A Time To Rebuild

It’s gone—everything Annie Hennessey, and two generations of Hennesseys before her, had worked so hard to build. The devastating forest fire didn’t just claim her family’s Sweetheart Inn—it also burned half a town whose livelihood is wedding tourism. Now the struggle to rebuild is just beginning, and Sam Wyler’s sudden reappearance isn’t going to make things any easier on Annie.

Nine years ago, Annie and Sam were deeply in love. When he left to seek his fortune, Annie couldn’t forgive him. Now Sam, widowed with a young daughter, is back and eager to help the town recover. But Annie needs more than bricks and builders to heal her proud and wounded heart. Could the love they once shared hold the key?

A figure emerged from the shadows. A man.

He wore jeans and boots and a black cowboy hat pulled low over his brow.

Even so, she instantly recognized him, and her broken heart beat like it was brand-new.

Sam! He was back. After nine years.

Why? And what was he doing at the Gold Nugget?

“Annie?” He started down the stairs, the confused expression on his face changing to one of recognition. “It’s you!”

Suddenly nervous, she retreated. If he hadn’t seen her, she’d have run.

No, that was a stupid reaction. She wasn’t young and vulnerable anymore. She was thirty-four. The mother of a three-year-old child. Grown. Confident. Strong.

And yet, the door beckoned. He’d always had that effect on her, been able to strip away her defenses.

A rush of irritation, more at herself than him, galvanized her. “What are you doing here?”

Dear Reader,

I always love starting a new series. It’s kind of like decorating a barren room or planning a huge event. There are so many possibilities, and exploring them is fun and exciting. I get to decide where the series takes place, what about this particular community makes it unusual and interesting, and, most important, who are the characters that will inhabit it? I’m not sure what part appeals to me the most.

I visited Lake Tahoe and the surrounding area many years ago and was struck by its rugged beauty. I left thinking that someday I would set a book there. The chance didn’t come until now. Sweetheart, Nevada, is based loosely on the area north of Lake Tahoe. And here’s a secret just between you and me. The Gold Nugget Ranch featured in my book is inspired by the Ponderosa Ranch where the TV series Bonanza was filmed. Promise not to tell?

With a name like Sweetheart, you can count on a lot of romance. But the road won’t be easy for Sam and Annie, my struggling couple in The Rancher’s Homecoming. In addition to rebuilding a relationship that went wrong years ago, they are fighting to save their town after a devastating wildfire nearly destroyed it. The situation is further complicated by their young daughters, Annie’s charming yet difficult mother and grandmother, and a menagerie of orphaned animals.

As always, I love hearing from readers. You can contact me at cathy@cathymcdavid.com.

Warmest wishes,

Cathy McDavid

The Rancher’s Homecoming

Cathy McDavid

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Cathy makes her home in Scottsdale, Arizona, near the breathtaking McDowell Mountains, where hawks fly overhead, javelina traipse across her front yard and mountain lions occasionally come calling. She embraced the country life at an early age, acquiring her first horse in eighth grade. Dozens of horses followed through the years, along with mules, an obscenely fat donkey, chickens, ducks, goats and a potbellied pig who had her own swimming pool. Nowadays, two spoiled dogs and two spoiled-er cats round out the McDavid pets. Cathy loves contemporary and historical ranch stories and often incorporates her own experiences into her books.

When not writing, Cathy and her family and friends spend as much time as they can at her cabin in the small town of Young. Of course, she takes her laptop with her on the chance inspiration strikes.

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To my fellow brainstorming divas: Pam, Libby,

Connie and Valerie. I’m always so inspired by our

sessions and by the four of you. Thank you for asking

the right questions and for forcing me to stretch

as a writer. I wouldn’t take the abuse from anyone else!

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Excerpt

Chapter One

Six weeks since the fire and the lingering smell of smoke still burned like acid in the back of her throat. Annie Hennessy covered her mouth and nose, remembering the days immediately following the fire when they were forced to wear face masks and hazmat suits as they waded through the waist-deep ruins of the inn that had been in her family for the past fifty years.

Like then, she bit back the sobs, afraid even letting one escape would cause her to break down entirely. Where would she and her daughter be then? Her mother and grandmother? Homeless, probably. Or living on the generosity of some relative.

Annie took a tentative step forward, wincing as something crunched beneath the sole of her hiking boot. She dreaded looking down but did anyway.

The charred remains of a picture frame lay in her path, barely recognizable. Whichever room the painting had once hung in was anyone’s guess. During the fire, the roof caved in on the second floor, which had then collapsed onto the first floor.

Only the foundation, parts of the exterior walls and a few blackened ceiling beams remained. All the precious heirlooms, antiques, furnishings and mementoes the Hennessy women had collected over the past half century had been reduced to a giant pile of rubble in a matter of minutes.

No, not everything. As Annie took another step forward, something metallic peeked out from beneath a plank of wood.

Squatting down, she shoved aside the plank, mindless of the grime smearing her hands. One by one, her fingers closed around the object, and her pulse quickened. Why hadn’t she noticed this before today?

Like a miner discovering a diamond in a barren field, she unearthed the discolored desk bell and held it up to catch the late-afternoon sunlight streaming in from overhead. For as long as she could remember, this bell had sat atop the lobby desk. Hundreds, no, thousands of guests had rung it.

Another piece of Annie’s shattered heart broke off.

She clutched the bell to her chest and waited for the strength to rise in her. She would add this to her collection of salvaged treasures. A metal comb, a silver teapot, an iron hinge to the storeroom door, to name a few.

Annie fought her way across the piles of crumbling debris covering the former lobby floor. Staying here another minute was impossible. Why did she insist on torturing herself by stopping every day on her drive home from work?

Because this was her home. Not the tiny two-bedroom apartment in town where she and her family currently resided.

Bracing her free hand on the front entrance door frame, she propelled herself through the opening and across the lawn, filling her lungs with much-needed clean air.

Her SUV stood where she’d left it, in what had been the inn’s parking lot. The vehicle, a pea-green all-wheel-drive monstrosity, bore the logo of the Nevada Division of Forestry on its driver’s side door.

Annie had started working for the NDF only last week and considered herself one of the lucky few. She’d gotten a job, low paying as it was. Too many of her friends and fellow residents were unable to find employment or even a place to live.

For the Hennessys’ inn wasn’t the only structure in Sweetheart, Nevada, that succumbed to the fire’s insatiable hunger. Nine thousand acres of pristine mountain wilderness and two-thirds of the town’s homes and businesses were destroyed—along with all of their livelihoods and very way of life.

Once behind the wheel, Annie didn’t head to the apartment. Instead, she took the road out of town. Her mother wasn’t expecting her for another hour. And as much as Annie wanted to see her beautiful daughter, she needed a few moments of solitude in a place that had escaped the fire. A place where her spirit could mend.

She slapped the visor down as she turned west. Before the fire, she hadn’t needed to shade her eyes. The towering ponderosa pines on both sides of the road would have blocked the sun’s glare. Now, a sea of scorched trunks and branches stretched for miles. Every hundred feet or so, a single tree stood, lush and green and miraculously spared.

What Annie wouldn’t give to have her family’s inn be like those surviving trees.

This wasn’t just the town where she’d grown up and the inn her place of work. Her roots ran deep. According to her grandmother, the Hennessy line went all the way back to the first settlers.

Shortly after the gold rush of 1849, a wagon train passed through the Sierra Nevada Mountains. On it, two young passengers met and fell in love. When the wagon train stopped in what was now Sweetheart, the man proposed to the woman. They married in California but returned to the spot where they’d become engaged to settle and raise a family. The next year, the man discovered gold. Word traveled and people arrived. The small town that sprang up was called Sweetheart after its first settlers and founders of the mine.

Many of the businesses in town, including Annie’s family’s, capitalized on the legend. To Annie, it was more than just a story, it was her heritage.

Ten minutes later, she stopped the SUV at the security gate blocking the entrance to the Gold Nugget Ranch and got out. Several years earlier, after the ranch had been closed to the public, the caretaker had entrusted Annie’s family with a spare key. She was supposed to use it only for emergencies.

She considered mending her broken spirit as good an emergency as any.

To her surprise, she found the gate closed but padlock hanging open. Had Emmett been here and forgotten to secure the lock when he left? Doubtful. The caretaker was as dependable as ants at a picnic. But what other explanation could there be?

Returning to her SUV, she navigated the steep and winding mile-long dirt road to the ranch. Even before she got there, she spotted an unfamiliar Chevy dually pickup parked near the sprawling front porch.

The truck was empty. So was the porch. Whoever was here must be inside or out back. But why would they have a key to the gate?

Annie strode determinedly across the dirt and gravel yard to the porch steps. Every inch of the house and grounds was familiar to her. Not only had she visited on countless occasions, she’d seen it over and over while watching syndicated reruns of The Forty-Niners on TV.

The front door stood partially ajar and creaked loudly when she pushed it open. Her footsteps echoed ghostlike as she crossed the empty parlor.

“Hello? Anybody here?”

She should be nervous. The stranger prowling the house or grounds might be a vandal or a thief or even an ax murderer. Except what ax murderer drove a fire-engine-red pickup truck?

Maybe a real estate agent was here showing the ranch to a prospective buyer. It had been for sale the past several years, though there had been few lookers and no serious offers. Despite the ranch’s claim to fame—a location used to film The Forty-Niners for eight years during the late ’60s and early ’70s—and a much reduced price, it was a bit of a white elephant.

Annie was secretly glad. For as long as she could remember, it had been her dream to buy the iconic ranch.

Since the fire, her only dream was to survive each day.

At a noise from above, she started toward the staircase. “Hello!” Taking hold of the dusty newel post, she let her gaze travel the steps to the second floor.

A figure emerged from the shadows. A man. He wore jeans and boots and a black cowboy hat was pulled low over his brow.

Even so, she instantly recognized him, and her damaged heart beat as though it was brand-new.

Sam! He was back. After nine years.

Why? And what was he doing at the Gold Nugget?

“Annie?” He started down the stairs, the confused expression on his face changing to one of recognition. “It’s you!”

Suddenly nervous, she retreated. If he hadn’t seen her, she’d have run.

No, that was a stupid reaction. She wasn’t young and vulnerable anymore. She was thirty-four. The mother of a three-year-old child. Grown. Confident. Strong.

And yet, the door beckoned. He’d always had that effect on her, been able to strip away her defenses.

A rush of irritation, more at herself than him, galvanized her. “What are you doing here?”

Ignoring her question, he descended the stairs, his boots making contact with the wooden steps one at a time. Lord, it seemed to take forever.

This wasn’t, she recalled, the first time he’d kept her waiting. Or the longest.

At last he stood before her, tall, handsome and every inch the rugged cowboy she remembered.

“Hey, girl, how are you? I wasn’t sure you still lived in Sweetheart.”

He spoke with an ease that gave no hint of those last angry words they’d exchanged. He even used his once familiar endearment for her and might have swept her into a hug if Annie didn’t step to the side.

“Still here.”

“I heard about the inn.” Regret filled his voice. “I’m sorry.”

“Me, too.” She lifted her chin. “We’re going to rebuild. As soon as we settle with the insurance company.”

“You look good.” His gaze never left her face, for which she was glad. He didn’t seem to notice her rumpled and soiled khaki uniform. Her hair escaping her ponytail and hanging in limp tendrils. Her lack of makeup. “Th-thank you.”

“Been a while.”

“Quite a while.”

His blue eyes transfixed her, as they always had, and she felt her bones melt.

Dammit! Her entire world had fallen apart the past six weeks. She didn’t need Sam showing up, kicking at the pieces.

“What are you doing here?” she said, repeating her earlier question. “How did you get in?”

“The real estate agent gave me the keys.” He held them up in an offering of proof, his potent grin disarming her. “I always liked this place.”

He had. They’d come here often when they were dating. She’d show him the areas off-limits to tourists, all the while going on and on about her plans to buy the ranch and turn it into a bed-and-breakfast. Plans Sam had shared.

Now he was here, holding the keys.

He couldn’t possibly be interested in purchasing the place. He lived in Northern California. Worked there. Had a wife and daughter there, the last she’d heard.

“How’s your mom and grandmother?” he asked.

“Fine.” She wouldn’t admit the truth. None of them were fine after losing everything and they wore their scars each in their own way. “I have a daughter now. She’s three.”

His smile changed and became softer. “I’m happy for you. You always wanted kids. Your husband from Sweetheart?”

“Yes.” She swallowed. “We’re not married anymore.” Good grief. What had possessed her to admit that?

“A shame.” Emotions difficult to read flashed in his eyes. “Losing a spouse is hard.”

He said it as if he had firsthand experience.

“I’m managing,” she admitted. “We’re managing.”

“Maybe you can let me in on the secret.”

“You’re divorced?”

“Widowed. My wife died a year and a half ago.”

“Oh, Sam.” Her heart nearly stopped.

“A drunk driver ran the light.”

She’d never known the woman but felt bad for the late Mrs. Wyler and for Sam. Having one’s life implode was something she understood.

“That must have been awful for you.”

He nodded and glanced toward the empty kitchen with its large picture window. “My daughter’s here with me. She’s out back. I should probably find her. I told the real estate agent I’d meet her in town at five to sign the papers.”

Sign the papers! Even as Annie’s mind formed the thought, he spoke it out loud.

“We’re scheduled to close escrow tomorrow. I’m the new owner of the Gold Nugget.”

* * *

SAM FOLLOWED ANNIE out onto the porch, only to pause and watch her as she composed herself. He hadn’t thought she’d take the news of him buying the Gold Nugget so hard. The sight of her features crumbling would stay with him always.

He leaned his back against one of the thick columns, giving her space. Like the ranch house and barn, the columns were constructed from indigenous pines harvested when the land was originally cleared. According to the plaque mounted by the entrance, that occurred more than two decades before ground was broken on the Sweetheart Inn.

He should, he realized much too late, have chosen his words more kindly. Annie loved the Gold Nugget almost as much as she did her family’s inn. He’d been surprised to see the ranch listed for sale, assuming she and her mother would have purchased it years ago.

Annie had always been able to trip him up without even trying. A glance, a touch, a softly whispered response and his concentration went out the window.

Nine years, and she still had that effect on him.

Maybe buying the Gold Nugget wasn’t such a good idea after all.

Sam instantly changed his mind. He’d returned to Sweetheart with a purpose, and unintentionally hurting Annie’s feelings wouldn’t stop him from fulfilling it.

“I’d like to see you while I’m here.”

She halted midstep and sent him a look intended to cut him down to size.

“Not a date,” he clarified. “To catch up. And to pick your brain.”

“I have enough on my plate with rebuilding the inn,” she answered tersely. “You can’t expect me to be a part of whatever it is you’ve planned for the ranch.”

“Not just the ranch. The entire town, too, and the people in it.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I want to help, Annie.”

Unaffected by his attempted sincerity, she narrowed her green eyes. “With what?”

“Rebuilding Sweetheart.”

“Is this a joke?”

“I’ve hired a construction contractor to remodel the Gold Nugget.”

“Remodel it!”

“Into a working cattle ranch. One where the guests can enjoy the full cowboy experience, not just go on rides.”

“Full cowboy experience?”

“Yeah. Herd cattle, vaccinate calves, repair fences, clear trails, clean stalls if they want. I’m also planning monthly roping and team penning competitions for the adults and gymkhanas for the kids.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “What person would want to clean horse stalls on their vacation?”

“You’d be surprised.”

He understood her reservations. All of the local businesses had depended on the wedding trade. Florist shop, tuxedo rental, wedding boutique, caterers, photographers. Not to mention restaurants specializing in romantic candlelit dinners or those with large banquet rooms for receptions.

A guest ranch would have been a ridiculous idea and unnecessary if not for the fire. The same fire that Sam and his crew of Hotshot firefighters had fought and failed to prevent from ravaging the town.

Not his crew. He alone was responsible.

His stomach still clenched at the memory of that day. His anger at his commanding officer, his fear for the citizens’ safety, the helplessness he’d felt when the wind changed direction and the fire leaped the ravine. The sorrow for all that was lost and could have been saved.

“There are only a handful of really great working guest ranches in this part of the country. Add to that the popularity of The Forty-Niners, and I think the ranch will be booked to capacity year-round.”

“No, it won’t. Sweetheart is where people come to get married. We perform a hundred wedding ceremonies every month.”

“Where people did come. How many ceremonies have been performed since the fire?”

She clamped her mouth shut, saying nothing. No need for it; they both knew the answer. Zero. A measly six weeks had passed and already Sweetheart was dying on the vine. Without a miracle, it would wither away into nothing.

Sam wasn’t about to let that happen and possessed the drive and the resources to prevent it.

“I can change that. Bring the tourists back. I’ll also be able to provide jobs for some of the locals. From what the real estate agent tells me, there’s plenty who need work.” His gaze involuntarily strayed to her work shirt and the NDF badge sewn on to the sleeve.

She noticed, and her posture straightened. Pride wasn’t something Annie or any of the Hennessy women had in short supply.

“Why do you care?”

“Sweetheart was once my home.”

“For two years.” Her voice broke. “Then you left.”

All this time, and she was obviously still hurting. Sam would give anything to change that.

“I came back for you.”

“Not soon enough.”

True. And he’d paid the price. So, apparently, had she. “We were young.”

“That sounds like an excuse.”

“I take responsibility for what happened between us, Annie. I’d say I wish things were different but then we wouldn’t have our children. Neither of us would change that.”

“You’re right.” Her stiff posture had yet to relax. “If you’ll excuse me, it’s time for me to head home.”

“You’re angry I bought the ranch. I get that.”

“For starters.”

He placed a hand on her arm, and then removed it when she glared at him. “Please, Annie. Help me help Sweetheart.”

“What about your job in California?”

“My foreman is covering for me the rest of the summer. Lyndsey and I will head home before school starts the first of September. After that, I’ll fly here as often as needed. Lyndsey’s grandfather will watch her.”

Annie sucked in a sharp breath. Sam had hit a nerve.

After he’d left her that last time, he’d returned to California and within a matter of months wed his boss’s daughter. Annie must have been devastated when the whole reason he’d accepted the job in the first place was because he wasn’t ready for a commitment.

“I am sorry about your wife’s death,” she said.

“It was rough.” Only Sam’s father-in-law knew how rough. Sam would move heaven and earth to make sure Lyndsey never learned the entire circumstances of that terrible accident. “I’m in Sweetheart to start over and to get this town on its feet.”

He couldn’t tell her the real reason he was here, of his part in the fire or how often he’d thought of her during the past nine years. She’d never speak to him again.

“Why did you have to buy the Gold Nugget?” she asked.

“Ranching is my livelihood. What I know best.” He intentionally omitted his volunteer firefighting. “And, honestly, I figured if you hadn’t bought the Gold Nugget by now, you must have changed your mind.”

“I didn’t.” Turning abruptly, she started toward her SUV.

“Annie, wait.” He hurried after her.

She didn’t stop until she was almost to the driver’s door, and then not because of him. She’d spotted Lyndsey, who emerged from behind the house.

“Daddy,” she called.

Sam could have kicked himself. He usually watched his daughter like a hawk. Today, he’d forgotten all about her. “Over here, sweetie.”

“Look what I found in a hollow log behind the barn.” She held the hem of her pink T-shirt out in front of her, the weight of whatever she carried making it dip in the middle.

Annie stood there frozen, observing Lyndsey’s approach. He tried to imagine what she was thinking. Despite his daughter’s girlish features, she resembled Sam, enough that most everyone who saw them together commented on it.

Not only had he married soon after that final parting with Annie, he’d fathered a child almost immediately. He wouldn’t blame her if she hated him.

“What have you got?” Sam asked when Lyndsey neared.

The young girl eyed Annie with caution. Once outgoing and at ease with adults, she’d withdrawn since her mother’s death. Leaving her home and friends and beloved grandfather behind for the summer hadn’t helped, either. She’d been determined not to like Sweetheart from the moment Sam had announced they were going there.

“Lyndsey, this is Annie Hennessy,” he said. “She’s an old friend of mine from when I lived here.”

Annie sent him a cool look, and he could almost hear her saying, Old friend?

When she focused her attention on his daughter, however, her expression melted. Annie did love children.

“Nice to meet you, Lyndsey.”

Sam vowed in that moment he wouldn’t leave Nevada until Annie looked at him with that same warmth.

Lyndsey responded with a shy “Hello.”

“What have you got there?” Sam crossed the few steps separating them. When he saw what his daughter had cradled in her T-shirt, his heart sank. Lyndsey was going to be disappointed again, and he couldn’t prevent it. “Oh, sweetie, I think they’re dead.”

“No, they’re alive. See, they’re moving.” Gathering the hem of her shirt in a small fist, she tentatively touched one of the baby raccoons with her other hand. It moved slightly and gave a pitiful mew, rousing its littermate, which also mewed. “There were two other ones in the log, but they weren’t...” She continued when she was more composed. “I left them there.”

“I think you should put these two back in the log.”

“But they’ll die, too!”

“The mother can take care of them.”

“The mother’s gone.” Lindsey’s cheeks flushed the same pink shade as her T-shirt. “Something must have happened to her. Why else would she leave her babies?”

Sam wanted to drop to his knees and pull her into his arms. She was projecting her own unresolved emotions onto the situation. Wasn’t that how the grief counselor had described her behavior during one of their sessions?

It was hardly the first time and wouldn’t be the last. They both had a lot of healing left to do.

“Daddy.” Her voice warbled. “We can’t let them die.”

“What would we do with two baby raccoons?”

“We can raise them. Until they’re big enough to live by themselves. We read a story in school about this family that rescued baby animals after Hurricane Katrina.”

“They’re so tiny. I doubt they can even walk yet. We don’t know the first thing about raising—”

“Kitten formula.”

Sam glanced over at Annie. While he’d been talking to his daughter, she’d edged closer.

“Dr. Murry in town can help you. He’ll set you up with bottles and formula. You’ll need a box and a blanket and a lamp to keep them warm. He’ll tell you more about that, too.” She gently stroked the head of one baby raccoon with her index finger. “They’re severely dehydrated. If you don’t get fluids in them soon, they won’t last.”

“Have you raised baby raccoons before?” Lyndsey asked.

“A few. Along with kittens, puppies, squirrels, rabbits, snakes, a crow, you name it. There was even a fox once.”

Sam knew the fox hadn’t survived from the stories Annie told him.

“Wow.” Lyndsey gaped at Annie with awe.

“My guess is these little fellows are about eight or nine weeks old. And they would be walking if they weren’t so weak. The mother might have had trouble finding food since the fire and wandered too far. If you’re going to save them, you’d better get them to Doc Murry’s right away. Anyone in town can direct you to his office.”

“Lyndsey.” Sam hated letting his daughter down, but he had to be realistic. “We’re leaving in a month. Those raccoons won’t be old enough to live on their own by then.”

“Will you take care of them after that?” Lyndsey ignored Sam in favor of Annie.

“That’s a lot to ask of Ms. Hennessy—”

“I’ll figure something out,” Annie assured Lindsey with a tender smile.

“You don’t have to,” Sam said.

“There’s the wildlife refuge outside of Lake Tahoe. We’re on a first-name basis. But you’re going to have to save them first.” She brushed Lyndsey’s tousled hair from her face. “Better hurry. Keep them as quiet as possible during the ride.”

“Come on, Daddy.” Lyndsey started for the truck, wrapping an arm protectively around her precious cargo.

“Where are you staying?” Annie asked Sam.

“At the Mountainside Motel.” The only one in Sweetheart open for business after the fire. “But we check out tomorrow. I have some furniture arriving. A few basics. Enough for Lyndsey and me to stay at the ranch.”

“I’ll try and stop by after work if I don’t have to stay late. Just to check on the raccoons,” she clarified when he raised his brows.

“Of course.” He studied her closed-off expression. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t do it for you.” She walked away then.

Sam watched her go. Same proud, stubborn Annie.

“Daddy! Hurry.”

“Coming.”

As they traveled the winding drive to the main road, a smile spread across his face. Annie might refuse his assistance at every step, but together they were going to rebuild her inn.

He owed her that much at least.

Chapter Two

Sam Wyler was back!

Annie still hadn’t come to grips with that fact twenty minutes later when she pulled into the parking space beside the Hennessy half of the duplex they rented in town.

She’d kept one eye glued to her rearview mirror during the entire drive from the Gold Nugget, hoping he hadn’t followed her. The last thing she wanted was for him to see where she lived.

Not that the two-bedroom apartment was exactly trashy. Just small and modest and nothing compared with the lovely and charming suite of rooms she’d occupied at the inn. The rooms Sam had seen when they’d sneak off to be alone and make love.

She’d assumed those nights spent together would last forever. Then, he’d left, returned, left again and married—because the daughter of the rancher who hired him was carrying his child—and become a father.

Annie stayed behind in Sweetheart, hoping for the same future every couple who eloped here did. Only that happy ending had eluded her.

Mostly. As Sam had pointed out, she did have her beautiful little girl. For now, at least.

Her ex-husband had recently started hinting that he and his new wife could provide a better environment for Nessa than an eight-hundred-and-fifty-square-foot apartment shared by four individuals. What next? Would he go so far as to sue Annie for primary custody? She didn’t think so, but everyone and everything had changed of late.

It was true, now that the inn had burned, that Gary could provide better for their daughter. And, marital differences aside, he’d always been a good father.

That made no difference to Annie. If he tried to obtain primary custody of their daughter, he and his new wife—Annie would lay odds Linda Lee was behind this—were in for the fight of their lives.

If only Sam hadn’t suddenly reappeared, knocking Annie for an emotional loop. She didn’t need anything distracting her from what mattered the most: rebuilding the inn and safeguarding her family.

She swung open the apartment door and stepped inside.

“Mommy! You’re home.” Nessa ran at her from across the living room like a miniature missile, her face smeared with some unidentifiable food remains and a Barbie doll with chopped-off hair clutched in her hand.

Annie scooped up her daughter and let herself feel truly good for the first time since leaving the apartment that morning.

“Hey, sweetums. How was your day?”

“Good. Grandma and I made biscuits. I ate two whole ones by myself. With jelly.”

That explained the smeared food on Nessa’s face. She tickled the girl’s tummy. “How on earth did you put that much in there?”

“I’m big now.”

“Yes, you are.”

“You wanna play Barbies with me?”

“Maybe later. Mommy’s a little tired.”

“You’re always tired,” Nessa complained. “Ever since the fire. Grandma, too. And Great-granny Orla.”

From the mouths of babes.

“I feel much better now that I’m home.” She set Nessa down and kissed the tip of her nose, which was the only clean spot on her entire face.

“You want a biscuit and jelly? I can fix it for you.”

“That’d be wonderful.”

Annie sat on the couch and slowly removed her heavy hiking boots. By the end of the day, they felt as if they were lined with cement. She sighed when the first boot hit the floor, almost cried with relief when the second one followed.

Leaning back, she closed her eyes and relaxed for just a minute, listening to her mother patiently caution Nessa to be careful and not spill any jelly, in much the same way she’d cautioned Annie when she was growing up.

No one knew their way around the kitchen better than Fiona Hennessy. For almost her entire life, she’d overseen meals and housekeeping for the inn’s twenty or thirty guests. Her small, compact stature belied the iron fist with which she’d ruled her domain.

These past six weeks, Fiona had continued the tradition of spending most of her time in the kitchen. Only now she was hiding from the world and desperately missing all that had been taken from her.

No more lion’s claw bathtubs in the upstairs bedrooms, large enough to hold two. No more handmade, valentine-patterned quilts on which were strewn dried rose petals for arriving honeymooners. Or carved wooden trays that had held champagne breakfasts, discreetly delivered with a soft knock on the door. No more do-not-disturb signs, often hanging on doorknobs all the day long.

Annie hoped her mother’s depression was temporary. More than that, she hoped her ex-husband, Gary, didn’t notice Fiona’s detachment when he picked up Nessa for “his days.” That would only strengthen his argument that the apartment wasn’t a good place to raise their daughter.

She would never wish him harm but often caught herself wondering why fate had chosen the inn to burn and left Gary’s house and place of business intact.

“Here you go, Mommy.”

Opening her eyes, Annie was greeted by Nessa holding a paper plate with two jelly-laden biscuit halves.

“That looks good.” Annie pushed tiredly to her feet. “Maybe I should eat it in the kitchen.” She took the plate from Nessa, amazed the biscuit halves hadn’t already landed on the carpet. “What else is for dinner?”

“Nothing,” Nessa singsonged. “Just biscuits.”

Uh-oh. Annie walked to the kitchen, her steps slow and her stomach sinking. Nessa danced in circles beside her. Fiona stood at the sink, staring vacantly out the window. Definitely not good.

Her mother watched Nessa during the day while Annie worked for the NDF. Her paycheck and Granny Orla’s social security, which she’d started collecting just this month, were their only sources of income. Without them, they wouldn’t be able to afford even this lowly apartment.

Lately, Annie had begun to question if her mother was up to the task of caring for an active child. More and more often, Fiona would disappear into her own world. For minutes on end. Five, ten, twenty. Long enough for an unsupervised Nessa to find trouble.

What Fiona should be doing while Nessa played was dealing with the insurance company, finalizing their settlement and obtaining quotes from contractors for rebuilding the inn. That was their agreement.

Hard to do when she could barely drag herself out of bed in the mornings.

“Where’s Granny Orla?” Annie asked Nessa, hoping her question would rouse her mother. “Taking a nap?”

“I dunno.”

“At the Rutherfords,” Fiona answered without looking away from the window. “They called.”

“How long has she been there?”

“Most of the afternoon, I guess.”

The Rutherfords and the Hennessys’ other neighbors were a godsend. Annie’s grandmother, sharp as a tack until the fire, had started taking walkabouts during the day, easily escaping Fiona’s less-than-diligent guard. She mostly wound up on some neighbor’s doorstep—one whose house hadn’t been lost to the fire. The neighbor would invite her inside until Annie came by later to fetch her.

Last week, Annie had found Granny Orla at the inn ruins and was shocked she’d managed the two-mile trek alone.

Annie doubted Alzheimer’s or senility was responsible for her grandmother’s increasing confusion. Like all of them, she’d suffered a great loss. And, also like them, she’d chosen a means of coping. Fiona emotionally retreated, Annie buried herself in work and Granny Orla chose to forget.

“I’ll go get her.” Annie set her plate of biscuits on the table, the little appetite she’d had now gone. “You want to come with me, sweetums?”

“Yes, yes!” Nessa swung her Barbie in an arc.

“Okay. But you have to pick up your toys and finish your milk first.” Annie cringed inwardly. Biscuits and milk wasn’t the most nutritious meal. Then again, Nessa wouldn’t starve.

Annie should eat, too, if only to keep up her strength. Seeing Sam had drained the last of it.

Why had he chosen now to return, and why buy the Gold Nugget? She still couldn’t believe he’d asked for her help.

While Nessa gathered the many toys strewn throughout the house and returned them to the plastic crate stored in the bedroom she and Annie shared, Annie changed into more-comfortable clothes.

“We shouldn’t be long,” she said upon returning to the kitchen.

Fiona, who hadn’t moved from the window, suddenly turned and stared at Annie with more intensity than she’d shown in weeks. “Sam Wyler’s in town. He bought the Gold Nugget.”

That took Annie by surprise. “I know,” she said. “How did you hear?”

“Everyone’s talking about it.”

“I ran into him. On my way home. I stopped by the Gold Nugget, and he was there.”

“I suppose if someone had to buy the ranch, I’d rather it be him.”

“Mom! How can you say that?”

Fiona went slowly to the table, pulled a chair out for herself and dropped into it. “He’s one of our own.”

“Because he lived here two years?” Annie was aghast at her mother’s calm acceptance. “He’s going to turn it into a working guest ranch.”

“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”

Finally! Reason had returned. “I agree. A bed-and-breakfast makes more sense.” Like her own plans for the place.

“I like the idea of a working guest ranch. Not sure why someone didn’t think of that before.”

“But you said—”

“What I meant was the fire’s discouraged people from coming to Sweetheart. Bed-and-breakfast or working guest ranch, both need customers.”

“Fine with me. When he flops, we’ll buy the ranch from him.”

“Sam was always a hard worker. If anyone can pull it off, he can.” Fiona talked as if she hadn’t heard Annie.

“He’ll be in competition with us. Once we rebuild.”

“If we rebuild,” Fiona said tiredly.

Annie didn’t listen to her mother when she got this way. “Did you have a chance to make Nessa’s immunization appointment at the clinic?”

Fiona shook her head. “I was busy.”

Biscuit making? Annie thought grouchily. Did that take all afternoon?

She tried to be patient and understanding with her mother. Really she did. Fiona’s fragile emotional state made the task of rebuilding too overwhelming for her to bear. But once they broke ground, she and Annie’s grandmother would be their old selves and life would return to normal.

Annie had to believe that. If not, she’d be overwhelmed herself, and she couldn’t afford to let that happen.

Long before they finished rebuilding, however, Sam’s working guest ranch would be up and running. Damn him! Annie wanted their inn and not Sam’s ranch bringing the honeymooners and tourists back to Sweetheart.

“Mrs. Rutherford mentioned Sam has a little girl.”

“He does.” Annie made herself eat a biscuit half in case Nessa noticed.

Normally, her daughter would be pestering her to leave. Instead, she’d become interested in a puzzle she was supposed to be putting away.

“I heard she looks like him,” Fiona said.

The food stuck in Annie’s throat. “No need for DNA testing. She’s Sam’s child through and through.”

Except for the sorrow in her eyes.

Annie was no psychiatrist, she didn’t have to be. The girl was obviously troubled—which might not be Sam’s fault. Her mother had died and, as Annie could attest, life-altering events changed a person.

“I bet he’s a good dad.”

She rose from the table, not wanting to talk about Sam or his daughter. “Come on, Nessa. Find your shoes so we can go get Granny Orla.”

Nessa abandoned the puzzle and went on the hunt for her shoes.

“It was a shame things didn’t work out for you and him,” Fiona said from the table. “You must have really broken his heart.”

“Let’s not forget, he left me.”

Fiona sighed. “Bound to happen. Can’t fight the inevitable.”

Her mother’s words stayed with Annie as she and Nessa walked hand in hand to the Rutherfords’.

Ask anyone in town, and they’d say the Hennessy women were cursed. All of them, grandmother, mother and daughter, had loved their men, only to be abandoned by them. In Granny Orla and her mother’s cases, they’d been left with a child to raise alone. Not Annie. Sam had simply taken off—which was practically unheard of in a town renowned for couples marrying.

Rather than be thought of as the third Hennessy woman to suffer unrequited love, Annie had rushed out and wed the first man to show an interest in her.

Can’t fight the inevitable.

It hadn’t made a difference. The Hennessy curse had continued with Annie. For here she was today, abandoned by not one but two men.

She squeezed Nessa’s hand.

Please, please, she silently prayed, don’t let my baby be as unlucky in love as the rest of my family.

* * *

SAM GAZED OVER AT LYNDSEY and mentally kicked himself. She—and he by default—were now foster parents to Porky Pig and Daffy Duck. Lyndsey had named their new charges while in Dr. Murry’s office, after he informed her the pair were both males.

“Did you know baby raccoons are called kits?” Lyndsey struggled to buckle her seat belt while balancing the cardboard boot box containing the kits on her lap. Tube-fed, hydrated and vaccinated, they’d fallen into a deep sleep atop an old towel. “And when they get older, some people call them cubs.”

“Is that so?”

Sam hadn’t heard everything Dr. Murry told them and listened intently as Lindsey repeated the instructions. He’d received not one but two phone calls while at the vet’s. The first from the moving company confirming the arrival of their furniture tomorrow. The second call was from a cattle broker regarding a shipment of calves.

Sam added hiring a livestock manager and locating a string of sound trail horses to his growing task list.

“Chicken’s one of their favorite foods,” Lyndsey said. “And sunflower seeds.”

“Well, we should get along just fine as chicken and sunflower seeds are some of my favorite foods, too.”

She giggled.

Giggled! Sam almost swerved off the road. He hadn’t seen his daughter this happy since before her mother’s accident.

Trisha Wyler had been pronounced dead upon arrival at the hospital after a drunk driver ran a stop sign and T-boned her Buick. Her passenger, on the other hand, lived long enough to confess Trisha’s secret.

Sam didn’t just lose his wife that day—his entire belief system was destroyed in one fell swoop.

His father-in-law was responsible for Sam keeping it together, reminding him daily of Lyndsey and the twenty employees at their three-thousand-acre cattle ranch who depended on him.

Sam went through the motions for six months, a huge, empty hole inside him that no amount of whiskey, angry rages, sympathy from friends and a seven-figure settlement could fill. Then, over a year ago, he returned to the Redding California Hotshots, a seasonal volunteer job he’d loved during the early years of his marriage. Within a few months, he was promoted to crew leader, then captain.

Long, grueling, sweat-filled days battling fires on the front line returned him to the world of the living.

Until the day the fire they were fighting in the Sierra Nevada Mountains jumped the ravine and bore down on the town of Sweetheart.

It was his fault. Had he disobeyed his commanding officer’s orders like he wanted to, he might have saved the town. Saved Annie’s family’s inn. His superiors didn’t hold him responsible but Sam did. Enough for ten people.

He quit the Hotshots a week later and found a real estate agent in Lake Tahoe who knew the Sweetheart area, his plan to return temporarily and assess how he could best help the town recover already in motion.

During one of their phone conversations, the agent mentioned the Gold Nugget Ranch. Sam made the offer the next day sight unseen and paid the full asking price without quibbling. As of tomorrow, he was officially in the hospitality business.

And, apparently, in the baby raccoon business, too. He’d foster a hundred of them if Lyndsey would only giggle again.

While Sam had immersed himself in wilderness firefighting as a means to conquer his grief, his daughter grew further and further apart from him. He hoped their time together in Sweetheart would remedy that. Still, one summer of being an attentive father couldn’t wipe out eighteen months of neglect.

“We need to buy canned cat food,” Lyndsey insisted. Her hand lay protectively on Porky and Daffy. “Dr. Murry said they’re old enough for solid food.”

Did baby raccoons bite? Sam couldn’t remember the vet’s advice. “We will.”

“Tomorrow?”

He thought of his lengthening task list. What was one more item?

“Tomorrow. After the furniture arrives.” He eased onto the main road from the parking lot. It had grown dark outside while they were with the vet.

“How will we warm the milk?” Lyndsey asked.

“The stove works.” If the propane tank was full and if he could locate a pan.

“Where will we get a cage?”

“The feed store might have one.”

“What if they don’t?”

“We’ll figure something out. Don’t worry.” He could see his words had no effect. Worry lines creased his daughter’s small brow.

Maybe he should call the grief counselor, get some advice on how to handle Lyndsey and her quickly forming attachment to the kits. Heaven knew he hadn’t done well when left to his own devices.

“Ms. Hennessy might have a cage we can use.” Was that still Annie’s name or had she kept her ex-husband’s?

Lyndsey’s face lit up. “Do you think so?”

“Maybe.”

Seriously? Who was he kidding? The inn had burned down to the ground. From what the real estate agent told him, Annie, her mother and grandmother were left with no more than a few hastily gathered personal possessions.

“Or, she might know someone who does,” he suggested, thinking that possibility more likely.

“I want to take Porky and Daffy home to California with us,” Lyndsey promptly announced.

“We already talked about this. You know it’s not possible.”

“Why not?”

“They’re wild animals, not pets. Besides, you’ll be busy with school.”

“Benita will help me take care of them.”

Their housekeeper barely tolerated dogs in the house. “Benita has enough to do.”

“We can make a place for them in the backyard. Like at the zoo. With a swimming pool and everything. Dr. Murry said raccoons like water.”

What answer could he give that would make her understand?

“Lyndsey, we can’t take them home. They belong here. In Sweetheart. Living free in the wild.”

“But the woods are all burned and the animals ran away.”

“The trees will grow back and the animals didn’t all run away.”

“They’ll die like their mother and brothers!” Her voice quavered with outrage.

“We’ll turn them over to someone who will take good care of them. Like the wildlife refuge Ms. Hennessy mentioned.”

“I want to see it first.” There was no arguing with her.

Well, she came by it honestly. If Sam wasn’t so bullheaded, he might have realized his marriage was falling apart long ago and taken action—he had no idea what action.

“Fine. I promise. Wherever the baby raccoons go, you’ll see the place first.”

“Kits.”

“Kits,” he corrected himself, aware that round had gone to Lyndsey. “In the meantime, until we leave Sweetheart, you can keep them.” He proceeded slowly through one of the town’s two stoplights.

“I wanna call Grandpa and tell him about Porky and Daffy.”

“When we get back to the mo—” Sam hit the brakes, checking the rearview mirror to make sure no one was close behind him.

Annie, her grandmother and a little girl that had to be her daughter were walking along the sidewalk. Annie appeared to be struggling for control. Orla Hennessy, all of seventy-five, if not eighty, went in one direction and the little girl in the other. Neither paid attention to Annie, who’d momentarily stumbled in the confusion.

What in the world were the three of them doing out after dark?

Pulling onto the side of the road, he beeped the horn, thrust the transmission into Park and depressed the emergency brake. “Lyndsey, wait here. Don’t get out, you hear me?”

She sat up in her seat. “Where are you going?”

“To help Ms. Hennessy. I’ll be right back.”

She clasped the box to her as if Annie and her family were going to reach in and swoop up her prize possession. “We have to get Porky and Daffy back to the motel and feed them.”

“This won’t take long.”

“Ask her if she has a cage.”

Did she ever run out of questions?

“Hey, there.” Sam darted around the front of the truck to the sidewalk. “Out for an evening stroll?”

“Walking back from a friend’s house,” came Annie’s tight-lipped reply.

“Hop in, and I’ll give you a lift.”

“No, thanks. We’re fine.”

He was surrounded by stubborn women.

“Sam Wyler! As I live and breathe, is that you?” Granny Orla broke away from Annie’s grasp and propelled herself at Sam. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

Sam returned the older woman’s hug, his throat surprisingly tight. “How are you, Granny Orla?”

She held him at arm’s length, giving him a thorough once-over, her eyes alight. “My, my. Handsome as ever. That granddaughter of mine should have never let you go.”

“I’m right here, Granny.” With both arms free, Annie had been able to secure a firm hold on her squirming daughter. “I can hear everything you’re saying.”

Granny winked at Sam. “I know that.”

He flashed a broad grin in return. “I always did like you.”

“That goes both ways, young man.”

The older woman barely reached the middle of his chest. As Sam recalled, neither did Fiona Hennessy. Annie must have gotten her height from her father, whom she hadn’t seen since starting first grade.

“You’re a cowboy!”

Sam’s attention was drawn downward to Annie’s little girl, a tiny imp who more closely resembled her grandmother and great-grandmother than Annie. Except for her compelling green eyes, which were the same shape and color as her mother’s.

“I am.”

“Do you have a horse?” She studied him with suspicion, as if having a horse was the measure of a real cowboy.

“Lots of them, actually. At my ranch in California. And a pony. From when my daughter, Lyndsey, was your age.”

“Can I ride him?”

“Nessa!” Annie gently chided the girl. “That’s not polite.”

“’Fraid California’s too far away.” Sam laughed, not the least offended. “But that’s a good idea. I should have the pony shipped out here for the Gold Nugget. Then your mom can bring you over for a ride.”

“What’s the pony’s name?”

He surveyed the traffic, which was light but a potential danger nonetheless. “Get in, and I’ll tell you about her on the drive home.”

“Can we, Mommy? Please?” Nessa yanked on Annie’s arm, stretching it to its limit.

Granny Orla was one step ahead of her great-granddaughter. “Fine idea.”

Outnumbered and clearly at her wits’ end, Annie sighed resignedly.

Sam allowed himself a grin as he opened the rear passenger door and helped the three inside. Annie didn’t avail herself of the hand he offered, but he didn’t let that deter him.

He had the opportunity of sharing her company for the next several minutes and intended to make full use of it.

Chapter Three

Sam’s daughter twisted around in the front seat the second Annie got into the truck.

“Did my dad ask you about a cage for the kits?”

“Just a minute ago.” She tried not to be swayed by the blaze of hope shining in the girl’s face. “I’ll get one for you by tomorrow and drop it off.”

“Really? Thank you!”

So much for not being swayed.

“What are kits?” Nessa asked, unable to sit still.

“Baby raccoons,” Lyndsey answered.

“Where? Can I see?” She leaned forward.

“When we stop the truck, if you’re good.” Annie placed a restraining hand on her daughter.

“We’ll be at the ranch tomorrow early,” Sam said. “The furniture truck’s due.”

Great. She was now going to visit Sam a second time at the Gold Nugget, and he was taking her home. What else could go wrong?

“Mind if I tag along?” her grandmother asked.

“You’re welcome anytime.”

“It won’t be till later, Granny. I’ll be coming straight from work, not stopping home first.”

“Haven’t seen the place in a while,” her grandmother continued as if she hadn’t heard Annie. “Not since last spring.”

“I wanna go, too,” Nessa chimed in.

Annie should have silenced her thoughts when she had the chance. At least Nessa seemed to have forgotten about the pony. For now.

“How are you getting along, Granny Orla?” Sam slowed, taking the turn leading to Annie’s street. She’d given him directions when they first climbed into the truck.

“Terrible.” Her grandmother went from animated to forlorn in the span of a single second. “We lost the inn.”

“I heard. I’m sorry.”

“Not half as sorry as I am. Don’t know how we’re going to make it. Much less rebuild.”

“We’ll find a way. Don’t worry.” Annie’s assurance was as much for herself as everyone else in the truck. Especially Nessa. She might not understand everything they were going through, but she was astute and picked up on people’s moods.

“I told Annie I’d like to help with rebuilding Sweetheart.” Sam parked in front of the duplex. “Your inn and the entire town.”

“We’re fine.” Annie noticed his gaze traveling to the modest duplex. Grabbing her daughter’s hand, she wrenched open the door. “Come on, Nessa.” They were out in a flash.

“I want to see the kits.”

“Later, okay? It’s getting late and the kits are sleeping.”

“But we forgot Granny Orla.”

Nessa was right. Annie’s grandmother hadn’t moved.

“Come on, Granny. Mom’s waiting for us.”

“She is?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“In the apartment.”

“The apartment?” her grandmother repeated slowly. “What’s she doing there?”

Why now? Annie silently lamented. And why in front of Sam? She should have seen this coming. Any discussion about losing the inn brought on these...these...episodes.

“Please, Granny. It’s getting late.”

Sam came around the truck to the passenger side. “How ’bout I walk you to the door?”

The sympathy in his voice hit Annie hard. Half of her wanted to scream in frustration, the other half cry.

Nessa tugged on her hand. “Mommy, I have to go potty.”

“Okay, just a second.” Moving aside, Annie let Sam reach into the truck cab and coax her grandmother out.

Some of the older woman’s animation returned. “Can’t remember the last time a man walked me to my door.”

“Wait here, Lyndsey,” he instructed his daughter.

“The kits woke up. We have to feed them,” she protested.

Annie could hear their soft mewing.

“I’ll only be a minute,” Sam said. “They won’t starve.”

Lyndsey slouched and hugged the box on her lap, her lower lip protruding.

Though it wasn’t Annie’s fault, she felt responsible for the delay. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Lyndsey. When I bring the cage.” She made a mental note to remember. “Will the kits be all right till then?”

“Dr. Murry showed me what I need to do.” Her hand reached tenderly into the box.

Annie had no doubt Lyndsey would make the vet proud. If only her father had shown half that much tenderness when handling Annie’s heart.

He did seem to be doing an admirable job with her grandmother, though. Was it possible he’d changed?

The front door swung open before Annie could dig her keys out of her pocket.

“There you are. I was getting worried.” At the sight of Sam, Fiona’s depression evaporated. “Sam Wyler!”

Annie’s mother hugged him fiercely, much as her grandmother had. The gesture made Annie acutely aware that she and Sam had yet to touch since his return.

“How are you?” Fiona asked. “Come in, come in.”

Annie ground her teeth. Say no. Please.

For once, her luck held.

“Thank you, Fiona, but I can’t.” He straightened his cowboy hat, which had been knocked askew during the hug. “My daughter’s waiting in the truck.”

“Bring her in, too. We’ll have some ice cream.”

“Ice cream!” Nessa jumped up and down.

“I appreciate the offer.” Sam shot a look at the truck parked on the curb. “But Lyndsey’s babysitting a pair of abandoned raccoons she found earlier today in a log, and they need feeding.”

“Raccoons?”

“Annie can explain.”

“Then you’ll have to come back another day. Your daughter, too.”

“I’d like that.”

“I’m gonna ride a pony,” Nessa chimed in, forgetting all about her pressing need. “You said I could.”

Sam patted her head. “I have to buy some horses first.”

“High Country Outfitters are going out of business,” Fiona said, “and selling off their entire stable of trail horses. With no customers, they can’t afford the price of feed. You could probably pick up a few good head for a decent price.”

“Who do I talk to?”

“Will Dessaro’s their livestock manager. Anyone in town can tell you where to find him.”

“I’ll track him down first thing in the morning.”

Annie almost did a double take. How was it her mother knew about High Country Outfitters going out of business and she’d heard nothing?

Because she’d been busy with work and caring for Nessa and holding her family together.

And she hadn’t wanted to know. With each resident that was forced to move from Sweetheart, each business that shut its doors, she lost a small sliver of hope.

“I’d best get going, see to it those raccoons get fed.” Sam touched the brim of his hat and grinned at all of them. Annie the longest.

Her heart might be damaged, but it could still flutter. Which, to her dismay, it did.

If only Sweetheart were bigger than three square miles and one thousand residents—a number dwindling daily. Then maybe she wouldn’t be constantly running into Sam.

As she watched him stride confidently toward his truck, she wondered if that wasn’t what she secretly wanted. She had, after all, made an excuse to see him tomorrow.

She spun on her heels to find her mother, grandmother and daughter all watching him, too.

Apparently she wasn’t the only one susceptible to his charms.

* * *

THE PICKUP AND STOCK TRAILER looked out of place as it rumbled to a stop beside the old corral. So did the modern furniture that had been delivered hours earlier and set up in the ranch’s three bedrooms, kitchen and parlor.

Sam’s memories of the Gold Nugget were of a buggy sitting in front of the house, knotty pine rockers on the porch, blacksmith equipment hanging in the shed beside the barn and rooms filled with antiques and authentic reproductions used in filming The Forty-Niners. There had also been photographs of the stars and crew displayed on every wall in every room, along with articles on the actors’ lives and trivia about the show.

For some unknown reason, those photos alone had survived when everything else in the house was auctioned off.

In the evenings, after the tourists had left, the ranch would become eerily quiet. He and Annie would sit in the rockers or at the long oak table in the kitchen or lie on the squeaky mattress and box spring in the master bedroom and dream about the future.

If old Mrs. Litey, the longtime curator of the Gold Nugget, had caught them, she’d have skinned them alive.

And now, the ranch was Sam’s, thanks to the former owner deciding it was easier to sell the place than make the necessary repairs and upgrades.

A quick glance around revealed the ranch still needed a lot of work—starting with the corrals. The pine rails were broken and rotted in place and wouldn’t contain the horses he’d purchased that morning for very long. Fortunately, the construction contractor and his crew were arriving on Monday.

Sam walked over to greet the young cowboy emerging from the cab of the truck, a large shepherd mix tumbling out after him. Sam and Will Dessaro had spent a good two hours together, during which Sam inspected each horse in the High Country Outfitters’ string and negotiated the price. The deal was closed when he delivered the cashier’s check he’d obtained at the neighboring town fifteen miles away.

“You made good time.” He shook Will’s hand. The man’s grip was firm, his features strong and appealing. “Thought you might have some trouble loading all these horses by yourself.”

“Not likely.”

“Should we back the trailer up to the gate?” he asked.

“Don’t need to.”

This would be interesting, Sam thought as he watched Will open the rear of the trailer and lower the ramp. Only then did Sam realize all the horses stood loose, except for the first one. He alone was haltered and tied.

“Don’t you think you should—”

Before Sam finished his thought, Will was leading the haltered horse down the ramp. The nine others followed out of the trailer, one by one, nose to tail. The dog trotted along beside them. To Sam’s surprise, all ten horses stood quietly as Will opened the corral gate and then pushed inside, eagerly exploring their new home. Will swung the gate shut and latched it.

“I’m impressed,” Sam said.

“Not a contrary one in the bunch.”

Sam was a believer and convinced he’d made a good investment.

Together, he and Will unloaded bags of feed from the trailer’s front compartment and stacked them under the lean-to. Next, they ran a hose and filled the water barrel.

“Be back in an hour with the rest of them.” Will had promised he could deliver all nineteen horses in two trips, and it looked as though he was a man of his word.

“Any chance you can stick around afterward and maybe tomorrow? Help me with the horses?”

“Sure.”

“I’m not interfering with your job?”

“High Country Outfitters is out of business. You just bought what was left of my job.”

“Sorry about that.”

Will shrugged. “I noticed some of the horses have loose shoes.”

“Is there a farrier in town?”

“I did most of the shoeing for High Country.”

“Any experience with cattle?”

“My grandmother raised me. She ran near a hundred head.”

Will was looking better and better by the minute. He also knew the mountain trails.

“You’re not by chance good at cross-country skiing?”

“Have all my own gear.”

Well, well. “Anything you can’t do?”

“Cook.”

That made two of them. Lyndsey had already complained about breakfast and lunch.

Sam pushed his hat back and grinned. “You by chance in the market for a new job?”

“You offering me one?”

“I need a livestock foreman and someone to supervise the trail rides. Take guests on guided skiing excursions in the winter months. I’m thinking you have the experience.”

“Okay.” Will started toward his truck. His dog, resting in the shade of a bush, sprang instantly to its feet.

“Is that a yes?” Sam called after him.

“You need something in writing?”

He laughed. “We’ll talk details when you get back.”

“Fine by me.”

Sam decided he liked the Gold Nugget Ranch’s first official employee. The female guests were bound to like him, too, though Sam suspected Will would keep to himself.

Pressed for time, Sam went over to the corral and checked on the horses. Several bunched at the railing for a petting. The rest stared at him as if wondering why they hadn’t been given any pellets.

“When your buddies arrive.” He patted an overly eager black-and-white paint that could easily break through the railing if he weren’t so docile. “And when I figure out what exactly I’m going to use for a feed trough.”

By all accounts, there’d been no horses on the ranch since The Forty-Niners ceased production. He’d considered himself lucky to find that old water barrel in the barn.

There must be something else kicking around he could use. If not, he’d ask Will. The man struck Sam as being the resourceful type. And there was always the feed store.

He was halfway to the barn when a rusted-out sedan pulled into the ranch and stopped, the exhaust spewing a cloud of gray smoke when the engine was cut. Seconds later, a woman with an assortment of children spilled out of all four doors.

“Hi, can I help you?”

“Mr. Wyler? My name’s Irma Swichtenberg. These here are my children.”

The tallest, a teenager, tugged nervously on her hair while the shortest, a toddler, snuggled a stuffed toy.

“What can I do for you?” Sam asked.

“Miss Hennessy sent me your way.”

“Annie?”

“No, sir. Fiona. I worked for her. At the inn. Housekeeping. She said you might be looking to hire someone.” The woman swallowed nervously. “I’m a hard worker. Honest and dependable. Carrie watches the little ones for me so I won’t ever miss a day.” She placed a hand on the teenager’s shoulder.

Sam could see Irma Swichtenberg was a proud woman and that asking for a job didn’t come easy. For all he knew, she single-handedly supported her small family. Judging by the shape of their worn clothes, she was at the end of her resources.

“How good a cook are you?”

“Passable.”

“The place needs a lot of cleaning. Been empty awhile. And I’m hardly the neatest person. My daughter’s worse.”

“Not much I can’t handle or won’t.”

He believed her.

“I really need a job, Mr. Wyler. I’ll work cheap.”

Sam had made a promise to himself to help the people of Sweetheart and that included providing employment for as many of the locals as possible. That aside, he’d have hired Irma anyway. He liked and respected her that much.

“No need to work cheap. I’ll pay you a decent wage.”

When he named the rate, Irma’s hands flew to her mouth. “You’re not joshing me, are you?”

“Can you start in the morning? 8:00 a.m.”

“I’ll start now!”

“That’s not necessary.” He chuckled. “We’ll decide on your schedule tomorrow. Might only be part-time until we’re ready for guests.”

“Thank you, Mr. Wyler.” She rushed toward him, grabbed his hand and pumped it enthusiastically. “I’m grateful to you.”

“My daughter and I are the ones who are grateful to you. Otherwise, we might starve or be buried alive in a mountain of dirty clothes.”

She smiled shyly, displaying slightly crooked teeth. “I’ll see you at eight sharp.”

Something told him Irma would be here at seven forty-five. “Looking forward to it.”

Gathering her brood, she hurried them to the car as if afraid Sam might change his mind.

Unlikely, he decided. So far, he was more than pleased with his staff. And he had Fiona Hennessy to thank.

If she and Annie weren’t so determined to rebuild the inn, he’d hire Fiona to manage the Gold Nugget. He needed someone trustworthy, competent and with her vast hospitality experience. Someone whose skills would allow him to be a long-distance owner.

Sam made his way toward the barn in search of Lyndsey. She’d been in there the entire time with Porky and Daffy. A few good meals had made all the difference to the kits. They were active and curious and had already figured out their long, sharp claws were perfect tools for scaling the sides of a cardboard box.

They were also kind of cute, Sam had to admit, with their little button noses, whiskers and black face masks.

Lyndsey had moved them into an old wooden crate until the cage arrived. She couldn’t be a more attentive and devoted caretaker. Sam was proud of her. And worried. He tried not to think about how she’d take losing the kits when the time came.

She was just where he’d left her, sitting cross-legged in the center of the barn floor. Sunlight poured in through cracks in the wooden walls, painting a pattern of stripes on her and the crate beside her.

“Hi, Dad.” She cradled Daffy, the smaller of the kits, in her lap, his front paws balanced on her towel-covered forearm in the manner the vet had instructed. Daffy lustily drained a bottle of kitten formula.

“How’re they doing?” Sam asked.

“They like the canned cat food!” Her face radiated delight.

“Dr. Murry says they’ll eat almost anything.”

“They licked it off a spoon.”

Sam’s earlier concern returned. “They didn’t bite you, did they?”

“Oh, Dad.”

He took that as a no and breathed easier.

“Grandpa said he can’t wait to see them.”

“Lyndsey, sweetie.” He reached for her. “You—”

She stiffened and pulled away. “Don’t say we can’t take them home.”

“Okay, I won’t.”

Withdrawing his hand, he squatted beside the crate and gave Daffy a little scratch. Porky was attempting to squeeze his apple-shaped head between the narrow openings in the crate.

“I can’t believe how much difference one day makes.”

“Porky purred and kneaded my arm when he ate.”

“No fooling?” Sam attempted to pet Porky. The kit jerked instantly back and growled at him, his fur standing on end. He looked and sounded more comical than threatening.

“Dad! Be careful. You’ll hurt him.”

“Hurt him? What about me?” Sam inspected his hand. “I’m the one who almost lost a finger.”

“It’s instinctive. You have to move slowly.”

He turned at the sound of Annie’s voice.

She stood in the entrance to the barn, wearing her NDF uniform and holding an empty cage.

“Hey. Thanks for coming by.” He pushed to his feet, noticing the exhaustion on her face. “You okay?”

“Just beat. We ran erosion and water repellency tests all day in the field.”

Despite her busy schedule, she’d found time to locate a cage for Lyndsey and deliver it. If he could, he would take her in his arms and the hell with the consequences.

“Sounds grueling.”

“It was.”

She must have seen the urge reflected in his eyes because she retreated a step—just like she’d done yesterday when they first met and again last night when he picked her up on the way home.

Would she ever stop being wary of him? And if she did, what then?

Nothing, he thought. Even if they were able to move past their unhappy history, the timing was off, for both of them, and no amount of wishing would change that.

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