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Big Sky Reunion
Charlotte Carter


Back in Potter Creek, Montana, to help her ailing aunt, Melinda Spencer reopens Aunt Martha's knitting shop. She's hoping for purpose and much-needed work. But she never expects to encounter stubborn cowboy Daniel O'Brien. He is nothing like Melinda remembers from high school…except for the expression of reverent tenderness when the handsome rancher looks at her. But how can she open up about her painful past when Daniel can barely talk about his own? With love–and the Lord's guidance–this reunion just might last forever.









“The shop’s not open,” Melinda called from behind the counter.


“Your door is.” Daniel’s boots tramped across the wood floor until his long, jean-clad legs materialized in front of the display case. “Hey, Goldilocks. Looks like you’re hard at work.”

“I am.” Melinda considered asking him if he’d enjoyed his date with April, but thought better of it. Instead, she squirted window cleaner on the next section of glass.

“Is Aunt Martha planning to reopen the shop?”

“We’re thinking about it.” She swirled the glass cleaner around, blurring her view of his legs.

“That a fact?” he drawled, an arrogant grin in his voice. “Want some help?”

She lifted her head too fast, whacking it on the inside of the display case. She rubbed the back of her skull.

“No! I’m fine.” She looked up at him. Foolish woman! She should’ve known he’d be grinning at her, a grin that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made his dark eyes flash with amusement.




CHARLOTTE CARTER


A multipublished author of more than fifty romances, cozy mysteries and inspirational titles, Charlotte Carter lives in Southern California with her husband of forty-nine years and their cat, Mittens. They have two married daughters and five grandchildren. When she’s not writing, Charlotte does a little stand-up comedy, “G-Rated Humor for Grownups,” and teaches workshops on the craft of writing.




Big Sky Reunion

Charlotte Carter







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


Blessed are those whose transgressions are forgiven, whose sins are covered. Blessed is the one whose sin the Lord will never count against them.

—Romans 4:7, 8


Special thanks to Nancy Farrier for sharing her knowledge of the inspirational market, helping me with the plot and for simply being a really nice person.




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

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Letter to Reader (#litres_trial_promo)

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION (#litres_trial_promo)




Chapter One


“Hey, look who’s back in town. Goldilocks.”

Melinda Spencer whirled. Shock slammed into her like a runaway truck. Her eyes widened and she took a step back.

Gazing down at her was the original bad boy of Potter Creek, Montana. His dark eyes held the same teasing glint she remembered from ten years ago. His easy slouch and the cocky way his Stetson sat tipped back on his head suggested he hadn’t changed one whit since she last saw him.

Since the day she’d gotten on a bus to hightail her way out of Montana and back to her home in Pittsburgh. She’d lost her heart to this dark-eyed Romeo.

She narrowed her eyes and folded her arms across her chest. “Hello, Daniel. I thought you’d be long gone from here by now.” Probably in jail or killed in a bar fight.

One corner of his mouth kicked up a notch. “Nope. This is my hometown. I’m here to stay.”

“Good for you,” she said, deadpan. She turned her back on him to finish the task he’d interrupted, unlocking the door to Aunt Martha’s Knitting and Notions shop. The silly key didn’t want to work, which had nothing to do with her fingers that had suddenly turned clumsy.

“What brings you to town?” Daniel asked.

She went still for a moment, then looked over her shoulder. “Aunt Martha had a stroke. I brought her home from the rehab facility this morning. I’m here to take care of her.”

“So you’re not planning to stay long?”

“I’ll stay as long as she needs me.” In truth, she didn’t have much of anywhere else to go, but she wasn’t going to tell Daniel O’Brien that.

She resumed her efforts with the obstinate key.

“Here, let me help you.”

He reached around her, his hand closing over hers, his fingers long and deeply tanned. His forearm had a light covering of dark hair over corded muscles. He was too close, so close she caught the scent of the prairie on his shirt and the unique masculine aroma that was his alone.

Memories of being seventeen years old and foolish assailed her. Memories she’d never been able to completely bury even when she’d married another boy, the one who had taken her to the senior prom.

She yanked her hand away, her heart thudding like the hooves of a quarter horse galloping across the open landscape.

The lock released its grip on the door. Daniel shoved it open.

“There you go, Goldilocks. Welcome to Aunt Martha’s Knitting and Notions.” With a mock bow, he gestured for her to enter the small shop.

Instead she held out her hand. “The key.”

His eyes twinkling, his lips curved upward, he dropped it in her hand.

“Thank you.” She stepped inside, intending to close the door behind her, leaving him standing on the cracked sidewalk that ran the length of Main Street.

No such luck.

Like a predator on the prowl, he slipped past her and sauntered into the store.

Bins for yarn lined two walls from floor to ceiling, but many were empty. Other bins were a jumble, worsteds mixed with baby weight yarn, variegated and solid colors randomly mingled in the same bin. The display rack for knitting needles, crochet hooks, stitch markers and other notions canted at a precarious angle and the pattern books tucked into a pocket display looked as though they’d been published in the 1950s.

In a back corner of the room sat a table and six unmatched dining room chairs that had been used for knitting classes. Odds and ends of yarn were scattered about the table.

Daniel picked up a skein of merino yarn and tossed it gently in the air, catching it and tossing it again as a young boy might toss a baseball. In no way, however, did Daniel O’Brien resemble anything other than a full-grown cowboy with an attitude.

“It smells musty in here. Better leave the door open and air out the place.” He tossed the skein back in the bin where he’d found it.

Melinda wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think that Aunt Martha has opened the store in weeks.” Martha, even at age eighty-two, had always been lively and energetic, busy in the community and with her church work, until the stroke felled her. Or so Melinda had thought.

From the disarray in the shop and out-of-date stock, she suspected her great-aunt hadn’t spent a lot of time serving her customers in recent years. Assuming she had any customers left.

Her shoulders sank. Not only had she planned to help her aunt during her recovery, but she’d also desperately hoped to turn Aunt Martha’s Knitting and Notions into a profitable business that would support them both.

Apparently God didn’t care what she wanted. Not that she deserved His help.

Still skulking around and poking into things, Daniel said, “I heard you got married a while back. Your husband come to town with you?”

Despite the ten-inch needle of grief that stabbed her in the chest, she lifted her chin. “I’m widowed.”

That stopped him in his tracks. The teasing glint vanished from his eyes and his brows tugged together. “I’m sorry. I hadn’t heard that.” He lifted his Stetson, ran his fingers through his thick, dark hair and resettled his hat. “You got kids?”

“No.” No husband. No child—not anymore. She’d as much as killed them both with her own hand. Her chin quivered. She bit down on her lip, turned away and walked behind the counter to the ancient cash register.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to check the inventory and some of Aunt Martha’s records.” She looked at him expectantly, willing him to leave.

He straightened to his full six feet two. “You want me to get lost.”

“Yes, please.” Her teeth clenched.

He shrugged, an easy roll of broad shoulders beneath a blue work shirt that pulled tautly across his chest. He’d filled out in the past ten years and looked as though he was used to hard work. Which, remembering his wildness, the way he’d loved to party and drive at reckless speeds, was hard for her to believe.

“Then I’ll catch you later, Goldilocks.” He winked and ambled to the door.

She watched him walk down the sidewalk past the shop’s dusty display window, all loose limbs and easy gate. His buddies used to call him Swagger.

He called her Goldilocks.

“My name is Melinda,” she whispered to herself. Goldilocks and her wide-eyed innocence no longer existed. That foolish person had endured a painful death along with her son, Jason.

Daniel still had that arrogant swagger that had hooked her the moment he’d walked across Riverside Park to stand two feet in front of her. In a low, husky voice, he’d said, “Hi, Goldilocks. Wanna go for a ride in my truck?”

To her dismay, a part of her still did.



Daniel reached his pickup parked a few doors down from Martha’s shop. He’d driven into town to pick up a prescription from the pharmacy. When he’d spotted Goldilocks, he’d been so surprised that a dust devil racing across the prairie could’ve blown him over.

Opening the truck door, he smiled to himself. He would’ve recognized her golden curls from a mile away. Long and bouncy and woven of pure silk.

A city girl, she’d been sent out west to spend the summer with her great-aunt Martha before her final year of high school. Daniel had spotted her right off then, too. Even knowing she was too young and he ought to keep his distance, he’d been drawn to her like a horse to a quartered apple in his hand.

He’d teased and cajoled and lured her with every bit of charm he had.

But Miss Goody Two-Shoes had won out. She told him no and skedaddled back home to Pittsburgh without so much as a wave goodbye.

That hadn’t done his ego a bit of good. Not that his ego hadn’t needed a good kick in the butt back then.

She was different now. Older. Maybe wiser. A widow with a hint of sadness shadowing her baby-blue eyes. No longer a girl, now she was a full-grown woman.

But she hadn’t given him a single sign that Goldilocks had any interest in a second time around.

He climbed into the cab of the extended pickup, which was baking hot from sitting out in the summer sun.

He wondered how long she’d stay in Potter Creek this time. Long enough for him to get a second chance to prove he wasn’t a worthless cowboy?

Sweat crept down his back and he licked his lips. It might be worth a shot—if she stuck around for a while.

The O’Brien ranch lay a little northwest of Potter Creek, less than thirty minutes away. Daniel and his older brother, Arnie, ran a hundred head of beef cattle on the place and Daniel pursued his passion for breeding quarter horses. His mares had foaled some of the top-ranked quarter horses in the state and he got big bucks for his stallions to service mares owned by other horse owners.

Turning off the highway, he drove under the wrought-iron arch at the entrance to O’Brien Ranch and bumped over the cattle guard. The driveway bordered the horse pasture on the right and led to a two-story white house his grandfather had built.

A house and ranch his father had nearly destroyed in a drunken haze that lasted around fifty years, until his death.

April, his favorite sorrel mare, trotted over to the fence. He tooted his horn and she shook her blond mane in response, keeping pace with the truck until she reached the end of the pasture.

He pulled the truck up next to the barn and parked just as Arnie came out of the open double doors riding his shiny red ATV.

“Yo, bro.” Daniel swung down from the truck. “What’s happening?”

Using hand controls, Arnie brought the ATV to a halt. His dog, Sheila, a golden retriever mix, sat proudly behind him. “What I want to know is what took you so long, Danny boy. Had Doc Harper gone fishing?”

Daniel slapped himself on the forehead. Doc Harper was the town pharmacist. “The prescription. I forgot to pick it up.”

Arnie gave him a steady-eyed look and slowly raised his brows. Although they both had inherited their mother’s olive complexion and the telltale cheekbones of the Blackfoot Indians, Arnie’s upper body was more muscular than Daniel’s. His legs, though, had withered considerably since the accident that had paralyzed him eight years ago.

“You got distracted, I gather,” he said.

“Yep, you could say that.”

“Good lookin’?”

Heat from more than the sun flooded Daniel’s cheeks. “Mindy Spencer’s back in town.” He used the nickname for Melinda that family and close friends used. “She’s helping her aunt.”

Arnie’s eyes widened and he tilted his head. “If Ivy hears about Mindy, she might not be too happy.”

Scowling, Daniel shook his head. “Ivy doesn’t have any claim on me.”

“She’d sure like to.” Taking off his hat, Arnie wiped the sweat from the inside of the hat band. “Is Mindy planning to stay permanently?”

“She said not.”

“Interesting.” Arnie shifted the ATV into gear. “Have a nice ride back to town.”

Daniel held out his hands, palms up. “Ah, come on, Arnie. The prescription can wait till tomorrow, can’t it?”

“Tomorrow’s Sunday. Doc Harper closes up shop on Sundays.” He drove the ATV to the back porch of the house. Sheila agilely jumped down and waited while Arnie unloaded the wheelchair from the back of the all-terrain vehicle. Using a trapeze device Daniel had jerry-rigged for him, Arnie lifted himself out of the ATV and into the chair. “Say hello to Mindy for me next time you see her.”

Daniel jammed his hands in his pockets. “Yeah. Right.”

Chortling a big-brother laugh that put Daniel’s teeth on edge, Arnie wheeled himself up the ramp and into the house, Sheila right behind him, ready to be of service whenever she was needed.

Yanking open the truck door, Daniel got inside. He’d go into town. Get the prescription. And come right back. Like he was supposed to have done the first time.

Unless Goldilocks was still hanging around the knitting shop.

Then he might stick around for a while.




Chapter Two


Head down, her footsteps as slow as a desert tortoise, Melinda left Knitting and Notions to walk the short distance to Aunt Martha’s house.

She hadn’t spent long in the shop after Daniel left. Realizing how much needed to be done to get the store up and running was a daunting prospect. First, a top-to-bottom cleaning would be needed, followed by rearranging the stock and ordering new yarns and notions. Advertisements would have to be created and placed in the local biweekly newspaper, flyers made and posted around town about classes and special activities.

To make the shop a profitable venture, she’d have to attract customers not only from Potter Creek and its five thousand residents, but from the surrounding area, as well. Which meant she’d be competing with shops in Bozeman, less than an hour away.

Daunting was an understatement.

For as long as Melinda could remember, Martha had lived in a small one-story stucco house facing Second Street, directly behind the shop. The large backyard used to be a riot of color during the summer, roses in full bloom, morning glories scampering up a trellis, beds of purple iris and lilac bushes. Ten years ago Melinda had helped her aunt put up jars and jars of vegetables she’d grown in her garden, most of which she’d given to the church’s food pantry to help the poor.

Now the yard had gone scraggly and overgrown. Only the indestructible morning glories struggled onward and upward, covering the trellis with bright blue flowers.

The house looked as ragged as the yard with its chipped paint and dangling window screens.

Guilt punched a hole in Melinda’s chest. A knot tightened in her stomach. So much had changed in the past ten years. She should have kept better track of her aunt’s situation instead of focusing only on her own problems.

For three agonizing years, she’d devoted her life, day and night, to Jason. The last two she’d rarely left his side or thought of anything but his well-being.

The steps wobbled as she walked up onto the porch where a wicker slider sat, dusty and abandoned.

In the kitchen, which featured a circa-1950 chrome-and-Formica table and a white tile counter, the dishes she’d washed after their lunch sat drying on the drain board. From the living room, she heard the sound of the TV playing.

Aunt Martha sat in her favorite wingback chair, the remote control in her hand, her walker right next to her chair. Her collapsible wheelchair was in the front entry if she needed it.

“Hello, Mindy, dear. Did you pick out some yarn while you were in the shop?” Due to the stroke, the right side of Martha’s mouth didn’t work quite right and her speech was slightly slurred. Her hair had long since gone from the blond of her youth to silver-gray, and her face was lined from a lifetime of Montana sunshine and hours of hearty laughter.

“Not today. I brought along a sweater I’ve been meaning to finish for ages. I’ll work on that first.” She picked up the newspaper Martha had dropped on the floor and set it on the coffee table. “Anything I can get for you?”

“No, I’m fine. I don’t want you to trouble yourself over me.”

“That’s why I’m here, Aunt Martha. Have you done your afternoon exercises yet?”

“Oh, pshaw, child. Those therapists at Manhattan Rehab purely wore me out. I’m taking today off.”

Frowning, Melinda picked up the rubber ball her aunt was supposed to squeeze multiple times during the day and handed it to Martha. “You aren’t going to be able to knit a stitch if you don’t get your strength back in your hands.”

Martha looked up over the top of her glasses at Melinda. “You’ve turned into a bossy little thing, haven’t you, child?” With a funny twist of her lips, and considerable effort, she held out her hand for the ball.

Melinda placed it in her palm. “Now squeeze.”

Martha did as instructed.

Sitting down in the floral-print love seat, Melinda stretched out her legs. She wiggled her toes in her sandals. She wasn’t wearing polish on her toenails and idly wondered if Daniel had noticed.

Rejecting the thought, she sat up straighter, pulling her feet closer to the sofa.

“Before your stroke, were you still teaching knitting classes?”

“Oh, my goodness, no, dear. Young people don’t seem so interested in knitting these days and most of the ladies who used to come into the shop have either died or moved into an old folks’ home in Bozeman or Manhattan. Unless someone called for something special, I’ve hardly opened the door for the past year or so.”

Which explained both the obstinate key and the disarray in the shop. Melinda puffed out her cheeks on a long exhale.

“I was thinking… I thought I might reopen the shop.” She chose her words carefully. Her heart stuttered in the same uncertain rhythm. “Maybe stay in Potter Creek permanently.”

Eyes widening and a lopsided smile creasing her cheeks, Martha said, “That would be so nice, dear, but are you sure you want to be stuck in a small town like Potter Creek? There isn’t much for young people to do here.”

Then why had Daniel stuck around?

“You remember, I was managing a knitting and needlework store until—” her voice broke and she struggled to keep a tremor from her lips “—until Jason got so sick.”

“That poor little boy. I was so sorry—”

“The shop built up a really nice clientele,” she hurried on, unwilling and unable to talk about her son. “Mostly women, of course, but quite a few young mothers. Even some teenagers. The classes were filled all of the time and we kept adding new ones.”

Moving her right arm awkwardly, Martha put the rubber ball in her lap. “Is that what you’d like to do with my shop?”

“After your hospital social worker called me about your discharge plan, I got to thinking about the shop and how much you’d taught me that summer I visited. I wouldn’t do anything with the shop without your approval.” She did need to keep busy, though. She couldn’t go on wallowing in self-pity and isolating herself from human contact as she had for the past six months.

Using her left hand, Martha lifted her right hand and brought them both to her chest. “Praise the Lord! I’ve been praying He’d give me a sign of what I should do. Now God has answered my prayer and sent you to me.”

Slanting her gaze to the worn and faded Oriental carpet on the floor, Melinda shook her head. “I don’t think I’m God’s answer to anything. But I do need to work, Aunt Martha.” Regret and grief nearly choking her, she lifted her head. “I’m broke. I had to declare bankruptcy last month.” Enormous medical bills had taken every dime she’d received after her husband’s death—a death benefit from the defense contractor who’d employed him as a civilian truck driver in Afghanistan. An IED had blown up under his vehicle. Even then, she’d still owed thousands of dollars for Jason’s care. She’d had no choice but to file for bankruptcy and start over again.

Alone.

Desperately trying to stitch her life back together again.

“I’m so sorry, Mindy. If I’d known…”

She tried to shrug off her aunt’s sympathy, but it felt like ice picks were being jammed into her spine one after the other, cutting off the messages from her brain to her muscles. The pain paralyzed her.

“Of course you can run the shop, dear. I won’t be of much help, but I’m sure you have some wonderful ideas.”

The tension drained from her shoulders. The tightness she’d been holding in eased and her facial muscles relaxed.

She had a job and a task that was so daunting she wouldn’t be able to think of the past. Maybe she’d even be able to sleep at night without the dreams that had haunted her for the past three years.

One problem remained. Now that she was going to stay, what was she going to do about Daniel and the feelings she had for him that had never quite gone away?

Foolish feelings she should have discarded when she put on Joe’s wedding ring.



After dinner, Melinda decided to finish her unpacking. She’d brought only two suitcases with her. Her few other possessions she’d stored with a friend to be shipped later—if she decided to stay in Potter Creek.

She’d stayed in Aunt Martha’s guest room ten years ago, the narrow twin bed and varnished pine bedside table and matching dresser familiar to her.

Shaking out her clothes, she hung them in the small walk-in closet: casual blouses and slacks, the ubiquitous jeans that was the uniform in small Montana towns. A few pairs of shorts and tank tops for the scorching days of summer.

At the bottom of the suitcase she found her Bible. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she held it for a moment and rubbed her fingertip over the faux-leather cover. For years she’d read the Bible or a book of daily devotions every morning. And she’d prayed.

But no longer.

Tears sprang to her eyes, blurring her vision. Her chin quivered. The bitter taste of failure, of God’s censure, filled her throat. He would never forgive her. Nor could she forgive herself.

She opened the drawer in the bedside table and tossed the Bible inside where it would be out of sight, no longer a reminder of lost hope.

As the Bible landed with a thump, the cover flew open. A snapshot slid out.

She covered her mouth with her hand to prevent a sob. Jason. Two years old. A towhead with a beatific smile, wearing his swimsuit, running through the sprinklers on a hot afternoon. A perfect child. As smart and quick as an Olympic athlete and just learning to talk. She could still hear him calling her.

“Mommy! Mommy! Watch me! Watch me!”

Tears rolled down Melinda’s cheeks unabated. In three short years he’d gone from that beautiful child to little more than skin and bones, racked with pain with every breath he took, unable to walk or talk.

A sense of panic, of not being able to breathe, started like a coiling snake in her midsection. Twisting and turning and spinning, a tornado of blackness rose into her throat. Her head threatened to explode. Muscles and bones lacked strength and began to crumble. She was falling, falling…

Brain tumor. No hope. Vegetative state.

“I’m so sorry, baby. So sorry.” She slid off the bed onto the floor and buried her face in her hands. “I’m so sorry.”

A counselor had told Melinda she’d effectively been in a war zone for three full years struggling to save her child. She was suffering from PTSD, post-traumatic stress disorder.

Knowing hadn’t changed a thing.

God hadn’t saved her baby boy.



The following morning, Aunt Martha insisted they go to church.

Melinda tried to talk her out of it. “You’re not strong enough yet.”

“Nonsense, child. I can sit in church as well as I can sit at home. And I need to thank the good Lord for saving my life and bringing you to stay with me.”

Clearly she could do her thanking right here in the living room, but it was impossible to argue with Aunt Martha.

No matter that she was sweet and syrupy and full of lopsided smiles, she wasn’t about to give an inch.

No matter that Melinda didn’t belong in any church.

So, with her teeth clamped tightly together and her jaw aching, Melinda wheeled her aunt out to her fifteen-year-old Buick sedan, helped her into the car and drove her to church.

And, of course, she couldn’t simply drop her aunt off and come back in an hour, although that’s exactly what Melinda would have preferred. Instead she had to help her into her wheelchair and push her up the walkway to the double-door entrance of Potter Creek Community Church.

The whitewashed structure wasn’t the largest church in town, but it did have the tallest steeple. Today, instead of beckoning her inside, it seemed to cast a shadow over Melinda that said she wasn’t welcome. She kept her head down and her arms close to her body as she pushed her aunt into the cool interior.

“Morning, Aunt Martha,” a familiar masculine voice said. “Glad you’re back home and out on the town.”

Melinda stopped stark still and her head snapped up. Daniel O’Brien? At church? Dressed in a fine-cotton Western-style shirt and slacks? Greeting folks as they arrived?

She blinked and shook her head. She must be hallucinating. The Daniel O’Brien she remembered wouldn’t have been caught dead in church on Sunday morning or any other time.

A smile curved his lips and crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Good to see you, too, Mindy.” His dark brows lifted ever so slightly as he handed Aunt Martha and Melinda each a program for the morning service.

Melinda wanted to take it and run. Instead she gave him a curt nod and pushed her aunt past Daniel as quickly as she could. They didn’t get far. Several of Martha’s longtime friends spotted her. They gathered around, most of them as gray-haired as her aunt, welcoming her back home. A few looked vaguely familiar to Melinda, but she couldn’t recall their names.

“We’ve been so worried about you.”

“The prayer circle has been praying for you.”

“Isn’t it nice your niece could come stay with you for a bit.”

Melinda forced a smile that instantly froze on her face. She was annoyingly aware of Daniel standing no more than five feet behind her. In his deep baritone voice, he greeted new arrivals, all of whom he knew by name. They responded with the same warmth of friendship that he had extended.

She felt like Alice slipping down the rabbit hole and discovering Daniel was the king of hearts.

Where had his wild side gone? The risk taker who drove a hundred miles per hour down the highway. The fighter who’d landed in the town jail more than once. The daredevil who raced a train to the crossing—and won. Barely. Leaving her breathless that they had escaped death and releasing her own wild side that she’d never known lurked somewhere inside her.

Did his new persona merely mask the man who had kissed her so thoroughly and wanted more? He would have gotten it, too, if Aunt Martha hadn’t returned home earlier than expected.

Heat flamed Melinda’s face as she remembered that memorable August evening ten years ago. She’d left town the next day right after an older girl, DeeDee Pickens, had flaunted the ring Daniel had given her.

“Hope you know you don’t stand a chance with my Danny boy,” DeeDee had crowed.

Melinda parked Martha’s chair at the end of a pew near the back of the church and slipped past her to take a seat.

Reverend Arthur Redmond, the pastor according to the program, looked to be in his early fifties and graying at the temples. His voice carried to the back of the room with ease as he welcomed the congregation to his church.

Melinda lowered her gaze, pretending to study the program. Tears blurred her vision. No matter what the pastor said, she knew her sins were too great to be forgiven.

The service seemed excruciatingly long. She sat with her eyes cast downward, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, knowing she didn’t belong in church. Wishing she could flee back to the knitting shop to scrub it clean and start over, in the same way she’d start a new knitting project with clean needles and a fresh skein of yarn.

Finally Reverend Redmond released his grip on the congregation and allowed them to file out into the warm sun. As though she’d been released from prison, Melinda drew in a deep breath of fresh air tinged with the scent of sage.

“Pastor Redmond surely knows how to preach, doesn’t he?” Martha said. “I feel renewed every time I hear his sermons.”

Melinda didn’t respond. She’d spotted Daniel off to the side of the parking area shooting baskets with a half-dozen high school boys. It appeared to be a two-on-six game as he agilely dribbled past two boys, sank a banked shot, then stole the ball back from another youngster. He flipped the ball to a man in a wheelchair, who neatly made a lay-up shot.

Her forehead furrowed and she squinted. Could that be Daniel’s brother, Arnie?

She dragged her gaze away and pushed her aunt’s wheelchair toward the car. After settling Aunt Martha in the front seat, Melinda walked around to the driver’s side. She took one last look at the basketball game.

A young woman, probably in her twenties, wearing heels and a floral-print dress, went tiptoeing out onto the basketball court and snatched the ball away from Daniel.

“Hey!” he complained, trying to grab it back.

The brunette scooted toward the basket without bothering to dribble the ball. “What’s the matter, Danny? Don’t you let girls play in your league?”

The teenage boys hooted and hollered. A couple of teenage girls, who’d been preening as they watched the game, shouted, “Way to go, Ivy.”

Standing with his legs wide apart, hands on his hips, Daniel watched the young woman with an amused smile on his lips.

She launched the ball underhanded toward the hoop. It fell well short and one of the teenagers snagged it on the bounce.

“Oh, well.” The brunette cocked her hip toward Daniel and gave him a long, leisurely smile. “You coming in for the Sunday special, Danny?”

He intercepted a pass between two teenagers. “Nope, I’ve got a date with April.”

Melinda chose not to watch any longer. Daniel hadn’t changed. He still had an eye for the women, and they reciprocated the feeling.

Which was of no concern to her.

As she backed the Buick out of its parking spot, she said, “I was surprised to see Daniel O’Brien at church.”

“Oh, yes, when he was a youngster he was a bit wild, but he’s become a fine young man. Not at all like his no-account father, God rest his soul. Daniel’s taken an interest in the church youth group.”

Probably to lead them astray, Melinda thought uncharitably. “Was that his brother in the wheelchair?” Arnie had been the solid, responsible older brother. So far as Melinda knew, he’d never gotten into trouble or broken any laws. Daniel had had almost as many battles with his brother as he had with his father.

“Yes, that was Arnie. Poor boy. Had a terrible accident a few years back.” Martha pulled a hankie from her purse and dabbed at the perspiration on her face and neck. “Can’t remember just how long ago. It left him paralyzed from his waist down. The past few years, those two boys have been nearly inseparable.”

There Melinda went, sliding down the rabbit hole again.

The whole world had slipped off-kilter since she’d seen Daniel at church.

That wasn’t an image she’d ever had of him. She couldn’t believe what she’d seen and learned about him. It had to be an act, all smoke and mirrors.

A wolf couldn’t change his killer instincts.

Daniel couldn’t change his instincts, either. Beneath the charade, he was still Potter Creek’s baddest of bad boys.

He had to be.



Back at the ranch, Daniel made himself a roast beef sandwich with mustard and lettuce, and washed it down with a soda. In the upcoming Potato Festival in Manhattan, he and April, his best cutting horse, were entered in the cow-cutting and trail-riding events. Last year Charlie Moffett from Three Forks had beaten him in both events, Daniel’s first loss in six years.

Charlie had lorded it over him for nearly a year.

Daniel took a big bite of his sandwich and chewed down hard. That wasn’t going to happen again. The reputation of the quarter horses he raised and trained was at stake. Not to mention the income they produced for O’Brien Ranch.

The double prize money when he won both events would punch up the bank account so they could pay the balloon installment on this year’s mortgage bill, a result of refinancing the ranch to modernize the place seven years ago.

Outside the afternoon had heated up. In the distance, dark clouds had begun to form over the mountains. They wouldn’t amount to much this time of year. Along about August they’d bring some much-needed rain, even a few gully washers, and plenty of thunder and lightning. Maybe even start a wildfire or two.

In the shade of the barn, Daniel saddled April. A sorrel with a blond mane and tail, she was a sturdy girl with strong legs and a sweet disposition.

“You’re a sweetheart, aren’t you, love.” He tightened the cinch under her belly and checked the stirrups. “This time we’ll leave Charlie and his swayback nag in the dust. He’ll stop his crowing on his Facebook page. Best Quarter Horse Breeder in Montana, my foot.”

Arnie and his dog, Sheila, arrived at the corral on his ATV. “You’re sure spending a lot of time with April. The other horses are getting jealous.”

Daniel snorted. “She’ll keep them in their place.” He tugged the reins loose from the fence rail and mounted. “Time us, will you?”

“As always, your wish is my command.”

Eyeing his brother skeptically, Daniel settled his Stetson more firmly on his head. “Since when?”

“Since you started telling Ivy to get lost.”

“Not lost, exactly. She’s not my type. She’s too young. Too clingy.” Although a few years ago the waitress at the diner might have been. But not now. The kind of female that was looking for trouble no longer appealed to him.

The picture of Mindy walking into church with Aunt Martha popped into his head. A summery dress that skimmed her calves. Golden curls bouncing as she pushed her aunt along. Blue eyes that sparked like a summer wildfire, challenging him to keep his distance.

Like the upcoming riding events, he’d always loved a challenge.

Too bad she hadn’t still been at the knitting shop when he went back to town for Arnie’s prescription.

Daniel reined April into the ring where he’d set up an obstacle course—a low bridge to walk over, logs laid out in a path to be daintily stepped over, a rail to straddle. Although the trail event wasn’t timed for speed, the time to finish the course was limited, and time penalties were added for every misstep or refusal the horse made.

“Okay, here we go.” With the almost imperceptible pressure of his knees, he urged April toward the bridge.

“The clock is ticking,” Arnie announced.

Without faltering, April went up and over the bridge. Daniel maneuvered her to the next obstacle, the row of logs, which she took with ease. Throughout the course, she didn’t falter once. Even when he dangled the required bundle of burlap on a rope in front of her face, she didn’t flinch.

They reached the end of the course, and Daniel trotted April over to the fence. “How’d we do?” he asked Arnie.

“A perfect ride. More than two minutes under the limit, bro.”

“Ha!” He gave April a congratulatory pat on her neck. “Eat your heart out, Charlie Moffett. This year you’ll meet your match. And eat our dust.”




Chapter Three


Monday morning, Melinda took her aunt to Manhattan for her three-times-weekly physical therapy appointment. When they got back home, it was time for lunch, followed by a much-needed nap for Aunt Martha.

Melinda gathered up a bucket, rolls of paper towels, plastic trash bags and cleaning supplies and carried them to the shop. The door opened much easier this time and she stepped inside.

A groan escaped her lips. Where to begin?

“Take your pick, Melinda Sue,” she said aloud. The whole shop had to be cleaned up eventually.

Leaving the door open to let some fresh air in, she walked over to the cash register beside a glass case that displayed yarn winders and bobbins.

She’d checked the cash drawer on Saturday and found less than twenty dollars in change. Tugging a plastic box out from beneath the register that was crammed with file folders, she squatted down to go through the records.

Invoices from three years ago were mixed with even older records. None were noted as paid. A handwritten ledger showed checks written from 2001 through most of 2006 and a bank balance that wasn’t worth writing home about. Hadn’t Martha paid any bills since then? Maybe she’d switched to a different bank account.

Blowing out a discouraged sigh, she made a cursory examination of the rest of the business records, then set the box aside. She’d have to talk to Martha about the bookkeeping. Her time while Martha napped would be better spent cleaning and tossing what wasn’t usable.

On her knees, she pulled everything out of the display case, set the items aside and used window cleaner on the neglected shelves and inside of the case. Years of grime darkened paper towels as one section of glass after another began to sparkle.

“Hello? Anybody here?”

Melinda started at the sound of Daniel’s familiar voice.

“The shop’s not open,” she called from behind the counter.

“Your door is.” His boots tramped across the wood floor until his long, jeans-clad legs materialized in front of the display case. “Hey, Goldilocks. Looks like you’re hard at work.”

“I am.” She considered asking him if he’d enjoyed his date with April, but thought better of it. Instead, she squirted window cleaner on the next section of glass.

“Is Aunt Martha planning to reopen the shop?”

“We’re thinking about it.” She swirled the glass cleaner around, blurring her view of his legs.

“That a fact?” he drawled, an arrogant grin in his voice. “Want some help?”

She lifted her head too fast, whacking it on the inside of the display case. She rubbed the back of her skull.

“No! I’m fine.” She looked up at him. Foolish woman! She should’ve known he’d be grinning at her, a wolfish grin, a grin that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made them flash with amusement.

“You got another one of those squirt bottles? I can do the outside of the case while you’re working on the inside.”

Trapped on the inside, he meant.

She wanted to tell him no, she didn’t have another bottle of window cleaner. But he was just clever enough to look over the display case, spot her spare bottle and see that she was lying.

She reached for the bottle and tossed it up and over the case, following that with a roll of paper towels. “There you go, Swagger. Do your best.”

“I intend to.”

An odd shimmer of unease slid down her back. What did he mean by that? And did she want to know?

Over the next few minutes, she kept her head down and her hand moving on the glass. At one point, her hand and his were only the thickness of two paper towels and the glass apart. His heat seemed to burn right through the transparent barrier to her palm.

She snatched her hand back. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead.

“I wouldn’t think Aunt Martha would be well enough to keep the shop open by herself,” Daniel commented in a casual tone.

“Probably not.”

“She going to hire someone to help?”

Melinda sat back on her haunches and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. “If you must know, I’m going to manage the shop for her.”

“Yeah? You know enough about knitting to run this kind of operation?”

“I ran a very successful knitting shop in Pennsylvania until—” She clamped her mouth shut. She didn’t want to finish the sentence. Daniel had no need to know about Jason. She didn’t want his sympathy and didn’t want to discuss the subject. The depth of her loss, her failure, was far too painful.

“Then I bet your aunt is happy you’re staying in Potter Creek.” He took a final swipe at the outside of the display case. “So am I.”

She didn’t respond. She couldn’t. The sincerity in his lowered voice had nearly undone her. Her chin trembled. She tamped down the emotion welling in her chest as hard as she could and dug deep to find the protective shield that had kept her sane the past three years. A shield that kept the PTSD at bay most of the time.

She balled the damp paper towel in her fist. “Don’t feel you have to stick around on my account. I’m sure April would be happy to see you,” she said.

He laughed. A big, booming, masculine laugh that exploded from deep in his chest and bounced off the walls of the cluttered knitting shop.

Confusion knitted her brows. Why did he think her remark was so funny?

Standing, his grin unnerving her, he placed the glass cleaner and paper towel on the counter. “I’ll be sure to give April your regards.”



The rest of the week was a blur of taking Aunt Martha to physical therapy, scrubbing the shop clean and sorting yarn, creating bins of fifty-percent-off odd skeins and discarding others that had faded or become hopelessly tangled.

Invariably, sometime during the day Daniel showed up. Once he came with a bucket and a squeegee on a pole to clean the front window, inside and out.

Another day he came with a container of chili Arnie had made that he wanted taste-tested for the chili cook-off at the Potato Festival. Daniel stayed long enough to climb up a ladder to clean the ancient light fixtures and replace burned-out bulbs.

Aunt Martha and Melinda devoured the chili for dinner that night.

Melinda wasn’t sure what Daniel was trying to accomplish. She hadn’t given him any cause to think she was interested in him. On the contrary, she was often sharp with him. The fact that she’d begun to look forward to his arrival didn’t mean a thing.

Or so she told herself.

She didn’t want a relationship with anyone, certainly not with someone like Daniel, a consummate flirt and ladies’ man.

A man who had always made her heart beat faster.



By the following Monday, Melinda declared she’d scrubbed, cleaned and sorted all she could. Now she needed new, fresh stock, which would enable her to hold a grand reopening next Saturday. Her dream was to someday add needlepoint to the inventory, but not yet. She had to get the yarn sales on a solid footing first.

She was on her cell phone, having placed an order for yarn and other supplies with a Denver wholesaler, when Daniel strolled into the shop. She acknowledged him with a quick lift of her hand, palm out, sending a message that she didn’t want to be interrupted.

“I’m sure Aunt Martha’s Knitting and Notions has had an account with you for many years,” she said into the phone. “I’ve seen the invoices.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but that account has been inactive for a long time,” Jeff, the sales rep, replied.

“Well, then, let’s reactivate the account, shall we? We’re planning to reopen this Saturday and I need that merchandise. Please.” She used her sweetest, most persuasive voice to cajole the man on the other end of the line.

“To reactivate the account, I’ll need you to complete our credit forms and submit them. They’re online at our website. You can download them.”

Aware that Daniel was poking around the shop, flipping through pattern books, looking as relaxed as he would in a public library, Melinda gritted her teeth. “How long will it take to get them approved?”

“Two or three weeks is the usual time period.”

She groaned and dropped her head into her hand. “Let me explain again, Jeff. I want to reopen the shop this Saturday. That’s five days from now. I need the merchandise no later than Friday to stock the bins. I cannot wait two weeks for approval of credit.”

“It often takes three weeks, ma’am.”

Holding the phone away from her ear, and holding her temper in check, she looked up at the ceiling. She drew a steadying breath and brought the phone back to her ear.

“What do you suggest I do in the interim while you check our credit?”

“You could charge the merchandise to a personal credit card. We’d ship this afternoon and you’d have the delivery by Wednesday.”

“A personal credit card.” The words landed with a thud in her midsection. Since declaring bankruptcy, she’d been living on a cash basis. She didn’t want to run up any personal debt. The one credit card she possessed had a very low limit, which she’d almost exceeded buying the airline ticket to Bozeman and hadn’t paid that off yet. “I don’t have my card handy,” she hedged. “I’ll have to check with the shop owner.”

“I’d be happy to wait, ma’am.”

That wasn’t likely to help much. Aunt Martha seemed to be living on her Social Security, which was less than munificent. Assuming she had a credit card, Melinda doubted it had a high enough limit to cover the cost of the merchandise she’d ordered.

Daniel crossed the shop to the counter and handed her his credit card.

Gaping, she stared at the silver card embossed with Daniel’s name and O’Brien Ranch. She shook her head.

“Ma’am, are you still there?”

“Uh, hang on a minute, Jeff.” She covered the phone with her hand. “I can’t use your card, Daniel,” she whispered.

“Why not? You need the merchandise. When you get the shop open and doing business, you can pay me back.”

“I’m buying more than a thousand dollars’ worth of yarn and notions.”

He lifted his shoulders in an easy shrug. “That’s fine. Think of it as a loan.”

“I may not be able to pay you back right away.”

He touched her hair, twirling a finger through one of her curls. His lips curved ever so slightly with the hint of a smile. “We’ll work it out.”

Goose bumps sped down her spine and her knees went weak. She definitely shouldn’t let him do this. It wasn’t right for him to pay for what she couldn’t afford. But if she didn’t, how could she reopen the shop without a decent selection of yarn?

“Ma’am, did you want to call me back when you work something out?”

“No, I, uh…”

Daniel slipped the cell phone from her hand. “Hi, Jeff. I’m Daniel O’Brien, a friend of the shop owner. We’ll put the charges on my card. How does that sound?” He winked at Melinda.

While she stood staring at him dumbstruck, Daniel reeled off all the necessary information to charge his card over a thousand dollars.

When he finished, he handed the phone back to her. “You’re all set. Everything should arrive Wednesday and you’ll be ready for Saturday’s opening.”

“You shouldn’t have…” she stammered, her face flushing. “I mean, I shouldn’t have let you—”

“The proper response is, ‘Thank you, Daniel.’”

She closed her eyes to block out the intensity, the caring, she saw in his. Self-consciously, she fiddled with the same strand of hair that he’d twirled over his finger. “Thank you, Daniel.”

“Good girl. Now what have we got to do to get ready for Saturday?”

She stepped back, trying to think, trying to blot out the gratitude that was making her act stupid and jumbled her thoughts as completely as a kitten could unwind a ball of yarn. She didn’t deserve his kindness.

“I need to make up some flyers to post around town. A big sign for the shop’s window.” The gears in her brain that had stalled under Daniel’s determined assault began clicking again. “Place an ad in the newspaper. Get a reporter to cover the opening.”

“Sounds good. You get the flyers made and I’ll deliver them to the stores in town, get the owners to post them in their windows.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Sure I do. I need you to be a big success so I’ll get my money back.”

That sounded ever so logical except for one little problem: Melinda was pretty sure Daniel had a totally different agenda in mind.




Chapter Four


Freshly printed flyers and advertising copy in hand, Melinda headed on foot toward the office of the Potter Creek Courier, the town’s semiweekly newspaper.

Aunt Martha’s physical therapist had cut her back to one appointment per week, telling her she should keep up her daily exercises at home. Thoughtfully, a church friend of Martha’s had volunteered to take her to the therapist this morning.

On a Monday, Main Street was quiet. Two preadolescent boys went racing by on their bikes, whooping and hollering, their baseball caps worn backward on their heads. By afternoon, they’d probably join other youngsters at the municipal pool at the far end of town.

Most of the vehicles on the road were pickups, often with a bale of hay in the back. Older women seemed to have a preference for cars rather than trucks, their gray heads barely high enough to see over the steering wheels, their speed a few miles per hour slower than the youthful bicyclists.

Older teens and young adults who had jobs or chores to do gathered later, near sundown, at the picnic area at Riverside Park. They’d swim in the wide spot in the river, listen to music played on boom boxes or from car stereos, make out behind the bushes.

Melinda’s face warmed and her steps slowed at the memory of being with Daniel at the park. If she had known about DeeDee Pickens, she never would have gone to the park with him. Not even once.

She reached the building that housed the Courier, a one-story stucco structure with wooden siding that mimicked an old Western town. The headline on the most recent edition of the newspaper, which was posted in the front window, announced VFW Elects New Officers.

Hard to imagine any news more exciting than that in Potter Creek. Her lips twisted into a wry smile. Finding excitement hadn’t been her goal by coming west.

Finding inner peace and starting over were closer to the truth.

The cowbell over the door clanked as she stepped inside and got a whiff of printer’s ink and old newsprint. A stack of newspapers sat at one end of a long counter along with racks of Potter Creek postcards and area maps. The two desks behind the counter were both piled high with papers that threatened to topple over with the least provocation.

A woman appeared from the back room. Probably in her early fifties, she wore a bright, friendly smile.

“Morning. What can I do for you, hon?” she asked.

Melinda introduced herself and placed one of her fuchsia flyers on the counter. “I’m Martha Raybin’s great-niece. I’m going to be reopening Aunt Martha’s Knitting and Notions, and I’d like to place an ad in the paper.”

“Oh, I’d heard Martha’s niece was in town helping her out. I’m Amy Thurgood, editor of the Courier.” She moved her glasses from the top of her head, where they’d been perched, and slipped them on to study the flyer. The banner on the flyer read Grand Reopening on a background that resembled a knitted scarf with needles and yarn bordering the pertinent information. “Martha’s a dear lady. Guess she had quite a fright with that stroke ’n’ all.”

“She seems to be recovering well.”

“I’m so glad to hear that. Is this the ad you want to run?”

“Yes, I brought you a CD. I thought that’d be easiest for you rather than scanning the master copy.” At the Pittsburgh knitting shop, one of Melinda’s jobs as manager was to create and place their advertising in the local paper. She’d spent most of Sunday afternoon designing this ad and the flyer.

“Perfect.”

“I was also hoping you might assign a reporter to cover our grand reopening.”

“A reporter?” Amy looked over the top of her glasses at Melinda, her hazel eyes sparkling with good humor. “Hon, around here I’m the editor in chief, sole reporter and general gofer girl. I do have a couple of stringers who cover high school sports and write the Ag column for me. But what you see is what you get, all-round newspaper woman with printer’s ink in her veins.”

Chuckling, Melinda warmed to this outgoing woman. Potter Creek might not compare in size to Pittsburgh, but it certainly topped the big city for friendliness.

As they talked, she discovered a three-column ad would cost less than a third of the price the Pittsburgh paper charged, although it would still make a dent in her minuscule checking account. Amy promised to run the ad in both Wednesday’s and Saturday’s editions. She also volunteered to post a flyer in her front window and agreed to drop into the shop during the opening.

Amy pushed her glasses back to the top of her head. “So, are you planning to stay here and run the shop for Martha?”

“That’s the plan.” Fingers crossed that she could turn a profit and keep both her and her aunt from the poorhouse.

“I’m glad to hear that, hon. Folks in Potter Creek are turning pretty gray these days. We can use more young people who’ll stick around and raise their families here.”

An ache bloomed in Melinda’s chest. “Aunt Martha is my only family.” Her voice caught. She’d lost everyone she had loved, and the most precious of all, dead virtually by her own hand.

Once outside, Melinda drew a deep breath to clear her head and shake off her memories. Memories that ripped open her splintered heart. Memories that had the power to drive her to her knees if she let them.

Forcefully, she straightened her shoulders. She had to keep busy, had to keep her demons safely locked away.

As long as she was out and about, she’d drop off flyers at some of the local businesses, meet the owners and ask them to post the flyers. No need to wait for Daniel to do it.

No need at all.

Because the Potter Creek Diner was immediately next door to the newspaper office, Melinda decided to start there. Not only did they have a large plate-glass window perfect for displaying posters, but they might also have a community bulletin board inside.

From across the street she heard the happy laugh of a child. Without thinking, she turned to see a boy about five years old skipping along holding his mother’s hand.

Pain as sharp as an arrow arched into her chest. Her breath lodged in her lungs. Her vision wavered.

No, not now! she silently pleaded. She had too much to do to have a panic attack. Focus on the flyers. Aunt Martha’s Knitting and Notions. Anything except her child who would never laugh and skip again.

She whirled and fled into the diner. She forced herself to take a deep breath and expel the pain that had constricted her chest. She forced herself to focus on these new, safe surroundings, not on the past.

The interior decor of the diner had a Western flavor. At eye level, the paneled walls were covered with black-and-white photos of rodeo events and old-time cowboys. Above those were the stuffed heads of a moose with giant antlers, a cougar with hungry yellow eyes, a snarling wolf and a sad-eyed buffalo.

Dragging her gaze away from the four sets of accusing eyes, she noticed that only two tables were occupied at this midmorning hour, both by middle-aged couples having a late breakfast. An original watercolor painting mounted in a rustic frame hung on the wall behind them. The painting depicted magnificent, snow-covered Rocky Mountains, yet the eye was drawn to the tiny abstract figure of a woman standing alone in a meadow. Despite the beauty all around her, the solitary woman appeared isolated and forlorn.

The aura of sadness in the painting touched Melinda’s heart as she realized that she could have been that unnamed figure.

Turning from the painting, Melinda approached a woman who sat at the end of the counter, sipping coffee from a mug and reading a paperback book. “Excuse me, I’m looking for the owner or manager of the diner.”

The woman lifted her head and swivelled around. Melinda’s eyes widened briefly as she recognized the flirtatious brunette she’d seen making a play for Daniel on the church basketball court.

“Pop isn’t here right now. What can I do for you?”

“I, um, I wanted to put up, um, one of these flyers in your window.” Melinda’s tongue had apparently developed a bad case of nerves, making her sound like a stammering fool.

The woman turned her book facedown to save her place and held out her hand. “Lemme see.”

Melinda passed her a flyer, noting the young woman had wide, nearly black eyes and wore a touch of eye shadow that enhanced their size. No older than twenty, the girl was way too young for Daniel.

“Knitting, huh? I never learned how to knit. Didn’t see much point.”

“I’m going to offer both beginning and advanced classes. The basics are really easy. You’d be surprised how quickly you could learn to make scarves and caps, even sweaters like this one.” She’d intentionally worn a light-weight, vest-style sweater in bright colors as a sample of what she’d be teaching to advanced students.

The woman glanced at the flyer again and shrugged. “Sure, you can put it up in the window. Don’t know that you’ll get many takers.”

“Hey, Ivy,” a man called from one of the tables. “You got any more coffee over there?”

“Sure, sure. Hang on a sec.” Ivy handed back the flyer. “Go ahead. Put it up if you want.”

Her lack of enthusiasm did nothing to bolster Melinda’s confidence. She opened her mouth to thank Ivy, but the young woman was already off her stool heading for the coffeepot simmering on the burner behind the counter.

She tried to repress a surge of annoyance. Or was it jealousy? In either case, it didn’t matter. She’d accomplished what she’d wanted. She could put up the flyer.

Placing the flyer on the window right next to the door, she held it with one hand while she pulled off a few inches of tape and smoothed it across the top of the sheet. She did the same along the bottom, then looked up only to be snared by a familiar pair of dark eyes.

Daniel. Standing on the other side of the window.

Gasping, she took a step back, nearly knocking over a chair that was behind her.

The man had an annoying habit of popping up out of nowhere when she least expected to see him.

His eyes crinkled with a smile and he winked at her.

Her stomach took a tumble. Confound his hide.

Before she knew it, he’d stepped inside the diner and was standing right next to her.

“Hey, there, Goldilocks. I thought that was my job, putting up the flyers.”

“I was just next door—”

“Hey, Danny!” Ivy cried. “Didn’t expect to see you this morning.” She hurried across the diner, all smiles and puppy-eager. “You want some bacon and eggs or a stack of pancakes this morning?”

“Uh, no, thanks. I already ate.” He glanced back to Melinda. “I’ll buy you a cup of coffee if you want.”

She lifted her chin. “No, I’d better get on with putting up these flyers. Got to get the word out, you know.”

“I just made a fresh pot of coffee,” Ivy announced, her smile now frozen on her face. Straight white teeth surrounded by rictus lips painted a pale pink.

“Maybe later,” Daniel said to Ivy, then took the flyers from Melinda’s hand. “I’ll come with you, introduce you around.”

“That isn’t necessary.” She reached for the door-knob.

Daniel’s big hand got there first. He opened the door.

She had little choice but to precede him out onto the sidewalk.

“Catch you later, Ivy,” he said as he joined Melinda outside. “Where to first?”

She remained frozen in place, a slow burn building in her stomach. “You still have women falling all over themselves for you, don’t you? Just like ten years ago.”

He lifted his shoulders in a careless shrug. “I haven’t noticed you falling all over me.”

Not recently, at any rate. “Ivy started hyperventilating the moment you walked in the diner. And then there’s April. Does she know Ivy’s after you?”

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest and he hooked his arm across Melinda’s shoulders, urging her down the sidewalk. “April doesn’t have a jealous bone in her body, if that’s what you’re asking.”

She bristled. “I wasn’t asking.”

“Good, because April’s my one true love and smartest mare in my breeding stock.”

Melinda dug in her heels. “Your breeding stock?” What on earth—

“I raise quarter horses, Mindy, and breed them.” His lips kicked up into another grin. “One day you’ll have to come out to the ranch. I’ll introduce you to April. You’ll love her.”

Her jaw went slack. As though he’d poured cold water on a raging wildfire, the burning sensation in her stomach vanished, leaving a residual of confusion. She frowned.

“You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”

“Not about April.”

Which meant he might lie about something else?

He guided her into a real-estate office and introduced her to Rick Jennings, a tall, lanky man in his forties. “This is Aunt Martha’s niece. She’s reopening the knitting shop.”

Cordial and friendly, Nate welcomed her to town and was happy to put the flyer in his window.

Next came the grocery store. Melinda had picked up fresh produce there a couple of times in the past week, although she’d done her major shopping at the supermarket in Manhattan while Aunt Martha had her physical therapy session.

Daniel reintroduced her to Art Williams, the grocery store owner, whom she recalled from the summer she’d spent in town. She’d bought a lot of ice cream bars and bottles of soda in his store. He’d aged some in the past ten years and lost a good deal of hair, but he still had the look of Ichabod Crane with his narrow face and prominent Adam’s apple.

“Oh, I remember this sweet little lady,” he said with a knowing look. “Remember you taking a liking to her right off, too, Danny boy.”

Heat flooded her cheeks. Had her relationship with Daniel been that obvious? Evidently.

Daniel simply grinned and thumbed his Stetson farther back on his head. “You’ve always had a good memory, Art.”

Quickly deciding to take control of the conversation, Melinda explained about the flyer. When Art gave his permission to post the flyer in his window, she yanked one from Daniel’s hand and marched to the front of the store.

She felt Daniel staring at her, and her ears burned fiery hot as she taped the flyer to the window.

Enough was enough. She didn’t need an escort for this job. If Daniel wanted to spread the flyers around town, it was fine with her.

“I have to get home to check on my aunt.” She handed Daniel the roll of tape. “You can drop off any extra flyers at the shop. Just slide them through the mail slot and I’ll pick them up later.”

His finely arched brows rose. “You running out on me again?”

Guilt for the cowardly way she’d left ten years ago without confronting Daniel about DeeDee pricked her conscience. “I’m checking on Aunt Martha.” She tossed her hair behind her shoulder. “If you don’t have time to distribute the flyers, I’ll take care of them later.”

He leaned a shoulder against the side of the open door. “You’ve turned into a prickly little thing, haven’t you?”

Only when it comes to you, Daniel O’Brien.

She held out her hand for the flyers.

He pushed himself upright. “I’ll have the town painted with flyers in no time. You go on and look after Aunt Martha.”

“Fine.” She plopped the tape into his hand, whirled and struck out at a quick pace for the relative safety of Martha’s house.

Not that she’d be safe anywhere with Mr. Bad Boy O’Brien on the prowl. He made her feel things she didn’t want to feel, things she had no right to feel.




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