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Unexpected Mommy
Sherryl Woods
New York Times bestselling author Sherryl Woods sweeps readers away with a beloved story of falling in love when you least expect it…Stubborn, sexy rancher and single father Chance Adams will do anything to get back his share of the family ranch–even if it means seducing his uncle's ornery stepdaughter, schoolteacher Jenny Adams. Even if it means marrying her. Even if it means falling in love with her?Jenny always dreamed of finding the perfect man, but perhaps Chance, with his hellion, if lovable, son and his unbending grudge against her family, doesn't exactly fit the bill. She knew he had a one-track mind, all right–but was it just her imagination, or was he starting to get…derailed?


New York Times bestselling author Sherryl Woods sweeps readers away with a beloved story of falling in love when you least expect it…
Stubborn, sexy rancher and single father Chance Adams will do anything to get back his share of the family ranch—even if it means seducing his uncle's ornery stepdaughter, schoolteacher Jenny Adams. Even if it means marrying her. Even if it means falling in love with her?
Jenny always dreamed of finding the perfect man, but perhaps Chance, with his hellion, if lovable, son and his unbending grudge against her family, doesn’t exactly fit the bill. She knew he had a one-track mind, all right—but was it just her imagination, or was he starting to get...derailed?

“I take it you had something you wanted to say in private,”
Chance said.
Jenny lifted her gaze and met his evenly. “I just wanted to make sure we were clear about something.”
“What’s that?”
“You and I...” Jenny waved her hand dismissively, as if no other words were necessary.
“Yes?” Chance prodded.
‘There is no you and I, no us, no anything, correct? We already established that.” Jenny tried hard to sound matter-of-fact.
He returned her look with a perfectly bland expression. “If you say so, darlin’.”
“I do,” Jenny said firmly.
Chance grinned. “Last time I heard those two words said with so much passion, I was standing in a church.”

Dear Reader (#ulink_dc2936fe-3475-5e5c-9a81-acab59b405d6),
With Mother’s Day right around the corner, Special Edition commemorates the warm bonds of family. This month, parenthood brings some unlikely couples together in the most wondrous ways!
This May, Sherryl Woods continues her popular AND BABY MAKES THREE: THE NEXT GENERATION series. THAT SPECIAL WOMAN! Jenny Adams becomes an Unexpected Mommy when revenge-seeking single father Chance Adams storms into town and sweeps Jenny off her feet with his seductive charm!
Myma Temte delivers book three of the MONTANA MAVERICKS: RETURN TO WHITEHORN series. In A Father’s Vow, a hard-headed Native American hero must confront his true feelings for the vivacious schoolteacher who is about to give birth to his child. And look for reader favorite Lindsay McKenna’s next installment in her mesmerizing COWBOYS OF THE SOUTHWEST series when a vulnerable heroine simply seeks solace on the home front, but finds her soul mate in a sexy Stallion Tamer!
Listen for wedding bells in Practically Married by Christine Rimmer. This final book in the CONVENIENTLY YOURS series is an irresistibly romantic tale about an arranged marriage between a cynical rancher and a soft-spoken single mom. Next, Andrea Edwards launches her DOUBLE WEDDING duet with The Paternity Question. This series features twin brothers who switch places and find love—and lots of trouble!
Finally, Diana Whitney caps off the month with Baby in His Cradle. In the concluding story of the STORK EXPRESS series, a very pregnant heroine desperately seeks shelter from the storm and winds up on the doorstep of a brooding recluse’s mountain retreat.
I hope you treasure this book, and each and every story to come!
Sincerely,
Tara Gavin
Senior Editor & Editorial Coordinator

Dear Reader,
From the moment fourteen-year-old Jenny Runningbear burst onto the scene in The Rancher and His Unexpected Daughter, I knew she was going to be a powerful force to be reckoned with. Feisty, stubborn and willful even then, she was destined to have a book—and a love—of her own.
With her loyalty to her Native American heritage, with a dedicated attorney for a mother and Harlan Adams for a stepfather, how could Jenny grow up to be anything other than an incredible, special woman?
As a teen, she’d stolen Harlan’s pickup and turned his life upside down, before he managed to tame her and marry her mother.
Now in Unexpected Mommy it’s payback time for all that mischief she stirred up way back when. Jenny is a dedicated teacher, whose first day of school is turned into chaos by none other than an Adams.
Petey Adams is the grandson of Harlan’s bad-sheep brother, who’d been sent away from the family ranch in disgrace. Petey and his daddy, sexy Chance Adams, are dead set on revenge, and Jenny is caught squarely in the middle.
But no one is better suited to matching wits with a couple of troublemakers than Jenny, and no one is destined to fall harder than this reformed bad girl who’s learned all about loyalty and love the hard way.
I hope you enjoy this very special woman and this latest continuation of the AND BABY MAKES THREE series.


Unexpected Mommy

Sherryl Woods

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
SHERRYL WOODS
Whether she’s living in California, Florida or Virginia, Sherryl Woods always makes her home by the sea. A walk on the beach, the sound of the waves, the smell of the salt air all provide inspiration for this writer of more than sixty romance and mystery novels. Sherryl hopes you’re enjoying these latest entries in the AND BABY MAKES THREE series for Silhouette Special Edition.

Contents
Cover (#u29709f3f-b044-5e2e-9c8d-e36acfd9bc42)
Back Cover Text (#ulink_110a9345-560b-5025-a9f9-84e781d22fb9)
Introduction (#ucc746705-a214-5b82-84f2-8c1b9f1e095a)
Dear Reader (#u2f0d50c9-92e5-5f94-a6a3-dbdc04f8097b)
Title Page (#u920e8776-54ff-5090-aec2-18f05f392576)
About the Author (#u70678deb-78dc-50c9-85f8-9d6981d39a40)
Prologue (#ub8c857ca-73d9-5abf-8ad6-32edeacc48ab)
Chapter One (#u868b3a38-7e72-50fe-822a-b201ffef9e30)
Chapter Two (#u723c0c78-ce9a-587f-9113-5e11de3157d6)
Chapter Three (#ude5bb71e-c1fc-5dba-ada4-f0fdfc91a133)
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)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

Prologue (#ulink_5f5b0d72-91cd-5eec-a440-78f57f1d07f2)
“It was the prettiest slice of land the good Lord put on this earth,” seventy-five-year-old Hank Adams whispered, his voice frail, his eyes glazed over with a faraway look. “Did I ever tell you about White Pines, son?”
Chance held back his impatience and forced a smile. “Only about a million times, Daddy.” Seeing his father’s disappointment, he quickly added, “But I never tire of hearing about it, you know that.”
“Is the heat on?” his father asked, shifting subjects as he often did these days. He shivered and pulled the two layers of blankets a little tighter under his chin. “You sure that danged furnace is working?”
The furnace was pumping out enough heat to sizzle meat as far as Chance was concerned. The blazing fire only added to the oppressive, stifling atmosphere in his father’s small Montana cabin. But ever since Hank Adams’s health had begun to fade a few months earlier, it seemed he couldn’t stay warm enough. The only thing that seemed to distract him for long was reminiscing about the home he’d left behind decades earlier back in West Texas. The bitterness seemed to Chance to be as fresh now as it must have been on the day his daddy had been chased off by his older brother, Chance’s uncle, Harlan Adams.
“The furnace is turned up to near eighty,” Chance said. “You’ll be warm in a minute, Pop. Tell Petey and me another story about when you were growing up.”
“Yeah, Granddad,” Petey said enthusiastically. “Start at the beginning. Tell us about how my great-great-granddaddy came all the way from the South after the Civil War and built this big old mansion just like the one he’d left behind.”
“You could probably tell that one yourself,” Chance said, grinning at his son and ruffling the boy’s shaggy sun-streaked hair that so closely resembled his own.
Most of the time lately Petey’s moods ranged from difficult to impossible. He’d never been able to sit still for much more than a minute, but recently, ever since his grandfather had come home from the hospital to die, Petey rarely left the old man’s side. It was as if he knew there was only a little bit of time left to absorb all the tall tales and family history.
What worried Chance was that he was also latching on to all his grandfather’s bitterness and resentment. The fight for a share of White Pines wasn’t Petey’s. If there was going to be a battle—and that was a mighty big if—it was Chance’s to wage.
He glanced at his father and saw that he was settling back, searching his memory for stories to keep Petey entertained or, more likely, to incense him.
“Now let’s see,” his father began. “That would have been in the spring of eighteen hundred and sixty-nine.”
Petey’s eyes widened as if he were hearing the date for the first time. “Wow! That’s like a hundred years ago, huh?”
“More than that, boy. The war was over and the family’s home had been wiped out by them damn Yankees. They plundered it first and then burned the whole place to the ground. That was that hellion Sherman who was responsible,” he said, adding a colorful curse or two to emphasize his poor opinion of the man.
Then he went on. “Your great-great-granddaddy was little more than a boy then, not even eighteen, as I recall. He’d been through more at that age than most men live through in a lifetime. He knew things would never be the same for any of them there, so he packed up his mama and his two sisters and headed west to start over.”
Hank’s voice seemed to fade. It was hard to tell if he’d forgotten the rest or was merely tiring.
“Where was his daddy?” Petey coached.
“Killed in the war.”
“Did they have any money?” Petey asked, prompting his grandfather to tell his favorite part of the story.
“Some that his mama hid away, along with some jewelry. They sold that so they’d have a little nest egg for startin’ over. They sold it all but a ruby-and-diamond pin.”
“The one you brought with you to Montana,” Petey proclaimed triumphantly. “Can I see it?”
“It’s locked away safe, boy. It’s your daddy’s to give to his wife, if he ever marries again,” he said with a pointed glance at Chance. Then his eyes turned misty again. “Lordy, that pin is something, though. I can remember my mama wearing it when she got all dressed up sometimes. Looked like a little basket of ruby red rosebuds and sparkly diamond baby’s breath. There was many a day when your grandma Lottie wanted me to sell it so we’d have a little something in the bank, but I wouldn’t do it. That pin was the only legacy I had from my ancestors. Now it’s your daddy’s and someday it’ll be yours.”
Chance let his mind wander as the familiar tale washed over him. He knew the story practically word for word. He’d been hearing it since he’d been younger than Petey. Just as his son was now, he’d been enthralled by the adventure of the move from the South all the way to West Texas, by the building of White Pines and the founding of the town of Los Piños. He had a feeling his father had embellished the story a bit over time, inventing a few tussles with Indians and thieves that hadn’t actually occurred. Even so, it was a heck of a story.
He could envision the grand house that had been built as an exact replica of the mansion that had been destroyed. He could see the spread of land abloom with bluebonnets and crossed by sparkling streams and shaded by pines and cottonwoods.
“Why’d you ever leave, Granddaddy?” Petey asked. “How come you came to Montana?”
Hank Adams sighed heavily at the question and his eyes darkened with anger. His agitation was as great now as it probably had been decades earlier when he’d been forced from the home he loved. Chance didn’t like seeing him get himself so stirred up over something that was long over with.
“Leave it be for now, Petey,” Chance said. “Your granddaddy’s tired.”
“Not tired,” the old man said, his chest heaving as he tried to draw in a ragged breath. “Still makes me madder than a wet hen when I think of it, that’s all.”
“Then don’t think of it,” Chance advised, regarding him worriedly. “Just rest.”
“Can’t rest until this is settled,” his father retorted. “Should have done it years ago.”
“Done what?” Petey asked, clearly sensing a new twist was coming, one they hadn’t heard before.
Chance knew it too. He’d expected something like this his whole life, dreaded it.
“I should have gone home,” his father said. “I should have claimed what was mine, instead of letting that low-down scoundrel of a brother of mine take it all.”
“You’ll go,” Chance soothed, knowing it was a lie. If Hank hadn’t mustered the gumption for the fight years ago when he’d had his strength, he’d never do it now. As he had with so many things, Hank would want someone else to handle it for him.
“Harrumph,” his father responded. “Not me. It’s too late for me.” He reached out and seized Chance’s hand. “You, though, it’s not too late for you to go. You and Petey. With your mama and your wife both gone and me breathing my last any day now, there’ll be nothing to hold you here.”
The mention of his late wife silenced Chance as nothing else could have. The wound of Mary’s death was still too raw and painful, even though it had been more than a year now since the flu had turned into pneumonia and a three-day blizzard had prevented them from getting the medical help she desperately needed. It had been his fault. He should have ridden out at the first sign she was sick, instead of listening to her reassurances she’d be fit as a fiddle again in no time.
Losing his sweet, gentle Mary had cost him his soul and hardened his heart. Had it not been for Petey, he might very well have lost his mind. Petey’s out-of-control behavior was fair warning that he had to go on living in the here and now. Hank’s illness had been the clincher.
What his father said was true enough, though. Chance had come to hate Montana and its bitter winters. He liked ranching, but there were other places he could settle down and start over. If Hank hadn’t been too ill and too ornery to move, Chance would have packed them all up and headed off to start over months ago. Once his father died, there really would be nothing left to keep him here. Still, as shiftless and irritating as Hank could be, Chance didn’t want to think about not having his father bossing him around and telling his tales.
“You’re going to live to be a hundred, you old coot,” he said, squeezing his father’s callused hand. “You’re too stubborn not to.”
A terrible racking cough seized his father just then as if to give lie to Chance’s prediction. When it was over, his father’s brow glistened with sweat. His color was ashen.
“Listen to me,” he said, his voice raspy. “You go to Texas. You have as much right to White Pines as anyone who’s left there. Maybe Harlan’s still alive, maybe he’s not, but that house, that land, was my heritage as much as his. He stole it from me. Take it back, Chance. Take it back for me. It’s the only way I’ll ever rest in peace, knowing that you and Petey have what’s due you.” His eyes glittered feverishly. “Promise me, son. Promise me.”
Chance feared the cost of an argument would be too great. “I promise you, Daddy. Petey and I will go to Los Piños,” he said, though he wasn’t sure he ever intended to follow through. He wasn’t certain he had the strength left to carry on an old family feud.
His father’s grip tightened. “Don’t say that just to pacify me, son. A promise made on a man’s deathbed has to be kept. It’s the next thing to making a promise to God. You understand that, don’t you?”
Hank had been well into his forties when his only son was born. He’d already been set in his no-account ways. Over the years Chance had fought with his father as often as he’d agreed with him. Their rows had been loud and legendary in these parts, but he loved the old coot.
“I understand,” he said softly, reaching for a damp cool cloth to wipe his father’s brow.
“Petey?” the old man whispered.
Petey crept closer. “I’m here, Granddaddy.”
“You’re a good boy, Petey. Wild and spirited, just the way I was, but you have a good heart, same as me. Don’t let anybody ever tell you otherwise.”
Chance put a hand on his son’s shoulder and squeezed. Tears were spilling down Petey’s cheeks. It was clear he sensed the end was near.
“Granddaddy, don’t die,” he pleaded. “Please don’t die like Mama did.”
Hank Adams gave Chance’s hand one last squeeze, then reached out his arms for his grandson. Petey climbed onto the bed and hugged him back fiercely, refusing to let go.
“Shh, boy. Don’t cry for me. You have to be brave for your daddy. Make sure he takes you to Texas, okay? I won’t be here to see that he does, so you’ll have to do it for me.”
“Daddy!” Chance warned.
His father shot him a final stubborn look. “Just making sure you keep your promise, son. Now you won’t be able to look Petey in the eye if you don’t.”
Stunned and infuriated by such a sneaky tactic, Chance glared at him. “You’re a manipulative old son of a gun. You know that, don’t you?”
His father cackled. “Hell, boy, I’m an Adams. That’s our heritage as much as White Pines and cattle.”
He sighed then and closed his eyes. Chance had to coax a tearful Petey away from the bed.
It was a few more hours before Hank Adams died, but those were his last words, and they echoed in Chance’s head in the days to come.
By the time school was out for the year, he’d made up his mind. He put both houses—his and his daddy’s—on the market, packed up his and Petey’s belongings in the back of his pickup, paid one last visit to the cemetery where Mary and his mother and father had been laid to rest, said goodbye to neighbors he’d known all his life and headed south.
“It’s going to be just like it was for my great-great-granddaddy,” Petey said, bouncing in his seat with excitement. “We’re having a real adventure.”
“Yes,” Chance agreed with one last look at his past in the rearview mirror. Either they were going to have an incredible adventure, or they were heading straight for disaster. He wasn’t quite prepared to lay odds on which was the more likely.

Chapter One (#ulink_baf27af2-20ce-5170-a011-56d9aba9f543)
Sweet heaven, it was true. Jenny Runningbear Adams stood just inside the doorway to her fourth-grade classroom and tried very hard not to panic. All around her chaos reigned, which just proved there was always a payback for the sins of the past. Years of childhood misdeeds were returning to haunt her.
If her stepfather could see this, he’d laugh till his sides split. Harlan Adams just loved irony. He’d always told her that one day she’d run across a child as impossible as she had been. Apparently this school year she was about to be confronted by a whole classroom of them.
She stared around her in horror and wondered what had possessed her to shift from teaching history and current events to eighth graders. She’d had some idealistic notion that elementary-school students would be more receptive, easier to mold. Obviously she’d lost her mind. The evidence of that was right in front of her.
The opening-day bell had barely rung and already chairs had been upended. Papers were strewn from one end of the dingy room to the other. Graffiti had been scrawled across the blackboard in every shade of chalk. Unfortunately, not even half the words had been spelled correctly. Stacks of textbooks she had neatened herself only yesterday were tumbled in disarray. Pandemonium was in full swing.
A freckle-faced girl was huddled at her desk sobbing as she clutched one fat braid in her hand, while the other bobbed on the left side of her head where it belonged. She looked like a lopsided doll after an encounter with a four-year-old’s scissors.
A pack of boys was circling the girl’s chair, whooping as if they’d just succeeded in scalping her. It was an image that sent a particularly nasty chill through Jenny’s part-Native American blood.
She took in the entire scene, drew a calming breath and prayed for patience, fortitude and maybe just a little divine intervention. At this moment she deeply regretted ever thinking of teaching as a way of giving something back to the community and sticking a little closer to home than she’d been in recent years.
More than one person had warned her that this would not be as simple as dealing with a bunch of hardheaded, shortsighted congressmen or even the eighth graders she’d had the year before. She had scoffed at that. Lobbying on Capitol Hill had been a three-ring circus. Eighth graders had been discovering the power of hormones. Fourth graders were little kids.
Well, that particular horse was out of the barn. She was here, under contract for another school year, nine endlessly long months. The prospect of day after day of this made her shudder. The only way around it was to seize control now, right this second.
“That’s enough!” she said just loudly enough to be heard over the uproar. That particular tone, lethally calm, had quelled many a rioting group in the past, although most of them had been adults caught up in a frenzy of advocacy of some Native American cause or another. She waited with some trepidation to see if it worked with this pint-size mob.
If it didn’t, she could always inform the principal that she’d had a sudden mental breakdown and it would no longer be safe for her to be left alone with young children. Patrick Jackson disliked her so much he’d accept the explanation without batting an eye. Besides, teaching was her second career, anyway. She could always find a third. Change was good. In fact, at this precise moment, it struck her as both positive and inevitable.
As she contemplated her future with some enthusiasm, two dozen pairs of eyes turned in her direction, surveying her, sizing her up. The sobbing child with the unfortunate haircut watched her hopefully.
“Everyone find a chair, get it behind a desk and sit,” Jenny instructed. When no one moved, she added, “Now!”
Slowly but surely she detected signs of movement. First one chair was scraped into place, then another and another. She caught a couple of guilty looks being exchanged as she crossed the room toward the chubby-cheeked victim of the morning’s torment.
She hunkered down in front of her and grasped her trembling hands. “Sweetie, it’s going to be okay,” she soothed, though she was certain of no such thing.
“No, it’s not,” the girl said, her voice thick with choked-back tears. “My hair is g-g-g-gone.”
“But now you can have a whole new hairdo,” Jenny said cheerfully. She smoothed a tendril of hair away from the child’s flushed cheek. “Look at my hair. It’s short. Takes me two minutes to wash and dry it. No tangles, either. And you have a lovely face. Short hair will show off your beautiful eyes.”
The girl blinked owlishly at that. “You think so?” she asked hesitantly.
“I really think so.”
“But what is my mom going to say?” she asked miserably. “My hair’s been growing practically forever. She’ll kill me.”
“I’ll speak with your mother,” Jenny promised. “After all, this wasn’t your fault. It’s not as if you lopped off that braid yourself. What’s your name?”
“Mary,” the child said. “Mary Rose Franklin.”
“Well, Mary, why don’t we go and make a call to your mother right this minute and see what we can do about this.” She smiled at her. “Just think how envious all your friends are going to be that you got to miss the first day of school.”
Mary sniffed and managed a faltering smile of triumph for her now subdued classmates.
Jenny took the child’s hand and led her toward the door, then paused as she recognized the danger in her plan. The class was very likely to erupt into chaos again the instant her back was turned.
She turned slowly back to face the other students. She doubted she would ever learn which student was responsible for this disaster, but maybe she could transform the incident into a lesson for all of them. If she didn’t take control of these nine-year-olds today, it would be a very long year.
Or a very short one, if she followed through on seeking new employment. Any new employment Once the principal saw Mary’s new haircut, he might very well encourage Jenny’s career change. In the meantime, though, she leveled a stern look at her young charges.
“When I get back here, I expect to find you exactly where I left you,” she said. “And I expect to find the person responsible for chopping off Mary’s hair writing an apology to Mary.”
Several boys snickered. Jenny scowled.
“On second thought, perhaps all of you should be writing that apology,” she said firmly. “Even if you didn’t cut her hair, you all stood by and watched it happen. That makes you accessories. I’ll explain exactly what that is when I get back. Then you can read your letters aloud. They had better ring with sincerity or every one of you will spend the next month in detention. Maybe longer.” She scowled. “Maybe the whole semester. Have I made myself clear?”
“Yes, ma’am,” a redheaded girl muttered dutifully. Her hands were folded neatly atop her desk and her expression was as solemn and innocent as a saint’s.
“Yes, ma’am,” several others mimicked.
Jenny sighed and decided to let the taunt pass.
“You may start now.” She waited until heads were bent and pencils were scratching over paper before taking Mary to the principal’s office and explaining the morning’s catastrophe.
Patrick Jackson peered at Jenny over the ugly black frames of his thick glasses, then glanced at Mary and sighed heavily. “I just knew something like this was going to happen the minute I heard the board had approved your transfer to this school. I would have fought it, but it would have been a waste of time. Even though you’ve been trouble ever since you hit town twenty years ago, your family has too much influence for me to win.”
She ignored the reference to her family and to her inauspicious beginnings as a resident of Los Piños. Some memories were destined to die hard.
“This is hardly my fault,” she protested, instead. “I wasn’t even in the classroom yet.”
“My point precisely. The bell had rung. Where were you?”
Jenny stared at him incredulously. “In here with you listening to yet another explanation of my duties, along with a few off-the-cuff remarks about my lack of suitability as a teacher,” she shot back.
That gave him a moment’s pause. He settled for regarding her sourly. “And who’s with your class now?”
“No one,” she admitted.
“Obviously you learned nothing from what happened this morning.” He shook his head. “It’s just as I expected. You are not cut out for this.”
Jenny barely resisted the urge to utter a curse that would have blistered the man’s ears. After all, Mary had been traumatized enough for one morning. She didn’t need to see her brand-new teacher lose her temper and punch Mr. Patrick Johnson in his bulbous nose.
She stood a little straighter and said with quiet dignity, “If you will call Mary’s mother and explain what happened, I will get back to my other students.”
“Go, go,” he said, waving her off. “I’ll speak to you again at the end of the day.”
She beamed at him. “I’ll be looking forward to it.” He’d have to catch her first, she thought as she gave Mary’s hand a last reassuring squeeze and bolted from the office.
As she raced down the hall, she listened for the sounds of renewed chaos erupting in her classroom. Instead, it was absolutely silent as she approached. She found the quiet worrisome, but she was grateful nonetheless.
Inside, Jenny scoured the room for signs of mischief. It appeared, though, that she’d gotten her message across. No one had budged so much as an inch in her absence.
“Is everyone finished writing that apology?” she asked, perching on the edge of her desk and surveying the students.
“Yes, ma’am,” the same little redhead replied eagerly.
“Yes, ma’am,” the others taunted in a singsong chorus.
“Enough!” Jenny said. “Who’d like to go first?”
Naturally it was that accommodating little redhead who replied.
“Fine,” Jenny said. “Your name is?”
“Felicity Jackson.”
Jenny winced. “Any relation to our principal?”
“He’s my father,” the child said proudly.
Of course, he would be, Jenny thought with a sigh. “Okay, then. Thank you, Felicity. You may go first.”
Felicity’s essay was less of an apology than a well-crafted crime report. Bless her little suck-up heart, she readily mentioned not only the precise details of the insult that had been perpetrated on her classmate, but the name of the boy responsible: Petey Adams.
Before Jenny could say a word, a boy—almost certainly the boy in question—flew out of his seat and aimed straight for Felicity, clearly prepared to knock the breath clean out of her. Jenny stepped in his way with seconds to spare. With one arm looped around his waist, she plucked him off his feet.
“Petey, I presume.”
“You can presume anything you danged well want to,” he said with a defiant tilt to his chin and fire flashing in his startlingly blue eyes.
Something about that chin and those eyes looked disturbingly familiar. Jenny had the uncomfortable feeling she ought to recognize Petey, especially since his last name was Adams, the same as her own.
“Petey, you and I will discuss this incident when the rest of the class goes to recess,” she informed him. “In the meantime you have two choices. You can remain in your seat and behave, or you can spend the morning in the principal’s office. It’s up to you, but I should warn you that Mr. Jackson is very eager to get his hands on the person responsible for Mary’s haircut.” She smiled at the boy. “What’s it going to be?”
The defiance slipped just a notch. “Might’s well stay here,” he muttered eventually.
“Good choice,” she said, and released him to return to his seat. “Perhaps you’d like to read your apology to the class.”
“Didn’t write one,” he said, glaring at her. “You can keep me here till I’m an old man and I still won’t write one.”
The belligerence took her aback. “You did hear me give the assignment, didn’t you?”
“I ain’t deaf.”
“Then you are deliberately choosing to defy me?”
He squared his little shoulders and stared straight back at her. “Yep.”
She had to admire his spunk if not his insubordination. She had a whole new respect for the teachers forced to deal with her through the years. How she handled Petey Adams was absolutely critical to gaining the respect of his classmates, with the possible exception of Felicity, who obviously craved the approval of all authority figures more than she wanted the friendship of those her own age. She was definitely her father’s child.
“Okay, Petey, we will discuss this matter during recess.”
He shrugged indifferently.
Jenny turned to the other students and called on them one by one to read their apologies. Fortunately there were no further incidents. Still, by the time recess came an hour later, she was so tense her shoulders ached. She made arrangements for the third-grade teacher to supervise her students on the playground, then returned to meet with Petey.
He regarded her with hostility. Jenny sighed. She took a moment to look over his file, which she’d retrieved from the office on her way back from the playground. He was new to Los Piños. His mother had died less than two years before, his grandfather just months ago. He was all alone with his dad, who’d taken a job as foreman of a ranch near White Pines.
Jenny recalled all too vividly her own sense of being lost and alone after her parents’ divorce, when her mother had brought her from New York to this strange new place. She kept a tight rein on her sympathy, though, as she looked up and faced the boy seated in front of her.
“You’re new this year, aren’t you?”
“So?”
Apparently there was to be no such thing as a simple yes or no with this kid. “I remember when I went to a new school,” she said. “In this very town, in fact. I wanted to make sure everybody knew they couldn’t mess with me.”
There was a brief spark of interest in his eyes. Jenny considered mat a good sign.
“I got myself into as much trouble as I possibly could,” she said, deciding not to tell him the precise nature of that trouble. Explaining that she had stolen Harlan Adams’s car and smashed it into a tree when she was barely fourteen might just give this kid the idea that he’d been wasting his time chopping off pigtails.
“What’d you do?” Petey asked.
“Oh, lots of things,” she said dismissively. “What I really wanted most of all was to get my mom’s attention. She’d been so busy getting us settled and getting set up with her new office that she hadn’t had much time for me.”
Petey’s eyes brightened. She had clearly caught his interest.
“Did it work?” he asked eagerly.
Jenny smiled at the memory. “Oh, it worked, all right She was furious with me. She made me go to work.”
Petey stared at Jenny, disbelief written all over his face. “But you were just a kid.”
“True.”
“How old?”
“Fourteen.”
“I’m only nine. My dad would never make me work.”
“That’s what I thought about my mom. She was a lawyer, after all. I told her she was violating child labor laws, but she didn’t care. She said I had to learn a lesson. She put me to work for the man whose property I damaged.”
Petey considered that, then regarded her with a worried frown. “Do you think I’m going to have to pay for Mary’s haircut?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Jenny said. “It might even be good if you volunteered to do that. It would show that you’re sorry for hurting her and that you know what you did was wrong.”
“But I don’t have any money.”
“Then I suppose you’ll have to do like I did. You’ll have to earn it by doing chores.”
His gaze narrowed. “You mean like doing Mary’s homework and stuff?”
She bit back a grin. “No. 1 think you and Mary should each do your own homework. But maybe you could help out around her house or maybe your dad will give you extra chores at home and you can give the money to Mary’s mom.”
For the first time Petey squirmed uncomfortably. “You’re really going to tell my dad?”
Jenny was fairly sure he’d known that was going to be the outcome from the beginning of this little escapade. Now that it was a certainty, though, he was obviously worried about the consequences.
“Actually I was hoping you would tell him yourself,” she said.
“He’ll be really really mad, though.”
“You should have thought of that before you took those scissors to Mary’s hair.”
He sighed heavily, then his expression brightened. “I know. Maybe I could do chores for you and you could give the money to Mary’s mom. We wouldn’t have to tell my dad at all.”
“Nice try, but I don’t think so. After school you and I are going to go see your dad,” she said firmly. “I understand he’s working for a rancher right outside of town. It’s on my way home. I’ll drive you.”
“I’m supposed to take the bus,” he argued.
“We’ll make an exception today.”
“I shouldn’t ride with a stranger. My dad said so. My granddad, too.”
“I’m not a stranger. I’m your teacher.”
“I don’t think that matters. My dad doesn’t know you.” His expression brightened. “Maybe you should just write a note and I’ll take it home,” he suggested hopefully.
And flush it down the toilet, Jenny thought. “Nope. I want to speak to your dad face-to-face.”
“Okay,” Petey said, his expression sullen again. “But don’t blame me if he says it’s all your fault.”
“My fault?”
“Sure. If you were a better teacher, it would never have happened.”
Out of the mouths of babes, she thought wearily. With Petey regarding her triumphantly, she swore that if she survived this day, she was going to think very seriously about choosing another profession. Less than half a day on the job this year and she was already regretting not going into law with her mother or maybe ranching like her adoptive father, Harlan Adams. Heck, maybe even calf roping would have been a better choice. Then again, she’d tried that once at her father’s insistence. She hadn’t been very good at that, either.
For the rest of the day she pondered what sort of man would have a son as insightful and inventive and troublesome as Petey Adams. Just thinking about facing such a man was almost enough to make her choose to stick around school and square off with Patrick Jackson, instead. Almost, but not quite. Ducking out would irritate the pompous principal, which was pretty good motivation in and of itself.
In fact, by the time the final bell rang, she was actually looking forward to meeting Chance Adams. She was just itching to go toe-to-toe with an adult, instead of a classroom of pint-size hellions.

Chapter Two (#ulink_84848c4f-e6e3-5a1e-a908-7310d4eb3c1c)
In retrospect, the decision to settle in Los Piños had been easier than Chance had anticipated. Even when he’d driven into town two months earlier, he hadn’t been sure he would stay. He’d just meant to keep his promise to his daddy, check out White Pines and then move on if West Texas didn’t suit him. In fact, if it hadn’t been for Petey, he might have kept on roaming for the rest of his life. He was too restless, too soul-deep exhausted to start over.
As it was, though, he knew his son deserved stability. Petey needed schooling and a real home to come to, his own bed to sleep in. The motel rooms they’d stayed in on the road when they’d first left Montana were fine for a night or two. But they were not the kind of places where he could raise a kid. No matter how sick at heart he was himself, he owed his son a better life than that.
He’d still been wrestling with his conscience when they’d crossed the border into Texas. He’d deliberately taken his time getting to Los Piños. They’d gone to the southeast part of the state first, taken a swim in the Gulf of Mexico, which Petey had declared way more awesome than the creeks back home. Then they’d spent a few days exploring the wonders of Houston, the biggest city Petey had ever seen, before moving on to Dallas, where Petey had wanted to see the stadium where his beloved Cowboys played. Whatever happened, Chance had wanted Petey to have his grand adventure. He’d hoped that would make up for all the grief in his young life. Two devastating losses in as many years were enough to shake up a boy’s whole world. A man’s, too, for that matter.
At any rate, it had been early July by the time they’d driven into Los Piños. Chance had expected to feel some sort of tug, some kind of connection to the place, but as far as he could see it was no different from any other ranching community in the West. The businesses catered to the cattlemen, nothing fancy, just good solid merchandise at decent prices.
They were just in time for the town’s annual Independence Day celebration. Flag-waving families had gathered all along the sidewalks for a parade that was twice the size of the one back home in Montana, even though the town was no more populated, at least as far as Chance could tell.
After the parade there’d been a picnic. Most folks had brought their own baskets of fried chicken, along with blankets to spread on the grass, but there were plenty of food concessions for those who wanted to buy hot dogs and fries and cotton candy.
The celebration was wrapped up that night with fireworks. Chance had choked back bile at the oftrepeated announcements that the lavish display had been donated by none other than Harlan Adams and his sons.
“Y’all be sure and thank ’em when you see ’em,” the mayor said.
Petey’s eyes had widened at the mention of Harlan Adams. “That’s Granddaddy’s—”
Fearing he’d be overheard, Chance had put a hand over Petey’s mouth, cutting off the blurted remark in midsentence. It was too soon for anyone to know he was connected in any way to the powerful Harlan Adams. He wanted to size things up before he made his presence and his intentions known—if he ever did.
But hearing all that boasting had solidified one thing: he was staying. He wanted to see just how the other half of the family had thrived after running his father off. Resentment he hadn’t known he felt simmered all night long.
During the day he had asked around about employment and learned that a rancher named Wilkie Rollins was looking for an experienced foreman.
“It’s a small place compared to White Pines.” one man told him. “Then, again, most are. White Pines is about the biggest cattle operation in the state, bar none. Harlan’s got himself quite a spread out there. That boy of his, Cody, has doubled the size of it these past few years. He’s a smart one, all right, every bit as sharp as his daddy.”
“Is that right?” Chance said, absorbing the information about his cousin and tucking it away for later consideration. “How do I go about finding this Rollins place?”
“You can’t miss it if you head west going out of town. If you come up on them fancy gates at White Pines, you’ve gone too far.”
The directions had been easy enough to follow. The next morning he’d driven out there, talked with Wilkie Rollins and had a job and a new home by the end of the interview. He and Petey had been settled in by sundown. Petey had been ecstatic that they were staying on.
In the weeks since, Chance had been happy enough with the familiar work. Wilkie’s spread was smaller than his own had been in Montana, but the man was getting too old to handle it himself. He left most of the decisions to Chance and drove into town every day to hang out with his cronies. Chance had been able to keep up with the work with time to spare to contemplate his next move with Harlan Adams.
Petey was hell-bent on charging over there and introducing themselves and staking their claim. He’d been all but deaf to Chance’s admonitions that slower was better. Fortunately, despite being the next-door neighbor, White Pines was too far down the road from Wilkie’s for Petey to sneak off there on his own to snoop around.
“Patience, son, patience,” Chance said over and over, but he figured he was pretty much wasting his breath. Petey was intent on fulfilling his grand-daddy’s last request.
Through the years Chance hadn’t gotten caught up in his father’s bitterness. It had always seemed a waste of energy to him. But now, the more he heard about those paragons of virtue out at White Pines, the more the high praise grated.
He wondered what folks would have to say if they knew that Harlan Adams had stolen half of that ranch right out from under his younger brother. He wondered how they’d react if they knew that Hank Adams had been sent away all but destitute. In the past two months Chance had started working up a pretty good head of steam over it himself.
While he debated the best way to go about making his presence known, he gave Wilkie his money’s worth and let the idea of revenge simmer. Some of his plots were subtle and downright sneaky. Some were blatant and outrageous. All of them ended with him and Petey ensconced in that fancy house a few miles up the road from the little foreman’s cottage they currently called home.
He was just trying a new scheme on for size when he glanced up from the wood he’d been chopping and caught sight of a slender dark-haired woman striding in his direction, a purposeful gleam in her eyes. Since she also had his son in tow, he suspected Petey had been up to some sort of mischief again. He’d hoped the start of school today would settle the boy down, but it looked like just the opposite had happened.
The boy was darn near out of control. He managed to find a way to do mischief where Chance would have sworn none was possible. Chance would have tanned the boy’s hide, if he’d thought it would help, but his own father’s lashings had never done anything except make Chance more defiant than ever. Since Petey had his temper in spades, it seemed likely he’d react the same way.
Chance wiped his brow with the bandanna he’d stuck in his pocket and stood back to watch their approach. Might as well appreciate the sight of a pretty woman while he had the opportunity. In a few minutes they were going to be on opposite sides of something or other. That much was clear from the scowl on that pretty face of hers.
She was tall, five-eight at least, he gauged from a distance, and thin as a poker in her fancy doeskin-colored linen slacks and bright orange blouse. Her black hair was cropped short as a boy’s, emphasizing wide cheekbones and eyes as dark as coal. There was a hint of Native American ancestry in her angular features.
He put her age at anywhere from late twenties to early thirties. She had the brisk no-nonsense stride of a man, but as she neared, he saw that she had the surprisingly ample curves of a woman beneath that clinging silk blouse of hers. His body reacted as if he’d just spotted a primed and waiting sex goddess in his bed.
The reaction, of course, was the result of too many months of celibacy. This woman wasn’t at all his type. She was way too skinny, and that determined jut of her chin warned him she’d be a handful of trouble.
“Mr. Adams,” she called out as she neared. She sounded way too grim to be dropping by for the sheer pleasure of it.
“That would be me,” he confirmed, glancing at Petey. When his son determinedly refused to meet his gaze, Chance looked the woman over from head to toe, hoping to rattle her. The action was as instinctive as breathing. He’d always enjoyed flirting with a pretty woman, no matter the circumstances. If he could distract her from her mission, so much the better. Instead, though, her gaze remained fixed squarely on his face as she patiently withstood the examination.
“Satisfied?” she asked eventually.
There was no hint of color in her cheeks, but Chance felt his own flaming. “Not by a long shot,” he said, trying to reclaim the edge he’d lost
She shrugged. “Let me know when you are. I can wait.”
He concluded that trying to best her was a losing cause. “Who are you?” he asked since no one had seen fit to fill him in.
“I’m Petey’s teacher.”
He’d guessed as much—Petey was coming home from school, after all. And the woman with him had a prim and prissy attitude about her, just like every teacher Chance had ever had, though she was definitely a whole lot sexier than most.
“You have a name?” he asked.
“Jenny Adams.”
Chance flinched. This was a turn of events he hadn’t anticipated. He’d heard all about Harlan Adams’s sons. He hadn’t heard a word about any daughters. Then again, Adams was a common enough name. Maybe she wasn’t kin at all.
“Adams?” he repeated cautiously. “Any relation to Harlan Adams?”
Her expression brightened. Those great big eyes of hers sparkled like coal well on its way to turning into diamonds.
“He’s my father,” she said with pride. “My adoptive father, actually. I was Jenny Runningbear before he married my mother and adopted me. Do you know him?”
“Oh, I know him, all right,” Chance said coldly. “Or maybe I should say I know all about him, since we haven’t exactly been introduced.”
“Dad!” Petey protested, tugging urgently on his jeans.
Chance ignored him. Before he could stop himself, he blurted what he’d intended to keep secret for a while longer yet. “Harlan Adams is my uncle. He and my father were brothers.”
She gaped at that, clearly stunned. Petey looked equally shocked that his father had done precisely what he’d been warning Petey not to do.
“That’s not possible,” Ms. Jenny Adams declared.
“Why? Because dear old Dad hasn’t mentioned his long-lost brother?” Chance said, surprised at the bitterness in his voice. Apparently Hank’s resentments had taken hold, after all. “They haven’t been on speaking terms in years, not since he rode my daddy out of town and stole his heritage out from under him.”
Genuine bemusement washed across her face. “That’s not possible,” she repeated, her tone a mixture of shock and outrage. “Obviously you don’t know my father at all if you think he’s capable of doing something like that.”
Chance forced a smile. “Oh, I assure you it’s more than possible, cousin Jenny. It’s a genuine fact.” He regarded her with a touch of defiance. “Unless you’re calling me a liar.”
He glanced at his son, who was following the exchange with a mixture of shock and relief. Apparently Petey figured this revelation was the next best thing to salvation, since it had served to distract his teacher from whatever she’d been intent on saying about his behavior in school today.
Chance thought Petey’s optimism was a bit premature. He doubted that Ms. Adams could be distracted so easily, at least not for long. She struck him as the kind of woman who was all sass and vinegar, the kind who’d needle a man until she got her way or provoke a fight just for the sheer fun of it. It was all there in those flashing black eyes. True, this news had thrown her, but she was visibly gathering her wits as the tense silence dragged on. He found he was looking forward to doing battle with her. Herding cattle wasn’t near as much of a challenge as arguing with a pretty woman.
“Well, I must say this is quite a shock,” she said eventually. “You’ve just moved into town, according to Petey’s file at the school.”
“A couple of months ago,” Chance confirmed.
She shook her head. “Daddy has a brother? I just can’t get over it.”
“Had a brother,” Chance corrected. “He died a few months back.”
Sympathy flared in her eyes at once. “Oh, of course. It was in Petey’s file. I’m so sorry.”
“No need for you to be sorry. You didn’t even know the man.”
Her eyes flashed for a second as if she might chastize him for being rude, but then her expression softened, once more sympathetic.
“I’m sorry just the same,” she insisted quietly. “I’ll have to tell my father you’re here. I know he’ll want to get to know you. We’ll have you come to dinner at White Pines.”
The ever-so-polite invitation grated, probably more than it should have since it was uttered with absolute sincerity. “No, thanks, darlin’. I’m not the least bit interested in dropping by for barbecue and coleslaw.”
This time her gaze narrowed at his rudeness. “Oh?” she said. “And why is that?”
She said it in that cool haughty way that might have tickled him under other circumstances. Chance forced another smile. “That would make it seem too much like I was a guest in my own home.”
“Excuse me?”
He regarded her with feigned surprise. “Why, darlin’, haven’t you figured it out yet? I thought for sure you were quicker than that.”
“Figured out what?”
He kept his gaze steady and his voice even. “That I’ve moved to Los Piños for the sole purpose of taking that big old ranch away from your daddy.”
* * *
Jenny felt a lot like kicking dust straight into Chance Adams’s arrogant face. Unfortunately, since she’d come to his house just to tell him his son required more discipline, she couldn’t see that throwing a temper tantrum herself would accomplish much. It might give Petey the notion that the only things separating them were age, height and power. It wouldn’t be a good lesson at all.
However, forcing herself to remain calm in the face of Chance Adams’s outrageous claim required every bit of self-control she possessed.
The whole thing was ridiculous. Of course, he was just confused. It was a case of mistaken identity or something. Harlan had no brother she’d ever heard about. He’d taken a dying ranch left to him by his shiftless daddy and made it pay. If White Pines was legendary in Texas and Harlan was powerful, then he owed it all to the sweat of his own brow. He hadn’t stolen anything from anyone. She’d have staked her life on that. She’d never met a more honorable man than the one who’d adopted her when he’d married her mother.
She supposed she ought to tell Chance Adams just how far off base he was, but the angle of that stubborn chin suggested she’d be wasting her breath. She studied that chin for just a moment and concluded there was a distinct resemblance between it and every other male in the entire Adams clan. The discovery shook her a little, because it lent just the tiniest bit of credence to his preposterous claim.
Rather than start an argument over who owned what, she said sweetly, “Perhaps I should leave you to work out those details with my father when you finally meet. I’m actually here to discuss Petey.”
The man sighed and some of the arrogance drained right out of him.
“What’s he done?” Chance asked as if expecting the worst. He glanced at his son. “Petey?”
Since Petey remained stoically silent, Jenny described that morning’s escapade.
“I’ll pay for the girl’s haircut,” Chance said readily enough.
“Perhaps Petey should pay for it,” Jenny suggested. She gestured toward the firewood. “Maybe chopping wood, for instance, would work off some of those aggressive tendencies. Physical exertion can be very healthy.” She ought to know. Harlan Adams had worked her butt off after she’d stolen and wrecked his pickup.
Chance scowled at her suggestion, clearly resenting it and her.
“I’ll deal with Petey the way I see fit,” he responded stiffly. “Maybe you should concentrate on getting control of your class. If you can’t cope with a bunch of nine-year-olds, maybe it’s time to look for other work.”
Petey shot her a triumphant look. He’d predicted his father would say that very thing. Jenny refused to concede to either of them that she’d said very much the same thing to herself just a few hours earlier.
She wondered what Chance would think if he discovered that one of the ideas she’d considered was working at White Pines, the very ranch he intended to seize as his own. Maybe she’d tell her father this very afternoon that she wanted to learn everything there was to know about ranching. Then she could flaunt her own claim to White Pines in this man’s face. She hadn’t had a decent mental and verbal skirmish since she gave up leadership of a Native American rights organization to move back to Los Piños. Something told her that Chance Adams would prove to be a fascinating challenge.
She sighed. Her father, of course, would see straight through her. From the day he’d made her one of his heirs he’d known that what she really wanted to do with her share of White Pines acreage was put a Bloomingdale’s on it. Not that she’d ever make good on the threat, but it had been a running joke between them for too many years now for him to believe she’d suddenly developed a taste for ranching.
Her future wasn’t the immediate problem, though. Petey’s was. She regarded Chance Adams evenly. “It’s entirely up to you what you do about your son’s behavior,” she said. “But I will tell you now that I will not tolerate a repeat of this in my classroom. The next incident will result in a suspension. Have I made myself clear?”
His blue eyes, the exact same shade possessed by every single one of her stepbrothers, sparkled with amusement. That hint of laughter was enough to make her want to spit. Yes, indeed, Chance Adams would be a challenge and then some.
Fortunately for her, Luke, Jordan and Cody had the same kind of arrogance, the identical streak of stubbornness. She’d learned long ago to give as good as she got with the three of them. She’d even learned to do it with words, instead of fists, since not one of them would ever have dared to brawl with their much younger stepsister as they did among themselves.
Chance was once again eyeing her speculatively. “Darlin’, you are the cutest little thing when you’re mad,” he said in a tone clearly calculated to infuriate her. “You sound all prim and fussy. I had an old-maid schoolteacher once who sounded just like that.”
Acid churned in her stomach as she fought yet another urge to retaliate with the kind of response that would have been instantaneous only a few years earlier. She was an adult now. A teacher. She was supposed to be setting an example, for goodness’ sake, not rolling around in the dirt pummeling a man who’d just insulted her.
Unfortunately Chance Adams was the sort of man who would test the self-control of a saint. She hoped there wouldn’t be many more encounters like this one to provoke her, at least not in front of an impressionable boy.
Maybe her desire to belt the man was plain on her face. Or maybe he knew just what the limits of her patience were likely to be, because suddenly out of the blue he sent Petey into the house. The boy scurried off so fast he left dust whirling in his wake.
It was exactly the circumstance Jenny had been hoping for. She could take an unobserved shot right at the man’s chin, she thought wistfully, then gave a little sigh of resignation. She wasn’t going to do it, of course.
Still regarding her with amusement, Chance Adams rocked back on his heels and looked her over again. Her skin burned every single place his glance skimmed over.
Well, two could play at that game, she thought with defiance of her own. And he was showing a whole lot more skin.
She fixed her gaze squarely on his bare chest and ogled. She let her gaze drift slowly up to that sexy stubbled jaw, then down to the golden hair arrowing below the waistband of his jeans, then up again to broad shoulders. Looking him over, no matter what her purpose, turned out to be more fascinating than she’d anticipated. Her pulse fluttered, then ran wild. He was quite a specimen.
The technique worked, though. She had a suspicion that not all the perspiration on Chance’s gleaming muscular chest was the result of the hot sun and chopping wood. The muscles in his throat worked as if he might just be having the teensiest bit of trouble swallowing. If she’d had some water with her, she would have offered him a cool drink for his parched throat.
Or doused him with it.
When she’d concluded her survey to her satisfaction and his discomfort, she forced herself to look smack-dab into his eyes. “As you can see, I give as good as I get Shall we declare a truce, Mr. Adams?”
If she’d thought her little challenge was going to end it, she could tell at once from the amusement again sparkling in his eyes that she’d made a terrible mistake. He shook his head very slowly, his gaze locked with hers.
“Not on your life, darlin’,” he said slowly. “I’d say the fireworks are just getting started.”

Chapter Three (#ulink_2c09ab61-bef5-5191-9235-8141bdca59b2)
Chance kept a tight rein on his desire to laugh as he watched Ms. Jenny Adams sashay off, her back ramrod straight, her chin tilted at a defiant angle. Darn, but that confrontation had felt good. He hadn’t had so much fun in a long time. He couldn’t recall the last time a woman had stared at him so boldly and made his blood run quite so hot in the process.
Too bad she was an Adams. Okay, an adopted Adams, technically speaking, but that still made her the enemy. He figured she was tied to his Uncle Harlan by loyalty if not by blood. Sometimes those ties were even stronger than the genetic ones a person didn’t have any say over.
The squeaking of the screen-door hinges snapped his attention back to the matter that had brought the woman here in the first place. He pivoted just in time to see Petey trying to slip off in the direction of the barn to escape Chance’s likely wrath.
“Oh, no, you don’t, young man. Get back here,” Chance commanded.
Petey took his sweet time about complying with the command. When he finally stood in front of Chance, he scuffed the toe of his sneaker in the dirt and refused to look up. He didn’t look guilty, though, merely defiant. Chance figured that was an attitude that needed correcting in a hurry.
“Son?”
“Yeah?”
“That’s ‘Yes, sir.’”
Petey sighed heavily. “Yes, sir.”
“That’s better. Now look at me.”
Another heavy sigh greeted that order. Chance would have smiled, but he figured it would take the edge off the stem displeasure he was trying to convey. “Now,” he repeated emphatically.
His son finally darted a glance up at him. The defiance had begun to slip ever so slightly. His eyes shimmered with unshed tears. Chance fought the urge to gather the boy in his arms. It was moments like this that were the hardest tests for a father. He was torn between the discipline he knew needed delivering and the comfort and promise of unshakable love that were also required.
“I’d like an explanation,” Chance told him, pleased with his calm neutral tone when minutes ago he’d wanted to shake the kid for doing something so crazy. Jenny Adams had painted an all-too-vivid picture of that distraught child with a severed braid in her hand, tears spilling down her cheeks. He winced every time he thought about it. He’d been so sure he’d taught Petey girls were to be protected, not taunted or hit. Maybe he’d been remiss in not mentioning that their hair was off-limits, too.
“An explanation ’bout what?” Petey replied.
The innocent act tripped Chance’s temper all over again. “About what the dickens possessed you to cut off that girl’s braid,” he snapped, then sucked in a sharp breath. In a calmer voice, he added, “You had to know it was wrong.”
“I suppose.”
“Suppose nothing. It was wrong. It was downright cruel, in fact. It’s the exact kind of mean-spirited act I’ve told you to protect girls from, isn’t it? Even little girls fuss about their looks. Did you think for one second about how she would feel with her hair all lopsided?” He shook his head. “Obviously not. Now tell me why you did it. You must have had a reason.”
Petey still looked as if he was about to cry. Once again Chance had to force himself not to kneel down in the dirt and take the boy in his arms. Mary Rose Franklin was the one deserving of sympathy here, not the perpetrator of the crime. An image of Jenny Adams’s disapproving expression stiffened his resolve. He didn’t intend to give her or anyone else the ammunition to accuse him of being a lousy dad.
Keeping his expression stern, he repeated, “Son, I’d like an explanation now.”
“Timmy McPherson dared me,” Petey said miserably. “He said if I ever wanted to have any friends at all in Los Piños, I’d do it.”
I should have guessed as much, Chance told himself. It was all too typical for kids that age to set each other up to take a fall as some sort of test. “I assume you weren’t counting on Mary being one of those friends,” he said wryly.
Tears leaked out of Petey’s eyes and spilled down his cheeks. “I didn’t mean to make her cry. Honest, Dad. I just wanted to be friends with Timmy and the other guys. I’m the new kid. I didn’t want them to think I was a total geek or something.” His chin jutted out. “It’s not like her hair won’t grow back.”
Chance cringed at the logic. “You don’t make real friends by doing things you know perfectly well are wrong,” he said. “Have you apologized to Mary yet?”
Petey looked even guiltier. “Not really. Ms. Adams assigned us to write an apology in class, but I didn’t do it. I told her I wouldn’t.”
Chance sighed. “Why not?”
“Because it wasn’t my fault, not really. It was Timmy’s idea,” he explained. “And then that Felicity girl ratted on me, just so she could get Ms. Adams to like her.”
“Tattling’s not the issue here,” Chance pointed out. “And Timmy wasn’t the one who chopped off Mary’s hair, was he? You always have choices, son. You could have found a more sensible way to make new friends. I think maybe you’d better go inside and write that apology now. As soon as I get cleaned up, we’re going to take it to Mary and hope and pray that she and her parents will forgive you. And if you ever hope to see a penny of your allowance again, you’d better pray that whoever fixed your classmate’s hair did it cheaply.”
Petey stared at him in dismay. “You’re going to make me go to her house? I have to talk to her parents, too? And give them my allowance?”
“Yes.”
“But, Dad—”
“We’re going,” Chance said with finality. “Have that note ready by the time I’m dressed or I’ll start adding days to the week I already intend to ground you.”
“Dad!” Petey wailed.
“Save your breath, son. I’ve let you get away with too much since your mama and granddaddy died. It’s going to stop and this is as good a time as any to be sure it does.”
“This is all Ms. Adams’s fault,” Petey grumbled, then added vehemently, “I hate her. If you loved Granddaddy, you’d hate her, too. She’s one of them. She deserves to have bad things happen in her class. Maybe they’ll even fire her for being a crummy teacher.”
This time Chance did kneel down. He put his hands on Petey’s shoulders and forced him to meet his gaze. “I don’t want to hear that kind of talk again, okay? One thing has nothing to do with the other,” he said, ignoring the fact that only moments earlier he, too, had been thinking of her as the enemy. He didn’t want to consider what kind of nightmarish behavior Jenny Adams would have to face in her classroom if he encouraged Petey to make her part of his grandfather’s vendetta. No fourth grader in Los Piños would get an education this year.
“But she lives at White Pines,” Petey protested.
“For the moment,” Chance said grimly, solidifying his resolve to settle things with Harlan Adams the very instant he could come up with a workable plan. Dragging it out would take its toll on all of them.
He looked Petey in the eye. “I repeat, one thing has nothing to do with the other. She is your teacher and you will respect her in the classroom and that is final. Understood?”
“No,” Petey said, his chin jutting again. “Her father is a thief. That makes her no good, too. Why should I have to listen to anything she says?”
Obviously Hank had been very thorough in imparting his resentments to Petey. Chance couldn’t see any long-term benefit in allowing Petey to grow up with so much hate. If there was a score to be settled, he would be the one to do it
“Okay, let me put it another way,” he said quietly. “I am telling you that you will show respect to her in that classroom. I am your father, and if you don’t obey me, there will be hell to pay. Is that clear?”
Petey blinked several times at his father’s fierce tone, then bobbed his head once.
“Excuse me. I didn’t hear you.”
“Yes, sir,” Petey mumbled.
“That’s better. Now get inside and write that note. We’ll be leaving here in twenty minutes.”
Petey’s expression was sullen, but he did as he was told. Inside, Chance watched him for a moment, his head bent over a piece of paper from his notebook as he began slowly writing the ordered apology. Chance suspected it would be lacking in sincerity, but the point was getting Petey to go through the motions. He had to understand there were consequences for bad behavior.
Chance had learned about consequences at an early age. His father had been tough as nails, impossible to please and erratic about the rules Chance was expected to follow. It had kept Chance in a constant state of turmoil. He wouldn’t do the same to Petey. He intended to make sure Petey understood exactly what the boundaries of acceptable behavior were.
When Jenny Adams had been telling him how to discipline his son earlier, he’d been every bit as resentful as Petey was now. But the truth was, her words had been a wake-up call. Petey needed more parenting than Chance had been giving him. Ever since their arrival in Los Piños, he’d been too caught up in this obsession with getting even with Harlan Adams. That was no excuse for neglecting his son or letting him get so carried away with his own brand of retribution. Now that Petey knew his teacher was Harlan Adams’s daughter, there was no telling what the boy would try to make her the target of his anger.
Chance resolved then and there that Jenny Adams would never have another reason to question his ability to teach his kid the difference between right and wrong. If they met again—and they surely would—it was going to be because of his plan to ruin Harlan Adams. If a few sparks happened to ignite between them in the process—and they were dead-on certain to—so much the better.
Somehow, though, he intended to keep Petey out of the middle of things. Given how well Hank had primed the boy, though, that was likely easier said than done.
* * *
The fireworks between Jenny and Chance were nothing compared to the explosion that night at the dinner table when Jenny repeated Chance’s declaration about White Pines. Harlan might have been in his eighties, but he hadn’t slowed down and he wasn’t inclined to take any threat to the sanctity of his home lightly.
“That darn fool,” he said viciously, slamming his fist on the table so hard the dishes bounced. His skin turned an unhealthy shade of red and a sheen of perspiration broke out on his brow. “Obviously Hank spent his whole sorry life filling that boy’s head with lies. Now he’s dead and the rest of us are left to clean up the mess he’s created.”
Jenny exchanged a worried look with her mother, Janet, who appeared ready to leap from her chair and go to her husband’s side to calm him down. Jenny’s younger half sister, Lizzy, stared at him, clearly stunned by their father’s outburst.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything,” Jenny said, regretting her impulsive relating of the entire incident. She should have known it would upset to her father. Being accused of cheating his brother out of an inheritance was not something Harlan Adams would take lightly. “I’m sorry.”
He reached out and patted her hand. “Of course you should have told me. No point in keeping quiet about it. Obviously this Chance Adams intends to create a ruckus sooner or later. Leastways now I can be prepared for it. There are plenty of folks in town who were around at the time. They’re familiar with the details.”
“Then you really did have a brother?” Jenny asked, though that much at least seemed obvious from her father’s agitated reaction.
“I did,” he said tersely.
“How come you never mentioned him?” Lizzy asked.
“Jenny, Lizzy, leave it be for now,” her mother warned. “Can’t you see how distraught your father is already without you two stirring the pot? Give him time to absorb all this.”
He waved off her concern. “I’m not half as upset as I’d be if this Chance Adams had taken me by surprise,” he declared, pushing away from the table.
Despite his claim, though, he was visibly shaken. Once on his feet, he took a moment to steady himself. This time Jenny was about to rush to assist him, but a sharp look from her mother kept her in her seat.
Finally he squared his shoulders and said, “I’m going to my office. I’ve got some thinking to do.”
“Harlan, you haven’t even finished your dinner,” her mother protested.
“I’m not hungry.”
Her mother gave a resigned sigh. “I’ll bring a snack to your office in a bit, then,” she said, watching him go, her expression filled with concern.
When he was gone, Jenny turned to her mother. “I’m sorry, Mom.”
“No, Jenny. Harlan’s right. It’s better to be prepared, I suppose.” She didn’t sound convinced.
“Did you know anything about this brother?” Jenny asked.
“Nothing. He’s never said a word. It’s as if the man never existed. I doubt we would ever have heard of him if this Chance Adams hadn’t turned up.”
“There’s not a single snapshot in the house with him in it, I’m sure of that,” Jenny said. “Remember how I used to make Daddy sit down with all the family albums and tell me who everyone was?”
Her mother smiled. “Once he made you an Adams, you went about it with a vengeance. I’ve never known anyone so anxious to know every little detail about their adoptive ancestors.”
“I don’t know why that surprised you,” Jenny countered. “I was the same way about yours. It’s just that you’d been telling me all those stories for years and years. Besides, I wanted to figure out which one of those sneaky Adamses stole Native American land.”
She’d made the comment in jest, but her mother looked thoughtful.
“Harlan made you his heir so you’d get your share of that land back,” she reminded Jenny. “Do you suppose he’ll do the same thing to make things right with Chance Adams?”
“Nephew or not, Daddy didn’t sound much like he thought this man had a legitimate claim,” Jenny said.
Lizzy agreed with her. “In fact, I’m betting that by tomorrow he’ll have the wagons circled. You’d better tell Maritza to count on every family member within shouting distance to be here for dinner. Daddy’s probably calling Luke and Cody and Jordan now.”
“You’re probably right,” her mother conceded. “In that case, I’d better take that snack in to him and make sure he eats it. He’s going to need all his strength for whatever lies ahead.”
By dinnertime the next day, Harlan had, in fact, gathered the whole darn clan. Luke and Jessie had driven over from their ranch. Cody, who ran White Pines on a day-in day-out basis, was there with Melissa. Even Jordan had flown in from Houston, where he’d been checking on the branch office of his oil operation for the past week. Kelly met him on the porch and they came in together.
The next generation was represented by Jordan’s son, Justin, his daughter, Dani and her new husband, and Cody’s son, Harlan Patrick. Cody’s daughter, Sharon Lynn, was expected as soon as she closed Dolan’s for the night, along with her fiancé, Kyle Mason.
Looking at the noisy gathering crowded around the dinner table, Jenny smiled. She was pretty sure Luke’s daughter, Angela, and Clint would have flown down from Montana with their son if there had been time. Everyone else was there. That was just the way this family did things. That solidarity and strength was what made them wonderful.
And formidable. She wondered if Chance Adams had any idea what a united front he was about to go up against.
Maritza had reacted to the sudden dinner party with her usual aplomb. The table was filled with platters of the black-bean burritos, the chicken enchiladas and savory beef tacos that everyone loved. There were huge bowls of pico de gallo and hot sauce spicy enough to burn the roof of your mouth.
To Jenny’s amazement, her father remained absolutely quiet about the reason for the gathering until after Maritza had served the cooling caramel-topped flan for dessert. Maybe he’d figured digesting all that Mexican food was going to be difficult enough without mixing in stress.
Or maybe he was just putting off the bad news because he feared getting into it at all. Jenny observed him intently all during the meal and noticed he barely touched his food, even though it was something he loved and rarely got a chance to eat since Maritza had taken to keeping a close eye on his diet. Whatever had happened years ago with this long-lost brother was clearly eating away at him now.
“I suppose you’re wondering why I insisted on getting all of you together in such a hurry,” he began, silencing the small talk and good-natured bickering going on around the table. He cleared his throat. “Something’s come up and I felt it couldn’t wait till Sunday.”

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