake, she waited for him to answer.

Finally, he began talking, slowly as if his voice was rusty. But his voice increased in volume and speed as if she’d started an avalanche. She listened, occasionally asking a question or making a comment. By the time the cake was baked and iced, he’d fallen silent at last. She looked up to find tears sliding down his cheeks.

She took out two saucers and cut two pieces of cake, a large one for him and a smaller one for her. She handed a plate to Carl. “We need to test the cake to see if it’s good enough for Timmy.”

He slowly picked up a fork and took a bite of the cake.

Maggie watched him closely. She hadn’t had time to read the note the man’s son had left her. She hoped she hadn’t done anything wrong.

After he’d eaten several bites of cake, she said, “At first, it’s hard to talk about someone who’s gone. My husband died two years ago, just before Timmy turned two. But I found it got easier the more I talked about him.”

“Yeah,” Carl said, not looking up.

“I hope you’ll tell me about some of the meals your wife cooked. I could try to make them again, though I’m probably not as good a cook as she was.”

“The cake is good.”

“I’m glad. I was so pleased to see the big back porch when we got here. I think Timmy will like playing back there, and I’ll be able to keep an eye on him as I do my chores.”

“I might—I might sit in the rocker sometimes, to keep him company.”

“Oh, that would be wonderful! Timmy hasn’t been around men much. It will be good for him to have a friend.”

After she finished her cake, she began cleaning up the dirty dishes calmly and efficiently, keeping an eye on Carl without him realizing it. “What do you like for breakfast, Carl? Bacon and eggs?”

“Eggs and sausage,” he said, as if he ate it every morning.

“Okay. At six-thirty?”

“That’s when Hank will want it. I—I don’t get up that early.”

“Neither does Timmy. How about we eat around eight, until Hank gets home.”

“Yeah, that’d be good. I really like this cake.”

“Do you want another piece?”

“I’d better not. I’ll have more tomorrow.”

“Sure.”

Carl shakily got to his feet.

Maggie stepped around the table and slid her arm under his. “Will you show me where your room is?”

They walked down the long hallway. Carl pointed out a room. “That’s Hank’s old room. It’s still decorated for a little boy. I bet Timmy would like it.” He pushed open the door.

Maggie knew Timmy would love it. But she didn’t want him that far away from her. “It’s very nice.”

Carl gave her an unsure look. “This is my room and that’s Hank’s now,” he said, pointing to the door opposite his. He pushed open the door to his room and Maggie saw she had a lot more work to do.

“This is a nice room. I’ll get it cleaned up tomorrow.”

Carl hesitated before he said, “That would be nice. I—I get tired.”

“Because you haven’t been eating properly, but we’ll get you stronger.”

Carl turned and put both his hands on her cheeks. “Maggie, I think you may be an angel.”

“No, Carl,” she said firmly. “I’m a friend. There’s nothing angelic about me.”

“Well, I’m glad you came.”

“Me, too. Good night now.” She slipped out of the room and down the hallway to her new bedroom.

Hank was dirty and exhausted. He’d worked from dawn to dusk and stayed up half the night guarding the herd. He wanted a hot shower and his bed, in that order. He’d worry about food in the morning.

He’d have to worry about his dad in the morning, too. He hoped the new housekeeper had arrived and was taking care of everything. Maybe his dad was already keeping her company. He snorted in derision. Sure, life was that easy.

He pulled in the driveway and was soon parked by the barn. He’d asked Larry to stay close until he got back, in case he’d hired an ax-murderer.

“Larry?” he called. His friend stepped out and greeted him.

“Welcome home, boss. Glad to see you.”

“Thanks. Did she come?”

“Oh, yeah. And she’s terrific. Best food I’ve had since—well, since your mom died.”

Hank frowned. “And Dad? How’s he dealing with her?”

“Like Mary’s little lamb. He and Timmy just follow her everywhere.”

“What? He’s moving around? And who’s Timmy?”

Larry took a step back. “Uh, she said you knew.”

Hank knew it was all too good to be true. Harshly, he demanded, “Who’s Timmy?”

“Maggie’s little boy. I think he’s three, almost four. Your dad plays with him.”

“No!” Hank roared and turned on his heel, immediately striding toward his life-long home.

Larry was frozen for several seconds. Then he hurried after his friend.

Carl Brownlee was sitting in the rocking chair on the back porch. A little boy, Hank assumed the one in the picture, was standing at his father’s knee, showing him a small car.

Carl looked up and smiled at Hank. That act alone almost knocked him off his feet. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw his father smile.

“Dad?”

“Welcome home, son. Have you met Timmy?”

The little boy drew closer to Carl before he shyly said, “Hi.”

“Hello,” Hank said, frowning. Then he looked at his father again. “Where is she?”

“You mean Maggie? I believe she’s putting in a load of laundry.” Carl put his arm around Timmy. “She’s a terrific housekeeper. And, man, can she cook!”

Hank felt as though his father had betrayed him. He’d been pleading with his father to eat, to talk, to smile. Now, a woman he hadn’t hired—an imposter—had come and his father had gleefully done all three for her.

He ripped open the back door and entered the house. Larry waited on the porch with the elder Brownlee and the little boy.

In the laundry room, he discovered the young woman in the photograph. “I didn’t hire you!” he exclaimed.

She straightened, her figure trim in snug-fitting jeans and a T-shirt. “I beg your pardon?”

“I didn’t hire you. I hired Maggie!”

“Are you Hank?” she asked calmly.

“Yes! And you’re not Maggie!”

“Yes, I am.”

“No, you’re not! Maggie was the older lady.”

“That’s my aunt Kate. The one in the picture with us?”

“I had no intention of hiring someone with a child. I won’t have it. You have to leave!”

Maggie continued to load the dryer. She closed the lid and cleaned out the lint trap before starting the machine. Then she turned and walked past him without saying a word.

Chapter Two

Hank spun around and followed her to the small bedroom he’d planned for the housekeeper. He noted at once that it was spotless. He certainly hadn’t left it that way. But that didn’t matter.

“Did you hear me?”

She didn’t answer, but she took a suitcase out of the closet and began packing. She looked over the lid at him. “It will take about an hour to get my things packed. Then we’ll leave. I assume you will explain my leaving to your father?”

“Sure! I’ll—I’ll tell him you didn’t like it here.” He was quite surprised by her compliance.

“But that would be a lie. Never mind. I’ll explain everything to him when I say goodbye.”

“What will you tell him?”

“The truth. That you fired me.”

“You can’t tell him that!”

She straightened and stared at him. “Why not?”

“It might upset him.”

“Mr. Brownlee, whatever you tell your father, he’ll be upset. For the first time in a year, he’s eating good meals and gaining weight. He’s sitting outside and enjoying the warm weather. He’s taking an interest in the people around him. And he’s very kind to Timmy. Sometimes he forgets and even calls Timmy Hank, but Timmy doesn’t mind.

“If you want to fire me, that’s your right. But I won’t let that sweet man think I’m leaving on my own accord.”

Hank glared at her. “Damn you!” he muttered and turned and left the room.

He stormed out onto the porch where three pairs of male eyes stared at him.

“What’s wrong, son?” Carl asked. “What’s wrong? What’s wrong? I didn’t hire a twenty-something with a child to be the housekeeper. I hired a nice fifty-year-old to cook and clean for us.”

His father looked at him calmly and asked, “What difference does it make? Maggie is terrific at both and Timmy is keeping me company, aren’t you, Timmy boy?”

Hank had no answer. When he’d left home a week ago, his father had been acting like a zombie. He was still too thin, but he was talking with the people around him. Carl was really interacting with the little boy, Larry, and obviously, Maggie.

Now what could he do?

He heard footsteps on the porch behind him. In a cool voice Maggie said quietly, “Timmy, I need you to come in, sweetie.”

Timmy whispered to Carl, “I have to go.”

He edged his way around Hank, as if he thought Hank was dangerous, and walked quickly to the back door. Then the little boy disappeared into the house.

“You scared the boy,” Carl said in a chiding voice.

“I didn’t mean to. But, Dad, they’re going to have to go.”

“Why?”

Hank couldn’t come up with an answer.

“She cooks like an angel, she cleans like an army of people, and she’s easy on the eyes, too. What’s wrong with that?”

“She’s too young for you, Dad!” Hank replied, anger in his voice.

“Mercy, boy, I’m not looking for a woman, but having a good-looking one around isn’t a bad thing.”

“Dad, you don’t understand.”

“Explain it to me then,” the older man said. He sounded so reasonable, so much like the father Hank remembered…and had thought never to see or hear again.

“I want her to stay, son,” Carl said softly.

Hank dropped his head. “Okay, Dad,” Hank muttered. “You win.”

He turned around and went into the house. He could hear activity in the spare bedroom. He stepped to the door.

Timmy was the first to see him. The little boy gasped as though he’d seen the devil himself. That got his mother’s attention at once.

“Timmy?”

“It’s him, Mommy!” The little boy grabbed her leg and hid behind her.

She straightened and confronted Hank, stare-for-stare. “Is there something else, Mr. Brownlee? Do you want to search our luggage to be sure we’re not stealing something from our luxury accommodations?”

Hank hated to be put in the wrong. Her sarcasm struck home. He hadn’t even cleaned the room for her arrival. After all, she was the cleaning expert. But he knew he’d been a slacker there. “I apologize for not cleaning the room. I’ve been pretty busy with my dad.”

“And you’re here now because…”

She waited for him to fill in the blank.

With his cheeks red, Hank struggled to get the words out. “It’s—it’s not necessary for you to leave.”

“Yes, I’m afraid it is.” She returned to her packing, as if he were no longer there.

Hank drew a deep breath. “What I’m trying to say is I’m not firing you.”

She ignored him.

“Damn it! My dad wants you to stay.”

“We can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’ve scared Tim.”

Since she continued to pack, Hank realized he’d have to rectify his wrongs. He knelt down on one knee. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” Hank said, trying to soften the gruff note in his voice. His attempt to hide his irritation failed miserably.

Suddenly the little boy was crying, and his mother stopped packing to console him.

“What’s wrong? What did I say wrong?”

Hank wanted to withdraw, to let them leave, but his father had asked that they stay. What could he do? “Look, can you at least stay another week, see if we can all get along? Dad needs what you’ve been giving him. He needs Timmy. I think Timmy is helping Dad get well.”

The little boy raised his head from his mother’s shoulder and sniffed. “He has lots of boo-boos.”

“Yes, he does. But he’ll get better with your help, Timmy. Will you and your Mommy stay a little while?”

“I like it here…but you scare me.”

Hank ground his teeth. “I promise I won’t scare you any more.” He felt he’d reached his limit with the four-year-old. His gaze met Maggie’s, then looked away from the disapproval he saw in her blue eyes.

“What?” he asked, not specifying his question.

“We’ll try it for a week. But you’re on probation. I will not let my son live in constant terror!”

“I won’t be around that much. This is a working ranch.”

“I’ve only met Larry. You manage a ranch with one employee?”

“No, there are more hands, but right now my men are working on a neighbor’s round-up. They’ll be home tonight or tomorrow.”

“Oh, I see. Do I cook for them, too?”

“No, they already have a cook.”

“Uh, I think something is burning in here?” Larry called out.

Without a word, Maggie scooped up Tim and hurried to the kitchen, leaving Hank standing in her bedroom.

He followed her into the kitchen.

“It’s all right, Carl,” she said to his father. “It’s just the marshmallow topping. I can redo it and have the sweet potatoes ready in no time.”

“You actually made sweet potatoes with marshmallow topping?” Hank asked.

“Yes,” she said without looking up. “Your father requested it.”

“No wonder he doesn’t want you to go.”

“And what does that mean?”

“If you cater to his every whim, there’s no telling what he’ll ask for next.”

She glared at him. “Why don’t you join your father on the porch. I don’t appreciate someone watching over my shoulder when I’m trying to prepare a meal.”

“So you’re throwing me out of my own kitchen?”

“Silly me. I thought it was your father’s kitchen.” She challenged him to say she was wrong.

With a scowl, he went out on the porch. He hadn’t even realized Tim had already come out and was standing beside his father.

“What’s Tim doing out here?”

The little boy tried to back away toward the kitchen door, but Carl had an arm around him. “He keeps me company. Sometimes we read books or play with a couple of Timmy’s little cars. Other times, I tell him about you as a boy.”

“Me?”

“You remember that time you got stuck in the hay barn?” Carl asked, a grin on his face.

“And a snake almost bit you!” Tim added, obviously too excited by the story to remember his fear of Hank.

“That’s why Tim, here, shouldn’t go climb the hay in the barn,” Carl said. “Right, Timmy?”

“Right.” The boy nodded his head several times.

“I see.” When he’d left his dad last week, he would’ve sworn that his father couldn’t have remembered his name, much less anecdotes about his son’s childhood. Having the woman and the boy around had worked wonders for his father. “I’m glad you’re feeling so much better, Dad,” he said with a gusty sigh.

Carl narrowed his eyes. “You wonderin’ why I didn’t respond to all your attempts to make me change my ways?”

“I’m not the cook or housekeeper Maggie is, though I tried.”

“It’s not your fault son,” the older man said. “You were out working all day. You needed your meals prepared for you, not having to prepare them yourself. I didn’t blame you. Well, maybe occasionally when you burned everything to a crisp.” He smiled.

Hank stared at his father. He was actually smiling. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know that. No one would want that awful mess to eat.”

Larry decided to pitch in. “Remember when he tried to make a cake, only he didn’t follow the instructions? It was half-cooked and runny in the middle?”

Both Carl and Larry laughed at that story.

Tim tugged on Carl’s sleeve. “What’s runny?”

“Well, it means it wasn’t cooked.” When the little boy just stared at him, Carl tried again. “It was like water instead of cake.”

Maggie opened the door and Tim ran to her. “Mommy, Hank made a water cake. It ran away!”

“I see…. Well, dinner is ready, if anyone’s hungry.”

All three men stood. Hank said, “I have to go clean up first.”

“Don’t be slow, boy, or I’ll eat your share.”

“There’s plenty of food, Mr. Brownlee. Your father was just teasing.” She moved back into the kitchen as they all followed her in.

“Do you call my father Mr. Brownlee?”

“No. He’s asked me to call him Carl.”

“Then you’d better call me Hank.” He didn’t wait for an answer. He went quickly to wash his hands so that he wouldn’t miss the meal.

When Hank returned to the table, he was determined, despite the aroma he could smell all the way down the hall, to find fault with Maggie and her cooking.

Impossible.

He blamed that impossibility on the fact that he’d been eating round-up grub for too long. He’d been starving when he’d arrived home and been confronted with the widow mix-up, meaning Maggie. To make up for all the trouble she’d put him through he had helped himself to a double helping of the mashed potatoes with cream gravy on top, the sweet potatoes with marshmallows, the green beans and the T-bone steaks grilled to perfection. Not to mention the hot rolls.

Of course, that was the reason.

Then she brought out dessert.

Carl nodded in approval. “It looks just like Linda’s carrot cake, Maggie. It’s perfect.”

Maggie smiled at such lavish praise. “Shouldn’t you wait until you taste it, Carl?”

Hank wanted to refuse the cake. He didn’t want to know that this woman could bake as well as his mother had. Somehow praising Maggie’s prowess in the kitchen felt like a betrayal of his mother’s memory.

“Your cake couldn’t possibly be the same as the ones my mother used to bake. How would you—I mean, there are different recipes,” Hank finally managed to get out.

“Yes, of course there are. But we found your mother’s recipe book. It’s wonderful, just full of great recipes she’d collected over the years. Your father has let me use it to make his favorite dishes, just like she did.”

Looking around the table at the pleased expressions on his father, Larry and the little boy’s faces, Hank decided to bide his time. He could air his differences with her later. For now Hank simply accepted a piece of cake and picked up his fork. The first bite stopped him in his tracks. It was the same cake his mother had always made. He couldn’t deny it.

“This is wonderful, Maggie. I didn’t think I’d ever taste a carrot cake as good as Linda’s,” Carl said.

“You still haven’t, Carl,” Maggie said with a smile. “This is Linda’s cake. I made it, but it’s her recipe.”

“That’s true. Thank you, Maggie.”

Hank ground his teeth. He almost put down his fork. Almost.

“It sure is good,” Larry added, smiling at Maggie.

Hank practically growled out loud. Was Larry flirting with his housekeeper?

“Yeah, Mommy, it’s good.”

Okay, he didn’t mind if Timmy praised his mom. That was to be expected, but Hank did mind that Carl and Larry seemed to be complimenting Maggie to the heavens.

Looking up, he discovered everyone but Maggie was staring at him. “What?” he asked, frowning.

“Don’t you like Mommy’s cake?” Timmy asked, sounding as timid as before.

“Uh, yeah, it’s good.” He even smiled at the little boy, remembering Maggie’s warning.

“I think you should take his cake away from him,” Carl said to Maggie.

Astounded by his father’s betrayal, Hank grabbed hold of his plate and glared at Carl. “Why would she do that?”

“Because that milk-toast compliment doesn’t even begin to do this cake justice and you know it,” Carl told him.

Hank knew his father was asking for a more…more high-falutin’ compliment, but he was clean out of big words. “I like it, okay? You’re right. It reminds me of Mom’s cake.”

To his surprise, it was Maggie who rescued him. “I’m more than happy with his praise, Carl. I couldn’t ask for more.” She smiled at his dad…but not at him.

“I’m really tired, Dad. If you don’t mind, I’ll turn in early,” Hank said, rising to his feet.

His father, instead of responding, spoke to Maggie. “I raised him better, Maggie, I promise.”

“What did I do wrong?” Hank demanded.

“You excuse yourself to the lady of the house, son. Especially when she’s just served you the best meal you’ve had in over a year.”

“You mean the best meal I’ve had since Mom died, don’t you, Dad?” Hank gulped down the lump he felt growing in his throat.

Grief over the loss of his mother took him by surprise. He knew his father was having difficulty with his mother’s death, but he’d been fine. He’d kept busy. It was Dad who—he backed from the room, not even able to face his own thoughts, much less the consternation on the faces of the other people in the room.

No one spoke for several minutes. Then Larry said, “He’s really tired. Didn’t get much sleep, you know.”

“Of course,” Maggie said.

“I’d better go talk to him,” Carl said, looking older almost within seconds.

Maggie reached out a hand to catch his. “No, Carl, I think it will be better to talk to him about it tomorrow morning. We have to respect Hank’s grief.” Carl nodded in agreement and returned to the table and sat down.

“Do you remember that first night, when you talked about Linda? The words tumbled out of you as if they’d been blocked inside you for months. Has Hank ever talked like that about his mom since she passed?”

Carl slowly shook his head, a frown on his face.

“I think the best thing you can do is give him some space…And besides, just because you’re happy with me doesn’t mean Hank is. Perhaps it will be best if Timmy and I leave.”

“No, Maggie, I’ll insist—”

“But that doesn’t work, Carl. Didn’t Hank insist that you stop mourning your wife and be happy?”

“Yeah, he did,” Carl said slowly.

More softly, she asked, “Did it work?”

Carl stared at the floor. “You know it didn’t.”

Maggie patted Carl’s shoulder. “It isn’t your fault, Carl.”

“I guess you’re right,” he conceded. “Which gets me to thinking. If you helped me to open up about my feelings maybe you could do the same for Hank.”

The old man’s expression brightened with the thought that he might just have hit upon a compelling reason to persuade Maggie to stay.

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