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Family By The Bunch
Amy Frazier


FAMILYMATTERSONE+ONE+FIVE?He wanted a family of his own. But rancher Hank Whittake figured he'd do it the old-fashioned way: find a woman to share his country life, then conceive their own bundle of joy in a most enjoyable manner. Yet somehow sweet-talking Neesa Little snuck under his guard and he found himself taking in five rambunctious orphans desperately in need of a family….Despite his self-imposed cantankerous manner, Hank's heart soon opened to the children–and pretty Neesa. Something in the mysterious woman's eyes whispered of forgotten dreams and made Hank long to uncover all of Neesa's secrets…so they could forge a family from five most unexpected deliveries."Kisses, kids, cuddles and kin. The best things in life are found in families!"







“I’m right,” Neesa persisted. “You do want a big family.” (#u58033cdb-7a00-5de6-93e7-451d41e215ed)Letter to Reader (#u68b54920-221f-5338-9d7e-4e583fea1171)Title Page (#u8f8e8d00-0394-56e5-a5af-02fa67cda13e)Dedication (#ua2cda8ec-82db-5983-abf4-232c4e341784)About the Author (#u8303ad00-6a4f-575e-a63a-0cbc15447882)Letter to Reader (#u80580981-94b5-582a-a863-729cf9647baa)Chapter One (#ud91cc140-c708-518f-a08d-704cebd551ef)Chapter Two (#uedd52274-00f5-5d71-8d68-e9a083988d05)Chapter Three (#uc202be76-57b2-5612-8adf-43c97e9007bd)Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


“I’m right,” Neesa persisted. “You do want a big family.”

“Yes, I want a big family,” Hank replied. “Kin—blood ties—have always meant everything to me.”

“Blood ties,” she repeated softly. “You must wonder at me spending so much time and energy on other people’s children.”

“I admire you for it. It’s not easy for many folk to step outside the pull of biological ties.” He shook his head. “Especially hard for men somehow.”

“I think it’s an ego thing. Heirs. Dynasty. Immortality.” She’d developed an edge to her words.

Hank puzzled over the new underlying anger in her tone of voice. Up until now, anger wasn’t an emotion he would have associated with the indefatigable Miss Little. He wondered what experience had pushed her to it.

And what else could get her blood heated...?


Dear Reader,

Silhouette Romance is proud to usher in the year with two exciting new promotions! LOVING THE BOSS is a six-book series, launching this month and ending in June, about office romances leading to happily-ever-afters. In the premiere title, The Boss and the Beauty, by award-winning author Donna Clayton, a prim personal assistant wows her jaded, workaholic boss when she has a Cinderella makeover....

You’ve asked for more family-centered stories, so we created FAMILY MATTERS, an ongoing promotion with a special flash. The launch title, Family by the Bunch from popular Special Edition author Amy Frazier, pairs a rancher in want of a family with a spirited social worker...and five adorable orphans.

Also available are more of the authors you love, and the miniseries you’ve come to cherish. Kia Cochrane’s emotional Romance debut, A Rugged Ranchin’ Dad, beautifully captures the essence of FABULOUS FATHERS. Star author Judy Christenberry unveils her sibling-connected miniseries LUCKY CHARM SISTERS with Marry Me, Kate, an unforgettable marriage-of -convenience tale. Granted: A Family for Baby is the latest of Carol Grace’s BEST-KEPT WISHES miniseries. And COWBOYS TO THE RESCUE, the heartwarming Western saga by rising star Martha Shields, continues with The Million-Dollar Cowboy.

Enjoy this month’s offerings, and look forward to more spectacular stories coming each month from Silhouette Romance!

Happy New Year!






Mary-Theresa Hussey

Senior Editor, Silhouette Romance

Please address questions and book requests to:

Silhouette Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

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Family by the Bunch

Amy Frazier







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To my daughter, Sarah,

whose generosity of spirit

belies her age.


AMY FRAZIER has loved to read, listen to and tell stories from the time she was a very young child. With the support of a loving family, she grew up believing she could accomplish anything she set her mind to. It was with this attitude that she tackled various careers as teacher, librarian, freelance artist, professional storyteller, wife and mother. Above all else, the stories always beckoned. It is with a contented sigh that she settles into the romance field, where she can weave stories in which love conquers all.

Amy now lives with her husband, son and daughter in northwest Georgia, where the kudzu grows high as an elephant’s eye. When not writing, she loves reading, music, painting, gardening, bird-watching and the Atlanta Braves.


Dear Reader,

I have been blessed with family.

Surrounded by my parents, my brother and a host of aunts, uncles and cousins, I grew up to develop a strong sense of identity and of roots.

When I married, my husband’s diverse clan reinforced the concept that family is the framework within which we learn communication and acceptance.

My husband, my two children and I eventually moved far away from our families, forcing us to create new traditions, to establish a new safe harbor, and to learn that family really is a state of mind.

I am not so naive as to believe that everyone’s experience with family has been as traditional or as positive as mine. But I do believe that, regardless of one’s past or present circumstances, one can create a sense of family—and I mean family in any of its many nurturing forms—if one keeps an open and a loving heart.

In Family by the Bunch, Neesa, who cannot have children, and Hank, who dearly wants children “of his own,” learn that biology does not necessarily make a family. They ultimately learn to love, respect and accept “other people’s children” as their own. And isn’t this a lesson—to see family in the eyes of a stranger—from which all humankind could benefit?

With love,







Chapter One

Surrounded by designer-clothed kids and tennis-skirted moms, the cowboy at the elementary school bus stop stood out like a sharply chiseled hunk of granite nestled in a crystal bowl of whipped cream.

Rubbing her eyes as much in reaction to the incongruous sight as against the early-morning glare, Neesa Little reached into her convertible sports coupe’s compartment for sun glasses as she waited for the neighborhood children to board the big yellow bus. Remembering she’d left the sun glasses on her kitchen counter, she muttered sharply under her breath while squinting in the direction of the newcomer at the bus stop.

The man wearing the Stetson most certainly didn’t blend into the pruned, tamed and manicured landscaping of Holly Mount subdivision. Not a bit. In fact, with his faded chambray work shirt, tight jeans and scuffed cowboy boots, he didn’t appear to come from anywhere near Ellis Springs, Georgia. He rather looked as if he’d ridden right out of the wild West. The only things missing were a lariat, a faithful cow pony and a herding dog.

He bent to receive an exuberant farewell hug from the last little girl to board the bus. It was the final day of the school year, and joy showed on the child’s face. Witnessing the simple parent-child scene set off an old familiar pain. Neesa winced, mentally chiding herself to quit dwelling on her own biological deficiencies.

As he straightened, the cowboy looked directly at Neesa, whose open convertible idled in the opposite lane facing the bus.

Her breath caught sharply in her throat. Within the few seconds that he held her gaze, she felt vulnerable, wished she hadn’t put the ragtop down this morning. Wished too that she had, at least, the scant protection of sun glasses, for his dark eyes seemed to knowingly plumb the depths of her very soul.

Plumb the depths of her very soul.

How silly. The June sun was beginning to addle her brains.

It was just an accidental glance, for goodness sakes. And he was a stranger. An ordinary suburban dad. Probably happily married. With two point five kids, a hefty mortgage and golf clubs in the back of a minivan. The cowboy duds would be purely for macho show.

What special powers could he have to know her deepest vulnerabilities? What interest at all could he have in her? She swallowed hard.

“You’re drooling on the steering wheel!” The lilting voice of Claire English, her best friend, neighbor and carpool companion, startled Neesa back into the here and now. “And besides, the bus driver’s turned off the blinking red lights. Git, girl.”

The bus slowly passed them, going in the opposite direction. As Neesa took her foot off the brake, she glanced at the bus stop one more time. The tennis-skirted moms were hovering about the man in the Stetson like long-legged moths to a flame. Obviously he didn’t need yet another admirer.

“Isn’t that a picture?” Claire asked merrily. “Do you suppose he’ll hightail it back to his ranch come Monday morning, or will the lovely ladies-who-lunch lure him into staying? Turn him into their very own suburban cowboy?”

“He doesn’t live here?” Neesa knew Claire would only need one question to get her started.

Her friend inhaled deeply as if she were preparing for the tale she had to tell. Claire English knew everything about their subdivision neighbors. And she liked nothing better than to share her observations with Neesa.

“No, he doesn’t live here. His name’s Hank Whittaker. He’s baby-sitting the Russell kids today through Sunday while Evan and Cilla are out of town, working on their marriage.”

Turning out of the subdivision onto the state road, Neesa remembered from Claire’s past tales that the Russell relationship was rocky. She didn’t want to talk about the Russells, however. “Is Mr. Whittaker really a rancher, or were you just guessing?” She had an ulterior motive in asking.

“Oh, he’s a rancher, all right. Raises and trains logging horses on a spread off Route 176. A big spread, I hear tell.”

Neesa’s professional antennae went up, but she tried not to appear too concerned, for Claire would certainly misinterpret her interest in the handsome cowboy. “Well, he doesn’t quite fit the nanny type,” she offered nonchalantly.

“My, my, if that’s not the truth.” Claire chortled. “Did you get a look at the fit of his jeans?”

Neesa hadn’t. Not really. She’d been lost, instead, in his eyes. Eyes the color of midnight. Intense and probing. With a hint of arrogance. No...not arrogance. Something subtler. More intricate. An aloofness that most probably would coincide with his occupation. Unless she missed her guess, rancher Hank Whittaker was a loner. Someone so sure of the distance between himself and others that he wouldn’t shrink from staring into a woman’s soul.

She shivered. She didn’t like having her soul examined.

Pressing her foot to the accelerator, she skillfully maneuvered the car along the winding two-lane. The wind loosened strands of hair from the clasp at the back of her neck. She loved driving her little roadster with the top down, and she loved driving fast. It was a way of easing, for a brief time, the pressure of professional challenges and the ache of personal worries.

With her thumb she rubbed the bare ring finger of her left hand. Force of habit. Why, after a year, should it still pain her that the wedding band was gone?

“Are we in a hurry this morning?” That was Claire’s hint to slow down. They played this game every time it was Neesa’s turn to drive. Claire liked her gossip quick and breezy, not her commute.

“In fact, we are.” Neesa sighed heavily. “I need every extra minute I can squeeze out of today. Unless I come up with a sponsor—and soon—for my Kids & Animals program idea, my supervisor’s going to make me abandon it. Trouble is, I have to find the sponsor on my own time. Between regular client appointments and paperwork.”

“But that idea’s a wonderful enrichment program. So many of the kids would benefit from it.”

“How I know it. But if I can’t find a sponsor, I can’t even get a pilot program off the ground. And until I can do that, my idea remains a creative frill.”

There were far too few frills in the lives of the kids Neesa dealt with daily. She grimaced. And unfortunately, these particular children experienced far too few of life’s necessities, as well. She worked for an unusual private group that helped government agencies find homes—both permanent and temporary—for hard-to-place kids. Kids with emotional problems. Kids with physical problems. Kids who might not ever have a loving home. If she couldn’t find them homes, she tried to find support programs to help them cope with life in a state-run institution.

She’d planned her Kids & Animals idea as just such a support program. For the children consistently left behind.

“I’m amazed you haven’t already thought of this!” Claire exclaimed.

“What?”

“Our temporary neighbor. Rancher Hank Whittaker.”

“What about him?”

“Ranch. Animals. Kids.” Claire beamed. “Duh!”

“But how to approach him?” Neesa tapped one finger rhythmically on the steering wheel. “I don’t know the man. He’s not even one of our neighbors. I can’t very well walk up to him and ask him for this huge commitment before the introductions are cold.”

“Use your imagination. Isn’t that what your agency pays you for?” Claire chuckled. “For instance, the pool opens tomorrow. The Russell kids are part fish. Wear your sunblock and play your cards right, and you’ll have the weekend to meet Gary Cooper, then convince him to sponsor Kids & Animals. His ranch would be perfect.”

Oh, Neesa had already thought of that. But an uneasy feeling made her hesitate before acting upon her thoughts. Heretofore, she’d never held back from a work-related challenge. Never hesitated to approach anyone who might be of help to her kids in need. What held her back now, however, was that long soulful stare she’d received just minutes ago. Something told her that in getting involved with Hank Whittaker—even professionally—she would be getting much more than she’d bargained for.

Lordy, but the suburbs were like an alien planet to him. Even the flower-lined sidewalks, swept and edged and weeded so that they formed a pristine ribbon throughout the neighborhood, seemed too unreal to walk on.

Having extracted himself from the bevy of moms at the bus stop, Hank Whittaker strode down the middle of the street to his cousin Evan Russell’s driveway and his own pickup truck. He had a full day’s worth of work to get in at his ranch before Casey and Chris Russell got home from school.

A full day’s work, that is, if he could concentrate around the image of the beautiful, blue-eyed woman in the tiny red sports car. Sakes alive, but he’d felt drawn to her. Instantly.

Such hogwash.

The only time he’d ever heard a real, living, breathing person tell of love at first sight was when his Pa, Jeb Whittaker, told the tale of the first time he’d seen Miss Lily, newly moved to Oklahoma, with her family at a square dance. Miss Lily had been so homesick for Georgia, and Jeb had been so smitten by the lovely Southern belle, that he’d determined right then and there that he’d be the one to carry her back to the state of her birth. He’d be the one to see her then-sad eyes light up and her beautiful face blossom into a smile. A week after Jeb had met Lily, he’d asked for her hand in marriage. A month later, married, they were settled in Georgia. And until his death, not two months after hers, Jeb Whittaker loved his wife with a blazing intensity. The love at first sight never diminished one iota.

Hank shook his head as he climbed into his truck. Fairy tales.

From experience he knew that far too many relationships—including Jeb and Lily’s—ultimately ended in the pain of loss.

Grumpily, he maneuvered his way out of the subdivision. His grumpiness didn’t arise from the weekend task at hand. He loved being with the Russell kids. They were part of his extended family. And he certainly didn’t mind doing a favor for cousin Evan and his wife Cilia if it meant they could patch up their marriage. But this living in big houses on tiny lots with your neighbors knowing your every move gave him the creeps. He liked his privacy. Even his hundred-acre ranch, with subdivisions increasingly ringing its borders, seemed too small at times. Just maybe he’d be the Whittaker brother to pull up stakes and buy a truly big spread out West.

Out West. The source of all his Pa’s tales. The source of the magnificent Whittaker boys’ childhood fantasies.

Not more than ten miles down the road from the Holly Mount subdivision, Hank turned his truck onto a dirt road and under a rustic arch hung with a sign that read Whispering Pines. His ranch. His refuge from a too quickly changing world.

Breathing a hearty sigh of relief, he drove between the fenced, rolling pastures toward home. In the distance he heard the soft nicker of his horses. Percherons. Red Suffolks. Draft horses that he bred, raised and trained to be loggers. In the old tradition.

He smiled to himself. Pa had always said that cowboy was a state of mind. Hank had carried that concept one step further. It was next to impossible to recreate a Western ranch in the foothills of the Piedmont, amid the tall Georgia pines. But if you believed that ranching was a constantly evolving state of mind, anything became possible.

The sprawling ranch house, ringed with pecan trees, came into view. To the right Tucker, his apprentice, worked an enormous gray Percheron in the paddock. To the left, near the kitchen garden, Willy, his foreman, waved his hat and shouted curses as a very large pot-bellied pig, a plume of red dust in his wake, ran for high ground.

Hank was in for one of Willy’s lectures.

Pulling his pickup truck in front of the bam, he waited a minute before getting out. Composed his facial features to eliminate any sign of a grin. Willy hated it when Hank didn’t take the feud between the foreman and the pig seriously.

“What the hell you doin’ back?” Willy’s weatherbeaten, toothless face popped up at the driver’s side window.

“Heard you needed help with a pig.”

Willy squinted and examined Hank’s face, most probably looking for any hint of amusement. “One of these days I’m gonna have Reba cook me up some pork chops.”

“You won’t. Reba loves that pig, and you love Reba.” Reba was Hank’s housekeeper and Willy’s unrequited love. Winking at the old man, Hank opened the truck door, then slid out. “No pig...no Reba.”

Willy spat a string of curses under his breath.

“To answer your question,” Hank continued, unable to suppress a smile, “I came back to work the ranch until Casey and Chris get out of school.”

Willy scowled. “No need. That young whippersnapper Tucker and me, we got it under control.”

“I don’t doubt it. But I couldn’t spend one more minute than necessary in that cramped subdivision. Not with folks living right on top of me. Breathing down my neck.”

Willy looked down at his boots. Scuffed one toe in the dust. “Kinda hoped you’d meet a purty woman,” he muttered.

An image of the beautiful blonde in the sports car sprang unbidden to mind. “Now why would you want that?” Hank asked defensively.

“Tucker and I can handle the logging horses and the grain fields. Reba’s got the house in hand. You need someone to occupy your heart so you stop bringing strays—like that damned pig—onto this spread. As it is now, it’s more Noah’s ark than ranch.”

As if on cue, a barn cat with her litter of kittens paraded across the packed dirt of the barnyard, then wound herself around Hank’s legs. Trying to shake off the image of the woman at the bus stop, he bent and picked up the ginger mama. “Are you trying to tell me we don’t need a few good mousers?”

“Mousers are one thing. Vietnamese pot-bellied pigs are another. And hissy-spitting llamas. And crippled mules. And half-blind dogs. And mean Canada geese.” Willy threw his arms in the air in obvious exasperation. “And any other wounded, abused or abandoned animal you can think to haul back here.” He jammed his fists on bony hips, leaned forward and skewered Hank with a one-eyed Popeye stare. “Hell, you spend almost as much time on these castoffs as you spend on your legitimate business.”

“Your point?” Hank tried to look stern, but failed as the ginger cat licked the tip of his chin. He respected Willy too much to remind the foreman that he had been one of the “castoffs” Hank had rescued.

“The point, as if you didn’t know, is that a man needs something to love, sure. But it should be a woman.”

A sudden slice of pain across his heart, Hank gently put the mama cat down in the midst of her mewling kittens. Years ago he thought he had found a woman to love, only to find out she didn’t love him enough to live the hard but rewarding life of a rancher’s wife.

“Well, you’re out of luck,” he replied with a forced grin. “I didn’t see a woman that so much as even tweaked my curiosity.”

Lie.

Willy rolled his eyes. “Well, if you plan to continue sleeping with the dogs, Bowser needs a flea bath. Bad. Like today.” He turned in a huff, then stumped across the yard toward the barn, muttering under his breath every step of the way.

Hank shook his head. Willy made it seem as if his boss’s single state was some kind of degenerate condition. He yanked his Stetson off and rubbed his forehead. The ranch’s Noah’s ark aspect, as Willy referred to it, took no time at all. What chewed up the moments was the foreman’s infernal and constant confrontations on the topic of women. His insistence that an unmarried state was an unnatural state.

Heading for the ranch house and a ton of paperwork, Hank slapped his hat against his thigh in frustration. It was easy for Willy to comment. He loved Reba. A good-hearted country woman. There weren’t many women like her. Women who loved the life Hank lived. Who loved the solitude, the lack of city or suburban lights. Who loved hard physical work. And the animals. Both the purebreds and the strays.

Despite those challenges, Hank had a deep, dark secret that he wouldn’t admit to Willy: he was ready to settle down. He had a thriving business, his own ranch and money in the bank. He’d love to find that perfect woman, get married and raise a whole passle of energetic kids. A family of his own.

He thought miserably of the delicate blue-eyed suburban beauty in her little red convertible. For the life of him, he couldn’t picture her on a ranch.

Feeling uneasy for more than one reason, Neesa rang the Russell doorbell again. This was a pretty sneaky way to get Kids & Animals sponsored. She hugged the warm casserole tightly to her. With this little delivery she hoped merely to extend a neighborly hand...and have Mr. Whittaker admit to being a rancher. She could take the “coincidence” from there.

Normally she’d come right out and say, I heard you were a rancher. I need your help. But a faintly formidable look in this man’s eyes told her he wouldn’t appreciate her listening to gossip about him or asking for favors—very large favors—before the introductions were cold.

The door opened. At the sight of handsome Hank Whittaker looming above her, Neesa nearly lost her grip on the dish of chicken and dumplings. Oh, my, but the man was twice as imposing up close as he had been from a distance. And even without the Stetson to shadow his eyes, his gaze was dark and penetrating. Riveting her attention and rendering her speechless.

“Yes?” The hint of a smile played at the corner of his sensuous mouth.

“M-Mr. Whittaker...”

“Hank.”

“Hank.” She inhaled sharply. “I’m Neesa Little from up the street. I understand you’re caring for Carey and Chris for the weekend.”

The hint of a smile developed into a broad, sexy grin. “Word travels fast.”

“Yes,” she whispered almost inaudibly, extending the casserole. “I thought you could use some supper.” Under his grin and those devilishly dark eyes, she found it hard to concentrate, let alone form a coherent sentence. “Just being neighborly,” she added weakly.

“Why, thank you.” He chuckled, and the sound was even sexier than the sight of the grin. “Step in and let’s see if we can find room.”

“Room?”

He opened the door wider, then stepped aside to allow her to enter the foyer. She always felt a little uncomfortable when she visited her neighbors—except for Claire and Robert who were childless but “trying.” These homes were enclaves of kids and more kids and even more kids, and always drove home Neesa’s own unmarried, perennially childless state.

Sure enough, from the family room, she could hear the sound of a video game and childish laughter. Too, a delicious mixture of aromas filled the air. Clutching the dish of chicken and dumplings, she felt sheepish. He already had supper under control.

The he in question had headed down the hallway. Trying to concentrate on her mission and not the masculine sway of his broad shoulders and narrow hips, Neesa followed as Hank silently led her into the kitchen where, to her complete amazement, covered dishes filled every inch of counter space.

“Now, let’s see if we can find a spot for yours.” He turned, and she started at the unmistakable twinkle in his eyes. “This is one neighborly neighborhood.”

So it would appear.

Visualizing a line, a very long line, of well-groomed suburban moms bearing casseroles—winding toward the Russell house, she suddenly laughed out loud.

“My reaction exactly.” He reached for the casserole she carried. “Y’all sure do have Chris and Casey’s best interests at heart.”

Neesa nearly choked on the rising guilt. “What do you plan to do with all this?”

“I’m freezing most of it. That way Cilia won’t have to cook for a month.”

“Cool, huh?” Eight-year-old Chris entered the kitchen. He grinned. “Hey, Miss Neesa, what did you bring?”

“Chicken and dumplings.”

“Hank’s favorite.” The boy lifted the lid of a dish on the counter and extracted a breaded chicken leg. “Me, I like mine fried.”

“Don’t you dare take that back in the family room,” Hank warned. “Your mama would give me a tongue lashing and more.”

“I won’t.” Chris headed for the back door. “I’m going to eat it on the deck, then I’m going to the basement to dig out our swim stuff. Pool opens tomorrow, remember.”

“How could I forget?” Hank didn’t look thrilled at the prospect.

“I take it you’re not a swimmer?”

“The swimming part’s fine. I’m just not keen on doing it in a cement pond.”

“Cement pond.” Neesa laughed aloud again. “Why, you sound like Jethro—”

“Of the Beverly Hillbillies,” he finished for her. “I know. It’s a cross I bear.” He rolled his eyes dramatically.

She hadn’t expected him to be approachable and funny and self-deprecating. No. On the contrary, at the bus stop he’d seemed aloof and stern and very macho. Maybe the difference was in the Stetson. Right now, he wasn’t wearing it. And without it, he was still drop-dead gorgeous, but gorgeous in a way that didn’t push her away. That made her, instead, want to get to know him better.

A dangerous thought.

His dark hair was straight and a little too long to be manageable. His forehead was broad and intelligent. Under dark brows, even darker eyes took in everything. Didn’t miss a trick. Tonight his strong jawline and chin showed the blue of a five-o’clock shadow. Very masculine. Neesa wondered if a heavy beard meant...

Mentally admonishing herself to remember the point of this visit, Neesa took a step backward as if standing outside his considerable aura might protect her.

“Hank!” Little six-year-old Casey Russell hurtled into the room. “Nobody will play video games with me! I’m all alone in there. Chris left me. Nobody loves me.” In a piping voice, her blue-streak complaint held more drama than substance.

“How awful!” Hank scooped the girl into his arms. “I love you. If I ever had a little girl, I’d want her to be just like you.”

Casey blushed, clearly enjoying the compliment. Still she affected a pout. “But nobody will play pokey pony with me.”

“Did that fact make you lose your manners?”

Casey gave him a perplexed stare.

“We have a guest. Say hey to Miss Neesa.”

The child snuggled against Hank’s neck. “Miss Neesa isn’t a guest. She’s our neighbor. She gives real big chocolate bars at Halloween.”

Hank raised one dark eyebrow in question.

“True,” Neesa replied, chuckling. “My favorite.”

“Remind me to come back to the neighborhood for Halloween,” he said, his voice low and lazy, his eyes now a seductive shade of dark gray. “I love trick or treat.”

She just bet.

He lowered Casey to the floor. With one big hand he ruffled the little girl’s hair. “Let me walk Miss Neesa to the door. Then I’ll play pokey pony with you. Now scoot.”

The man obviously liked kids. That would be perfect in her professional scheme of things. It was an automatic out, however, in her personal relationships ball game.

When Hank turned to look at Neesa, it was with the same soul-searching gaze he’d sent her this morning. Only in the close confines of the kitchen, it seemed a hundred times more potent. Why did he throw her one of those looks when she was feeling most vulnerable? Her knees suddenly went wobbly. She felt color drain from her cheeks. Felt unexplainably giddy.

“Are you all right?” He reached for her. Encircled her upper arms with a strong grip. “You’re looking mighty peaked all of a sudden.”

His touch only increased the giddiness.

“I’m fine,” she managed, drawing away from him with difficulty. “It’s just that it’s been a long day at work.”

“And here you thought to bring us supper.” His eyes turned the color of smoke. Tender. “We’re much obliged.” Lordy, if he’d been wearing the Stetson, he most certainly would have tipped it.

“You’re very welcome.” The words stuck in her throat. She prayed her knees would hold. “I’d better be going.”

Concern flickering in those dark eyes, he walked her to the door, then opened it for her. “See you at the pool tomorrow?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” She attempted a smile. “I’m not much for cement ponds, either.”

He smiled with enough wattage to blow a fuse. “Well, Miss Neesa. See you at Halloween then. Save me a real big chocolate bar.”

He winked and slowly closed the door, leaving Neesa standing on the Russells’ front doorstep, weak-kneed, flustered and frustrated. Flustered because she’d just experienced a full-blown case of attraction for a stranger who, for all she knew, had a wife and kids of his own back at the ranch. Kids. It was clear from just a few moments of observing him that he was a natural-born parent. Even if he were single, his obvious desire for children would eliminate him from her eligible bachelor list.

She was frustrated, too, because she’d paid good money for that chicken and dumplings at Myra’s Diner. Even as good as it had smelled, it hadn’t come close to getting Hank Whittaker to admit he was a rancher. Hadn’t provided the opportunity for Neesa to innocently say, Is that right? Funny, but I’ve been on the lookout for a rancher for my Kids & Animals program....

She harrumphed softly. Now she had to dig her bathing suit out of mothballs and visit that cement pond tomorrow.


Chapter Two

“Hank?” Poolside, eight-year-old Chris Russell stopped blowing air into the rubber raft. “Why aren’t you married?”

Why wasn’t he married?

Funny, but you could hem and haw and evade a similar question from an adult, but a kid deserved an honest answer.

From his lounge chair Hank reached for a soft drink in the cooler. The noises and bustle surrounding the neighborhood pool assailed him. He longed for the quiet of his ranch. But Chris’s stare didn’t waver, and his question remained unanswered.

“I almost was,” Hank replied simply.

“What happened?”

“Oh, she was a city gal, and I was a country boy. We just couldn’t agree on most of the things you need to go about your daily business.”

“Did you love her?”

“Yup.” Now, that was the godshonest truth. And it had hurt like hell when she’d left him. The memory of it stil did, at times. The pain provided a good reminder that he might search high and low, but it would take a very special woman to become a rancher’s wife.

“I could help you find someone new.” Chris grinned. “My teacher’s real pretty.”

“Have you been talking to Willy?” Hank growled playfully. Reaching for the rubber raft, he ruffled the boy’s hair en route. “Here. Let me blow this up for you. Otherwise it’ll be dark before you get in the water.” He began to blow up the raft, safe from Chris’s questions. At least if Chris asked them, he now had an excuse not to answer them.

Casey streaked by with a friend.

Hank lifted his head from the task at hand. “Casey! Slow down, darlin’. The lifeguard will kick us all out, and Chris here hasn’t even had a chance to dip his toes in the water.” He sighed heavily. Would he survive this suburban weekend?

“Looks like you have your hands full.” The voice was soft and sultry and very familiar. But he’d heard so many new voices in the past twenty-four hours.

Peering up from under the brim of his Stetson, Hank saw a shapely silhouette etched against the early-afternoon sun. Shadow obscured the face, however.

“I don’t need the raft,” Chris said suddenly. He leaned close and whispered in Hank’s ear. “She’s even prettier than my teacher.” Before Hank could answer, the boy dashed off, executing a cannonball in the deep end of the pool.

“This seat taken?” That unmistakably feminine voice again.

“It is now. It’s yours.” Tipping his hat, Hank gallantly rose from his lounge chair while inwardly bemoaning the loss of his privacy. “Ma’am,” he added to give the invitation a distancing formality.

“Neesa. Please.”

Oh, that voice. Neesa Little of the angel blue eyes and the tiny red sports car. His suburban weekend just got more complicated.

Having fully expected that he’d never see the woman again, he’d allowed himself to flirt with her—just a little—yesterday evening when she’d come bearing chicken and dumplings. Damned good chicken and dumplings. But now here she stood, intending to occupy the lounge chair right next to him. Perhaps for the rest of the afternoon.

Regrets settled over him like dusk over the mountains, even as his pulse picked up in her presence.

Her beautiful blue eyes were covered with dark sun glasses, but her other attributes, covered only by a short. silky top, were much in evidence. He noticed for the first time that she wore no wedding ring. Trying to swallow, he found his tongue and throat uncommonly parched.

As Hank returned to a sitting position, Neesa lowered a small canvas bag to the pool deck, then spread a towel on the lounge next to his. Kicking off sandals, she perched, ramrod straight, hands folded in her lap, on the very end of her chair. “Well!” Her voice became breathy. Despite the pool paraphernalia, she didn’t look as if she came here often.

In fact, with her creamy smooth skin and delicate build, she didn’t look as if she was much the outdoors type at all.

The kids in the pool had taken up a raucous Marco Polo chant. Water from a particularly messy belly flop lapped its way along the decking toward their chairs. They both reached out at the same moment to rescue her canvas bag; their hands touched. Hank felt a fool as his heart began to hammer like a schoolboy’s.

“Sorry!” they said together, both recoiling.

The trickle of water edged closer.

Again, at the same time, they reached for the bag.

This time Hank gripped her hand firmly, then with his free hand scooped the bag to safety. He grinned. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”

She blushed.

Must be the heat, because he’d never considered himself a smooth operator.

To his surprise he found he still held her hand. Within his grasp her fingers were long and slender. Fragile. Her skin was warm and incredibly soft. Never before had he understood his parents’ constant hand-holding. Now he did. He could, quite simply, hold Neesa Little’s hand from now ill Georgians lost their drawl. It felt that good.

Glancing pointedly at their clasped hands, she cleared ier throat. Reluctantly he released her.

He wished she weren’t wearing those sunglasses. Eyes reflected much of what a person felt deep inside. As long is she kept hers covered, he felt at a disadvantage.

With abrupt businesslike gestures, she unzipped the can-was bag, then withdrew a laptop computer.

“Excuse me?” He couldn’t help himself. The hardware ooked so out of place amid the trappings of sun worship.

She gave a sheepish little shrug. “I thought I should get out and get some fresh air. But I was right in the middle of something.”

“Business or pleasure?”

“Business. But the fulfillment of it gives me pleasure.”

He found himself intrigued.

She flipped up the computer screen. “I’m creating Web rites for our hardest-to-place children.”

“Whoa!” He held up his hands. Our hardest-to-place children? “You’re going to have to back up for me.”

Slowly removing her sun glasses, she looked long and lard at him. The blue of her unshaded eyes took his breath away.

“Would you really like to hear about it?” she asked. “It’s a little complicated.”

He was struck then by how vulnerable she looked, even with her hands hovering efficiently above the high-tech keyboard. There was a quality of wistfulness that played about her pretty features. He suddenly felt an unaccountable but overwhelming urge to protect her.

“I really would like to know about the children,” he answered, fighting the attraction he felt for her.

“I work for a private agency called Georgia’s Waiting Children. We help government agencies find foster homes and adoptive homes for children with special needs.”

“Special needs?”

“These aren’t your healthy babies typically associated with adoption. These kids are older. They may have phys. ical, mental or emotional disabilities. Or they may be broth. ers and sisters who want to stay together.”

And she worked to help these children. Neesa Little rose in his estimation. “How exactly do you fit into the pro. cess?”

“I’m an idea person.” She lowered her gaze modestly “I think of programs to support the kids who may never leave state care. Programs like—” She frowned. Setting her chin resolutely, she looked him in the eyes again. “I try to think of new and innovative ways to make these children who need families visible to the public.”

“How?”

“You have to use every tool at your disposal. And lately I’ve been creating Web sites on the Internet.”

Hank shook his head. “I know I’m from a different era but the Internet?” Computers, to him, meant the games the Russell kids played or the business records he kept at the ranch. Period.

“It’s a natural.” She beamed, obviously warming to the subject, and in the process, warming the far reaches or Hank’s heart. “Anyone with access to a computer and connection to the Internet can learn about waiting children through color photographs and descriptions.”

“But this isn’t like casual shopping on-line at a clothing store. These are living, breathing kids.” Genuine concert crept into his words. He hoped the hell she saw them as children and not as some product.

“Believe me, we don’t treat the process as if it were casual shopping for a child.” She looked faintly horrified He took comfort in her reaction. “Very often this is the final recourse to finding good homes. After we’ve explored all other options. Our overriding motivation is our belief that every child deserves a loving home.”

“You said some of the kids have special needs.”

“Yes, and the Net surfer who is more than merely curious can go beyond instant profiles of the children. At the click of a mouse, they can also learn more about a child’s disability or special situation. We provide an extensive reference library.” Her eyes widened. “Of course the real identities of the children are well protected. The prospective parents must go through our agency or a government agency before they ever meet the child in person. Our screening process is stringent.” There was a fierce, protective pride in her eyes. “Our first concern is always the welfare of the child.”

Damn. He’d heard of everything now. The lovely, delicate-looking lady who sat before him was certainly made of stronger stuff than he’d first imagined. And what a coincidence: in a grander sense, she did with children what he did with his Noah’s ark animals. Her caring nature made the attraction he felt for her all the more difficult to fight. This weekend was not working out at all as he’d anticipated.

Neesa watched the color of Hank’s eyes change from dark midnight blue to a warmer cobalt. He seemed genuinely interested in her job. In the children.

Interested, yes, but when he finally found out about her proposed Kids & Animals program, would he be interested enough?

“So what do you do?” she asked brightly. She needed a more solid footing—a little voluntarily shared history—with him before she asked her enormous favor.

A large, colorful beach ball blew out of nowhere and into her lap. Casey Russell came running up, breathless. “Hank! We’re playing a game. But we need a very big person to be the goal post.”

Hank chuckled. “How flattering! No skills required. Just stand there, dumb as a post.”

Casey scooped up the beach ball. “Will you, huh?”

He gently tapped her on the nose. “Will you, please?”

“Pretty please, with whipped cream and a cherry on top!” The little girl batted. her eyelashes.

“How can I resist?” With a grin to set a heart aflutter, he rose from his lounge chair, laid the Stetson on his towel, took Casey by the hand, then followed her to the shallow end of the pool.

Neesa sighed. Would he ever tell her in his own words that he ran a ranch? She felt awkward now, coming out and explaining that she’d heard it through the grapevine. For some inexplicable reason she felt as. if this man wouldn’t like prying of any kind, either early or late.

Then, too, maybe Claire’s information wasn’t accurate. Maybe he wasn’t even a rancher.

Maybe she sat here, risking sunstroke and worse—risk—ing letting her hormones run amok—for a very attractive man who couldn’t offer her anything professionally and could only offer her the wrong things personally. Goodness, but she didn’t even know if he was married. She hadn’t noted a wedding ring, but that didn’t mean a fig....

In an attempt at self-protection, she again put on her sun glasses. Settling herself comfortably on the lounge chair, she made a show of working at her laptop. In reality she watched Hank Whittaker playing with the children in the pool.

The man was, she had to admit, irresistible. She noticed several of the moms sit up in their poolside chairs, suddenly much more attentive to their kids in the water.

With long, well-muscled arms and legs, big hands and a broad, tanned chest that indicated hard work out-of-doors, Hank Whittaker was a sight to behold. Exuding a patience Neesa couldn’t quite believe, he played goal post for the kids’ impromptu game. When interest in that particular game seemed to wane, he helped them think up a new game. And another. And yet another. He welcomed all omers. All ages. All skill levels. He refereed fairly and gently, making no child feel inadequate. In the middle of 11 those kids, he didn’t look at all like a lonesome cowboy. le looked, instead, like a man destined to head a large, ambunctious and ever-expanding family.

Maybe he already did.

Unaccountably, Neesa’s heart sank.

“Miss Neesa!” Called out in a deep masculine voice, he neighborhood children’s name for her startled her. We’re short one player for sharks and minnows.”

Glancing in Hank’s direction, she raised both hands and look her head, declining the offer. The children around lank groaned.

Hank waded through the water to the side of the pool ght at the end of her lounge chair. He crossed his arms n the cement edge, lowered his chin to his arms, then looked up at her with a dark and soulful, definitely-hard -resist gaze.

“Please.” He filled the one word with husky undercur ents, sending little shivers up Neesa’s arms. “For the ds.”

The man certainly knew which button to push.

“If I recall,” she replied, steadfastly holding out, “in tarks and minnows it doesn’t matter how many players you have.”

“Well...technically.” Hank grinned up at her. “But the ds get a kick out of pursuing really big minnows. I was eling kind of outnumbered.”

His eyes twinkled merrily. The man was actually being ayful. And far too sexy.

The foundation in Neesa’s resolve began to crumble. He cocked one dark eyebrow. “All work and no play...” Makes for a nice safe existence, Neesa finished mentally. e shook her head. If she got in that water, if she spent e afternoon horsing around with Hank Whittaker and his ng of neighborhood kids, if she let down her guard, she was in for trouble. Pure emotional trouble. She couldn’t afford that.

As Neesa tried to resist, Hank rallied reinforcements. This children he’d been playing with, one by one, swam to hi side. Cast baleful glances up at Neesa.

“Miss Neesa,” Chris Russell coaxed, “it’s always mon fun when we can capture an adult.”

Her dormant competitive nature awoke. “And who say any one of you could capture me?” She chuckled. “I swan on my college team.”

“Ooooh...” Rolling his eyes, Hank started the cheerfu taunt. The kids chimed in. “Ooooh...”

In the end, it wasn’t the dare that sucked Neesa into th game. It was the realization that she’d come to the pool to get a job done. She’d come there to get to know Han Whittaker better, so that if and when he finally talked about his ranch, she would feel comfortable broaching the subjec of Kids & Animals. She couldn’t do that if he remained i the water and she remained on the sidelines.

She rose and removed her silk wrapper. “All right.”

“All right!” the kids shouted, clambering out of the water onto the edge of the pool.

Hank remained in the water.

Neesa eyed him suspiciously. “I thought you, big mi now, needed reinforcements. You’re looking pretty shark like to me.”

“The lady’s very quick.” He winked at the gigglin kids.

“And you better be quick, Miss Neesa,” Casey Russe added, “’cause Hank will gobble you up in a minute.”

The look he shot her certainly made him appear capable of gobbling her up. But not in the way little Casey mean

Neesa shivered. “Can we get started? We’re freezing u here.” Freezing? Maybe not, but she was trembling.

“Yeah!” the kids chorused.

“Anytime you’re ready.” With a mock-sinister glan Hank began to circle in the center of the pool, never takin is eyes off his prey. “Dum-dum. Dum-dum. Dum-dum,” he chanted in movie-shark challenge.

The kids on the sidelines hopped from foot to foot and .ttered nervously.

“Now!” someone whispered loudly, and a dozen little odies plummeted into the water.

Keeping the mass of children between Hank and her, Neesa dove, stroked and came up effortlessly on the other ide of the pool. Climbing out, she noticed that Casey had een right. Hank had single-handedly captured a half dozen ids, turning them automatically into sharklets. The uncathed children flopped like manic fish onto the pool deck ng next to her.

Now the pool water roiled with the added predators. Caught up in the fun, Neesa grinned from ear to ear. If nly the kids her agency dealt with could have such careree afternoons. Specifically, she thought of the five Had-ways. She glanced at Hank, king shark, in the center of ne frolic. Thoroughly enjoying the kids. He’d help her, she ist knew it. He’d help her if she ever got a chance to talk bout his ranch.

“Now!” The minnow directive went out.

This time, with six added hungry sharks, crossing the ool would require more skill. This time Neesa dove to the ottom, then, with eyes wide open, maneuvered under the angle of thrashing arms and legs. She came up on the other ide of the pool with only one other uncaught minnow remaining.

“Shark bait! Shark bait!” the swimmers in the pool hanted gleefully as Neesa and the sole minnow child crambled onto the decking.

With a sharp whistle, Hank gathered his forces around im. Whispered a quick directive. Looked Neesa straight the eye, and declared, “You’re mine.”

Oh, my.

She had to remind herself that this was merely a game.

Her cominnow folded under the pressure. With a jubilant shriek of surrender, the child threw herself into the mids of the circling sharklets. Piscine hara-kari.

The entire group of noisy kids then swam to the edge of the pool to watch the climax—the big minnow-big sharl drama—unfold.

Good Lord, he was going to have to catch her. Toucl her. Because she was the last minnow, rules dictated i wouldn’t be enough for him to just touch her. He’d have to hold her so that she couldn’t make it to the other side of the pool. To asylum. The thought of those strong arm around her corroded her already-waning sense of safety Emotional safety.

It was very difficult to hold on to the thought that she was here on a professional mission.

From the middle of the pool, Hank grinned at her. Whit teeth in a tanned and rugged face. A sharky grin if she’d ever seen one. “Jaws” with sex appeal. His broad shoulde muscles glistened as he stroked the water. Waiting. Hi dark eyes held a challenging glint. The challenge, she feared, didn’t spring solely from the game. His gaze ho and compelling, he circled. This had suddenly stopped be ing childish fun.

Oh, it promised to be fun. But very adult fun.

Well, she’d be no pushover. She grinned back at him Then dove.

She felt the current next to her as he dove, too. Under water, glancing over her shoulder, she saw him right behind her, reaching out. She felt his hand graze the arch of he foot. Even knowing he’d have to hold her to claim victory she started at his touch. Expelled far too much air. Sav precious bubbles escape to the surface. It wouldn’t be lonj before she’d have to surface where it would be less eas, to maneuver.

She kicked. He grinned. For an instant, she got the im pression that he toyed with her.

Her heart beat faster. Her lungs began to ache. She wa out of shape. College swim team was a long way off. And for the past year after the divorce, she’d put fun—boisterous, all-out fun—on the back burner. It showed. She needed to surface.

She broke into the brilliant sunshine and blinked. Took a second to adjust. Wrong move. She felt him slither up the length of her and surface right beside her, his arms encircling her waist. His flesh hot against hers in the cool water.

She had only to admit defeat.

He pulled her gently to him. “You’re mine,” he breathed in her ear.

He had another think coming.

Because he expected her to surrender, she still had surprise on her side.

Quickly, she expelled all the air in her lungs. Mentally made herself heavy and reed thin. Raised her hands over her head and sank like a slippery eel through his light grasp. As she slid away, her fingertips grazed his rock hard chest, his lean hips, his thighs. She almost regretted pulling away.

Almost.

But the thought of him, just seconds ago, assuming he’d won the prize made her feisty. After Paul, her ex-husband, she’d be no man’s trophy ever again. Not even in a kids’ game.

With all her might, she kicked, reached out and touched the safety of the pool wall. Her lungs empty and burning, she kicked once more with enough effort to propel her over the side onto the decking. She lay gasping and grinning, her fist raised.

“Power to the minnows!” she declared gleefully before her words dissolved in a fit of coughing.

My, my. Hank watched her from the middle of the pool. For a little bitty thing she had some fight in her. He liked a woman with some gumption.

The kids hooted.

“Another game,” Chris Russell demanded. “This time Miss Neesa should be shark. She’s awesome.” How fickle fame and favor.

Rising, Neesa reached for her towel. “Not right now.” Her smile dazzled. “This minnow needs a break.”

“Later?”

“Maybe.”

“Hank?” The kids pressed around him.

He’d played enough for the moment. “How do you think this defeated shark feels?” He pulled a face as the children groaned in unison. “Y’all play amongst yourselves. I’ll take you on in a little bit. Right now I need something cool to drink.”

Right now he wanted to find out more about Neesa Little. A woman with a laptop who’d come to the pool prepared to work, but who’d played—and played hard—instead. A woman with the face of an angel who must seem like a guardian angel to children without homes. A woman who, right from the moment he’d spotted her at the bus stop, seemed to exert some mysterious pull over him.

He hauled himself out of the water and onto the pool edge, mentally noting that he had no intention of starting anything—anything at all—with Neesa Little, the suburban beauty. He was just curious. Heck, he’d probably never see the woman again after he retreated to his ranch on Monday. Their worlds were that different.

But right now he was curious.

As he reached for his towel, she smiled up at him from her seat on the lounge chair, and his curiosity felt uncomfortably like attraction.

“So, sharkmeister,” she said, her blue eyes dancing, “what are you in the work world? Teacher? Cruise director? Game show host? If so, you’re good at what you do.”

He rubbed the towel vigorously over his chest and arms. “Rancher.”

In a small birdlike gesture, she tilted her face. “In Georgia?” Despite the question, she didn’t seem surprised.

“I raise draft horses and train them to be loggers.” Without the children about them, he’d gone unaccountably reticent. He didn’t want to talk about himself. He wanted to listen to her talk.

“Is your ranch near?”

“Not too far.” He didn’t want to give out too much information. Not even to an angel with blue eyes. His ranch was his business and his life, not a showpiece. And he was damned protective of his refuge. His solitary life. Damned choosy about the people he allowed beyond the front gate. Even in conversation.

A curious expression passed over her face. She altered the topic slightly. “What brings a rancher to Holly Mount subdivision?”

He sat, uncomfortable now, and scowled out over the pool and the kids frolicking noisily. “Evan Russell’s my cousin. I’m watching over his kids so that he and Cilla can...get away for the weekend.” He wouldn’t discuss Evan and Cilla’s marital problems. Blood loyalty.

“Well, you’re terrific with kids.”

Yeah, he was. He flat-out loved kids. Wished he could raise a whole bunch of his own out at the ranch. His scowl deepened. The problem was that kids were a package deal that came with marriage and happily ever after; in his experience, he hadn’t seen too much relationship happily ever after. His Pa had died of a broken heart. His own fiancée had left him, almost at the altar. And now Evan and Cilla’s relationship was in serious trouble. Hell, he knew the divorce statistics.

Pain. That’s what the flame of passion ended in.

Heck. He might harbor the nesting urge—deep down inside—but he remained realistic. Cautious. He planned to enjoy his cousins and nieces and nephews, for, as much as he loved children, he might have to forgo the pleasures of fatherhood to avoid the pain of commitment. Despite his longing for married family life, he knew the odds of finding the right woman.

A sour outlook if ever there was one. But practical. His scowl was now so tight he could see the shadows of his own eyebrows.

“I’m sorry if I touched on a sore spot.” Neesa’s soft voice startled him.

He glanced to his right and discovered her watching him. Great. He needed a pair of cloud-soft eyes prodding him like a horse needed wings. He’d known this weekend was going to be tough; no day at the ranch; taking care of the kids; the normal parenting routine. But the kids had been great. However, the suburban distraction—namely dainty Neesa Little—was doing him in. He wished it were Monday.

Neesa couldn’t get over the change in Hank.

Minutes ago he’d been grinning. Relaxed and playful. Flirtatious even. Now he looked liked a thunderstorm rising. What had happened? Had her few questions precipitated this change? The fact that she had a motive for her curiosity made her feel just the tiniest bit guilty.

“It’s nothing,” he replied, his words a barely controlled growl.

“Perhaps I’d better go.”

“No!” The force of that one word hung in the air. “I mean...” He reached in the cooler for two cans of soft drink and seemed to be reaching for an explanation—or composure—as well. “It was just some serious business that came to mind. Don’t let it spoil your time in the sun.”

He obviously had let it spoil his.

He handed her a soft drink. He didn’t smile, but his expression wasn’t quite as fearsome as before. “At least let the shark buy the conquering minnow a drink.”

He was certainly a complex one, this Mr. Hank Whittaker. Rancher.

Accepting the soft drink, she searched for a new topic of conversation. He wasn’t the easiest man to be with, but, with the deadline pressure for Kids & Animals, she needed him. Needed to keep him talking. Just now the subject of kids had, strangely enough, brought on his beetled-brow silence. She racked her brain for some new avenue of conversation. Something that would make her sound casually curious. Not prying.

“I think every girl loves horses at one point or another in her childhood,” she began. “I was no different. What’s it like to work with them? Especially the big ones. Draft horses that you train to be loggers, didn’t you say?”

He seemed to relax. Clearly animals were a safe topic. “Percherons,” he said with pride. “And red Suffolks. Real beauties.”

“And the logging training...is that for competition?”

“No, ma’am. It’s a living. Logging as it was done in the mountains a century ago. It’s a highly selective method that minimizes damage to old-growth forests.”

What a picture that brought to mind. Rugged Hank Whittaker behind a team of powerful draft horses. In control. Logging the north Georgia mountains. The great outdoors and one great-looking guy, to boot. “Now that would be something to see,” she said almost to herself.

“I don’t give tours,” he replied gruffly.

What a conversation stopper. It looked as if Kids & Animals was slipping into the netherworld of terrific yet unrealized ideas.

Saving Neesa the task of thinking up another change of subject, Chris and Casey came scampering up.

Rummaging in the cooler, Chris flashed her a grin. “You’re good at sharks and minnows.”

“Thanks.”

Casey wrapped herself in a towel as big as herself. “You can play with us anyday.”

“Yeah,” Chris agreed. “Like tomorrow.”

Hank scowled.

“I don’t think I’ll be coming to the pool tomorrow.” Neesa could read Hank’s admonitory frown loud and clear. For whatever reason, it was becoming obvious that he wouldn’t be overjoyed to repeat their meeting. Surely she could dream up a more biddable sponsor by Monday.

“Not at the pool.” Casey sidled up to Hank. “We’re having a picnic at Hank’s ranch tomorrow. Miss Neesa can come too, can’t she, Hank?”

Hank looked as stunned as Neesa felt.

“Oh, I...I...” Neesa stammered, conflicting feelings pulling at her.

“Pretty please?” Casey wrapped her arms around Hank’s neck.

“Please?” echoed Chris.

Knitting his brows, Hank cleared his throat. “It’s up to Miss Neesa.” His words sounded gruff as he shot her a pointed look, clearly warning her off.

“Sure,” she replied without further thought.

Oh, heck. He wasn’t the only one who couldn’t resist kids.


Chapter Three

She was in trouble.

Neesa maneuvered her car under the Whispering Pines sign. The bright May sunshine danced shadows over the empty passenger seat. Hank had neither asked for a ride nor offered to give her a ride with Chris and Casey. Heck. Yesterday he’d barely been able to growl out directions to his ranch. She was definitely persona non grata at this picnic. A troublesome addition. As welcome as ants and rain. Here only because of the two little Russells’ enthusiasm and persistent pleas. She should know better than to go where she wasn’t wanted.

But, having seen Hank Whittaker interact with children, she couldn’t resist the opportunity to see his ranch. She had a feeling that if she minded her p’s and q’s today, she might provide her agency’s kids with a golden opportunity. If she found an opportunity to broach the subject, the Hank who liked children would come through for Kids & Animals. He had to.

Even if he did come through, she was still in trouble.

Emotional trouble.

This had not proved to be her normal weekend. Not at all. Her normal weekend consisted of trips to the library to research the latest child advocacy programs, or popcorn and milk in front of the stereo as she tapped out Web sites on her laptop. Occasionally Claire and Robert would come by and drag her out to a movie. But never in the past year had she spent two days playing.

And playing with children.

A tiny, well-disciplined pain tugged at her heart. She could handle working with the kids at the agency. They needed her. There simply was no question that she’d help them. But weekends in the suburbs were tough. Happy children. Happy families. Always reminding her of her inability to bear children. Always reminding her of Paul’s disgust at that fact. His leaving because of it.

Her need to protect her emotional vulnerability where children were involved was the reason the big For Sale sign stood in her front yard. A condo in an urban adult complex would be a much safer residence, considering her particular circumstances.

She shook her head to clear her thoughts and concentrated on the winding dirt road before her, the property spreading out on either side.

Such a piece of property.

Rolling pastureland, rimmed with tall pines. The biggest horses she’d ever seen, grazing contentedly just beyond the fence. Blue sky. Puffy clouds. Butterflies fluttering just above the grass. And the sweet smell of the earth. Hank Whittaker certainly had himself a little slice of heaven.

It wasn’t long before Neesa could see a sprawling house in the distance, a grove of pecan trees arched protectively about it, a barn not far from the house. This was a very private little slice of heaven. Her heart did a flip-flop at the audacity of her intrusion.

Finally pulling her car up close to the front veranda, she debated turning around and heading right back to Holly Mount, where she would plug in her laptop and salvage a normal weekend—Sunday alone and dedicated to work. But then Hank stepped onto the veranda from the interior of the house.

And Neesa found herself unable to move in her seat.

The tall, whipcord-lean man framed in the dark doorway, belonged to another time and place. A time of rugged individualists. A place that bred true grit and free spirits. Even in the veranda’s shadows his eyes flashed strength and determination.

Surely a determination to hasten her departure, Neesa thought as, with her own brand of true grit, she opened the car door and set foot on Whittaker land. He might not have extended the invitation, but she’d been given one, nonetheless, and she would make the most of it.

“Any trouble getting that roller skate over the bumps in the lane?” Sauntering down the front steps, he cocked his head at her sports car.

Her pulse performed a tiny riff at the sound of his gravelly voice. Why did she always seem in danger of losing her professional perspective when Hank came around?

Trying to pull her small frame taller, she engineered what she hoped was an enthusiastic and guileless expression on her face, then looked him right in the eyes. “Not at all. I’m an excellent driver. And I love a good adventure.”

His dark eyes seemed to go a shade darker. “I just bet.”

Well, now. The day was not off to a good start.

Stay on task. Stay on task Stay on task, she repeated in a mental mantra.

“Where are Chris and Casey?” she asked, discovering to her chagrin that her voice echoed the catch in her heartbeat.

“Helping Reba pack the picnic basket.”

“Reba?” His wife. Surely his wife.

“My housekeeper.”

“Oh.” She hoped her smile hadn’t suddenly broadened into a revealing smirk. “What’s for lunch?” she added lamely.

One corner of his mouth twitched. “Bubble gum and tortilla chips if Casey and Chris have anything to say about it”

She breathed a little sigh of relief at the lightening of his words. “Do you have time to give me a tour?” She might as well be bold. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. And if she could get him alone, he might be less distracted. She might be able to ask him about Kids & Animals sooner than if the Russell children demanded their attention. At least, that sounded like good motivation.

Who was she trying to fool?

He stiffened. And scowled. Obviously the idea of spending time alone with her didn’t strike him as dandy.

“Of course he’ll give you a tour.” The sandpaper voice came from behind her.

Neesa turned to see a wiry old man surveying the two of them with profound satisfaction.

“I’m Willy. Hank’s foreman.” He extended his bony hand. “I’ll keep Reba and the kids company while you take a little walk. At least show the lady Noah’s ark.”

“Noah’s ark?” Neesa turned to Hank for an explanation, but intercepted, instead, a thunderous expression aimed at Willy.

“Hank’ll explain everything.” Willy gave the two an impatient push toward the barn. “While you’re walkin’.”

Abruptly turning his back on Willy, Hank strode at Neesa’s side. Silently. With a masculine grace that exuded power. And a simmering hostility. To her dismay, Neesa suddenly realized that this glowering cowboy was going to be a far greater distraction than either of the Russell children could think to be.

How would she ever find an opening to propose Kids & Animals?

Hank focused on the barn. And on the hundred different slow and torturous ways for firing Willy. The meddling old fool. The meddling old matchmaking fool. It was Hank’s bad luck that he loved the persistent codger.

For a lot of different reasons, Hank didn’t want this woman on his ranch. By his side. She didn’t belong on any ranch. Not with her elegant blouse and trim slacks and shoes unfit for walking a barnyard. But here she was. Uninvited. Well, Chris and Casey—But anyone would have had sense enough to decline the kids’ invitation. Anyone with the sense they were born with.

He glanced sideways at her. A little bitty thing. Why, he bet he could cup her whole head in the palm of one hand. Let that silky blond hair slide over his wrist and arm...

Beetling his brow, he attempted to corral his wayward thoughts.

He needed to be civil to her for the sake of Chris and Casey. At the same time he needed to hasten her departure from Whispering Pines, making it crystal clear that today’s tour was not to be repeated. His solitary refuge would not be violated again. Especially not by a fragile suburban princess with an impractical sports car that couldn’t even haul a decent bale of hay.

“What exactly is this Noah’s ark Willy spoke of?” Her voice shimmied over his senses like a warm spring rain.

He made the mistake of looking at her.

Lordy, but her blue-eyed gaze was enough to melt a man’s heart.

“It’s no Noah’s ark,” he muttered, trying desperately to rein in this pesky, unwanted attraction he felt for her. “That’s just what Willy calls the few animals I’ve rescued.”

“Rescued?” The light in her eyes softened considerably.

“It’s no big deal.” He didn’t want her thinking he was some kind of hero. “They’re just animals that have needed a place to heal. Or retire.”

“Draft horses?”

“No.” The corner of his mouth twitched in a beginning smile despite himself. “Take a look.” They’d come to the small, fenced pasture behind the barn. Whistling softly, he pointed to the far corner.

A llama stood watch over three sheep. The beast’s big ears twitched like furry antennae. But he didn’t move. He had a job to do. Hank had discovered that llamas make terrific sheep herders, protectively regarding their wards as dimwitted distant cousins.

“That’s Fancy,” Hank said, “and the Three Musketeers.”

“You’ve taken in a llama?” Amusement tinged her words.

Hank put his foot on the bottom rung of the fence, leaned his arms on the top. Looked out over the pasture rather than at Neesa beside him. “And the sheep. And Amos the pig, Bowser the dog, Miss Kitty, several Canada geese, and Gizmo the mule. A regular petting zoo.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her place those delicate white hands on the top fence rail, then rest her chin on her hands. “What a wonderful place for children,” she said, almost to herself.

“Chris and Casey don’t seem to object,” he replied brusquely, thinking with regret that cousins, nephews and nieces would be the only children on this ranch if he didn’t meet his dream woman. And soon.

He felt her hand, small and warm, on his arm. “How did this get started?”

Against his will, he looked at her and saw admiration in her face. Hell, he didn’t want her admiration. He wanted her to go home.

“Look, it was an accident the way it started out. People just dumped unwanted cats and dogs at the head of the lane.” He didn’t want her thinking he was some softhearted, save-the-animals kind of pushover.

“And?”

“And...I took them in to the animal shelter where they could be adopted.”

Neesa smiled, and Hank thought his dried-up heart grew two sizes.

“That doesn’t account for the llama.” She increased the wattage on the smile. “And the others.”

Dazzled, he forgot he was supposed to be merely civil to the woman until she took the hint to vamoose. “When I took the dogs and cats in, I found out that most of them would find a home. But there were other animals at the shelter—novelty pets whose novelty had worn off as they grew beyond the cute stage. Like Amos the Vietnamese pot-bellied pig.”

“And Fancy.” She squeezed his arm gently.

His mouth felt dry, his tongue too slow. “And Fancy,” he repeated dully, wishing to the devil that she’d stop smiling. Would take her hand away from his arm where it felt too good. Far too good.

“And?” She looked up at him as if he were something special. As if he were Noah himself.

“The shelter coordinator knew I had a ranch. Asked if I’d take a few of the animals that needed space. It’s that simple.” He stepped back from the fence and ran his fingers through his hair just to dislodge her hand from his arm.

“What about the Canada geese?” She looked as if she actually cared.

“Wounded. Some kids with a bow and arrow. Folks knew of the few strays I’d taken in. Brought the geese here.” He hadn’t spoken so many words to a woman not Reba in he-didn’t-know-how-many years. Suddenly he felt self-conscious. The barnyard felt airless. “I think we’d better check on the kids.”

“Okay.” She cheerfully fell into step at his side. “As long as you promise I can pet the llama later.”

If he could help it, there would be no later. A quick lunch. Civil but quick. A walk to her car and goodbye. The woman made him uneasy by her mere presence. Her delicate made-for-the-suburbs presence. And her questions and her interest made him very uneasy, too.




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