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My Montana Home
Ellen James


Set against the magnificent background of Montana comes the saga of the Maxwells–one of the state's most powerful ranching families.Cassie Maxwell Warren has kept her seven-year-old son away from the influence of her dominating father–patriarch of the powerful Maxwell ranching dynasty. She saw how that influence almost destroyed her teenage brother and she wants to protect Zak. But now her son is becoming too attached to Andrew Morris, a man who thinks he knows what's best for the child–and for Cassie.









“You live in Texas, I live in Montana…”


Cassie saw the unexpected glimmer of amusement in Andrew’s eyes as she spoke. She tried again. “Besides, I don’t even really know you.”

“The lawyer I need to see is out of town for a week. Means I have to stick around a little longer than I’d planned. That gives us the perfect opportunity, if you ask me.”

The humor was there, all right, sexy and dangerous. How tempting it would be to follow his lead…not to worry about the future, just to enjoy a day or two, a week perhaps, with an alluring stranger. But it was a luxury Cassie couldn’t afford.

She stood, setting her lemonade on the table beside her. “Sorry, Andrew,” she said lightly. “I’m not in the market to start anything new, no matter how…temporary.” She saw the regret in his eyes and felt her own regret. But it didn’t hurt; that was the blessed thing. Thank goodness she’d learned how to stop before she did get hurt. Before her son got hurt, too.

And so she walked away from Andrew Morris.


Dear Reader,

I’ve always been fascinated by Montana, with its mountains and prairies, its rivers and ranchlands. I’m therefore delighted to be part of this trilogy about the women of Montana—women with hopes and passions as grand as the Big Sky state itself. Thea, Jolie and Cassie Maxwell are Montana sisters who grew apart over the years, as they struggled to deal with their difficult father and their rebellious kid brother.

I hope you’ve enjoyed the stories of Thea and Jolie, the youngest and oldest Maxwell sisters. After finding love with wonderful men, and in the process learning to open their hearts, Thea and Jolie are hoping that their sister Cassie—the “middle” Maxwell—will have the same luck in love. Cassie, however, has too many reasons not to fall in love. She’s determined to protect herself as well as her young son, Zak, from ever being hurt again.

Please join me now as Cassie tries as hard as she can not to fall for handsome Dallas lawyer Andrew Morris. When Montana meets Texas, though, anything is bound to happen.

Happy reading,

Ellen James




My Montana Home

Ellen James





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


This book is dedicated to my husband.

Robert, here’s to many more Montana dreams.




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




CHAPTER ONE


CASSIE WARREN STARED at the drop below her with a mixed sense of wonderment and panic. She knew the tree house stood no more than seventeen feet above the backyard of freshly mowed bluegrass. And climbing up the rope ladder had been so easily accomplished—egged on as she had been by her seven-year-old son, Zak. Yet now, to her chagrin, the rope ladder had disappeared, and Cassie had no idea how she could descend to terra firma without breaking her neck in the process.

“Zak!” she called again. “William Zachary Warren! I’m not kidding. I’ll count to ten and then…”

This morning had started out innocently enough—six o’clock alarm; twenty minutes of Jazzercise with her Fit or Flab video; a quick shower; then breakfast and some time with Zak before work. Only, that quality time with Zak had turned sour again, and mushroomed into what amounted to a full-blown therapy session—forcing Cassie to push back her first two appointments of the day and cancel lunch with her boss. Zak had withdrawn severely since the breakup of Cassie’s marriage over a year ago. She’d tried everything she knew in order to reach him, to get him to express the pain and anger he kept bottled up inside. So today, when Zak retreated into his usual forlorn silence, she’d been willing to do anything to spark a response in her son. Acting on sudden inspiration, she’d ascended with him to the one place where he seemed to feel safe and at home: this old backyard tree house perched high in a venerable oak.

Once ensconced, Zak had seemed to relax just a bit, answering her attempts at conversation with guarded monosyllables. Finally she’d settled back, allowing her eyes to drift shut. She’d been so tired lately, trying to juggle motherhood with a job at Child Services that drained her emotions while scarcely paying the bills. She’d been so worried, too—worried about her kid brother, Bobby, and all the trouble he’d been in. The drunk-driving accident he’d caused…the baby daughter he’d fathered at the young age of nineteen. And then there was Robert Maxwell, Cassie’s dad—an impossible man in so many ways, refusing to take care of himself the way he should…

Yet up here in the tree house, she’d left all that behind for a moment. It was so peaceful, with only the chatter of sparrows and a rustle of leaves in the warm breeze. No wonder she’d fallen gently asleep.

And meanwhile, her darling, infuriating young son had left her stranded. She knelt to peer once again at the drop below. Since he’d taken the ladder, there was only one way Zak himself could have made it to the ground—shinning down the tree trunk. Not exactly her idea of fun…

“Zak!” she hollered. “William Zachary! This isn’t funny. You’re in big trouble—major trouble.”

At last she heard the sound of footsteps approaching on the gravel path.

“Young man,” she said sternly, “you and I are going to have a very serious talk.”

“I’m listening,” remarked a voice. Not her son’s, though. It was a man’s voice, all grown up. Cassie craned her neck so she could see through the leaves. The man gazing up at her looked both gorgeous and bemused. He had rich dark hair, which this morning’s Montana breeze seemed to take delight in rustling about his forehead. From this distance, she couldn’t be certain about the precise color of his eyes, but his features were undeniably strong and decisive. Even perched as she was above him, he looked tall and ruggedly built—the perfect build, perhaps, to rescue a damsel stuck in a tree.

“In my day,” said the man, now standing in full view beneath her, “girls weren’t allowed in the tree house…because they were…girls.”

Cassie tried to send down a withering look. “I don’t suppose you have a ladder handy,” she said.

“Not on me,” said the man. “Sorry…didn’t realize I’d be involved in a lifesaving attempt today.”

“It’s hardly a matter of life or death,” Cassie began, then stopped herself. The situation was ridiculous. She considered her options. Maybe she’d just slide down the tree herself. She’d always been athletic—played soccer in high school and college. If she could bodycheck a goalie, she could certainly manage a simple tree trunk—

“I could call the fire department,” the man said helpfully.

“That’s for cats stuck in trees,” Cassie retorted. She eyed the branch several feet below and to the right. It looked substantial enough. If she could get that far, it shouldn’t be too difficult to clamber the rest of the way down…she hoped. She inched forward…

But then, quite naturally and almost effortlessly, the man began climbing toward her. He seemed to know just where to put his feet, and just which knot or branch would provide a perfect handhold. He also didn’t seem to mind that he was wearing an elegantly tailored suit in slate gray, hardly the attire for scaling a one-hundred-year-old oak. Before Cassie knew it, he’d reached the tree house, pulled himself up easily and was sitting beside her. She stared at him, a bit flustered by his sudden proximity. Now she could see his eyes very clearly. They were deep brown yet with a hint of gold…a color that made her think of dark maple syrup and autumn firelight.

Cassie drew in her breath a little, dismayed at the direction of her thoughts.

He regarded her soberly. “Feeling okay?” he asked.

“Fine,” she said more grumpily than she’d intended. “I just want to get down from this tree.”

The man seemed to be in no hurry. He glanced around, shrugging off his suit jacket. Next he loosened his tie and settled back, resting one arm on a knee. “I haven’t been up here in years,” he said reflectively. “Not since I was a boy. But it’s just the way I remember it. Snug and sturdy…with just enough room for your imagination. Gramps really knew what he was doing when he built it.”

Cassie finally collected her thoughts. “Of course,” she said. “You must be Andrew. Hannah’s grandson.” She paused, then went on more softly. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am about your losing Hannah.”

Elderly Hannah Elizabeth Rogers had been Cassie’s salvation this past year. The divorce had left Cassie cash poor, with virtually no financial assets—yet the most important asset of all, a son she loved with her entire heart. She’d been determined not to ask her wealthy, domineering father for help. From long experience, she knew he would have tried to take over her life. Instead she’d moved to Billings to start a new job, a new existence.

A chance meeting with Hannah had resulted in friendship, as well as an invitation to stay in the guest house on Hannah’s property. Cassie had paid rent…not enough, she’d often protested. But Hannah would hear none of it. She’d said that having Cassie and Zak around made her feel part of a family again. And young Zak, she’d said, reminded her of her grandson Andrew when he’d been a boy. Andrew, the beloved grandson who lived in Texas, and who Hannah visited every six months. Except that, on this past visit three weeks ago, Hannah had suffered a massive heart attack.

Now Cassie watched the expression of sorrow and wistfulness that played across Andrew’s face.

“She was a grand old lady,” he murmured. “Stubborn…funny…generous. Even when it came to her last wishes. On her deathbed, she made me promise no funeral…no mourning. She insisted everyone remember her alive.”

Hannah had been generous, especially with her time and affection. Zak had been lured from his shell by the stories she’d told him about her childhood in Montana during the Great Depression, and he’d even taken a fancy to the chocolate macadamia cookies she baked especially for him. Now that she was gone, he’d withdrawn even further than before.

Cassie stirred. “I must go find my son,” she said.

Andrew gave a slight smile. “Don’t suppose you’d be talking about a quiet little kid with red hair and freckles.”

“That’s the one,” she said ruefully. “Also identified by the rope ladder he absconded with.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” Andrew said, “he’s the one who told me where to find you. And don’t worry—I loaned him a golf club and left him practicing his putt on the front lawn. That should keep him busy for a few minutes at least.”

Cassie raised her eyebrows. “You play golf?” she asked. Somehow it didn’t seem quite his sport. She would have pictured something more adventurous, more…physical.

“It’s from Hannah’s old set of clubs,” he explained. “I found them in the attic when I was poking around up there just now. I’d forgotten about the golf phase she went through in her sixties till I saw those trophies and clubs.”

Cassie hadn’t even known about Hannah’s golf phase. Of course, Cassie had never been part of Hannah’s real family, just someone who had enjoyed the old woman’s kindness for a time. With Hannah, things had been so uncomplicated…so different from Cassie’s relationship with her own family. Suddenly she felt very lonely.

“Well,” she said to Andrew. “I expected that you’d fly up from Dallas to settle your grandmother’s affairs. I just didn’t know you’d be here today. Zak and I will clear out of the guest house, of course. I’ve been looking for an apartment, and—”

“Relax,” Andrew said dryly. “I’m not going to throw you out on the street. I barely got into town a few hours ago—I haven’t even met with Hannah’s lawyer yet.” He settled back even more comfortably. “We’ve got plenty of time to sort things out.” A jay alighted on a branch above, wings a smoky blue. It stared at Andrew and Cassie for a moment, then skimmed away again. The breeze brought a faint scent of lilac.

“Kind of nice up here, isn’t it?” Andrew said. His gaze traveled over Cassie. He seemed to be taking his time, and enjoying it. She felt herself flush. Rather pointedly, she glanced at her watch.

“I have to get Zak to the sitter’s. And myself to work—”

“It’s Saturday,” Andrew said. “Nobody should have to work on Saturday.”

She gave him a skeptical glance. “From what Hannah said about you, you’re not the type to take off weekends.”

“She always did tell me I worked too hard,” he said reflectively. “So now I’m trying to follow her advice. I’m trying to kick back.”

Hannah had shared quite a few tidbits about her grandson. He had his own law practice in Dallas, he was too involved in his job, he always seemed to date women who insisted they weren’t ready to settle down yet, but frankly he was the one with the settling-down problem….

Cassie made an effort to control her thoughts. His personal life was absolutely no concern of hers. She wondered just how long she was going to be up in this tree with him. Yes, it was undeniably pleasant, and the man was extremely easy on the vision, but still…she had a life waiting below.

“Who knows,” she said, “what damage my son will manage to do with a golf club. Children are alarmingly inventive. I really do have to get down from here.”

“Too bad,” Andrew murmured. “But, if you insist…I’ll go down first. Follow my lead, and you’ll be fine.”

He began descending as expertly as he’d come up. Cassie tried to do exactly what he did—putting a foot here, finding a handhold there. The ground seemed much too far away.

“You’re doing fine,” said Andrew. “We’re almost there.”

“Let me guess,” Cassie muttered as she clung to the trunk of the tree. “Rock climbing’s your sport.” She inched her left foot downward, then her right. Her sneaker found an anchor, and she breathed a little more calmly. Andrew dropped to the ground, gazing up at her.

“Just a little farther,” he said.

She finally relaxed—and that was her mistake. Her sneaker slipped, and suddenly she was flailing wildly.

“Oh no!”



“HUNKS FALLING FROM TREES? Surely, Cassie, even you can think of a better one than that.”

“I’ve already told you, Gwen. I was the one who fell out of the damn tree. I landed sort of, well, sort of on top of him.” She glanced over to where Andrew Morris was seated.

Andrew was getting just a tad impatient. He’d been sitting in this examination room like an afterthought for the better part of fifteen minutes, waiting for the doctor to show—turned out Cassie had rushed him to the office of her son’s pediatrician.

“Right, right…you simply happen to fall into the arms of a ravishing male. Some girls have all the luck.”

“Luck,” said Cassie. “I don’t think falling on a man and practically killing him is good luck.”

Andrew’s finger hurt like hell, and he was starting to feel a little light-headed from overoxygenation—he had always used deep, steady breathing to cope with stress. It wasn’t so much the purple color of his finger that bothered him, nor the fact that it was now swollen beyond its normal size. No, what really bothered Andrew was the way his digit looked longer than any of the others, and it just sort of stuck out there on its own at an odd angle.

The doctor, Gwen-something-or-other, who had finally breezed into the examination room a moment ago, now slapped up some X rays and perused them. “I mean, if you’ve made a new gentleman friend,” she remarked to Cassie, “why not just come out and say so. No need to make up this fanciful story about falling out of trees.”

The doctor was definitely getting on Andrew’s nerves. Among other things, she had already given him a very painful painkilling shot in his hand. And, along with the fact that she treated him as if he was seven years old, she had stout blond hair that looked too big for the rest of her.

“He is not my gentleman friend,” Cassie protested. “Please, would you just tell me how much damage I’ve inflicted on him?” Cassie, unlike the doctor, had hair that was just right—vivid red, cascading haphazardly down her back. She also had hazel eyes, and the merest hint of freckles across her cheekbones. She was, in sum, beautiful. Too bad that Andrew couldn’t truly appreciate her at this moment. Too bad they weren’t alone in the tree house, before the…accident.

He cleared his throat. “Ladies—”

“Not broken. Just dislocated,” said the doc, giving Andrew an annoyingly cheerful grin. “We can be thankful for that, at least. Now, I am going to have to pop that joint back into place. Not squeamish, are you?”

He gave her a sour look.

“Tell you what,” she went on imperturbably, rummaging through a supply drawer. “Cassie’ll hold your arm steady—she’s not squeamish.”

Cassie gave Andrew an uncertain look, then glanced toward the door. “I’d better go see how Zak’s doing—”

“Your son’s fine,” said Dr. Gwen. “You know how he likes that new game on Lucy’s computer. No, you stay here and help me with your gentleman friend. Right, right, you’re going to tell me he’s not your gentleman friend. But, honey, after Jeff…you really shouldn’t let a good one get away.”

Cassie had flushed a bright pink. “Gwen,” she said in a warning tone.

The doctor came over next to Andrew with gauze, surgical tape and a splint. She gave him a conspiratorial nod. “Surely you’ve heard all about Jeff by now?”

Andrew stared at the lamentable condition of his finger. “Actually, I haven’t,” he said.

Now Cassie treated him to a warning glance.

“Jeff’s Cassie’s ex,” said Dr. Gwen as she positioned his arm. “Cassie, hold on to him right there…anyway, wouldn’t you know she ended up marrying Jeff even after her dad told her the guy was a flat-out loser. Of course, maybe that’s why she married him. I mean, what better rebellion can you have? Elope with a man your father despises…”

“Gwen!” Cassie exclaimed, a brighter pink than ever.

“Anyway,” Dr. Gwen went on relentlessly as she examined Andrew’s finger, “in case you’re wondering—I am a very reliable source of information when it comes to Cassie. I grew up in Paradise Corners, went to high school with Jolie…that’s Cassie’s older sister. Jolie pretty much kept to herself back in those days. It was the longest time before I found out we both had the same dream—becoming doctors. Well, here I am, and Jolie’s practicing medicine back in our hometown. Of course, Jolie’s married now, and I’m still single. Now, Andrew, dear, I’m afraid this is going to hurt like hell…and Cassie, get ready to hold as tight as you can. One…two…there! That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“You forgot to count to three,” Andrew said between clenched teeth. But he had to admit the lady was good. His finger was back where it was supposed to be, and Dr. Gwen was taping it to a small metal splint. Meanwhile, Cassie kept her viselike hold on his arm. He gazed at her, but she seemed to be making a determined effort not to look back.

“Of course, you’ve heard of Cassie’s family yourself,” Dr. Gwen went on. “The mighty Maxwells, and all.”

“Can’t say I have,” Andrew said. Now Cassie was glaring at him again.

“Goodness,” said Dr. Gwen as she wielded her surgical tape. “I thought everyone in Montana had heard of the Maxwells. They practically wrote the book on ranching. And Cassie’s dad…well, he’s practically written the book on being a patriarch. More than a little overwhelming, if you want to know the truth. I used to be scared to death of him when I was a kid, and I’d see him striding down Main Street like he owned it. The look he could give you… No wonder Cassie and Jolie and even Thea—the youngest—ended up rebelling against him… There! All set. I’ll put you on an anti-inflammatory and some pain meds. Don’t move that finger, and make sure you come back day after tomorrow so I can have a look. Now, Cassie, don’t scowl at me like that. I didn’t tell him anything he wasn’t going to find out eventually.” Dr. Gwen gave both of them a cocky grin, and vanished out the door.

“She kind of grows on you,” Andrew remarked, observing his bandaged hand.

Cassie muttered something under her breath and dropped his arm as if she’d just realized she was holding it. “Oh, look,” she burst out. “I’m sorry, I really am.”

“Relax. That’s about the twentieth time you’ve apologized. It was an accident. Could’ve happened to anyone.”

“It was very…nice of you, trying to break my fall the way you did.”

“Don’t mention it.” Andrew liked the way she blushed, and she seemed to do it quite a bit.

She picked up her purse and fiddled with the strap. “When I was apologizing just now, it was about Gwen, too. This was just the first place I thought to bring you. She’s a wonderful doctor, but she does talk a lot—”

“So now I know you’re divorced, and you have a rebellious streak when it comes to your father,” he said mildly. “Hardly capital offenses.”

“I used to have a rebellious streak. Not anymore.” She sighed. “I don’t know why I’m explaining. What do you say we get out of here?”

It seemed an excellent idea to him. A few minutes later they were out on the sidewalk, beneath a brilliant blue sky. Dr. Gwen’s office was in downtown Billings proper. The building was a converted Victorian on an old-fashioned street, tree-lined, with other old houses that had been turned into offices or duplexes. Cassie’s son, seven-year-old Zak, walked ahead of them, his head bowed as if he was deep in thought. Cassie gazed at him worriedly.

“He’s an okay kid,” Andrew said.

“Yes, he is. He’s wonderful. But he’s…quiet.”

“A lot of kids are quiet,” Andrew said.

“He didn’t used to be this way,” Cassie muttered. “It’s only been since…since the divorce.”

The infamous divorce. He gathered that it was still a big part of her life. “How long ago?” he asked.

“Over a year. So, Andrew,” she said determinedly, “have you ever been married?” She couldn’t have made it more clear that she wanted to change the subject.

“No. Hannah always told me I was missing out.”

“All depends on who you’re married to,” Cassie said grimly. And then, as if concerned she’d directed the conversation to herself again, she gave him another glance. “How’s the finger?”

“I’ll live.”

“I really am sorry—”

“There you go again,” he said. “Apologizing.”

She gave an exasperated shake of the head. “You have to admit the whole thing’s been highly unfortunate.”

He didn’t know what to think. It wasn’t every day that a beautiful redhead fell into his arms—and dislocated his finger in the process.

“Why are you smiling?” Cassie asked suspiciously.

“No reason.” He found, surprisingly, that he was feeling pretty good. He didn’t know if it was because of Cassie Warren, or the unexpected turn of the day. Cassie, however, didn’t appear to share his optimism. She gazed at him for another moment, and then her expression grew shuttered. She might as well have put up a warning sign: Keep away. Don’t get too close.

She called to her son. “Zak, the car’s over here. We’re going home.” And then she turned to Andrew one more time. “At least—it’s home until Zak and I find an apartment. We’ll clear out just as soon as we can.”

Andrew felt a stirring of disappointment. And that, too, was unexpected.




CHAPTER TWO


“WHY IN HELL did I have to be right-handed, anyway?” Andrew grumbled. He was attempting to undress himself, and not doing a very good job of it. His splint kept getting in the way of things like buttons and buckle. At last he was down to the basics—not that sitting around in his underwear was ordinarily his idea of a well-spent afternoon.

After the encounter with Dr. Gwen, he’d had Cassie drop him off at his hotel. He’d had in mind getting cleaned up and taking care of business here in Billings. Only, his hand had started to hurt again, and all he really felt like doing was stretching out and catching a game on TV. The childproof container on the pain medication proved even more of a challenge than his pants. But finally he managed to down a couple of the big white pills and flick on the remote. The Rangers and the Dodgers—baseball perfection. He had box seats for all the Texas home games, but rarely had time to go.

He smiled a little grimly to himself as he lowered the sound with the remote. His grandmother had often accused him of using his career to avoid solving the personal problems in his life. Problems—according to Hannah—such as his lack of a wife and children. Those were the only things that really mattered, she’d told him. Love…family… What was he afraid of? she’d asked him. Did he think there was too much potential for hurt, too much possibility of loss? But the past doesn’t have to repeat itself, she’d told him.

The irony of her remembered words made Andrew restless. He clicked off the game, stood up and began to pace around the hotel room, a space too small and confining. He’d had the option of staying at his grandmother’s house, where the surrounding acreage gave a sense of openness and freedom. So why hadn’t he stayed there? Was he really still running away from all the old memories?

“Crazy,” he muttered to himself. He’d hit the far end of thirty-five. After all this time, he should have gained some perspective. Some peace.

In Texas, at least, the shadows always seemed more remote. A background of darkness always there, but muted somehow. Distanced, as if he was watching a storm from very far away. In Texas it was easy—much easier—to go about his life. Keeping busy with work that mattered to him, seeing women he genuinely liked even if the relationships never went anywhere.

In Montana it was different. Time seemed to play tricks on him here. He’d be thinking about something inconsequential, and then, without warning, the years would seem to vanish, falling away and leaving him unprotected. Leaving him a kid again. And he would see the whole damn thing play over again in his mind, every detail as vivid as if it were happening right at that instant. Every sound, every whisper of pain.

So he’d stayed away. It had been up to Hannah to fly out and visit him. Sometimes she’d complained about it, but he knew that deep down she’d loved all the fuss and bother and adventure of her trips. She’d arrive in Dallas with far too many suitcases, take over his apartment and deluge him with the everyday dramas of her own life. On her last trip, she’d been full of stories about the boarder she’d taken in at her guest house. A vulnerable, redheaded woman who had a seven-year-old son.

Now Andrew stretched out again on the hotel sofa and clicked the game back on. Usually baseball could keep him occupied for an hour or two. But the image of lovely Cassie Warren kept intruding. The guarded look in her eyes, and then the dismay on her face when she’d fallen—quite literally—into his arms. Dislocated finger and all, it had been a rather intriguing experience. He smiled a little…a real smile this time.

The painkillers were making him drowsy, and he closed his eyes. The sound of the game drifted over him. And, for the moment at least, the old memories faded away.



WHAT WAS IT you were supposed to do with spaghetti? Throw a piece at the wall to see if it would stick? Ridiculous, of course, but Cassie never had been a whiz with pasta. Whatever help she could get…

She eyed the piece of spaghetti dangling from her fingers, and considered the wall beside the stove. Exasperated, at last she shook her head. Maybe she just should have chosen a frozen casserole and been done with it. But when you’d inflicted bodily harm on a man, you needed to make it up to him somehow—a home-cooked meal seemed a good way to go.

Cassie stirred the sauce simmering on the stove. There didn’t seem any way she could mess that up. All she’d had to do was open the jar. A familiar guilt stirred in her. She’d never been much of a cook, which was fine when you were on your own. But when you had a son to raise, surely you ought to provide him with nourishing, lovingly prepared meals. You shouldn’t rely on the local fast-food joint and the freezer section at the grocery store. But Cassie, usually so exhausted from her job, did exactly that.

So maybe this evening would help motivate her. If the spaghetti was successful, maybe she’d try a lasagna or a pot roast next. Feeling inspired, she went to the base of the front stairs and called up to her son.

“Zak…Zak! Dinner’s almost ready. Wash your hands and come down.”

The guest house remained determinedly quiet. Cassie waited another minute, and then climbed the stairs. She poked her head into Zak’s room. He was sitting cross-legged on the bed, an oversize book spread in front of him. Cassie knew which one it was—an illustrated history of medieval castles that he’d chosen from the public library. Lately he seemed fascinated by stories of knighthood. At any time, Cassie could find him carefully turning the pages of that volume, and studying the pictures. Maybe she ought to feel grateful that Zak liked books at such a young age. Except that a book was like everything else in Zak’s life these days—another excuse to retreat, to hide. Cassie longed for disorder, chaos, noise…all the ordinary signs that a little boy lived here.

“Zak,” she said now. “Mr. Morris will be here any minute. I want you to get ready and come down.”

Zak continued to turn the pages as if she had not even spoken. She battled a growing frustration.

“Zak—” She heard the way her voice sharpened, and she tried again. “I think we’ve caused Mr. Morris enough trouble for one day. Let’s at least provide a pleasant evening for him.”

Zak finally raised his head and stared solemnly at her. “I’m not the one who fell on top of him,” he said.

“A mere technicality. If it hadn’t been for you taking off with the ladder, I never would have fallen…” She gave Zak a stern glance. “And, by the way, you haven’t had your punishment for taking the ladder.”

“Okay. I’ll skip dinner,” Zak said, and he buried his head in the book again.

Cassie gazed at her son. “You don’t get to choose your punishment,” she said firmly. “You’ll wash your hands, and come downstairs, and you will be exceedingly polite to Mr. Andrew Morris when he arrives.” With that, she turned on her heel and marched downstairs before her son could respond—or ignore her.

Back in the kitchen, Cassie found that the sauce had splattered. Cursing under her breath, she wiped the stove and then checked the spaghetti. Now maybe it was too soggy. The casserole in the freezer was starting to seem like a very good idea.

But then the doorbell rang. Cassie felt suddenly, unaccountably nervous. She hurried out to the hall, glancing in the mirror as she went. Perhaps she should have worn something less casual than jeans and her embroidered Mexican top. And she could have brushed her hair at least one more time—

She was behaving for all the world as if she’d invited Andrew Morris here on a date. It was nothing of the kind. It was an apology dinner, as simple and uncomplicated as that.

But when she reached the front door, somehow she couldn’t bring herself to open it.



ANDREW RANG the doorbell again, then stood back to survey his grandmother’s guest house. In the dusk it looked like something out of a storybook—the kind of cottage you’d expect to find deep in a magical forest somewhere. It was two stories high, with dormer windows and vines growing up a trellis. It had been built almost fifty years ago, when both his grandparents had been young. Back then, they’d used it as mother-in-law’s quarters for Hannah’s mom—Andrew’s great-grandmother, a very independent and outspoken lady who’d lived to the impressive age of ninety-three. Andrew thought of his family enduring generation after generation in Montana. He had been the one who’d broken with tradition by moving away to Texas.

His gaze wandered back to the door. He was about to ring the bell a third time when at last the door swung open reluctantly. Cassie Warren stepped forward—and in the dusk she, too, seemed like someone from a storybook. Long red hair, a wariness in her hazel eyes, her skin beginning to take on the beguiling flush that highlighted her freckles.

“Before you apologize again,” he said just as she was about to speak, “no more apologies.”

She gave a shrug. “I constantly seem to be disrupting your life. I mean, when I called you at your hotel earlier, I could tell I’d woken you up—”

“I don’t usually fall asleep in the middle of the day,” he said. “Your doctor friend prescribed some pretty potent pain medication. But I’m glad you woke me.”

She treated him to a disbelieving glance. “Well, please come inside. I’ll warn you, though, I’m not the greatest cook—”

“You’re doing it again,” he said. “Apologizing.”

“Sorry,” she said, and then she laughed. It was a very pleasing sound. “Okay, okay,” she said. “Enough. It’s just not every day I maim someone.”

He proffered a bottle of white wine with his good hand. “Just to show there are no hard feelings,” he said.

She took it from him, surveying the label. “Very nice, indeed,” she murmured. “You have excellent taste, Andrew. Thank you.”

She stepped aside, and he entered the guest house. It looked a lot different than the last time he’d seen it. All the fussy details had been stripped away—carpet pulled up to reveal the pine floors, light curtains replacing the frilled drapes and valances, walls whitewashed over the yellow he’d never cared for.

“The place is better,” he said. “Your influence?”

“Hannah was open to suggestions,” she said diplomatically. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just finish up dinner. Make yourself at home.” She vanished into the kitchen, leaving him at loose ends. He wandered around, thumbing through a book without even reading the title, glancing at a painting without actually seeing it. Then he heard a bang and a muffled exclamation from the kitchen. He crossed to the kitchen doorway.

“Need some help?” he asked blandly.

Cassie had pulled something from the oven. It had landed on top of the stove, and now she was giving it a dour stare.

“Burnt,” she pronounced. “This means just ice cream for dessert, instead of ice cream and…apple betty.”

“Wonder why they call it that,” he said. “Apple betty.”

“I’m sure I wouldn’t know,” Cassie muttered. “Who am I trying to fool, anyway? I hate to cook.”

“So why do it?” he asked. “You could have sent out for pizza, and I would’ve been just as grateful.”

“Right. Men say that, but they never really mean it. Deep down, they all want some beautiful, big-chested blonde who can whip up a batch of brownies to boot.”

It was an image that gave pause, to say the least.

Cassie sighed. “I didn’t mean all men. Just a lot of them—including my ex-husband. Not that he ever found the blonde of his dreams. He just always gave me the impression he was looking. And after hearing Gwen spill the beans, you know all about how my dad warned me against Jeff, and how I went ahead and married the guy anyway.” She gave another sigh, explosive this time. “What is it about you that makes a woman run off at the mouth?” Very purposefully, she got busy with some salad tongs and lettuce.

He liked watching her as she moved around the kitchen. She pulled a strainer from the cupboard and plopped it in the sink. He took it on himself to drain the pot of spaghetti over the strainer. It was a little awkward with his taped finger, but he managed. Cassie stood beside him watching.

“Don’t tell me you know how to cook,” she said.

“I do eggs,” he told her, “as long as they’re scrambled.”

A few minutes later everything was on the dining-room table. Cassie sat down, then jumped up. “I’ll be right back,” she said. She went up the stairs, and he heard the murmur of her voice.

A short while afterward a door shut rather forcefully and she came down again. She didn’t look happy. She looked peeved. “My son,” she said, “will not be joining us for dinner. You know one of the most aggravating things about parenthood? Sometimes you just give in, even when you know you should make a stand.”

Andrew tried to look sympathetic, but his experience with parenthood was pretty much nil. He and Cassie started in on the spaghetti. His bandaged hand did pose something of a problem. He tried twirling spaghetti noodles around his fork with his left hand.

“I should have thought about that,” Cassie said ruefully. “But, don’t worry—no more apologies.”

A little practice, and maybe he could get used to this left-handed routine. At least he got a taste of the spaghetti. “It’s good,” he said.

She gave an unexpected smile. “Surprisingly…it is, isn’t it?”

He wished Cassie Warren would smile more often, but she seemed to be a person burdened with unspoken concerns. Now and then she glanced in the direction of the stairs.

“You’re worried about the kid, aren’t you?” Andrew said.

“Zak hasn’t always been like this,” she said quickly. “As I already told you, it’s just been since the divorce. I thought he was getting better. But then, after losing Hannah—he really loved her, you know.”

“I can believe that,” Andrew said in a quiet tone.

Cassie folded and refolded her napkin. “You’d think I could figure out what to do with my own son,” she said. “My job is supposed to give me some expertise, after all.”

Right…the job that kept her busy even on Saturdays. “What do you do for a living?” he asked curiously.

“I work for Child Services,” she said. “That’s why I moved here last year—to take the job. I’m a field agent of sorts…a troubleshooter, too, you could say. Basically, I work with families who’ve been referred to court for one reason or another. I gather evidence to help decide what’s best for the children involved. It’s wonderful work—and terrible at the same time. I see things that break my heart. Impossible situations…and I have to make impossible decisions.” She stopped, and gazed at him with perplexity. “You ask a simple question, and I give you a dissertation. Trust me, I’m not usually like this. Here…have some more wine.” She refilled his glass.

“Sounds like your work means a lot to you,” he said. “Why apologize for that?”

She grimaced. “So I’m doing it again…apologizing.”

“It’s my guess,” he said, “that the ex-husband really shook your confidence.”

She seemed to stiffen at that. “Jeff Warren is not worth anyone losing their confidence. He’s a…he’s a damn SOB.” With that she stood regally, and took the dirty plates into the kitchen. She reappeared a few moments later with two dishes of vanilla ice cream, and slapped one down in front of Andrew.

“Getting mad feels good,” he observed.

“Yes, it does,” she said ruefully. She glanced toward the stairs one more time. “But the reason my ex really makes me mad is the way he treats Zak. Promising to visit, and then not showing. Not calling when he says he will. No wonder Zak tries to shut down his emotions. He’s scared of getting hurt all over again.”

It sounded to Andrew as if Cassie Warren had a very complex life. Too bad he wasn’t going to find out any more about the complications. He was going to get his business done in Montana—wrap up Hannah’s affairs—and return to Texas as soon as possible. That meant he would probably never see Cassie again.

But, for now, he was sitting here across from this beautiful woman, eating ice cream. Andrew had learned how to enjoy the moment. He knew it was indeed possible to block out the past and the future, and simply savor the present.

Cassie seemed to be relaxing a little, too. She leaned back in her chair, turning her glass around. “Forget about me,” she said. “Let’s talk about your romantic troubles, Andrew. From what your grandmother said, you’ve had plenty of them…plenty of women, at least, who’ve wanted you to tie the knot. Apparently, though, you’re not the knot-tying sort.”

“That’s what she always said.”

Cassie gave him a shrewd look. “Tell me, have you tried dating any divorcées? A lot of the time they don’t want to tie the knot. They’ve already done it once, and found that quite enough.”

“Meaning,” said Andrew, “that you don’t intend to get married again.”

“That’s exactly what I mean.” Cassie stopped playing with her glass. “I’m going to check on Zak. Be right back.” She stood and headed for the stairs. Andrew watched her go. She moved with a natural, unaffected grace. He wondered if she realized how attractive she truly was.

When she came back down a few moments later, she looked troubled. “He fell asleep,” she said softly. “Right next to a book about knights in armor. I can’t figure out if he wants to be a knight, or be rescued by one.”

She didn’t sit down again, even though she hadn’t finished her ice cream—or her wine. Andrew decided the message was clear: the evening had ended. He stood.

“Thanks for the invitation,” he said.

“Thanks for coming,” she said after an awkward pause. “It seems strange you staying at a hotel instead of at your grandmother’s house.”

“Guess I like the idea of neutral territory,” he said.

Cassie studied him. “You don’t give anything away, do you?” she murmured. “I practically told you my life story tonight, but you’re as much a stranger to me as when you walked in the door.”

A stranger…somehow he didn’t like the sound of that. Unable to explain the impulse guiding him, he stepped nearer to Cassie. With his good hand, he gently ran a finger over her cheek. Her skin was soft.

She drew in her breath. “Andrew…”

He heard the warning in her voice. Feeling that stir of regret, he stepped away again. “Don’t worry, I’m not getting the wrong idea. That’s what you want me to say, isn’t it?”

“Something like that.” Suddenly brisk and businesslike, she led him to the door. “Good night, Andrew.”

“Good night.” His rental car was parked out on the driveway, waiting to take him back to his empty hotel room. The prospect didn’t seem inviting. Maybe that was why he acted on impulse again. He turned to Cassie and took her into his arms. And then he kissed her.

Her lips were soft, too. She tasted sweetly of vanilla. And, after an initial, very brief attempt to pull away, she kissed him back. Her hands moved up to his shoulders. He was looking forward to whatever might happen next.

He didn’t count on what did happen, however. There was a slight scuffling sound. With a gasp, Cassie broke away from him. They turned at the same time. And there, facing both of them, was Cassie’s seven-year-old son, Zak…gazing at them with a solemn, unreadable expression.

So much for a romantic mood.




CHAPTER THREE


CASSIE EASED OFF the gas. The road she was traveling happened to be well maintained, and she could have safely gone ten miles faster. But she always slowed down at this point. She always dreaded returning home.

Young Zak seemed to feel no such reluctance. He strained against his seat belt, sticking his face out the window as if to smell the ranch air. Cassie had known that smell for as long as she could remember—a potent aroma of cattle and rich red earth, prairie grass and wildflowers. She considered turning the car around and heading straight back to Billings. But she had come here for Zak. Despite all his efforts to hide his emotions, she knew that he loved Walking Stones Ranch.

Cassie slowed her Toyota a bit more, prolonging the moments before she would need to confront her family. But just then a figure appeared on the horizon—a large, broad-shouldered man astride a powerfully built horse. The image of man and steed seemed to shimmer in the bright morning light. Cassie heard Zak draw in his breath. And, as she pulled over and got out of the car, Zak scrambled out to stand beside her.

The figure drew nearer, Stetson shading his weathered face. He was, of course, none other than the boss himself—Robert Maxwell Sr., owner of Walking Stones. Cassie’s stomach tightened, and she felt all the old familiar emotions roiling inside. Defiance, anger, fear…love and worry. Her father’s bay mare came to a halt on the verge of the road. Robert Maxwell remained in the saddle, callused hands resting on the horn, hazel eyes surveying Cassie with neither welcome nor approval. She tried to think of something diplomatic to say.

“Dammit, Dad, you’re not supposed to be galloping around on a horse! You want your heart to give out right here and now?”

Robert Maxwell stared at her for a long moment. And then the grim lines of his face rearranged themselves into the semblance of a smile. A sardonic smile.

“Glad to see you, too, Cassandra.”

No one else called her that. She might as well have been ten years old again, a scrawny insecure kid wearing a too-big name. Now she tried again.

“Seriously, Dad. What does Jolie have to say about you disobeying doctor’s orders?”

“Your sister has plenty of patients without me,” he said dismissively. And then he focused on his grandson. “Hello there, Zachary.”

“Hello,” Zak answered in a small voice, gazing awestruck at the old man. Hero worship…that was probably the best term for what Zak experienced whenever he was around his granddad. Robert Maxwell was one of the few people Zak had responded to since the divorce—and that was why Cassie made the drive from Billings every three or four weeks. She would do anything for her son, even come home to Walking Stones.

Robert Maxwell Sr. fished in a pocket of his weather-beaten dungarees, producing an apple. He leaned down to hand it to Zak. “Here. Snowdrop’s been waiting for you.”

Zak took the apple and held it out cautiously to Snowdrop—so named for the pure white triangle on her forehead. The mare observed perfect manners, snuffling the fruit from Zak’s open palm. The little boy grinned for the briefest instant, and Cassie felt a brief surge of gratitude toward her father. She knew he’d pocketed that apple especially for Zak, especially for this moment.

“Zachary,” said Robert, “by now your aunt Thea’s figured out I made my escape, and she’s about to come chasing me down. You want to head her off?”

Zak nodded, and went racing off in the direction of the ranch house. Cassie watched him go, then turned back to her father.

“Dad—”

“Hold on. Before you start lecturing me about my heart, I’ve got something to say to you.” He swung down from the horse almost as nimbly as he had twenty years ago, when Cassie was a child. He took off his hat, revealing hair still thick, still reddish despite the streaks of white at his temples. Cassie studied his face, looking for signs of improved health. His complexion didn’t seem too bad today…

“Stop looking at me like I’m about to keel over,” he grumbled. “And just listen. You and Zak are going to move here and live with me. No more arguments.”

Her feelings of warmth and sympathy vanished. “I can’t believe you’re starting this again—”

“You won’t take money from me. You won’t take help. You keep talking about your damn independence. But all you’re doing is hurting your own son.”

Cassie struggled not to lash back at him, not to say anything at all. But he always knew exactly what to say. He knew where her vulnerabilities were. With Zak.

She found herself agonizing all over again. Maybe she was doing the wrong thing. Maybe trying to build a home for herself and Zak was a hopeless dream. Maybe she should sacrifice all her hard-won independence and move back to Walking Stones. For Zak’s sake…

She was saved further turmoil by the appearance of a vehicle on the road. A heavy-duty, mudsplattered Land Rover with her sister Thea in the driver’s seat and Zak on the passenger side. Thea came to a stop, got out and gave Cassie a hug. Cassie hugged back somewhat awkwardly. Ever since finding the love of her life in Rafe Rafferty, the local deputy sheriff, Thea had gained a happiness that seemed to embrace the whole world. She and Rafe lived in Paradise Corners, but they were both enthralled with the house they were building on a piece of Walking Stones land. They hoped to move into their new home soon—a home they would no doubt fill to overflowing with their love, hopes and dreams. Cassie felt a stirring of envy. No wonder her younger sister was so happy these days. This new, exuberant Thea was very appealing—but also a little overwhelming at times. For years, Cassie and her youngest sister had shared a relationship of prickly politeness—and at times, outright conflict. Cassie was still trying to get used to the new openness. After all, Maxwells had never been known for their geniality.

Cassie stood back and surveyed her sister. Thea’s lustrous black hair was cropped short, as befitted a woman who’d devoted her life to ranching. Usually she wore cowboy boots, jeans and a work shirt, but today she had on her Sunday dress, the one that made her eyes look a deeper blue-green than ever.

“Stunning,” Cassie said in all sincerity. “The folks at First Methodist won’t be able to keep their eyes on their hymnbooks.”

“That’s because they’ll be staring at you,” Thea said, sounding a bit awkward herself now that the enthusiasm of her initial greeting was over. “They only get to see you once a month—our bona fide city girl, come back to Paradise Corners.”

“I’m not going to church today,” Cassie protested.

“Oh, come on, you know it reminds you of old times,” Thea said. “You and me sitting in the back of the choir, tossing spit wads at the boys.”

Cassie smiled in spite of herself. There had been a time—very long ago—when she and Thea and Jolie had been close. Before their mother had died…

Now Thea approached their father. “You know what Jolie said, Dad. Lots and lots of taking it easy. You’re going back to the house, and you’re going to sit down and rest while Beth brings you breakfast. And no, there won’t be any eggs and bacon. Just oatmeal.” Thea sounded almost as commanding as the old man himself. He gazed at her sourly, then climbed back on his horse.

“I’m riding back,” he told her. Then, with a muttered comment about how much he despised oatmeal, he loped off again.

Thea shook her head. “I don’t know what to do—and Jolie doesn’t either. He won’t listen to us. Jolie stops by whenever she can, and I’m over here working all day, but we still can’t seem to control him. Beth tries to make sure he eats right, but then she’ll find him down at Grizzly’s Diner, eating a steak.” Beth Peace was the Maxwells’ longtime housekeeper. If she couldn’t keep Robert in line, what hope was there for the rest of them?

“He drives me crazy,” Cassie said. “But…I don’t want to lose him.” The words popped out before she could stop them.

“Yeah,” said Thea. “I’m kind of fond of the old guy myself. Go figure.” The two sisters shared a glance that bespoke all the years with their father. Defying him, fearing him, longing for his approval, and now worrying about him.

Thea was the first to shake herself from the reverie. She glanced toward Zak, who’d clambered out of the Land Rover and was now squatting to poke a stick in the ground. Thea hauled Cassie a short distance away.

“Okay,” she said. “Out with it. Ever since Gwen called Jolie and told her the news, we’ve been dying to ask you about it. Who’s this new boyfriend you’ve got in Billings?”

Cassie stared at her sister. “What on earth are you talking about? Why would Gwen—”

“Oh, come on,” Thea said impatiently. “Gwen called Jolie to discuss a patient referral or some such, and your name happened to come up. Gwen told Jolie all about how you brought some devastating hunk into her office yesterday because you’d broken his finger—”

“Dislocated,” Cassie said. “Not broken. For crying out loud, at least get the details right.”

“So tell me the details,” said Thea. “Who is he? How long have you known him? When are we going to meet him?”

Cassie groaned. “I can’t believe this, I really can’t. Why did I ever choose Gwen as Zak’s pediatrician—”

“Don’t change the subject, Cassie. Who is the guy?”

Cassie moved to a place where she was sure Zak would be out of hearing range. Thea followed. Cassie knew there was no getting away from it.

“I hate to disappoint you,” she said, “but I only met Andrew Morris yesterday. He’s Hannah’s grandson from Texas, and he’s only here to settle her estate. I, well, I fell out of a tree and landed on top of him…” Cassie stopped when she saw the way Thea was laughing at her. “Okay, okay, so it’s not the best way to make an impression on a man. But I didn’t want to make an impression.”

“So, tell me,” Thea said as soon as she could control her mirth. “Is he really as much of a hunk as Gwen says?”

“Yes, he’s gorgeous. Satisfied?”

Thea looked thoughtful. “So that’s the end of the story. You break his finger—sorry, you dislocate it—and you just walk away from the guy. Too bad.”

“I did the decent thing,” Cassie found herself saying. “I invited him to dinner to make up for all the trouble I’d caused.”

Thea perked up. “Dinner…hmm. Sounds romantic.”

“It wasn’t,” Cassie protested. “Zak refused to come down to eat, which left me alone with Andrew—”

“Like I said. Romantic.” Humor danced in her sister’s eyes again. Cassie glared.

“The food was mediocre. Growing up around Beth’s gourmet offerings, nobody in this family has ever learned to cook a decent meal. Me included—”

“Did you kiss him?” Thea interrupted.

Cassie felt her skin heating up. Silently she cursed the fair Maxwell complexion that betrayed every emotion.

Thea nodded. “Was it a hot kiss?”

“It hardly lasted at all,” Cassie muttered. “Zak showed up, and believe me—that put an end to things.”

“This is all very, very interesting,” Thea pronounced. “Jolie and I have been hoping you’d find someone.”

“I haven’t found anyone. I met a man. I dislocated his finger. I kissed him. End of story!”

Thea didn’t look convinced.



FOR THE SECOND TIME in two days, Cassie entered a doctor’s clinic. This one, however, was on Main Street in Paradise Corners, Montana. And it belonged to Cassie’s older sister, Jolie.

Cassie sat in the waiting room while Jolie attended to a Sunday emergency—a little girl who’d sprained her wrist after pretending to parachute out of a swing. Half an hour later, Cassie watched as Jolie ushered child and parent out the door with efficient care. The little girl’s tears had dried, and now she seemed proud of her exploit.

Jolie was very good at what she did. She could have stayed in California, specialized and be driving a Mercedes by now. Instead she’d come back to Montana to attend to ordinary, everyday scrapes and sprains and bruises. It should have made her seem ordinary. But it didn’t. Whenever Cassie was around Jolie, she still felt stirrings of the old half-resentful, half-admiring sense of intimidation. The sense that she could never measure up to Jolie…never be as smart or pretty or accomplished. Cassie sighed. Would she ever escape the trap of her childhood emotions?

Now Jolie sat down next to her, unbuttoning her white lab coat. She, too, wore a Sunday dress underneath. Her long hair, with its tendency to curl, was strawberry blond, her eyes a striking shade of blue.

“You know, as long as I’m at work, I could take care of a dislocated finger or two,” Jolie said in a deadpan voice. Cassie glared at her. It seemed she was doing a lot of glaring today.

“Very funny. I’m glad Gwen saw fit to share the whole humiliating episode with you.”

“Oh, I’m up on everything,” said Jolie. “Thea gave me a call this morning and told me about the kiss. So, just how serious is it with you and this Andrew?”

Cassie raised her head. “I only met him yesterday, for goodness’ sake—”

“Fast work,” Jolie said approvingly. “Maybe he’s the one…”

The problem was, Jolie as well as Thea had recently found happiness in love. Ever since Thea had married Rafe, last Valentine’s Day, and Jolie had walked down the aisle with Matt Dawson in June, the two sisters seemed to think Cassie should do the same.

Granted, Matt and Jolie’s ceremony had been a small, private affair, attended only by family and a few close friends. Their father’s ill health and their kid brother’s troubles had precluded a larger celebration. Jolie had insisted on that and for once, all three Maxwell sisters had agreed. But even so, Jolie had made a lovely, radiant bride. Thea had been equally lovely—and equally radiant at her wedding in February. Now the two of them kept hinting that Cassie needed to find a bridegroom of her own.

“Jolie,” Cassie tried again, “you forget that I’ve already been married once. I’m not looking to do it again.”

Jolie gave a dismissive wave. “Jeff doesn’t count by anybody’s calculation. You need to find the real thing.”

“I don’t believe in ‘the real thing,’” Cassie said. “Don’t forget—I married Jeff to rebel against Dad…etcetera, etcetera. I’ve never been one for romance.”

“Nonsense,” Jolie said inelegantly. “Sure, part of you wanted to thumb your nose at Dad. But you really were in love with Mr. Jeff Warren, aka His Royal Blondeness. I remember—you thought he was the most wonderful man in the world. So…you made a mistake. So…you try again. And this time you do it right. Who knows, this Andrew guy could be the one.”

“I’m not trying anything again. And I certainly didn’t come here to talk to you about Andrew…or love…or…”

“Relax,” Jolie said, propping her feet on the windowsill and settling back more comfortably in her chair. “Don’t get in a tiz. What did you want to talk about?”

Cassie stared out the window. She knew the sights of Main Street so well she could have cataloged them in her sleep. Grizzly’s Diner across the way, with the beauty parlor right next to it. Dillon’s Feed and Tack down the way, no doubt advertising another special on bran mash. The Lone Wolf and the Silver Spur…all too familiar, all making her feel claustrophobic. She just wanted to get in her car and floor the gas pedal back to Billings. But for Zak’s sake…

“I guess I want to ask your advice,” she said grudgingly.

“Don’t overwhelm me with your enthusiasm,” remarked Jolie. “But maybe I’d better make a record of this. Cassie Warren, actually wanting her big sister’s advice. Who would’ve thought. All those years you complained I just wanted to boss you around…”

“Are you finished?” Cassie asked with exaggerated patience.

Jolie gave a conciliatory grin. “You always take things too seriously—that’s why you’re fun to tease. But I’ll stop. Just tell me the problem.”

Cassie tapped her nails on the sill in a restless rhythm. “Dad’s at it again. Wanting me and Zak to move to the ranch house, and live with him. He thinks it’s the best thing for Zak. And maybe he’s right. Maybe Zak needs more stability than I can give him on my own. I can just picture what Zak is doing right now. Tagging along after his grandfather, or having Beth make a fuss over him. It’s exactly what he needs.”

Jolie was all seriousness now. “What do you need, Cassie?”

She closed her eyes for a moment, seeking clarity. But none came to her. “I don’t know…I just don’t know! Jeff racked up so many debts before our divorce, I’m lucky I walked away with the clothes on my back. After that, I promised myself I’d give Zak a home—a real home. Living in Hannah’s guest house, I’ve been able to start saving for a down payment. I’ve done pretty well, I think—”

“I’m not the one you have to convince,” said Jolie. “You’re still trying to prove something to Dad.”

Cassie gazed out the window again. “If I move back home, he’ll just take over my life. That’s his way. Always has been.”

“You know,” said Jolie, “Thea’s the one you should be talking to about this. Before Rafe came along she spent all those years at the ranch, trying to carve out some independence for herself at the same time. Ask her how she did it. Maybe that’ll help you with the decision.”

Cassie didn’t say anything at first. Thirteen years ago, she’d eagerly left the ranch to attend college in Bozeman. Jolie, too, had left home for college. Thea, on the other hand, had stayed at Walking Stones. She’d always insisted that she loved ranching, and that she couldn’t imagine any other type of work. But staying home had put her in an unenviable position between their father and their kid brother. Thea had pitted herself against Robert Senior’s formidable will, and at the same time she’d tried to be a surrogate mother as well as sister to Robert Junior. She would’ve been totally justified for harboring any resentments against Cassie and Jolie for leaving her to deal with the two difficult Maxwell men. These days she never complained, but still…

“Talk to Thea,” Jolie repeated.

“I can’t,” Cassie burst out. “I just…I just feel guilty about all the time I’ve spent away. And I’m sure deep down she must still resent me for it.”

“So you think she won’t give you an unbiased opinion,” Jolie said astutely. “You think she’ll tell you to come back so you can put your time in with Dad, too.”

“She’d have every right to ask that,” Cassie said.

Jolie straightened. “Listen, Cassie. I’ve had my own share of guilt for leaving Thea here to be family caretaker. And maybe that’s part of the reason I came back to Montana. I wanted to make it up to her somehow. But she made a choice to stay—and it was the right choice for her. You just have to decide if it’s right for you. I can’t give you the answer, and, in the end, I suppose Thea can’t, either.”

That left Cassie right back where she’d started. Confused. Uncertain. Wanting with all her heart to do what was right for her son. But feeling that something inside her would die if she lost the independence she’d struggled so hard to attain.

Jolie glanced at her watch and stood up. “We’re gonna be late for church. We’d better get moving.”

“Oh, no. I’m not up to going to church in Paradise today—”

Jolie gave another grin. “Did you just listen to yourself?”

“Okay, okay, very funny. But you know how I feel about this. When the Maxwells show up at First Methodist, they’re on display. And right now I just don’t want to be…on display.”

“Honey,” said Jolie, “you won’t be the one giving the show this time. Our kid brother is going to try talking to Megan again, and we’re all going to be there to lend support. I think it would mean a lot to him if you were there, too.”

Cassie wasn’t so sure about that. But, like everyone else in her family, she had a major soft spot for Robert Maxwell Jr.

Church it was going to be.




CHAPTER FOUR


THE MAXWELL CLAN filled up two entire pews at First Methodist Church. Cassie’s attention strayed from the sermon as she sent a glance down the row of faces next to her. Robert Sr. sat in his customary seat next to the aisle, as if ready to make an exit at any time. He always gave the impression that God would have to wait on his schedule, not the other way around. Beside Robert Sr. sat young Zak, looking a little sleepy-eyed by now. And, next to Zak, sat Beth Peace, her eyes on the minister. Thea and her handsome husband, Rafe, took up the last seats in the pew. Thea didn’t seem to be paying much attention to the sermon, either. She kept turning to gaze at her husband. He gazed back just as adoringly. Someone ought to censor those two.

Cassie didn’t have to turn around to see who sat in the pew behind. Jolie and her own handsome husband, Matt Dawson. No doubt they were doing the adoring bit, too. Next to them would be Lily, who’d just turned fifteen, and ten-year-old Charlie, Matt’s kids from his first marriage. Cassie heard some whispers and a muffled laugh, and then Jolie’s voice shushing. It had been tough going at first with teenage Lily, but Jolie had won over both her stepchildren big time. She’d acquired a family as well as a husband.

And, of course, at the very end of the pew, right behind Cassie, would be Robert Maxwell Jr. Nineteen-year-old Bobby, trying to deal with the terrible troubles he’d caused this past year. The drunk-driving accident that had left his best friend, Dan Aiken, seriously injured…the volatile love affair that had left him with a baby daughter and a girlfriend who had declared categorically that she wanted nothing more to do with his charming unreliability.

The congregation stood to sing a hymn. As the organ music swelled, Cassie unaccountably felt her throat tighten. The gold and ruby and turquoise of the stained-glass windows seemed to waver through the tears that rose to her eyes. She told herself fiercely to get a grip. What was wrong with her? Just because she was surrounded by her family…the family that she wanted to embrace and escape all at the same time…that was no reason to start blubbering.

Cassie managed to get herself under control. The service ended, and the Maxwells filed out with the rest of the worshipers. The blue Montana sky stretched overhead, clean and brilliant, while a breeze stirred through the aspens beside the little white church. It should have been a time of peacefulness and contentment. But one of the congregants, Megan Wheeler, was walking away quickly, long auburn hair flying behind her. She carried a blanket-wrapped bundle protectively against her body. Bobby hurried after her.

“Shucks,” murmured Jolie by Cassie’s side. “I thought he was going to wait for the moment to be a little more opportune.”

“He can’t wait,” said Thea on Cassie’s other side. “Megan’s making her getaway.”

The three sisters watched as Bobby caught up to Megan and began talking to her earnestly. They were too far away to hear what was being said, but the body language was more than eloquent. Megan stood stiffly, angled away from Bobby, still holding her baby close to her body. Cassie knew how much the girl had been through this past year or so…loving Bobby, believing he loved her, giving in to his charm. She’d been terribly hurt at his first reaction to her pregnancy—his blustering denial of responsibility. Later—much later—he’d tried to make amends. He was still trying. But who could blame Megan for refusing to trust him?

Now Cassie studied Megan’s regal bearing. Over the past months she’d changed from a shy, hesitant girl into a confident and independent young woman. Jolie could be credited for a lot of that. When Megan had run away from her abusive father, Jolie had taken her in, offered her a roof and a job. Now Megan lived with Jolie and Matt, and still worked at the clinic. Although she saw her mother and her little sister, Lisa, quite often, she never talked about her father who was serving time in prison. And, with Jolie’s help, she’d won a scholarship to Montana State University in Bozeman. She’d be starting school very soon…starting a new life. A life, perhaps, that would not include Bobby.

Megan’s face had turned stony and implacable. She listened to Bobby for another moment. He made wide gestures as he spoke, no doubt promising grand reforms. Megan, clearly, was not impressed. She simply walked away from him…more slowly this time, as if she knew that Bobby wouldn’t follow her. He didn’t. He just stood gazing after her, a look of despair on his face. And then, rather belligerently, he glanced at the people who had been watching him with covert interest. He strode off in the opposite direction from Megan.

“We have to go to him,” said Thea.

“He needs some time to himself,” said Cassie. “She just shot him down all over again.”

“He wants our help, whether or not he’ll admit it,” said Jolie.

And so it was that Cassie found herself propelled between her two sisters, off in pursuit of the kid brother they all loved.

They found him on the slope behind the church. He stood with his head bent, his elbows planted on the whitewashed fence surrounding the graveyard. It was a stance evocative of despair and frustration, two emotions that Bobby’d had good cause to suffer of late. Not only had he apparently lost Megan, but his best friend was in a wheelchair. Dan Aiken had regained some movement in his arms, but no one knew if he would ever walk again. No wonder Dan’s family was threatening to sue for millions of dollars…no wonder Bobby looked so downcast.

Cassie’s natural instinct was to hang back for a moment, allowing Bobby some time to collect himself. That was what she would have wanted in his situation. But Jolie and Thea just kept nudging her along with them.

At last, it seemed, Bobby could no longer ignore his sisters’ approach. He raised his head and frowned at them. As always, what struck Cassie the most about her brother was the resemblance…his striking similarity to their mother. Beautiful Helen Maxwell, gone now fifteen years but still so fresh in Cassie’s mind. Bobby had Helen’s wavy black hair and fair skin. He also had her very intense dark eyes.

“What do you want?” Bobby muttered, glancing from Thea to Cassie to Jolie.

“We want to help,” Thea said in the soft voice she reserved for the brother she’d practically raised ever since their mother’s death.

“We’re your sisters,” Jolie said, her tone more brisk but nonetheless unable to disguise her affection.

Cassie said nothing at all, sensing Bobby’s emotions. Stubbornness, unease, a restlessness—the very same emotions she had known at Bobby’s age, when she’d been all of nineteen.

“Guys, just give me a break—all right?” Now her brother was trying to sound careless, nonchalant. He wasn’t succeeding.

Thea stepped toward him, resting a hand on his arm. “What did Megan say, Bobby?”

“Hell, what do you think?” he retorted. “She told me to get lost all over again. No surprise. No big news.”

“Bobby,” Jolie said, “maybe you’re moving too fast for her. Pushing for too much, without giving her reason to trust you.”

He turned away without answering. Cassie had to admit that maybe Jolie was right. Not so very long ago, Bobby had asked Megan to marry him. She’d flatly refused. He’d asked her again—she’d turned him down again. She’d told him that she didn’t believe one word of his love, his declaration that he was ready to be a husband and a father. “Grow up, Bobby Maxwell,” she’d said witheringly. “Grow up, but just leave me out of it.” And today, if Bobby had actually proposed again…fact was, Megan already had too much practice saying no to him.

“Bobby,” Thea said, her voice still gentle, “you know what’s really still eating at Megan, don’t you? The way you reacted that day—the day you learned she was going to have a baby. So what you really need to do is convince her somehow that, well, that you really are ecstatic about the whole thing.”

“It’s more complicated than that,” Jolie said thoughtfully. “It’s Bobby’s entire history that has Megan running scared. Somehow we have to convince her that he really has changed—”

“Don’t you think,” Cassie said, “that this is between Bobby and Megan, and there’s not a whole lot we can do about it?”

“That,” said Jolie, “is a cop-out.”

Cassie gave a sigh. So maybe Jolie was right about that, too. But their kid brother’s “entire history” really was a complex snarl. His teenage years of drinking and rebelling against every possible sign of authority, especially if the sign happened to come from their father. It didn’t seem likely that three sisters, no matter how well meaning, could sort out Bobby’s problems.

Driven by that unaccountable restlessness, Cassie pushed open the gate to the little graveyard. She was drawn almost against her will to the granite headstones at the far end. They were just a bit bigger and grander than the ones surrounding them. Even in death, the Maxwell clan had always needed to proclaim its preeminence. Cassie stopped before one of these Maxwell monuments. Helen, beloved wife and mother… How inadequate the words seemed. They didn’t capture any of Cassie’s memories: Helen’s liveliness and irreverence, her ability to stand up to her dogmatic husband without ever giving a doubt of her adoration for him.

Cassie’s fingers curled against her palms as the old emotions raced through her, among them the grief and anger first experienced by a sixteen-year-old girl who’d lost her mother. Why did you leave us? If only you’d stayed here, alive and well…surely then Bobby wouldn’t have made such a mess of his life. Surely then I wouldn’t be so confused, wondering all the time about my own life…

Cassie took a deep breath. Impossible, of course, to expect that her mother would have been able to soothe every hurt, calm every fear. Now that Cassie was a mother herself, she knew that much for certain. But still the protests and the longings rose within her.

She’d hardly noticed that her sisters had come to join her.

“Will you look at that,” Thea murmured.

“Sometimes Dad shows a soft spot,” Jolie said, “in spite of himself. He was carrying those flowers earlier this morning, trying to hide them from us.”

Cassie gazed at the flowers that had been laid fresh on her mother’s grave. Daisies and violets with a few sprigs of sweet william. They had been Helen’s favorites. She’d always liked to say that the Maxwells had gotten too far above themselves, with their taste for roses and orchids. She would stick with the simple blooms…violets and daisies. It seemed that her husband, Robert Maxwell Sr., had not forgotten.

“Sometimes,” Cassie said in a low voice, “he can really get to you.”

“Talking about me behind my back?” came Robert’s gruff tone.

Cassie gave a start. Robert Sr. had appeared at her elbow, young Zak in tow. That would teach her not to get lost in her own thoughts.

“Hello, Dad,” Jolie said, apparently unperturbed. “Now and then we do admire your better nature.”

“Surprised you even think I have one,” Robert grumbled. “I know Cassandra doubts it.”

Cassie was starting to get that claustrophobic feeling, the one she got around her family.

“Dad, this is hardly the place for Zak,” she muttered. She took her son’s hand. “We’re going back to the ranch—”

“Running away,” Robert said disapprovingly. “Just as always, Cassandra. And this is a fine place for my grandson.” He took Zak’s other hand. The little boy went willingly with him, slipping away from Cassie. “It’s too bad,” Robert said to Zak, “that you never knew your grandma. She would have thought you were the best thing since glazed doughnuts.”

“Doughnuts,” Zak echoed with a quick, shy grin. “Really?”

Something twisted inside Cassie—a love for her son so boundless that it hurt. But there were other, less admirable emotions, too: jealousy and resentment. Worry that she could all too easily lose Zak to her father’s power and charm. Sadness at the fact that her father had never lavished on her the love and approval he gave to Zak. She glanced back at the gate, automatically judging the distance of her escape. A few strides, and she could be out of here, away from everything. Away from her father…

But then she saw Bobby. Her brother had stepped just inside the gate. He, too, was watching Robert and Zak. The expression on his face was shuttered, as if he was doing everything he could not to feel—not to care. Cassie could guess what he was thinking. Once upon a time, he had been the much-indulged Maxwell heir. In their father’s eyes, he had been unable to do any wrong. All expectations had been high. Until, of course, Bobby had started rebelling against the expectations. After that, his fall from grace had been swift, indeed.

Now Cassie gazed at her brother, and could imagine his own jealousy and pain. Robert Sr. had a new heir in whom to place his hopes, it seemed: William Zachary Warren, a Maxwell in everything but name…

“Zak,” Cassie said more sharply than she’d intended. “Come along. We’re leaving.”

“I don’t want to go,” Zak answered solemnly.

That earned him a glimmer of a smile from Robert. Cassie’s fingers clenched again.

“We’re not going back to the ranch, after all,” she said as calmly as possible. “We’ll head straight back to Billings.”

“I thought you were going to stay all day,” Thea said, drawing her eyebrows together. “I’ve planned a big family dinner for us.”

“That’s wonderful of you, but—”

“I was counting on it myself,” Jolie said. “Seems like we never get the chance to be together.”

“Next time,” Cassie said in a light tone. “We’ll plan on it then.”

“You’re always telling me that,” Thea said, the slightest hint of exasperation in her voice. “We’ll plan on it…we’ll do it later. Dad’s right, Cassie. You’re always running away. But I wish you wouldn’t anymore. I want…I’d like it if we could be a real family for once.”

Cassie stared at her younger sister. “A real family,” she echoed, not as steadily as she would have liked. “Oh, we’re that, all right. We have all the requirements—wounds that won’t heal, pain that won’t be forgiven…”

Thea gazed back, her own expression tight. “Are you implying, Cassie, that I haven’t forgiven?”

“You’d have every right to be angry at me still. Because you’re right, aren’t you? I did run away all those years ago. I left you with…with everything.” Cassie made a wide gesture. Only then did she collect herself, stopping before she could say too much. Her son was glancing with far too much interest from one sister to the other.

“Come on, Zak,” she said, holding out her hand.

“Wait,” said Jolie. “Just stay, Cassie. We need time together—all of us. Isn’t that true, Dad?”

He didn’t say anything, just stood there holding Zak’s hand and regarding Cassie with a look of disapproval. And that was when she knew she could not possibly stay—not for another minute. Not for another second.

“Zak, come here. We’re leaving.”

“I don’t want to go. I want to be with Grandpa.” And her young son burst into tears.

Robert shook his head, still gazing at Cassie with that look of utter disappointment. Now she felt truly desperate. Maybe she was a terrible mother, but she couldn’t seem to help what she did next. She grabbed her son’s hand and hurried him away from his grandfather. Zak cried the entire time.

She felt like crying, too.



IT HAD TAKEN less than twenty-four hours for Andrew Morris to become completely fed up with the splint on his right hand. The thing made even the most rudimentary of activities damn near impossible, so that tying a shoelace, starting the car, even eating a submarine sandwich became near feats of heroism. It also seemed to fascinate everyone who saw it. Andrew couldn’t count the number of times he’d been compelled to explain the tree-house incident—until, finally, he’d had enough of the sly winks and knowing nods he’d receive when the “redhead falling from a tree” reference was revealed.

So it was with absolute calm and resolve that he untaped the blasted splint and tossed it into the garbage. So what if his finger still hurt like blazes. He was through being a spectacle. Without the splint, running his new table saw was a glorious experience. It had been nearly twelve years since Andrew had had time to work with his hands. After finding that Hannah’s lawyer had unexpectedly been called out of town for most of the next week, Andrew had done some serious soul-searching about what to do with the hole in his schedule. Of course, he could fly back to Dallas to catch up on the Connell casework. But somehow, jumping back into his workaday grind hadn’t seemed so compelling. What had seemed compelling was the cupped and twisted decking on his grandmother’s back porch. Couldn’t let that go untended, if he wanted to help the resale value of the house.

Sunday afternoon, then, and he was having a fine time chalking lines and surveying and measuring those water-damaged boards. Time stretched out in front of him. The shadows of the past had receded, even here in Montana. He felt the late-summer sun warm on his back as he knelt on the porch.

The sound of a car turning into the driveway disturbed his reverie about wood screws and planking. He looked up, surprised to see Cassie Warren’s little hatchback. She climbed from the driver’s seat, and her son bolted out the passenger side. He was dashing away from her when she called his name in a warning tone.

“Zak!”

He skidded to a halt. She went over and talked to him in a low, intent voice. Mother and son faced each other. Both had their arms crossed, and both wore stubborn expressions. After a moment, the kid gave a shrug, followed by a reluctant nod. He whirled and sprinted to the oak at the back of the yard. In a matter of seconds he’d clambered up the now-replaced rope ladder and disappeared into the tree house.

Cassie shook her head wearily. Head bowed, she walked toward the guest house. But then she happened to glance up, and saw Andrew. She stiffened, the look on her face revealing that she’d much rather avoid him. He couldn’t say he liked having that effect on a woman.

After a moment she came toward him. “Hello,” she said too politely.

“Hello.”

She studied his right hand. “Amazing,” she commented. “Your finger healed overnight. Why, you don’t even need that splint anymore.”

The sarcasm wasn’t lost on him. “Miracles do happen,” he said agreeably. He sat back and took a long, enjoyable look at her. She was wearing a sleeveless blouse, a skirt that swirled pleasingly around her legs and sandals that showed she’d painted her toenails a bright cherry red. Her toes made him smile.

She crossed her arms and gave him a severe look in return. “I really wish you wouldn’t do that,” she said.

“Do what?” he asked.

She flushed. “Check me out,” she said. “You seem to be…considering possibilities.”

He thought about the kiss they’d started last night. That was what it had been—the merest of beginnings. Too bad he’d be in Montana only another week or so…

Once again the flush was making her freckles stand out in a very alluring manner. “Andrew,” she said in a repressive tone, glancing toward the tree house at the end of the yard.

“He can’t hear us from all the way up there,” Andrew said helpfully.

“Nonetheless…” She took a step away, as if about to leave. He didn’t want her to go. But something told him he shouldn’t feel this way. Something told him to put some distance between them, as he always did with women.

“Didn’t expect you back so soon,” he said, straightening.

Her face got a closed look. “Let’s just say that things didn’t go as expected with my family.” She stopped, as if thinking over her statement. “Actually, things did go as expected—only more so.”

“Sounds mysterious,” he commented.

“Oh, there’s nothing mysterious about the almighty Maxwells,” she said a bit grimly. “They have a long history of thinking they own the world, and everything in it.”

“Interesting,” he said. “You talk about them as if you don’t belong to them at all, as if you’re not a Maxwell yourself.”

She looked disconcerted, but then recovered. “I suppose that’s one of the hazards of being a lawyer,” she said dryly. “You pick up on the subtleties other people miss. Well, I’ll let you get on with whatever you’re doing.”

He definitely didn’t want her to go.

“Those are some pretty comfortable deck chairs over there,” he said. “And I’ll even make you some of my grandmother’s famous lemonade.”

She almost smiled at that. “Right. You’ll open a can of the frozen stuff, add some water and stir. Hannah always made her cookies from scratch, but not her lemonade.”

“So, are you game?”

She hesitated, glancing once again toward the tree house.

“Who knows,” Andrew said, “maybe some lemonade will lure him down.”

That seemed to do the trick. “All right,” she said. “I’ll stay…for a little while.”

A little while was fine.




CHAPTER FIVE


THE LEMONADE WAS COLD and tart. Cassie cradled her glass in both hands, telling herself she’d already spent enough time here on the porch with Andrew. Five minutes, to be exact. She glanced at her watch again.

“Relax,” said Andrew.

Relax…that was the one thing she didn’t seem able to do. Not with her family, not with her job, not with her son—and certainly not with Andrew Morris.

All she had to do was look at him to find her heart rate quickening, her skin heating up. If being calm was her goal, she’d chosen the wrong company. But that didn’t stop her from looking. He sat in the chair across from her, legs stretched out casually, the Montana breeze once again playing with his thick dark hair. Faded jeans suited him. So did his Texas Rangers T-shirt.




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