This Land Is Not For Sale!

The Triple Canyon Ranch isn’t just land to single mom Erin Monroe. It’s a place her family has called home for generations, a place to raise her kids, a place where she’s known love and loss. She’s not about to hand it over to outsider Mac Wheeler, no matter how good the city slicker looks in those custom boots she made for him. He can find some other place for his wind farm!

Years ago, tragedy made Erin close off a part of her heart for good. Mac, with his smooth talk and smoother kisses, can’t possibly be the one to heal that hurt. But as Erin learns more about Mac’s past, she realizes there’s more to him than meets the eye. Which makes holding on to the ranch more important than ever....

“Those are our only options?”

She scoffed. “Unless you can think of something else to do.”

Actually, Mac could. Not, he reminded himself sternly, that making an ill-conceived pass at her was one of the options….

This was a business situation. Or at least it had been, until they had started sharing personal stories and whiling away the time together.

Then it had become something else. Something a lot more treacherous…and interesting.

Erin groaned and let out a nervous laugh. “Forget I said that.”

The gentlemanly side of Mac knew he should. Only trouble was, he wasn’t feeling particularly chivalrous right now. He was feeling…turned on. And she was, too, otherwise her mind wouldn’t have gone in the exact same direction his had.

The direction that would land them in each other’s arms.

At least for a kiss.

“Actually,” Mac said casually, turning toward her, and taking her slender body into his arms. Going on instinct, he slowly lowered his head. “I don’t think I will.”

Dear Reader,

We all have plans for our lives, formed as we grow up. I thought I was going to live in a house with a white picket fence. (Didn’t happen, although I do have a fence, and I do have a house.) I thought I’d marry a great guy (did happen), a brilliant absent-minded professor type (he is that) who also could make me laugh like no one else. (Gotta admit, he can be hilarious.) I also figured I’d be a mom and have a career, and that all took place, too.

But what ensues, I wondered, when the plans you’ve made take detours that aren’t the kind that are easily recovered from?

Mac Wheeler grew up wanting a high-powered career and a wife and family, and he had all that—until the day an unexpected tragedy occurred, and he found himself a single dad with a traveling lifestyle that was not right for his only child.

Erin Monroe loved her life, but suddenly found herself the family matriarch at age 23, raising her brothers and sisters, and eventually her own brood. Then life sent her into another tailspin—one that left her functioning, but emotionally numb, just going through the motions of life.

The day Erin and Mac come face-to-face, neither believe they will ever love again. But as they say, life has a way of happening when you are busy making other plans….

I hope you enjoy this final book of the Legends of Laramie County miniseries. Please visit my website at www.cathygillenthacker.com, and my Facebook and Twitter pages.

Cheers,

Cathy Gillen Thacker

The Texas Rancher’s Family

Cathy Gillen Thacker

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Cathy Gillen Thacker is married and a mother of three. She and her husband spent eighteen years in Texas and now reside in North Carolina. Her mysteries, romantic comedies and heartwarming family stories have made numerous appearances on bestseller lists, but her best reward, she says, is knowing one of her books made someone’s day a little brighter. A popular Harlequin Books author for many years, she loves telling passionate stories with happy endings, and thinks nothing beats a good romance and a hot cup of tea! You can visit Cathy’s website at www.cathygillenthacker.com for more information on her upcoming and previously published books, recipes and a list of her favorite things.

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

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

Epilogue

Preview

Chapter One

Erin Monroe sized up her big, strapping customer with a frustrated sigh. What was it about the Philadelphia-based Mac Wheeler that had all the women in Laramie County tripping over themselves to get a moment of his time? Was it his ruggedly handsome face? Dark hair? Breathtakingly sexy blue eyes? The fact the thirtysomething executive exuded confidence and determination? Or the easy masculine grace with which he carried himself?

All she knew for certain was that every time he came to Laramie County to try and drum up support for his solution to the county’s electrical energy shortage, he created quite a stir.

And now he had his sights on her. Or on what she could do for him.

Fortunately for both of them, she wasn’t about to sell the ambitious exec anything he didn’t need and would probably never use.

With as much kindness as she could muster, Erin informed him, “Contrary to what my competitors would likely tell you, Mr. Wheeler, boots do not make the man. Even here in ranch country.”

Mac Wheeler lounged against the checkout counter and drawled, “Now, that’s an odd thing to say, given the fact you’re one of the premier custom boot makers in Texas.”

“But in your case it’s true.” Determined to be honest with him, Erin continued, “New footwear, custom or otherwise, is not going to help you close the deal on the proposed wind farm.” There was too much opposition to it. Plus he had nowhere to situate the three hundred forty-two ridiculously huge and intrusive wind turbines he was proposing.

So there was no reason for him to be spending several thousand dollars on a pair of boots. Even if the sophisticated business clothing he wore now indicated he could well afford it.

Mac lifted a brow in surprise. Thus far, people had been politely listening to his suggestions. Even as they privately pooh-poohed his venture.

“This is oil and gas country,” Erin explained. “Ranchers don’t want miles of power-generating windmills scaring their cattle and horses, and cluttering up the landscape.”

Mac straightened to his full height, thoroughly dwarfing her own five-foot-six-inch frame. “They’ll change their minds once I have a chance to present my proposal to the Laramie County commissioners later this month.” His voice dropped a persuasive notch. “And when I do that, I’ll need to fit in.”

Erin picked up a stack of new shirts and carried them over to the shelves in the center of the hundred-year-old clothing store, Monroe’s Western Wear. Her skin tingled as he fell into step behind her. She wished Mac didn’t smell so invigoratingly good, so woodsy and male.

“I understand wanting to connect with the people here, Mr. Wheeler.” It was only natural. No one wanted to feel like an outsider. She turned to look him in the eye, and felt another disturbing jolt of awareness. “But dressing as what would likely be perceived as a ‘drugstore cowboy’ is not going to accomplish that for you.”

If anything, it would make his discomfort with the locals worse.

Mac’s brows knitted together in consternation. “I thought Monroe’s sold only authentic Western wear.”

“That’s true.” Their business sold everything a roper, wrangler or rider needed.

His curious glance took in the floor-to-ceiling shelves of denim that lined the entire back wall. “Then how could I wear anything you sell and not look like a genuine Texan?”

Aware that several ladies shopping nearby were listening intently, Erin propped her hands on her hips and looked him up and down. “You really want me to answer that?”

Sheer male confidence radiated from him as he stepped closer. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t,” he retorted in the same low, droll tone.

Erin ignored the heat emanating from his tall, muscular frame. “Look—” she stepped back, until her spine came in contact with the nearby shelving “—I could put you in a pair of Wrangler jeans—”

Mac’s confused frown deepened. “Don’t you mean Levi’s?”

What a gringo! Erin shook her head at his ignorance, explaining, “Wranglers have the heavier rolled seam on the outside of the legs. Levi’s puts it on the inside. If you’re a real cowboy and you’re sitting in the saddle, you want the heavier seam where it’s not likely to rub.”

He seemed momentarily taken aback, apparently realizing that on his own he was likely to end up outfitted like a dude from the city instead of the real thing. “Oh.”

Erin lifted a staying hand. “Not that I expect you to be in the saddle anytime soon,” she quipped.

Amusement glimmered in his eyes. “You don’t think I can ride?”

Could he? Erin tilted her head. He was fit and athletic. Broad-shouldered and powerful-looking, with big, capable hands. In fact, now that she thought about it, if he lost the ultra-sophisticated wool suit, starched shirt and tie, and traded in the wing tips for boots, he would look like he belonged out on the range, instead of behind a desk.

But he wasn’t wearing jeans now.

And he hadn’t been—from all reports—on his first two trips to town, either.

Whether he knew it or not, that sort of sealed his fate.

The local constituency had decided who—and what—he was. And that meant they wouldn’t trust him to solve their highly problematic shortage of electricity.

“No,” Erin said finally, aware that he was still waiting for her response. “Although you’re a heck of a determined businessperson, I don’t think you can ride a horse.”

A slow smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “You might be wrong about that,” he taunted softly.

Aware that she hadn’t been so captivated by a man in ages, Erin widened her eyes. “Am I, now?” she goaded right back.

His grin widened. “You’d have to agree to make me a pair of custom boots to find out.”

“As I told you on the phone earlier, you’re going to need to make an appointment for that.”

He nodded, repeating dutifully, “And the first appointment is in six months.”

“Correct. But if you like,” Erin conceded, “my brother, Nicholas, could sell you off-the-rack whatever you think you need, including a pair of ready-made boots.”

Nicholas waved from behind the counter. Mac acknowledged the sixteen-year-old with a genial nod, then turned back to her. “But you don’t recommend I start dressing like a West Texan, do you?”

She wouldn’t lie. “If there’s one thing the residents of Laramie County want,” she advised kindly, “it’s a person to be genuine. They won’t see anything honorable in pretending to be something you’re not.”

Mac rubbed his closely shaved jaw and peered at her. “So you really think I’d be better off talking to people as a misplaced Yankee in a suit?”

Erin stood her ground. “Don’t you?”

A contemplative silence fell between them.

“As I’m sure you’ve heard, that hasn’t been working so far,” Mac said ruefully.

People had been polite, Erin knew, but not at all on board with what he was trying to sell.

She squinted. “So your plan is...”

He shrugged. “To do what I always do and try and ‘speak the language’ of whatever region I find myself in. And right now, experience tells me I won’t ever be successful around here unless I can ‘speak Texan.’”

One of the eavesdropping customers hurried on over. “Then you’ll be needing one of these.” She placed a Texas dictionary in his hand. The semihumorous tome was filled with Lone Star State vernacular.

“Thanks.” Mac smiled.

“Maybe a hat,” another woman said eagerly, joining the conversation.

Her shopping buddy agreed. “Something dressy that would go with a suit.”

Erin tried to picture Mac in a Stetson or Resistol, and realized he would be sexy as all get-out in either.

“You can wear boots with a suit, too,” another shopper pointed out.

Mac turned back to Erin. Smiled. Suddenly, at least a few of the locals were on his side. Of course, Erin noted a little irritably, they were all female. And single, at that.

“Or you could pay triple, and get an appointment for custom boots right away, like that country-and-western star who came in last month,” Nicholas interjected as he stepped out from behind the counter.

At that, it was all Erin could do not to groan.

Her brother extended his hand to Mac and they shook. “By the way, I’m head of the environmental club at Laramie High School. We’ve all heard about what you’re doing here...and it sure would be great if we could get you to come and speak about wind farms.”

“I’ll check my calendar and see what I can do,” Mac promised.

A chime sounded as the front door opened, and Erin’s two sons walked in from school.

As usual, eight-year-old Sammy’s clothes were smudged with dirt. A fifth grader, ten-year-old Stevie was much more together.

“Hey, Mom!” they said in unison, stopping to give her a hug before circling around her to drop their backpacks on the shelf behind the sales counter.

Mac smiled at her boys with surprising warmth.

Surprised, because she hadn’t figured the sexy bachelor would want much to do with kids, Erin made introductions. The boys shook hands obediently, then took off to get a snack from the fridge in the break room.

Mac turned back to Erin, his expression resolute. “About that appointment... How about five tomorrow evening?”

“It’ll take at least two hours,” Erin hedged, “and the store closes at six.”

“So we’ll make it four o’clock,” Nicholas interjected practically.

Erin’s jaw dropped. Since when did her brother schedule things for her?

He shrugged at her look.

The tall interloper beamed. “I’d sure appreciate that.”

Erin gave up arguing about it. “It is going to cost you triple for a rush job,” she warned. “Which means the price would likely be closer to twelve thousand dollars for a pair of boots, if you want them by June first.”

So if that seemed utterly ridiculous to him...

To her frustration, it didn’t.

“No problem,” Mac said as he plucked his phone out of his suit jacket, checking the screen. “Sorry. I have to take this,” he murmured, then stepped outside into the May sunshine.

* * *

“A LITTLE HARD ON HIM, weren’t you, sis?” Nicholas asked, the moment Mac Wheeler was out of earshot.

Erin knew she hadn’t been as warm and welcoming as she normally would have been to a customer. Maybe because she was way too attracted to the sexy businessman. And these days, with all she had on her shoulders, lust was the last thing she needed to feel. “It annoys me when people insist on jumping line. I think they should wait their turn like everyone else, no matter how much of a hurry they’re in.” She slipped behind the counter, where another box of merchandise waited to be opened.

“That’s not the way the world works,” Nicholas countered as he moved to help her unpack it. “Besides, it’s not like we don’t need the money. With the electricity rates and the property taxes on the ranch both going sky-high, Bess and Bridget still in college, and me about to go next...”

Their budget was stretched to the limit, despite the store’s continued success.

The door opened. Mac Wheeler strode back in, sunglasses on. The set of his mouth was as tense as his shoulders. “I’m going to have to head East.”

Erin nodded, not the least bit surprised to see him running off again. Wasn’t that the pattern of all the men she was attracted to? Here one moment, gone the next?

He consulted the calendar on his phone. “I’ll be back the day after tomorrow. So if we could move the appointment to Wednesday afternoon at four?”

He’d been a customer less than ten minutes and was already demanding more special treatment, Erin noted irritably.

Her little brother regarded Mac with hero worship. “No problem. We’re here whenever you need us.”

“I appreciate that.” Mac touched an index finger to his forehead in a salute. “Nicholas, Ms. Monroe, I’ll see you then.”

* * *

MAC GOT IN LATE and promptly took care of the personal situation that had summoned him home. Midmorning the following day, he stopped by corporate headquarters in downtown Philadelphia, to give his boss an update.

Louise Steyn motioned him into her office and shut the door behind them. Elegant as always in a tailored designer suit, she slipped behind her desk. “When do you think you’ll have this deal wrapped up?”

Mac settled in a chair opposite her. “Another month, maybe two.”

“What’s the holdup?” she asked.

How could he explain that even their company’s name—North Wind Energy—was offensive to the prickly Texans? “It’s complicated.”

“Laramie County should be jumping at the chance to lower their electric rates.”

Maybe they would be if it had been a community comprised mostly of suburban homes, and the size of their electric bills was the only quandary, Mac reasoned. “There are a lot of ranches. The residents are very attached to the land, and how each property looks.”

Louise shrugged. “They’ll like clean, plentiful, renewable energy even more.”

“I’m on it,” he promised. All he needed was a decent forum to make his pitch, and a place to situate the wind farm. He had the first and was close to getting the other.

Louise paused to look him in the eye. “Everything okay at home? I heard there was some kind of crisis that brought you back to Philly last night.”

Mac thought about the tears—from both females—that had greeted his arrival. “I’m handling it.”

Louise gave him the same look she’d given him two and a half years before. “If there’s anything you need in that respect...” she volunteered.

He ignored the tinge of pity in her manner. Life went on. The difficulty he was navigating was only temporary. “Thanks,” he said quietly, rising from his chair. “I’ll keep that in mind.” The meeting over, he turned and headed out.

Selling a project he could handle. Dealing with the domestic drama on the home front? He could manage that, too, with a few temporary adjustments. It was the pretty owner of Monroe’s Western Wear who was a thorn in his side.

Mac knew she was one of the most respected businesspeople in town. Heck, if you considered the reputation of the boots Erin Monroe made, in the entire state. People listened to her. And not just because she was smart and savvy, warm and hospitable. Or had an enticing figure, honey-blond curls and big green eyes.

They paid attention to her because she was a natural leader. The kind of person who could make something take place. Or not.

If she was as against the wind farm as she had appeared in their brief conversation, he was going to have a tough time bringing North Wind Energy’s biggest project yet to fruition.

But that had to happen—and fast—because making it a reality was the only way he was going to be able to get his home life under control, once and for all.

Chapter Two

Erin was in her second-floor studio, putting the finishing touches on a pair of custom boots to be picked up later that afternoon, when Darcy Purcell, her best friend, part-time employee—and next customer—stuck her head in. “He’s back. And he’s not alone.”

Erin didn’t even need to ask who “he” was. Mac Wheeler had been the source of endless speculation in the two days he had been gone. Partly because he had left town so suddenly that he’d had to cancel half a dozen appointments with landowners. The rest, because he had managed to talk her into allowing him to skip the line and get fitted for a pair of custom boots at triple the asking price. That action alone had cemented his reputation with the locals as a foolhardy Yankee.

After all, no one in Laramie wasted money, if they could help it.

Erin wrapped the boots in tissue paper and put them in a box emblazoned with the customer’s name. “I could care less,” she said, pushing aside the memory of the attractive interloper.

Darcy followed Erin downstairs to the cash register. “Don’t you want to know what I heard?”

“No.” Erin set the boots beneath the counter, then frowned as a sleek black limo with tinted windows pulled up at the curb. The rear door on the driver’s side opened and Mac emerged. His strides long and lazy, he circled around the back of the vehicle, then walked into the rustic interior of her family’s store.

If anything, with his dark hair rumpled and his blue eyes intent, he was more devastatingly handsome than ever. Wearing khaki slacks, a button-up shirt and loafers, he still looked preppy, but a lot more casual and approachable than he had in a suit.

Erin found herself wishing he was still ridiculously overdressed...so she wouldn’t be noticing the big man’s perfectly toned shoulders and chest.

“Your appointment isn’t for another two hours,” she said.

“I know.” He flashed an apologetic grin that did funny things to her insides. “I’ve had some...complications. I was hoping we could get the measuring done a little earlier.”

“I’m sorry.” Erin indicated her happily married friend, glad to have an excuse to wait until her brother was on the premises, and could not only play chaperone, but distract them with his myriad questions and comments. “I have an appointment with Darcy next.”

As determined as ever to get Erin back in the dating game, Darcy promptly volunteered, “I’ll trade with you.”

Mac grinned. “Oh...thanks! I really appreciate that.”

“No problem.” She beamed, sashaying toward the door. “See you both later.”

After Darcy left, he turned back to Erin and pinned her with his gaze. Another shimmer of awareness sifted through her.

Erin thought about the property taxes coming due on the ranch and tried to focus on business. “Have you ever had custom footwear made before?” she asked, gesturing toward the stairs.

He fell into step behind her. “No.”

Trying not to think of his eyes on her behind—how did she know what he was looking at as they climbed the stairs?—she took in an enervating breath and did her best to treat him like any other customer.

She turned at the top of the stairway and smiled. “The first thing is the measuring. If you’ll have a seat—” she led him over to a straight-back chair “—and take off your shoes...”

Mac settled his large frame with grace while Erin pulled up a stool. Heart pounding, she attached a piece of paper to a clipboard and set it on the floor in front of him, then asked him to stand once again.

When he was on his feet, she slipped a hand around his ankle and guided his right foot onto the center of the paper. His socks were as fine a fabric as the rest of his clothes.

“How long have you been doing this?” Mac asked.

Glad to have something else to concentrate on other than him, she picked up a pencil and traced the outline of his foot on the paper. “I started learning the art of boot making when I was twelve. I was eighteen when I made my first pair, all on my own.”

Erin slid another piece of paper onto the clipboard, marked it for the left foot and, holding that foot firmly in place, traced around it, too.

“And now your little brother is learning the art?”

Erin gestured for Mac to sit back down. She picked up his right foot and wrapped the measuring tape around the metatarsal bone just beneath his toes. “Nicholas can measure for the last—the replicated form of your foot that the boot is made to fit. And take orders, if the customer knows exactly what he or she wants, as most cowboys who come in here do.” Erin paused to write down the numbers on the sheet of paper with the outline of Mac’s right foot. “He’s not interested in helping formulate a design or the actual crafting of the boot.”

Mac watched as she measured the middle of his arch. “So it’s just the two of you?”

Erin nodded. She grasped his foot and stretched it out, so his toes were pointed downward, then measured just above the center of his heel and around the ankle bone. “And the help we employ, like Darcy, who works here part-time. She says it’s to support her custom-boot habit.” Which, Erin knew, was pretty much true. Darcy had almost as many pairs of boots as Erin did.

Mac smiled, nodding at her to continue.

“Although my siblings and I all grew up helping out in the store.”

Erin had him stand again. All business now, she asked, “Are you going to wear your pants inside your boots or over?” Because that would make a difference.

When he said, “Over,” she guided his weight squarely over his foot, then measured around his calf. Finished, she recorded that figure, then guided him to sit down again so she could take the measurements of his left foot.

While she worked, Mac relaxed his foot in her grip, and asked casually, “Your family owns a ranch, too, don’t they?”

Still aware of him in a way she definitely shouldn’t be, Erin nodded, telling herself there would never be anything between her and this out-of-towner, no matter how many sparks his nearness generated. “The Triple Canyon Ranch,” she answered.

Mac waited for her to finish writing down some stats before saying, “It’s my understanding the property hasn’t been used for agricultural purposes in years.”

Erin gestured for him to stand again. When he did, she knelt in front of him and wrapped the measuring tape around his left calf. “Not since my parents died, when I was twenty-three.”

“I’d heard as much,” he murmured.

Erin made a final notation and straightened, studying the expression on his face. Romantic fantasies faded as reality took over. She let her gaze slide over him and guessed wryly, “And you’re thinking our ten thousand acres would be perfect for a wind farm.”

Mac slid his feet into his shoes. “The topography is wide open, and rough enough to generate a lot of wind. It’s tucked into a remote corner of Laramie County, yet within easy reach of the county power plant.”

A trickle of unease went through her. “You’ve seen our property?” she asked in shock.

Guileless blue eyes held hers. “Via helicopter, yes.”

“And that’s why you wanted boots,” she accused. “So you could talk me into selling the property to North Wind Energy?”

His gaze held hers without apology. “Or leasing, long-term, if your family would prefer.”

Furious at having been played, Erin stood. “First of all, I don’t own the property myself,” she told him icily, carrying the clipboard over to the counter, wondering if she should shred all her notes right now. “I share the rights with my siblings.”

Mac didn’t seem the least bit put off. “I understand there are five of you.”

He certainly had done his homework.

Erin lounged against the counter, her arms folded in front of her. “That’s right. Sixteen-year-old Nicholas, whom you met the other day. Bridget and Bess, my twenty-two-year-old twin sisters, who are both finishing up nursing school at San Angelo State University. And my brother Gavin. He’s thirty-three, a year younger than me, and is currently completing his residency in cardio-thoracic medicine.” None of them were interested in agriculture, or the store. Nicholas just worked there part-time to earn spending money. But all of them shared an emotional attachment to the ranch house and the land four generations of Monroes had grown up on.

Mac continued, “I’d like to talk to all of you.”

Erin just bet he would.

But before she could formulate a reply, the bell jingled on the first floor and then the front door slammed. “Mom!” Sammy and Stevie yelled in unison.

Saved by her sons. Relieved, Erin flashed a pointed smile at Mac. “I’ve got to go.” She brushed past him and headed for the stairs.

He was right behind her. “We haven’t finished.”

“Oh, I think we have,” she said over her shoulder, as cheerfully determined as he was.

The bell jangled again.

The door opened just as Erin reached the main floor. A young girl with messy blond curls—and an ice-cream cone in her hand—charged in, sobbing, “Daddy!” A uniformed chauffeur trailed behind her.

At the sight of the hopelessly distraught child wailing for her father, Erin’s heart clenched in a way it hadn’t in a good long while. Suddenly, it was all she could do not to burst into tears herself.

“Daddy!” the little girl yelled again, tears of indignation streaming down her face as the cone she was holding lost its top, and strawberry ice cream landed on the floor with a splat. “I’m tired of Texas!” The girl tossed the cone aside and stomped her foot. “I want to go home! Right now!”

* * *

TALK ABOUT BAD TIMING, Mac thought, while striding to the rescue.

“As you can see, despite your reassurances, this is not working,” the uniformed young woman told him with an indignant sniff. “I am a chauffeur, not a babysitter.”

No kidding. He should have followed his instincts and brought Heather into the store with him, despite the driver’s assurances it would be okay. He’d figured the appointment would take just twenty or thirty minutes, long enough for him to set up a meeting with the whole Monroe clan.

But that hadn’t happened, and now his little girl was in meltdown mode. Mac knelt and gathered his sobbing daughter into his arms. “Heather, honey, it’s all right....” he soothed, holding her close.

“Daddy, you said this would be fun!” she cried.

Aware they had the attention of everyone in the store, he patted her back. “I thought watching a movie and eating ice cream in the limo would be fun for you,” he said lamely.

Out of the corner of his eye, he couldn’t help but notice Erin observing from the sidelines with a strangely paralyzed look on her face.

“But I want you to stay with me!” Heather clung to him all the tighter, shifting his focus back to his weeping daughter.

He could hardly blame her for being upset. She’d had way too much change in her life in the past few days. What she needed was normalcy, stability. Not that he seemed able to give her that at the moment.

The two boys who’d entered the store edged closer to Erin, their eyes fixed on Heather. The younger one elbowed his mom. “What’s her problem?”

Heather turned to look at him. Her tears momentarily forgotten, she pushed away from Mac and demanded with equal curiosity, “Who’s he?”

From the sidelines, a group of cowboys looking over a display of Wranglers shifted uncomfortably.

Cringing, Mac couldn’t blame them. He hated emotional scenes, too.

Erin motioned for the salesclerk behind the counter to help the men. Her eyes glistening brightly, she stepped toward Mac and his little girl. “Hello, Heather,” she said with a smile. “My name is Erin and this is my son Sammy. He’s eight. This is my other son, Stevie. He’s ten. How old are you?”

Heather sniffed, her misery fading fast. “I’m six.”

“We have a toy corner in the back of the store. Would you like to see it?”

Heather looked at Mac. “Can I, Daddy?”

He released her. “Sure.”

“Come on. We’ll show you,” Sammy said, reaching out and taking her hand.

Stevie fell into step beside them. “Mom, is it okay if we get our after-school snack?”

Erin blinked. For a moment there she’d been a million miles away, lost in her own thoughts as her sons quickly bonded with the little girl.

“Sure,” Mac said again, when she looked at him for permission.

“You can have a snack,” Erin told her boys, “but share whatever you get with Heather, too.”

“Okay, Mom.”

The children strode off, still hand in hand.

Although Mac couldn’t help but wonder about the emotional expression that had flitted over Erin’s face, he turned his attention to the mess his daughter had made. “Do you have anything I can clean this up with?” he asked.

Erin glanced at the strawberry ice cream puddled on the floor. “Don’t worry about it.” She pivoted and went to the counter, returning with a roll of paper towels and a bottle of cleaner. Mac couldn’t help noticing how her hips swayed beneath her nicely fitted jeans, or the way her calico print shirt clung to her breasts as she knelt down.

Desire sifted through him, so fierce and unexpected it took him a minute to access some working brain cells. His body tightening with a demand that hadn’t been met in way too long, he hunkered down beside her and caught her hand. “Let me do that.”

Silky skin heated beneath his fingertips as she sucked in a startled breath. Their glances met as she studied him with big green eyes.

Damn, but she was pretty, Mac noted, despite his attempt to keep his interactions with her businesslike. She was feminine everywhere she should be. Delicate features, a heart-shaped face and upswept honey-blond curls only added to her womanly allure.

She was obviously successful—which he liked. Stubborn—which was probably going to make her harder to persuade. But persuade he would, Mac vowed. “I’ll clean this up.”

Her teeth raked across her soft, plump lower lip. “You really don’t have to do that.”

He gave her his most persuasive smile. “I insist.”

The truth was, he wanted to do something else entirely with her.

But that wouldn’t help him fulfill his agenda. And he’d do well to remember the real reason he was here....

Flustered, Erin handed him the necessary supplies and gave him room to work.

Not long after he had finished, the door jangled again. A group of ladies strolled in, followed by Erin’s brother.

“Sorry I’m late, sis. I—” Nicholas stopped dead at the sight of Mac. “I thought you weren’t coming till later.”

Erin filled him in, “He switched appointments with Darcy, so I took his measurements for the last.”

“What about the rest of the ordering process?” the teen asked.

“I’m going to do that later,” Mac promised.

Nicholas’s face fell in disappointment. “Then you won’t be staying?”

Mac looked at his chauffeur, who was standing near the door, then back at Heather. Although his daughter was happily playing with Sammy and Stevie in the corner of the room, she could easily have another meltdown soon. “I have my daughter with me.”

“I don’t suppose you have dinner plans tonight?” Nicholas asked eagerly, before Erin could intervene. “Because if you don’t, I sure would appreciate it if you and your daughter could come out to our ranch and eat with all of us.”

Mac looked at Erin. Her cheeks were flushed and she didn’t quite meet his eyes. “I wouldn’t want to impose...” he said.

Oblivious to his sister’s discomfort, Nicholas rushed on with teenage impetuousness. “It wouldn’t be an imposition! We’re always inviting people new to the community over for dinner. As Erin says, when you’re already feeding seven or eight, what’s one or two more?”

But this was different, Mac knew. She wouldn’t want him there with her entire family. On the other hand, it would be a perfect opportunity for him to speak with everyone at once. Find out how much work it would take to convince them his proposal was a good one.

The hint of discord in her eyes indicated she was realizing the exact same thing. “Nicholas!” Erin interjected quickly, “Let’s not put Mr. Wheeler on the spot.”

Or your sister, Mac thought. Although it was too late for that. He looked at his daughter, aware it was the first time he’d seen her smile in two days, and announced, “Actually, we’d love to come.”

It would give him a chance to show Erin he wasn’t a bad guy.

Nicholas grinned. “Is it okay if I invite a couple of my buddies from the environmental club, too?”

Mac looked back at his would-be hostess.

Seemingly as aware as he that everyone in the store had stopped to hear her answer, Erin flashed a smile, radiating a Texas-style hospitality that belied the cautiousness he could see in her gaze. “The more the merrier.”

Or was it safety in numbers? Mac thought, wondering what would happen if the two of them were ever alone. Would the sparks continue to fly? Or would she ward him off with every ounce of grit she possessed?

“What time would you like us to be there?” he asked casually, and was rewarded with a faint blush of pink in her cheeks.

“Any time after seven would be good,” she allowed.

“Great...see you then.”

Heather didn’t want to leave the store, but finally assented when she realized she would be seeing Stevie and Sammy again in a few hours, this time at their ranch.

“Daddy, will the ranch have animals?” she asked, after he’d settled the bill with the limo driver and rented an SUV to get around instead.

Mac carried their suitcases into their room at the Laramie Inn. “I’m not sure.”

“Can I have a dog?”

“Honey, we talked about this. As long as I’m traveling so much...”

Heather sighed, repeating his oft-said phrase, “It’s just not practical.”

“But when things settle down at work, and I’m not required to be on the road nearly as much, then I promise I will get you a puppy. Okay?”

Her expression turned glum.

Mac could tell she really didn’t believe anything would ever change. She was still moody and quiet when they arrived at the Triple Canyon Ranch and drove through the black, wrought-iron gate.

In the distance, Mac could see the rocky ridges and deep canyons the property had been named after. Near the highway, the topography was flatter. Live oak trees lined either side of the paved lane that led to the big, sprawling ranch house. A pitched brown roof draped majestically over the eaves. The second story was covered with dark brown cedar shakes, while the lower level was painted a light cocoa color. Bright white trim set off the windows and the dark brown front door. A covered porch spanned the width of the house, with a bench swing and matching chairs providing a comfortable seating area.

It was a house built for multiple generations, with a pasture full of horses, a barn and stable nearby.

Sammy and Stevie were shooting basketballs through a hoop next to the driveway. They waited until Mac parked the SUV, then dashed toward them. “Do you know how to play basketball?” they asked Heather.

She shook her head.

“Want to learn?”

She shrugged shyly. “Maybe.”

Erin walked out onto the porch.

Mac was surprised to see she’d let her hair down. It glowed like rich honey in the early evening light, and flowed over her shoulders in thick, gorgeous curls. She was still in jeans, but had taken off the calico shirt and put on a short-sleeved, scoop-necked T-shirt that matched the peachy hue of her cheeks. Somehow, she seemed less businesswoman, more easygoing Mom. But every bit as sexy as before.

“Guys, go easy on her, okay? You’ve got twenty minutes until you have to wash up.”

“Okay, Mom!” Stevie answered.

Her smile cordial, Erin ushered Mac inside. The interior was both rustic and homey, with wide-plank wood floors, colorful Southwestern rugs and sun-washed yellow walls. Big, comfortable-looking furniture was accented with lots of Texana memorabilia and family photos.

She came closer in a drift of lilac perfume. “What can I get you to drink?” she asked almost too pleasantly.

Mac reminded himself he wasn’t here to challenge her hospitality or to put the moves on her. He leaned against the white limestone fireplace that went all the way up to the cathedral ceiling of the main living area. “Iced tea, if you have it.”

She pivoted and headed to the kitchen. “Coming right up.”

Mac followed, his eyes on her hips.

Erin paused to check on a casserole baking in the oven. “Nicholas went to pick up a couple of his friends. They’ll be back shortly, so prepare yourself for the nonstop questions about your line of work.”

Mac had figured as much. He watched her plunk ice into a glass, noticing the lack of wedding ring on her hand. “What about the rest of your siblings?” And her husband? Where was he? Was she divorced? Widowed? Belatedly, he realized he should have done better research on the alluring woman in front of him.

“Bridget and Bess won’t be here. They’re staying on campus in San Angelo, studying for an exam. Gavin should be home from the hospital soon, though.” Erin met Mac’s gaze for a long, highly charged moment.

“I look forward to meeting him.”

She nodded and handed him his iced tea, careful not to let their fingers touch, then turned away. “I’m going to check on the kids.”

Mac trailed her back to the front of the house, where she glanced out a window. And promptly turned as pale as a ghost.

Chapter Three

For a moment, it was as if Erin had hurtled back through time, to what might have been. Heart constricting, she forced her eyes away from the sight of Heather riding bikes with the boys.

She had to stop doing this, she told herself sternly. Stop thinking, remembering, wishing things had been different....

Because they weren’t different—and never would be, no matter how she yearned to go back, find a different outcome.

Her throat aching with the effort it took to hold back a sob, she swung away from the window.

Mac was staring at her, his handsome face creased with concern. “What’s wrong?”

Wishing he could pull her into his arms and comfort her—the way he’d comforted his daughter when she’d been upset—Erin rushed back through the house. Mac was right behind her.

The logical side of her knew he deserved an explanation. This was the second time she’d reacted emotionally, in just a few hours. Because she couldn’t let go of the past.

She lifted a palm. “It’s nothing.”

“The hell it is,” he countered gruffly, refusing to let her cut and run.

Feeling her body heat under his probing gaze, she tried again. “I just...I didn’t expect—” Her voice broke, and she swallowed. He wasn’t going to give up until he knew, so she shook her head, forced herself to go on. “Angelica...”

“Who’s Angelica?” he asked gently.

Hot, bitter tears pushed at the back of her eyes. Her throat ached so badly she could barely speak. “My daughter. She died two years ago, when she was six.” Erin grabbed hold of the kitchen counter and shut her eyes. She could feel Mac next to her, hovering, patiently waiting for her to confide in him.

He moved closer, and Erin felt a wave of comforting strength emanating from him. Eventually she choked out, “That was Angelica’s bike that Heather is riding.”

“Would you like me to ask her to stop?” Mac’s voice sounded a little raspy, too.

Swallowing hard, Erin opened her eyes and turned toward him. “No, of course not. Not when they’re all having such a good time. In fact, I haven’t seen my boys look so happy in a long time. Not since they had a little sister to play with.”

Mac took a look at the photos strewn across the top of the kitchen hutch. One of a much younger Erin, and her brothers and sisters, standing with their parents. Another of Erin and her husband, surrounded by their three kids. The photos of Erin’s daughter caught his attention, too. Mac paused in shock. “Our daughters look so much alike,” he murmured.

Erin nodded, her heart constricting again. Heather and Angelica might have been sisters. The two little girls had the same thick, curly blond hair and piquant faces, the same exuberance and zest for life. The only difference being that Erin’s child was dead now, while Mac’s was still very much alive.

Erin couldn’t help but envy him that.

He took her hand and led her into the family room. Too overwrought to protest, she followed numbly. “What happened?” He guided her to the sofa and sank down beside her.

Erin made no protest when he slung a comforting arm around her shoulders. She didn’t often talk about this, but knew she needed to tonight. With him. She turned and looked into Mac’s eyes, still stunned about the unexpectedness of it all. “She had cancer.”

He tightened his grip on her. His eyes were steady. Calm. And so filled with tenderness and compassion, she wanted to weep. “How long was she sick?” he asked quietly.

Erin swallowed again. “Ten months.” Ten hellishly long, yet way-too-short months.

“How did you find out?”

Determined not to lose it again, she slid a shaking hand over her thigh. “The bike Heather’s riding...” Mac’s brow furrowed and Erin forced herself to continue, “Angelica learned to ride when she was four. It only took her a couple of weeks to master it without the training wheels, and she was so proud of herself. So happy to be out riding around the driveway with her big brothers. Then one day, when she was five and a half—” Erin’s voice broke at the memory of that last “completely normal” day “—she fell off for no reason anyone could see, and scraped up her hands and knees.”

Mac grimaced in sympathy as the memories engulfed Erin.

“That night she started complaining about her head hurting. Even though she’d been wearing a helmet, I was scared. I thought she might have hurt something in the fall, so I took her to the E.R. and had her checked out just to be sure.”

The sorrow Erin felt, then and now, was mirrored in Mac’s eyes. “And that’s when they found the tumor that was affecting the ‘balance’ area of her brain,” she concluded brokenly.

Mac drew her closer, until she was pressed against his side. His irises darkened. “You must have been terrified.”

Erin had been. Knowing she needed to continue unburdening herself, as much as he needed to listen, she leaned into his comforting warmth. “My husband and I took Angelica to MD Anderson in Houston. They did surgery and chemotherapy and radiation. She lost all her beautiful hair.” And had cried and cried and cried, until she decided she liked being bald, anyway. “For a while, we thought she was going to be okay.” Erin released a shuddering sigh, beginning to feel her heart go numb again at the memory. “But then the tumor came back...and Angelica died about three months after that.”

“I’m so sorry.” Mac embraced her. For a moment, Erin let herself be held against the solid warmth of his chest.

Aware she could get a little too used to that, she drew away. Exhaled again.

Mac let her go. He looked at her left hand, taking in the absence of a ring. “What happened to your husband?”

Needing some space, after confiding so much, Erin stood and began to roam the room. In a choked voice, she admitted, “The same thing that happens to a lot of parents who have terminally-ill kids.” She pushed away the hurt and disappointment that lingered. “G.W. discovered he couldn’t handle the loss. And he left.”

Mac had the same incredulous, disapproving reaction as most of their family and friends. “You’re divorced.”

It was more a statement than a question.

She nodded. “For over a year.”

He looked as if he wanted to punch something. “Where is he now?”

“All over the place. He’s a geologist. He works as a scout for an oil company.”

“Does he have contact with your sons?” Mac asked.

“Once every month or so he’ll call or come by, usually without warning.” She shrugged. “He sends child-support checks, though. I suppose we ought to be grateful for that.”

Mac pondered that. “How do your kids feel?”

Bitterness welled in her heart. It was one thing to be abandoned herself, another to watch her kids suffer through it. “How do you think? First they lose their sister. Then their dad leaves, too.”

As Mac watched her in silence, guilt washed over her. It wasn’t as if any of this were his fault. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so short with you.”

“Hey.” His lips quirked ruefully. “I’m the one who should be apologizing, for asking such an intrusive question. It’s just...Sammy and Stevie are such great kids, and it’s hard to imagine anyone walking away from them.”

Erin felt the same.

Silence fell once again.

She peered at Mac through narrowed lashes, studying him curiously. “What about you? You’re here with your daughter, no wife in tow.”

“Cassandra died of a pulmonary embolism two and a half years ago,” he said gruffly.

“I’m sorry.”

He nodded, accepting her condolences.

Erin resisted the urge to comfort him with a touch, a hug, relying instead on a heartfelt look. “Is Heather still having a rough time?”

“She was so young, she doesn’t remember a lot about her mother. But she misses her best friend, whose family used to take care of her when I was on the road.”

Erin focused on the past tense. “Used to?”

He exhaled roughly and shoved a hand through his hair. “Joel was promoted. He and Anna and their daughter, Stella, moved to Kansas last week. I hired a live-in nanny, but Heather pitched a fit. So I went back to Philadelphia, released the nanny from our contract and brought my daughter back here to Texas with me.”

“You couldn’t just stay home in Philadelphia for a while?”

He shook his head. “There’s too much riding on this wind-farm deal.”

Erin let out a breath. “I see.” Obviously, Mac was one of those guys who would always put work first. Ahead of family, relationships, everything. Which was too bad for his daughter. Like Erin’s sons, Heather needed her one remaining parent, now more than ever.

Mac squinted at Erin, his mood suddenly as pensive as hers. “I’m not sure you do understand...”

Just then the front door slammed. Nicholas and four of his buddies sauntered in.

The anticipated questions started for Mac. And that, Erin found, was the end of that.

* * *

BY THE TIME Erin had dinner ready, Gavin had dragged himself in the door, after a thirty-six-hour shift at the hospital. His eyes rimmed with fatigue, he said, “Storm’s coming, sis,” and went straight to bed.

Thinking they’d better eat soon if all her guests were to get home safely, Erin went out to the porch and rang the dinner bell.

Stevie and Sammy put all three bikes in the garage and then dashed in, followed by Heather.

“Sit between us. That way you can be next to both of us,” Stevie urged after they’d washed their hands.

Another arrow to Erin’s heart. And yet...it was obvious that her boys hadn’t looked this happy and content in ages. She hadn’t realized until this very moment how much they needed another little girl to fill the void left in their lives, in the wake of Angelica’s passing.

In the distance, Erin heard thunder. Spurred into action, she carried the piping hot baking dish of King Ranch casserole to the table, then returned to the stove for the big bowls of Mexican rice and refried beans. In honor of their youngest guest, Erin had also prepared a very kid-friendly version of mac’n’cheese, green beans and applesauce.

As expected, Heather opted for the familiar, when it came time for her to choose.

“So how long are you going to be in Laramie?” Nicholas asked Mac as everyone spooned food onto their plates.

Mac spread his napkin on his lap. “Until I get approval from the county for a wind farm—and a ranch to put it on.”

“You do know,” Nicholas volunteered, “that we’re not running cattle here anymore.”

Erin gave him a cautioning glance.

“So I heard,” Mac said, taking the opening.

Nicholas looked at Erin, the dollar signs flashing in his eyes. “We might want to consider it.”

And, Erin reflected silently, we might not. The last thing she needed was any connection at all to a man who was already on his way out of her life. Or would be, once his job here in Laramie County was done.

Nicholas’s friend Bobby’s cell phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID. “Uh-oh, that’s my mom.” Rising from the table, he walked off, phone to his ear. “Okay, okay. I’ll talk to Nicholas and get moving right now.”

Bobby came back, a sheepish look on his face. “My mom says I’ve got to get home before the storm hits. I hate to eat and run, but...”

The other boys shoveled in the last of their dinners and rose.

Erin looked at Nicholas. “Drive safe. And come right home after you drop everyone off.”

“Will do, sis.” He ushered his friends out.

The rest of them finished eating. As Erin rose to clear the table and get dessert, thunder rumbled again in the distance.

She took the peach cobbler out of the oven, then flipped on the TV to check the local weather report.

Mac set a stack of dishes next to the sink, then moved to stand beside her. “Everything okay?”

Maybe not, Erin thought. She nodded at the Doppler radar on the screen. As much as she hated to be a nervous Nellie... “Actually, Mac, there is reason to be concerned.” She pointed out the big wave of green and the smaller cells of yellow and red. “Storms out here can be—” she thought about Heather, who was listening intently, and chose her next words carefully “—rather, um, virulent.”

Mac’s lifted his eyebrows. “Should we be on our way, too?”

Heather’s face fell. She looked at Stevie and Sammy, who seemed equally disappointed. Erin took another look at the TV screen. As much as she hated to admit it... “It’s probably too late for that, given the direction you’re headed.” Nicholas’s friends all lived on ranches close by. Mac had a nearly forty-minute drive to the Laramie Inn, in good weather. This wasn’t that.

Since she had a sneaking suspicion that he didn’t believe her, Erin led him out to the back porch. Sure enough, about a mile or so away they could see dark clouds stretching from sky to ground. Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled. In the yard, the wind was whipping up, rattling the window screens and bending the trees.

Mac’s dismissive glance let her know he wasn’t worried. “The SUV I rented has all-wheel drive.”

“The problem is the low water crossings,” Erin returned, knowing spring storms in Texas could be fiercer than he knew. “A lot of the creek beds are dry and filled with debris. They’ll wash over quickly and the roads will likely be flooded till morning.”

A fact that made leaving the ranch extremely dangerous. “You and Heather would really be safer staying here.”

* * *

MAC HAD EXPECTED a lot of things this evening. An argument over the advisability of a wind farm as a solution to Laramie County’s current energy shortage. A division between Monroe family members, some wanting to sell out, others not. Even some minor dickering over the price his company was willing to pay.

However, he hadn’t expected to hear about the most difficult times of Erin’s life. Or to have dinner in such a warm and homey atmosphere. Or to see his own little girl, who was so often lonely, fit right in with Erin’s boys.

It all made him want to keep coming back to the Triple Canyon Ranch.

And not on business.

Which was why he should head back to town. Now.

“That’s very kind of you to offer,” he told Erin. “But you really don’t have to put us up for the night.”

She gave him a wry once-over, letting him know what a gringo she deemed him to be. Mac found himself grinning back. Chemistry sizzled between them, more electric than the supercharged air outside. Wanting her, Mac knew, would be a lot more dangerous to him than a simple thunderstorm.

“Texas hospitality kind of says I do,” Erin quipped. “After all, it wouldn’t be neighborly of me to turn you and your daughter out in this.”

Mac looked away from the softness of her lips. He needed to be a gentleman here. “I appreciate your concern, Erin, but I assure you, I’ve driven in storms before. And before you point out that the country roads can be confusing around here, I’d like to remind you that I found my way to the ranch. I can find my way back to town.” Mostly, Mac thought, because his smartphone had GPS. Had he relied only on road signs—which were few and far between—and the directions she had given him, he’d have been up a creek.

The power flickered briefly as Erin led the way back into the house. The kids had moved from the kitchen table to a jigsaw puzzle set up on the game table in the family room.

“The point is, you don’t have to. We have plenty of room here. And...” Erin cast another look at his daughter, who was sitting with her head propped up on her hand “Heather looks exhausted.”

Mac couldn’t argue that point. She did appear tired. Barely able to keep her eyes open.

Lightning zigzagged across the sky, followed by a house-rattling clap of thunder. “How about I show you the guest quarters before you make up your mind?”

Reminding himself that he was doing this for his daughter, Mac nodded and followed Erin up the stairs.

Once again it had been a mistake to let her go first. All he could see when he glanced up was the graceful sway of her hips as she climbed the steps. The sexy spill of her hair, brushing across her shoulders. The hem of her T-shirt caressing her slender waist. Lower still were long, sleek thighs encased in the sky-blue jeans, and sexy calves disappearing into the tops of her custom peacock-blue boots.

Damn, but she was one attractive woman.

Oblivious to his admiring glance, Erin turned at the newel post and led the way down a long hallway. They passed what must be her sons’ rooms, and then paused in the doorway of a third.

It was sparsely decorated and painted a pale pink.

Mac had a feeling he knew whose room this had been, so he kept a respectful distance as Erin pulled out a trundle bed that was half the height of the other mattress. “You’ll be able to sleep right next to Heather,” she said, patting the crisp sheets. “Whether on the lower or higher bed is up to you. And the boys’ rooms are right next door, so I imagine that will comfort Heather.”

Erin was right—it would. Mac studied her expression as the power flickered briefly once again.

Thunder rumbled closer.

“You’re sure it’s okay?” he rasped, wishing she would give him some reason not to want her.

“I wouldn’t have offered if it wasn’t,” she murmured, her eyes telling him she was as affected by his presence as he was by hers.

They exchanged glances, and an intimacy Mac hadn’t expected welled up between them. Decision made, he ignored the punch of desire in his gut. Just because he felt it didn’t mean he had to act on it.

He nodded agreeably. “Then we’ll bunk here for the night.”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.