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The Rebel Rancher
DONNA ALWARD









CADENCE CREEK COWBOYS They’re the rough diamonds of the West …

Sam and Ty Diamond—these two cowboys have got

trouble as their middle name. With chips on their

shoulders the size of hay bales, these rough and rugged

men think they need a woman like they need a lame

horse. Little do they know …

Don’t miss any of the action in Cadence Creek!

Sam’s story, The Last Real Cowboy —May 2012

With a tip of his Stetson and a lazy smile, Sam

Diamond can charm anyone. Except prickly

Angela Beck …

Ty’s story, The Rebel Rancher —August 2012

Ty Diamond isn’t exactly known for his mild reputation.

But if he wants to be with Clara Ferguson, he’s

going to have to show her his gentle side …


Dear Reader,

“All the heroes have not gone. There are many undiscovered heroes left. They are disguised as everyday men and women who touch our lives and help us to be better.”

My sister-in-law Julie wrote those words in her eulogy to her dad—my father-in-law—who passed away while I was writing this book. As we sat in the kitchen and typed it up, I got to that part and totally choked up. Part of it was acknowledging the men in the family I married into—strong men, who believe in working hard and loving big. Another part was simply believing in those words. All the heroes have not gone. That is, after all, why I love writing romance.

I think those words were partially responsible for how this story turned out, because Tyson ended up being different than I initially imagined. I would expect him to do one thing and he’d turn around and surprise me with a tender side I didn’t know he had. I discovered he knew how to be gentle. That he cared very deeply about his family, had his own insecurities and a gigantic sense of honor. Turns out my rebellious hero ended up having a heart of gold.

Heroism comes in many forms. It is standing up for someone, or simply standing beside them as they face their demons. It is honoring a commitment, doing the right thing even when it hurts, or pitching in and lending a hand in a time of need.

Heroes are all around us—all we have to do is look. And sometimes remember.

Warmest wishes,

Donna




About the Author


A busy wife and mother of three (two daughters and the family dog), DONNA ALWARD believes hers is the best job in the world: a combination of stay-at-home mum and romance novelist. An avid reader since childhood, Donna always made up her own stories. She completed her arts degree in English literature in 1994, but it wasn’t until 2001 that she penned her first full-length novel and found herself hooked on writing romance. In 2006 she sold her first manuscript, and now writes warm, emotional stories for Cherish.

In her new home office in Nova Scotia, Donna loves being back on the east coast of Canada after nearly twelve years in Alberta, where her career began, writing about cowboys and the West. Donna’s debut romance, Hired by the Cowboy, was awarded the Booksellers Best Award in 2008 for Best Traditional Romance.

With the Atlantic Ocean only minutes from her doorstep, Donna has found a fresh take on life and promises even more great romances in the near future!

Donna loves to hear from readers. You can contact her through her website, www.donnaalward.com, her page at www.myspace.com/dalward, or through her publisher.




The Rebel

Rancher

Donna Alward







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


To Darrell. You’re the glue, and I love you for it

and

To Ralph 1940–2011.




CHAPTER ONE


CLARA HAD HEARD A LOT about Tyson Diamond. Some of it good, a lot of it questionable. But none of the reports had warned her that he was over six feet of sexy cowboy with a break-your-heart smile and a devilish gleam in his eye.

And now he was striding this way as Angela, still resplendent in her wedding dress, waved him over.

Clara wondered if she could say her final congratulations to Sam and Angela and escape before Tyson reached them. She’d managed to avoid him up to this point, after all. She’d been helping his father, Virgil, with his rehab after his stroke, and her off-duty hours were spent helping Angela plan the wedding from the safety of Butterfly House, the transition shelter Angela managed and where Clara currently lived. And Ty had been wrapping up his business up north and spending time with Sam as they worked together running the ranch. Somehow she and Tyson had failed to cross paths in the weeks leading up to the wedding.

Until today.

This afternoon he’d turned up spit-polished in his black suit with his hair just a little messy. Her mouth had gone dry just looking at him. Ty was exactly the sort of man she tried to avoid. Tall, sexy, confident and careless. The kind that ate shy girls like her for breakfast. The kind that girls like her could never resist.

Her heart had taken a little jump and she’d caught her breath before she could even put a thought together. But Ty had sauntered in, all long legs and crooked grins, and there it had been. Whomp. Attraction, pure and simple. Nothing in the world could have surprised her more.

He was still several feet away but closing the gap fast, and Clara felt panic start to bubble, making her chest cramp and her breath shorten. She wasn’t ready to handle this. She felt as tongue-tied as a schoolgirl only with the sobering wisdom of a woman who’d been through hell. Putting the two together only created chaos in her mind. A quick exit was in order. She turned to Sam and Angela and forced a smile.

“I’m going to take Virgil in now, but I wanted to say happy wedding day to you both.” She gave Angela a brief hug. “I’m going to miss you around the house, but you’re going to have a wonderful time on your honeymoon.”

Sam hugged Clara as well. She didn’t feel the unholy urge to pull away and run the way she usually did when faced with someone intruding on her personal space. She’d learned to trust Sam in the weeks leading up to the wedding, especially after he’d stood beside Angela as she faced her own demons.

“You did great today,” he said quietly, giving her arm a gentle squeeze. “And you look beautiful.”

Heat infused her cheeks at the compliment and at the knowledge that Tyson was nearly upon their little group. “Thank you. Now I’d better get Virgil inside, he was looking tired….”

Sam’s voice cut her off as he looked over her shoulder. “Have you met Ty yet?” he asked. “Ty, this is Clara Ferguson, Dad’s nurse. You’ll be seeing a lot of each other from now on.”

Too late. Clara closed her eyes and took a steady breath. She really wished she wasn’t blushing as she turned around, but she could feel the heat centered in her cheeks. Dammit.

Tyson’s jaw sported a faint shadow of stubble and the suit coat hung awkwardly on his rangy frame. But the style worked for him and his dark eyes held a gleam of approval as he looked down at her. His appraising gaze made something curl inside her uncomfortably. What she wouldn’t give for a pair of comfy jeans and a baggy sweater right about now. The sage-green bridesmaid’s dress was far too fitted to her figure and made her feel conspicuous. Compliments were well and good, but she was far more confident when she was in her comfort zone.

“Mr. Diamond,” she said, setting her jaw defiantly as she held out her hand. She could set the tone between them right here and now. Businesslike—exactly the way it should be between her and Virgil’s adopted son.

But it was an utter flop of an attempt. His warm fingers enveloped hers in a strong, lingering grip. A hint of a smile flirted with the corners of his mouth. “It’s just Ty,” he replied, with a voice as smooth and chocolaty as the dark depths of his eyes. “Or Tyson if I’m on your bad side.”

Bad side? Right now she felt as though she might swallow her tongue as she looked into his face. She liked the feel of her hand in his. Where was the old reliable revulsion she’d become accustomed to? The instinctive need to pull away and keep her distance? She knew how to deal with that. This was all new territory, and she was momentarily at a loss for words.

His smile widened and she pulled her hand away, hiding her fingers within the clasp of her left hand. “Right,” she said, her voice shaking. “Well, I’d better get your dad inside. Good night, everyone.”

She couldn’t meet his gaze as she scuttled away, but she heard Sam’s voice and it made her burn with humiliation.

“Go easy,” Sam warned Ty.

“Did I do anything?” There was a hint of defensiveness in Ty’s voice that fit with what she’d heard through the grapevine. That things weren’t as smooth sailing between the brothers as they seemed.

She quickened her steps so she wouldn’t hear Sam’s answer. Everything she’d heard around town was right, then. She hadn’t been able to tune out the snatches of conversation that had reached her ears today. The return of the prodigal Tyson was a hot topic. Unfortunately so was his track record with the ladies.

Tyson Diamond was gorgeous and he knew it. He was also a wild card and Sam’s illegitimate cousin who’d been adopted by Virgil and Molly as a baby. Trouble. He was the last person who should make Clara blush and stammer. She was smarter than that, wasn’t she?

Now he’d hung up his rodeo spurs and was coming home to run the ranch with Sam. With Virgil still recovering and needing regular care, they were going to see each other all the time.

Great. Just wonderful.

Clara helped Virgil get settled, but once she was alone in the quiet house her unease came back with a vengeance, sending tingles shooting up the backs of her legs and making an all-too-familiar weight settle in her chest. It had been a long, tiring day and her defenses were down. That had to be the reason why Ty’s simple handshake had made her react in such an uncharacteristic way. Or maybe it was just weddings. Weddings did tend to make people sentimental and romantic, right? She twisted her fingers. Or stupid.

Either way, it was one day. It didn’t matter a bit if she found Tyson attractive. She had no interest in romance. Not after all that had been taken away from her in the name of “love.” She had her eye set on her goal and nothing was going to divert her from it.

She escaped into the first-floor powder room, sat down on the closed toilet and focused on breathing deeply for a few minutes. Once she’d regrouped she got up, ran some cold water over her hands and carefully touched them to her cheeks, soothing the heat there without marring her makeup. She could do this. She’d come too far to go back to hiding away at the first whiff of discomfort. Goodness, a year ago she would never have made it through a day like today. She shouldn’t let something like this rattle her.

She stared into the mirror. “Living in fear is not living. I will not live in fear.”

The words soothed, both from sentiment and habit. She let out a breath and straightened her shoulders. She opened the door and nearly ran straight into Tyson’s chest.

His hands gripped her arms, steadying her from toppling over in the heels she wasn’t used to wearing.

“Whoa,” he said, his low voice rippling over her nerve endings.

Her faced flamed anew, his word choice making her feel decidedly klutzy and horsy. And he was touching her again. “I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I didn’t know anyone was waiting for the bathroom.”

“I was waiting for you,” he replied easily. He squatted down slightly so that he was closer to her height and peered into her face. She didn’t like the way he was looking at her. As though he was trying to figure her out. The less he knew about her the better. And she planned to keep it that way, no matter how often their paths crossed in the coming weeks.

“Waiting for me?”

“You ran off quite a while ago. I wanted to be sure you’re all right.”

“Of course I am.” His hands seemed to burn through the soft fabric of her dress to the skin beneath. She conjured up the polite smile she’d practiced all week in the mirror. “It took me a while to get your dad settled, that’s all.”

Liar, her brain protested, but she ignored it. A warmth ran through her at his concern. Usually she managed to fly under the radar, blending into her surroundings like a chameleon. People usually didn’t notice if she came or went. But Ty had.

Despite her assurances, Tyson didn’t budge from blocking the hallway. His lips curled up in the most alluring manner. Lordy, with a smile like that she bet he didn’t even have to try with the ladies. They’d all fall in his lap, wouldn’t they?

She stepped around him and he dropped his fingers from her arms. She breathed a little easier once he wasn’t touching her anymore. “If you’ll excuse me …”

“What’s your hurry?” he asked, his soft voice humming over her already raw nerves, making her pause, making her realize once more that they were very alone here in the house while the party went on outside.

“I should get back to Angela, make sure …”

“Angela and Sam have gone. You missed the throwing of the bouquet.”

Clara’s heart sank. Had she truly been gone so very long? Not that she’d wanted to catch the bouquet by any means, but she’d disappeared into a corner exactly the way she’d promised herself she wouldn’t. Once again she’d missed out on good things because she was too busy hiding herself away from something awkward or uncomfortable.

“I thought all the single women fought over catching it.” He raised his eyebrows. “You are single, aren’t you?”

The question was so ludicrous that Clara almost laughed. Single? Absolutely. For now and forever.

“I’m not interested in catching any bouquets,” she remarked, finally looking up in his eyes. They were good eyes, she had to admit. They were dark brown but she noticed now that they had little golden flecks around the pupils and crinkles in the corners. His lips were finely shaped, full where they needed to be full and just now curved in what she was realizing was his trademark smile—tilted to one side as if he was sharing a joke. All in all it was a bit lethal, and he was just the sort of man she might have been interested in before.

Before. She looked away from Ty’s handsome face and focused on the closet door behind his shoulder. It seemed her life was split into two distinct parts. Before Jackson and after Jackson. The carefree Clara she had been before no longer existed. Jackson had destroyed her.

For well over a year she’d been rebuilding herself from square one. The new Clara stood here now, in a new life and with a new job. She had to remember that. She had accomplished so much. She was a lot more careful now. A lot more cautious. A lot smarter.

“That’s a shame,” Ty responded, and she heard a laugh in his voice. “Because I caught this.”

She caught a glimpse of a blue-and-white lace garter as he stretched it out over a finger. Was he flirting with her? It seemed preposterous. She was plain as ditch water, and to a man like Ty, probably twice as dull. For heaven’s sake, she lived in a women’s shelter and spent her days as a private nurse. She was distinctly unworldly and unexciting. And Ty was a rodeo star and drifter. They had absolutely nothing in common.

She was therefore surprised to find that she didn’t feel particularly threatened by his presence. Ty Diamond was dangerous, all right. A real bad boy from all accounts. Yet somehow she felt … safe.

“Lucky you,” she replied dryly, proud that she’d managed to keep her tongue from tying in knots and trying to summon what used to be, in the before Jackson days, a ready sense of humor. “Do you have a girl in mind? Tradition says you’ll be the next bachelor to be married.” She smiled, but it felt forced, like she was baring her teeth. “Who caught the bouquet? A likely candidate for the next Mrs. Diamond, perhaps?”

“Amy Wilson, and I hardly think so.”

His displeasure was so obvious Clara let out a half laugh, half gasp. She was familiar with Amy’s vivacious and gossipy ways. Amy had had plenty to say about Tyson today and little of it good. It had sounded a bit like sour grapes. “That’s not very nice.”

He shrugged. “Amy and I have never seen eye to eye. She wanted Sam, you know. And when she saw me catch the garter she hightailed it to the other side of the garden, well out of my reach.”

“Why?” She looked up and saw he was still smiling that sexy half smile and she bit down on her lip. “I mean, why doesn’t Amy like you?” She couldn’t imagine being repulsed by Ty. He might look slightly out of place in formal wear, but it didn’t disguise the fact that he was a stunning display of masculinity. Gorgeous enough even to fluster her—someone who’d been immune to any sort of charms for some time now. The new Clara was far too practical to be distracted.

He stepped back. “Easy. The adopted bastard doesn’t have the same shine as the heir apparent.”

Clara turned away and began walking back to the kitchen so they would be out of the close confines of the hall. The words had been said flippantly, but he hadn’t quite been able to disguise the bitterness behind them.

“Did you say that just to shock me?”

In the kitchen, Ty went to the fridge and took out a beer, popping the top as he leaned his hips against the counter. “If I said no, would you believe me?” He took a drink.

She watched him for a few seconds. He wanted her to think he’d been joking but she saw something behind his eyes. Hurt. She was more sensitive to that sort of thing after what she’d been through. All she knew about Ty was that he was really Sam’s cousin, and Virgil and Molly had adopted him. What had it been like, growing up at Diamondback, in Sam’s shadow? Being a Diamond but still knowing that he didn’t quite belong? She found the Diamond house with all its expensive trappings a bit intimidating. Had Ty? Was that why he’d left?

“I don’t think I would believe you,” she said. “I think you might just enjoy shocking people.”

His eyebrow came up and his grin flashed. “You could be right, Clara.”

There was something intimate about the way he said her name. Her pulse began to hammer again. How did he do that?

He gestured with his bottle, a careless flick of the wrist. “So, what would it take to shock you?”

She swallowed. She might be practical but she understood a come-on when she heard it. Ty hadn’t moved an inch but he suddenly seemed much closer. She replayed the conversation she’d heard today to center her thoughts. Ty Diamond is a flirt and a player, the woman had said. It’s as natural to him as breathing.

Clara knew she was nothing special. And if this was Tyson’s way of making this a game, she wasn’t playing. She met his gaze and raised a single eyebrow. “That won’t work with me.”

He laughed. “You’re tougher than you look. Well, here we are anyway, both avoiding all the wedding hoopla. Get you something to drink?”

She shook her head, a bit surprised he seemed to brush off her comment like it was nothing. And he’d called her tough. He probably had no idea how much of a compliment that was. “If Sam and Angela have gone, I should probably be getting home.”

Ty leaned a hip against the counter. “To Butterfly House, right?”

She nodded. It was no secret where she lived, but she didn’t quite like Ty knowing, for some reason. His dark eyes assessed her a little too closely until she felt like a bug under a microscope. She momentarily wondered if Angela had sent Tyson in on purpose to make sure she wasn’t alone. While she appreciated the sentiment, lately she’d found herself chafing against the constant analysis of her every move and thought. Sometimes she just wanted to get on with her life rather than dissect it to pieces.

“Whatever you’re thinking, just ask, Tyson. Don’t try to guess. And don’t stare at me. It makes me uncomfortable.” She was learning to stand up for herself, to set her own boundaries, but even so a quiver of anxiety always followed such a demonstration of self-assurance. It was hard to get past the “don’t rock the boat” mentality.

“I didn’t mean to stare.” His gaze softened. “Angela told me you are a … is client the right word?”

“It works.” Her heart started drumming all over again, and not in the glorious anticipatory way it had before. He was going to ask. People always got curious when they found out she lived at the shelter, like they were somehow entitled to her story and the sordid details. “Is that why you followed me inside? To get the details?”

He put the beer bottle down on the countertop. He’d undone his tie and the black silk hanging against the brilliant white of his shirt made him seem approachable. Touchable. Not for her, though. He probably had a string of buckle bunnies clear down to Texas. A man like Tyson Diamond would eat her alive and spit out the bones before moving on to the next conquest.

She felt a tiny stab in her heart, remembering how she’d fallen for Jackson only to discover the true man underneath after it was too late. Too late for so many things. Her throat tightened as she grieved for all that she’d lost. Jackson had been handsome and charming, too. In the beginning.

Angela had talked to her about not judging every man by the abuser’s yardstick, and in her head Clara knew she was right. Her heart was still a little too bruised, though, to trust her judgment completely. She was perfectly happy going along the way she was. It would be even better when she was completely independent. She couldn’t wait to be one hundred percent in charge of her own life.

“You looked panicked out there. I know the feeling, and I wanted to make sure you were okay, that’s all.”

He wasn’t asking about her past. And he was telling the truth. His words were utterly sincere.

“You don’t strike me as the panic type,” she responded, getting a glass from the cupboard and filling it with water.

“I’m okay—in my element,” he responded smoothly. “Garden weddings? Not so much my element. Neither is this monkey suit.”

“I imagine you are more of a jeans and boots kind of guy.”

“Definitely,” he answered. “Anyway, back to my original question. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Of course I am,” she replied.

“Okay,” he said, sticking his hands in his trouser pockets, making his suit jacket flare away from his hips in a most attractive way. Clara swallowed. She remembered not two months ago, asking Angela about Sam as he chopped wood in the back yard at Butterfly House. She had told Angela there was a big difference between appreciating the package and taking the leap into something more. She’d looked at Sam through the window that day and found him handsome. But Ty … Ty resembled Sam but with an added something she couldn’t put her finger on. For the first time since crawling away from Jackson, battered and bruised, she was definitely appreciating the package, all wrapped up in a suit and patent shoes.

Her tongue snuck out to wet her lips and she saw Ty’s gaze follow the movement. All the air seemed to go out of the room.

She fought to be rational. Other than his hands briefly on her arms as she came barreling out of the bathroom, he hadn’t touched her or made any sort of suggestion that he was interested.

Except …

Except for the dark gleam in his eyes as he stared at her lips. There was just this thing hovering around them. It had been a long time since she’d felt it, but it was like riding a bike. Once you experienced it once, it came back to you in a flash—whether you wanted it to or not. Now she found herself staring at his lips and wondering what it would be like to be kissed.

Reality hit like a splash of cold water. “I really should go,” she said, taking a step backwards. Her voice sounded higher than normal and she swallowed. “Your mother will be expecting me here on time tomorrow. Weddings are all well and good, but real life has a tendency to intrude, and your dad has physio in the morning. It was nice meeting you, Ty.”

“You’re not going to stay for a dance or two?”

“God, no.”

The answer came so quickly and with such force that she didn’t have time to think about not saying it. There was acknowledging the presence of some sort of … chemistry, she supposed was a good word for it. But dancing—touching—in front of people? She swallowed. Her progress hadn’t quite extended that far. She’d even said no to Sam—who she trusted more than she’d trusted any man since leaving her ex—when he asked for a dance. He’d been perfectly understanding, but she’d stood by the sidelines watching everyone else dance, feeling silly. Like a coward.

Ty’s gaze darkened until it was almost black, and she felt his cool withdrawal. Leaving the half-full bottle, he headed towards the deck doors, stopping for just a moment beside her. She could feel the heat from his body and the crisp scent of whatever aftershave he wore surrounded her in a cloud of masculinity. “Miss Ferguson.” He nodded, then continued on his way. The click of the French door let her know that he was gone in a swell of country music that was immediately muted; she couldn’t bear to turn around and watch him stride away.

She hadn’t meant it how it sounded. She’d only been thinking of the idea of being held close in a man’s arms. The very prospect was laughable. Dancing was so intimate. The one thing she still hadn’t managed to shake in all the therapy sessions and the time that had passed was her aversion to having her personal space invaded. She hadn’t been held by a man since walking away. It triggered too many memories of how Jackson had held her and told her he loved her, only to turn around and use those same loving hands to …

She shuddered. But she knew how it must have sounded to Ty. It had been an indirect invitation on his part and she’d refused before he’d been able to take a breath. Right after he’d called himself the adopted bastard. He’d looked at her lips and she’d acted like she was repulsed.

He would think she considered herself just like Amy—a cut above. But he was wrong, so very wrong.

Tomorrow she’d have to face him. He was living here now, and she would be here every day, helping Molly with the household chores and putting Virgil through his physio exercises. It would be incredibly awkward at best if they left things the way they were now. She should at least explain that it wasn’t him, right?

She rolled her shoulders back and resolved that she would not have an anxiety attack in the next fifteen minutes. Instead she would take another step towards having a normal life. She couldn’t lean on Angela and Sam any longer. “Living in fear is not living,” she repeated to the empty room. Wasn’t it about time she started putting that mantra into practice? Wasn’t it time she did something about the one thing that still held her back?

Her hand tightened on the handle of the French door. She’d be able to face herself—and Tyson Diamond—in the morning.

It was time to move on.




CHAPTER TWO


TYSON PULLED THE TIE from around his neck and rammed it into his pocket. The fall evening was cool and twilight was setting in. White solar minilights were twisted around the garden poplars creating a fairy glow, and chafing dishes held the last remnants of the wedding feast. This was so not his scene. He’d far rather be enjoying a steak in a comfortable pair of jeans. But he’d promised Sam to see out the day and he’d do it.

He hadn’t expected the sudden hit to his pride just now, though. He hadn’t even had the chance to actually ask Clara to dance before she’d flat-out refused. For the first time in as long as he could remember, his charm had let him down. It was humbling to a man who’d spent a good amount of his youth perfecting his way around women, and with a consistent rate of success. Riding bulls and charming cowgirls was what he’d done best.

And Clara Ferguson had seen right through his act.

He shouldn’t take it personally, he knew that. Not considering her past. But he did just the same. The same way he did whenever someone slapped him on the back but offered Sam their hand. Always second-best. Not that Sam had ever bought into the idea. He’d always insisted by word and deed that they were equal brothers.

Oh, he knew there were people who thought that there was some weird sibling rivalry thing between them, but they were wrong. It was why Ty was willing to come back now. For Sam. And deep down, for his dad, too. Virgil had always picked apart every single thing Tyson ever did. He’d never understood that Tyson loved this ranch as much as Sam did. Trying to get the old man’s approval had been killing him, so he’d ventured out on his own years ago to save his sanity. To avoid saying things he might always regret.

Now he was back and already feeling suffocated. But it was time to stop running away. Time to take his place in the family—whether the old man liked it or not.

He frowned and checked his watch. He’d give it ten minutes, and then he was taking his dented pride and packing it in. Tomorrow the real work began—Sam would be gone on his honeymoon, and the day-to-day running of Diamondback would be left to Ty. He was looking forward to the work.

The butting of heads with his dad would start, too, he imagined. He rolled his shoulders, willing out the tension. Virgil had hardly spoken to him since his return two days ago, other than a few grunts and disparaging comments that Ty had, for the most part, ignored, more out of consideration for his mother, Molly, than anything else. Ty knew very well that their father thought that Sam could do no wrong and it was a big mistake to give Ty equal say in running the ranch. He was a damn sight smarter than his father gave him credit for. He always had been. And he intended to prove it. He had ideas. But first he needed to assess the operation and make a plan. Virgil considered Tyson unreliable, but Tyson knew all about calculating risks. He’d been doing it for years.

The hired band whipped the crowd into a frenzy with a fast-paced polka, and Ty checked his watch again—only a minute had passed.

It had been a mistake to go after Clara. He’d been waylaid by the bouquet and garter catching, but when he’d gone in the house and realized she was locked in the bathroom he’d been alarmed. He knew what Butterfly House was about. He’d felt her fingers tremble in his when they shook hands and had been automatically transported to a day three years ago when he’d interrupted a “situation.”

All he’d wanted to do was reassure her that Diamondback was a safe place … and then she’d run into him, he’d put his hands on her and everything he’d planned to say evaporated. The shocking thing was for a moment he’d thought she’d felt it, too, when the air hummed between them in the kitchen.

It wasn’t the first time he’d been wrong.

The music changed and a movement caught his eye. Clara, in her sage-colored dress, tugging a shawl closer around her shoulders against the fall chill. She’d be leaving now, then, he thought, and scowled. He’d been an ass, trying to flirt with her. He hadn’t mastered the art of polite chit chat and other social graces. Until tonight, they hadn’t been required. How did a guy talk to a woman who was in a situation like hers, anyway? He did the only thing he knew how—and came off looking like an idiot. What had he been thinking, asking her to dance?

Clara didn’t go around the house to where the cars were parked. Instead she crossed the grass towards the crowd. She looked up and around the throng until she met his eyes and her gaze stopped roaming. His heart gave a sharp kick in response—a surprise. Frightened girls with innocent eyes were so not his type. He was more into confident women who hung around waiting for the bull riders with the big belt buckles. Girls who were only in it for their own eight seconds and no further commitments.

There were at least a dozen reasons why he should stay clear of Clara Ferguson. He could list three off the top without blinking: she had too much baggage, she worked for the family and he’d only cause her trouble.

But she kept coming, her glossy walnut curls twisting over her shoulders like silk ribbons. The cut of her dress was simple and quite conservative, skimming down her figure and showing her curves without revealing much skin. The effect was sexier than it should have been, he realized. She was nothing like the women he dated. Maybe that was why he was noticing her today, but this was as far as it would go. Noticing. And he didn’t even need Sam’s earlier warning to tell him so.

She stopped in front of him and her chest rose as she took a deep breath. He realized he was holding his and slowly let it out. “Clara?”

She gave him a smile so sweet, so fragile, that it frightened the hell out of him.

“Would you like to dance, Tyson?”

A good puff of air could probably have knocked him over. He stared at her for a good five seconds until her smile began to waver and uncertainty clouded her dark blue eyes. He wasn’t sure why, but something had prompted her to change her mind, and he sensed it had taken a lot of courage for her to come out here and ask.

So what was he supposed to do now? She’d been very clear about not wanting to dance—particularly with him. She’d pulled away from him twice now, and if they danced he’d have to touch her. In several places. Odd, but that thought fired his blood more than anything—or anyone—had in weeks.

But he got the feeling that if he declined it would be about more than refusing a simple turn on the floor. “I thought you didn’t want to dance.”

She lifted her chin. “I changed my mind. But if you don’t want to, that’s fine.” She started to turn away.

“I didn’t say that.” Hell, he might have blown it the first time, but she was here now, right? Something had brought her back out here tonight.

She paused, looked over her shoulder at him. Like she wanted him to believe she was in control. He knew better. She had no idea what she was doing. He should walk away right now—it would be better for them both. This whole day had him out of his comfort zone, and Clara was waiting with her sweet, sad eyes for his answer.

He held out his hand and waited. Just because he wasn’t a gentleman ninety percent of the time didn’t mean he couldn’t fake it.

She put her hand in his and he felt the tremor against his palm. Hell. He was not good at this sort of thing. He was used to a not-so-subtle pressing of bodies on the dance floor. An invitation and a promise of things to come. Clara wasn’t like that, was she? She was as flighty as a scared rabbit. Innocent.

Ty led her to the dance “floor”—an expanse of even ground in front of the band. As a waltz began, he put his right hand along the warm curve of her waist and clasped her fingers lightly in his left. He had no idea how close to get or if he should say something or … A cold sweat broke out at the back of his neck. Wasn’t it hysterical that a man like him was suddenly so unsure what to do?

She’d gone quite pale, so he let go of her waist and put a finger beneath her chin.

Her last partner had abused her—Sam had said as much when he’d issued the warning to tread carefully. Now, as she tensed beneath his chaste touch, he felt an immediate, blinding hatred for the man who had damaged such a beautiful creature, followed by something unfamiliar and unsettling as he realized he was feeling unusually protective.

He lifted her chin with his finger and said simply, “You make the rules.”

Emotions flooded her eyes—what he thought was gratitude and relief and maybe even a touch of fear. He was not a particularly good man, and he was certainly not good enough for her, but he wasn’t cruel or oblivious. So he waited for her to clasp his hand in hers again before he made his feet move, taking her with him around the dirt floor, making sure there was lots of space between their bodies.

They made small steps around the dance area, neither speaking, but Ty felt the moment she finally began to relax in his arms. He wanted to pull her closer, to nestle her in the curves of his body, feel her softness against him, but he kept a safe distance, honoring his word to let her take the lead. Clara wasn’t like other women. There were different rules to be followed. Hell, usually there were no rules.

The first song finished and led straight into another. There was only a pause in their steps and then, by some sort of unspoken agreement, they moved as one again, swaying gently to the music. Her breasts brushed against his jacket, an innocent whisper of contact that he normally wouldn’t notice but right now sent his blood racing. Her temple rested lightly against his chin and the floral scent of her shampoo filled his nostrils. There was something inherently sweet about Clara, and he did not normally have a sweet tooth when it came to women. But he couldn’t deny that what he was feeling was attraction. Arousal. As the fiddle scraped in the background, his lips nuzzled against the soft hair at her temple and his eyes closed, drawing in her scent that reminded him of his mother’s lily of the valley. Her skin was warm and soft and tasted like summer.

The song ended and Ty stepped back, shaken.

But worse than that was looking down at Clara and seeing her eyes swimming with tears. A quick survey showed him that several people were watching them curiously, and why not? It was no secret that Clara was a resident at the women’s shelter, and Ty knew his reputation—quite intentional when all was said and done. The cocky, confident rebel image was a lot easier to maintain than the truth, after all.

But Clara didn’t deserve gossip or prying eyes. To his dismay a tear slipped out of the corner of her eye and down her cheek.

“Let’s get you away from here,” he murmured, squeezing her hand, feeling instantly sorry he’d let things go as far as they had during the dance. In another time, another place, with another woman, that sort of soft kiss would have been nothing. But here he’d forgotten himself. The best he could do now was get her away from the gossip.

Her eyes widened at his suggestion. “Away … as in?” He watched as she swallowed.

“Away from busybodies,” he said quietly. “I promise you, Clara, you don’t have to be afraid of me. I won’t hurt you.”

She pulled her hand out of his and her face paled. She seemed oblivious to the inquisitive stares of the wedding guests as she stumbled backwards.

“I’ve heard that before.” The words sounded jerked from her throat, harsh and disjointed. “This was a mistake. A horrible, horrible mistake.”

She turned on her heel and ran off, dashing out of the garden as she rushed to the house. Her shawl fluttered out of the crook of her arm and settled on the grass. Ty was left standing in the middle of the dance area feeling like a first-class fool.

He walked over to where her shawl lay on the cool grass and picked it up, running the soft fabric through his fingers.

He’d spooked her big-time. It was probably just as well when all was said and done. But now he had an additional reason he wished he hadn’t promised Molly he’d move back into the ranch house. He wasn’t sure what would be worse—the awkwardness with Clara or the antagonism between him and his father.

She was afraid of him.

The next few months were going to be hell.

Clara kneaded the biscuit dough with a bit more force than necessary, flattening it on the countertop before rolling it and pushing the heels of her hands against it again. She’d put Virgil through his physio exercises already and he’d fallen asleep over his crossword puzzle, tired from the exertions and from all the excitement of the previous day. She’d changed his bedding after his bath, given him his meds and made sure he was comfortable in his favorite chair. Molly was out at a church women’s breakfast. And Ty was …

Ty was out in the barns somewhere. Thank goodness.

Just the thought of Tyson made her cheeks grow hot. The few times they’d crossed paths in the days since the wedding, he’d offered a polite greeting and moved on, barely meeting her eyes. And who could blame him? She’d cried, for Pete’s sake, and run off. For someone who wasn’t into drama or making a spectacle, she’d indulged in plenty. No wonder he kept his distance from her now. Her intentions to smooth the way had been a big fat failure.

Then again, he never should have kissed her either. Even if it hadn’t been technically a kiss.

She flipped the dough and kneaded it again, welcoming the rhythmic motion. It was almost therapeutic the way her arm muscles moved and flexed as she pushed the dough around the board. She tended to cook when she needed to empty her mind. And her mind was plenty full.

But so far it wasn’t working. Things around the Diamond place were tense. Ty complicated matters—and not just for her. Virgil had been irritable lately, growling at her during his exercises and wearing a scowl more often than a smile. She had half a mind to sit the both of them down and tell them to talk rather than stomp around beating their chests. There was clearly some sort of power struggle at work and it wasn’t good for Virgil. It wasn’t her place to say anything, though. And sheer embarrassment kept her from offering Ty more than a quiet hello.

She’d fallen quite under his spell while dancing. Their bodies had been touching. Her hands paused over the dough for a minute, remembering. On one hand, it had been a stunning victory over her personal-space phobia. But it had also been a huge mistake. Come on—Ty Diamond? And it had been in front of half of Cadence Creek. She gave her head a shake.

She employed the rolling pin next, rolling the dough out exactly half an inch thick. The more Ty stayed out of her way the better. Virgil needed to stay focused on his rehabilitation, and Ty made Clara feel …

Well, that was the problem, wasn’t it? He made Clara feel, full stop. She’d gotten as caught up as any other woman in the romance of the wedding, wooed by the adoring looks Sam and Angela shared, the soft music, the beautiful flowers and pretty dresses. That was the only explanation that made any sense at all.

Clara applied the cookie cutter to the dough with a vengeance, cutting circles and plopping them on a cookie sheet. In the clear light of day she realized he had felt sorry for her. That stung, but she should have retained a little dignity rather than fleeing. She had no one to blame but herself.

She heard the front door shut. Molly couldn’t be back already, Sam and Angela were going to be in Ottawa on their honeymoon for another week, and no one else would walk in without knocking. That left Ty. Speak of the devil.

“Morning,” he said, coming through to the kitchen in his socked feet. Buster, the family retriever, trotted in on Ty’s heels and rubbed up against Clara’s leg to say hello with a wag of his tail.

“Go lie down, Buster,” Clara said firmly. “Last thing I need is you in my biscuit dough.”

The dog obediently found his bed in the corner and curled up on it.

Ty looked around, saw Virgil sleeping, and an indulgent smile curved his lips. She looked down to cover her surprise. The smile changed his face completely, softening his jaw and cheekbones, erasing years off his face and making it appear almost boyish.

Clara slid the pan into the oven, determined to finally put things on an even keel. “Good morning, Tyson.” She deliberately kept her voice pleasant and impersonal.

He tilted his head, studying her as she straightened, brushing off her hands. “Ty, remember? Unless I’m in trouble, it’s Ty.” The smile changed, his lips curving in a devilish grin. “Does calling me Tyson mean you’re still mad?”

In trouble? He was trouble. It would have been easier if he hadn’t smiled, she realized. His smile was the one thing she couldn’t get out of her head. At the wedding it had been warm, intimate and slightly lopsided as though he was sharing a joke. The warmth of it had extended to his eyes, the brown-as-molasses depths of them with sundrenched crinkles in the corners.

She avoided his gaze and set the timer on the oven instead. He thought she was mad? Embarrassed, yes. Awkward—definitely. Angry? Well, maybe a little. He shouldn’t have rubbed his lips over her temple like that. It was presumptuous. It was …

Glorious. It had made her feel feminine and alive. Lordy, but he was a distraction! She wished he’d get out of the kitchen and back to the barns so she could focus better.

“Miss Ferguson?”

She was surprised that he persisted in addressing her so formally—to the rest of the family she was just Clara. His sober tone turned her head and she bit down on her lip at the sight of him, his weight on one hip, all well-worn jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, the grin no longer in sight. He wore a baseball cap. The curved peak made him seem—for the second time in as many minutes—ridiculously young. She had to stop noticing and simply do her job. It was the most important thing right now, her ticket to a new life. She was saving as much as she could so she could afford her own place. And Ty Diamond wasn’t going to screw that up for her.

“Did you want to ask me something?”

He hesitated so long that Clara fought the urge to squirm. The timer on the oven ticked down painfully slowly. Virgil, asleep in his favorite chair in the living room, let out a random snore. It broke the silence, and alleviated a bit of the tension. Clara let out a soft laugh as Virgil snored again and shifted in his chair.

“Your father always falls asleep during his crossword,” she said quietly. She wasn’t quite sure what to call Virgil in reference to Ty. He was Ty’s adopted dad but also his uncle by blood. And the tension between the two sometimes made her wonder if they even acknowledged each other as relatives at all.

“He gets tired easily, doesn’t he?”

She nodded. “The stroke took a lot out of him. He’s made wonderful progress, though. He did great in his physio this morning. Even if it did take a lot of prodding and a fair amount of sass.”

“From you or from him?” Ty’s eyes seemed to twinkle at her.

“From him, of course. He’s been irritable lately.” She met his gaze with a look that told him she knew the source of Virgil’s displeasure.

“That’s probably my fault,” Ty admitted. “He’s changed more than I expected. Sam warned me. About a lot of things.”

His gaze was steady on her again and the ridiculous fluttering she’d felt at the wedding came dancing back. What had Sam warned him about? That Virgil was more stubborn than ever? That things weren’t exactly calm and peaceful around Diamondback Ranch? Or had he warned Ty of something else—about someone else? A sudden thought struck. Had Ty asked her to dance because he’d been put up to it?

Each time she thought of that night she regretted it more.

“I’m just his nurse,” Clara replied, turning away and taking the rolling pin and empty biscuit bowl to the sink.

“I didn’t realize nurse duties included baking.” He stepped forward and snuck a small bit of raw biscuit dough from the countertop, popping it in his mouth.

Clara felt a sharp and sudden pain in her heart, watching him sneak the scrap of dough. How many times had she and her brother done that as kids? Bread dough, cookie dough, it hadn’t mattered. Their mother would scold but never yell, saying that she hoped they had children someday who did the same thing and drove them crazy. The memory sent a bitter pang through Clara’s heart. Life had been so uncomplicated then.

Clara missed her family terribly. She’d followed Jackson to Alberta when he’d claimed he’d make his money in the oil patch and set them up for life. She’d been blind and stupid to leave all the good things behind to chase empty promises. But it was too late to go back home now. How could she possibly explain the changes over the years that had passed? No, the gulf was too wide. Saskatchewan was only a province away but it might as well have been a continent.

“I like to cook, and it gives Molly more of a chance to get out now and again,” Clara explained. Besides, if she wasn’t here at Diamondback, she was home at Butterfly House, and lately she’d felt more and more dissatisfied with that arrangement. She wanted her own place. Her own space and her own things. She wanted to buy her own groceries and eat on her own schedule and not worry about a set chore list.

“Did you make the pumpkin bread yesterday?”

She wiped her hands on a dishtowel.

“I did, yes.”

“It was very good.”

It felt so stilted and practiced, Clara realized. She lifted her chin. At least Ty was making an effort for the first time since the wedding. Maybe they just needed to clear the air and find some common ground. He’d never answered her first question so she repeated it.

“Is there something you wanted, Ty?”

The tiny smile threatened to mar the perfection of his lips. She’d called him Ty deliberately and according to his wishes. Maybe if they could move past the Tyson and Miss Ferguson bit it would be more comfortable.

“Hang on. I’ll be right back.”

He disappeared up the stairs. Clara ran water into the sink, preparing to wash up her dishes. In seconds he was back, holding her shawl in his hands.

“You dropped this the other night,” he said quietly. “I thought you might want it back.”

She’d wondered where she’d misplaced it, but was so embarrassed about her quick exit that she hadn’t had the courage to ask Molly if it had been found. She dried her hands on a dishtowel and took it from him, careful not to touch his hands. “Thank you. I wondered where it went.”

Silence filled the kitchen once more, a quiet of the awkward variety. When she couldn’t stand it any longer, she put her dishcloth back in the water and turned to face him. “Was there something else?”

“I don’t quite know how to say it,” he admitted, then reached up and took off his ball cap. His sable hair was slightly flattened and the band of the cap created a ring around his head.

“Just spit it out,” she suggested, her tummy doing weird and wonderful things. Tyson Diamond exuded a carelessness that practically shouted bad boy. But most bad boys she’d known growing up had been overconfident and pushy. Not Ty. He was just … there. With his intense eyes and slow swagger. It wasn’t much wonder the women flocked to him. Ty didn’t have to do anything more than breathe. And here she was, hanging on his every word.

And she knew what it was like to be pressed up against his lean body.

And why on earth was she thinking such a thing?

He frowned, jamming his hands into his pockets. “I’m sorry for the other night. I upset you and I didn’t mean to.”

Her lips dropped open. Ty was apologizing? He thought she was mad at him—and she was, she supposed, but only a little bit. She’d been the one to ask him to dance. She’d been the one who’d quite unexpectedly melted in his arms. Yes, he’d gotten quite close and then he’d suggested they get out of there, but he hadn’t truly done anything so very wrong.

She couldn’t have asked for someone to be gentler with her as they’d danced. He’d tipped up her chin and put himself into her hands, letting her take the lead. It wasn’t his suggestion that had upset her. It was the fact that she’d wanted to take him up on that offer so badly she’d frightened herself. For a brief, heady moment she’d considered taking his hand and letting him lead her away.

And then she’d come to her senses. She wasn’t anywhere near ready to let something like that happen. And then there was the fact that for a few precious minutes she’d forgotten all about her plans and goals and let herself weaken. Oh, she hadn’t been mad at Ty. She’d been furious with herself.

“You don’t need to apologize. Let’s just forget the whole thing.” She made a show of picking up a set of oven mitts, wishing the oven timer would ding so she could be doing something, anything, rather than feel pinned beneath Ty’s dark gaze. She chanced a look up and saw that his eyes had warmed.

“Did you think I was angry?” she asked bravely, suddenly wanting to know. She thought perhaps she’d prefer that to him thinking she was silly and weak.

He opened his lips to answer when the oven timer dinged—just when she wanted to hear his answer.

With a frown of consternation she opened the oven door and slid out the pan of golden-brown biscuits. She put the pan on top of the stove.

“I wondered,” he replied, “because you ran. I wondered if it was because of … you know, your past. I didn’t think about that when I … well … it wasn’t really a kiss, was it?”

She kept her back to him, closing her eyes. It was a small town and the Butterfly House project was a big deal around here. It was no secret that she came from an abusive background. Of course she was damaged goods.

“I’m not angry. It was just wedding fever or something. I blew what happened out of proportion. You have been perfectly polite and kind to me since you came home.”

“Then why won’t you look at me right now?”

Her gaze darted up to look into his face. He was too serious. When he looked at her that way it was twice as bad as when he flirted with his saucy grin. “Why did you do it?” she whispered. She didn’t need to elaborate for them both to know what “it” was.

“Why did you ask, after you made it clear you didn’t want to dance?”

She grabbed a dishcloth and began wiping off the counter. “I thought maybe I’d hurt your feelings.”

He laughed, a sharp sound of disbelief as he leaned against the island. “Hurt my feelings? Clara, I think I’m made of tougher stuff than that.”

She was getting annoyed now at being put on the spot. “Well then I’m sorry I did it. You can take your unhurt feelings and quit cluttering up my kitchen!”

But it wasn’t her kitchen, and they were both aware of it. Silence settled over them, bringing that same, damnable feeling of intimacy she could never escape when he was around.

“You felt good in my arms,” he said quietly. “And that’s not a line. It’s the only reason I have for losing my head. It’s not the sort of situation I normally find myself in. It was innocent, I swear. But I forgot what it’s like here in Cadence Creek. It probably opened you up to speculation and for that I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

His explanation—his apology—touched her, though she would rather not let it show. It was better for everyone if they really did forget that stupid dance had ever happened.

“Yes, I think that’s best.” Thank goodness he was being sensible about it all. “I’m pretty focused on what I want, Tyson. I’m not interested in distractions. And right now my job is to help your father get well.”

“I’ll stay out of your way,” he replied.

He’d been absent during the long weeks when his father was sick. He hadn’t come home even when they’d asked him to. But he was here now, and she didn’t like the idea that she might be standing in the way of him settling in. Of mending fences. Virgil had a habit of talking to himself and Clara had heard snatches of mutterings and grumblings. Virgil was not happy with his younger son. It wasn’t good for him to be stressed. He and Ty needed to sort things out.

“You need to be with your father. I know you stayed away a long time, Tyson. He needs you. As long as we’re clear, there’s no need to avoid each other, right?”

She bent to get a cooling rack out of the cupboard and started piling the biscuits on the top.

Tyson’s gaze caught on the golden-brown biscuits as the warm scent filled the air. She brushed her hands on her apron and stood back. Good God, she was pretty. The dark ringlets from the wedding were gone but now her hair fell in gentle waves to her shoulders. And her eyes … They were the same blue as a September sky over the golden prairie. Her plain apron covered the soft curves of her hips. He was shocked to realize he wanted to put his hands on them and pull her close to see if her lips tasted as sweet as they looked.

But she was sweet, and off-limits. Never mind that he had no idea how to really talk to her. The past ten minutes had been torturous, second-guessing his words and meaning. All his normal self-assurance evaporated when faced with a woman like Clara Ferguson.

He pushed the thoughts aside and nodded at the rack of biscuits. “Mind if I try one?”

“Sure. Here.” She gave him a paper napkin and one of the round golden discs. He went to the cupboard and found the carton of molasses. Moments later he’d split the biscuit open and slathered it with butter and the sticky spread.

It was like biting into a buttery cloud. Better than his mother’s, if that were possible. In four bites it was gone. Wordlessly she held out another.

“These are delicious, Clara.”

“My mother’s recipe.”

He chewed and swallowed. He had a fair amount of experience dealing with whispers and gossip, and most of the time it ran off him like water off a duck’s back. He didn’t give a good damn about what Cadence Creek thought. But he found he cared what she thought. In some ways she was right. He did need more time with Virgil. He just had no idea how to go about it without starting an argument.

“The reason I stayed away, well, it’s complicated.”

She nodded. “It usually is. Molly said you didn’t even come for his seventieth birthday a few years back. They had a big party I guess. But you wouldn’t come.”

“I couldn’t come,” he said.

“Couldn’t or wouldn’t?”

He wanted her to know why, but telling her could be a huge mistake. He’d had a good reason, but spending a few nights in lockup sounded bad no matter how he spun it. With her history he just couldn’t bring himself to say it.

“Do you think it was the right thing for me to come home now?” he asked. He shifted his gaze to look at Virgil, still sleeping in his chair. Virgil had aged so much. He was smaller now than Ty ever remembered, and looked so vulnerable. Ty hated that. Hated that he might have been part of the cause of his father aging, too, by leaving Virgil more of the ranch to handle than he should have.

“Yes,” Clara said firmly. “Yes, I do. For your brother, who needed you, and for your mom. Molly missed you and talked about you often. She felt terrible about the rift between you and your dad. And for Virgil, too, of course.”

“He criticizes everything I do. He’d be happier if I’d stayed on the circuit and never come home.” Even as he said it, he heard how childish it sounded, and he wasn’t sure it was true. Virgil had always insisted that it was Ty’s place to be at Diamondback pulling his weight. But it was always Virgil’s way or no way at all. Ty had chafed against all that authority.

Clara put down the mug she was holding and peered up into Tyson’s face. He didn’t like that she seemed to see what he took great care to keep hidden. He’d excelled at his chosen path and had the trophies and accolades to prove it. But inside was a boy who always felt second-best.

“You need to patch things up,” she reiterated. “What are you waiting for?”

Virgil shifted in his chair and let out a moan as he woke from his nap. What was Ty waiting for? He was excited about his new idea but he knew Virgil would think it was stupid. He wanted to say he was sorry but knew he’d just be told he was being weak.

If he was waiting for unconditional love, he’d be waiting a long time, and it was too hard to take the first step.

Ty reached for his hat, putting it back on his head. “I’d better get back to work.”

Clara sighed as the door closed behind him and he passed by the kitchen window, his long legs eating up the ground. “I think the person who needed you to come home the most was you, Ty,” she murmured at his retreating back. And she had no idea how to help either one of them meet in the middle.




CHAPTER THREE


AS MUCH AS CLARA LOVED her job at Diamondback, Virgil’s care was not enough for the full-time hours she was paid. Sometimes she felt like a glorified housekeeper. Not that it was a problem, but one of these days Molly was going to let her go and she’d have to find a new job. She would probably have to leave Cadence Creek; her stay at Butterfly House was only temporary until she could get on her feet. She’d been squirreling away money, but it cost a lot for an apartment and all the furniture she’d need.

She needed this job for as long as it held out and she was going to wring every drop out of the opportunity.

But for now she was sitting in one of the spare rooms, needle and thimble in hand, making tiny, even stitches in Molly’s latest quilt.

She enjoyed doing things with her hands. As a girl she’d learned to cross-stitch and knit; she and her mother had spent evenings in front of the television working on little projects. It had been her mom’s way of unwinding after working all day in an office, and it had been Clara’s way of spending time with her mom.

She’d spent a lot of time thinking about her mom lately. She’d learned so much from her mother, but the lesson that Clara carried now was how she had always insisted that a woman needed a way to support herself. No matter what, Wendy Ferguson had put in a good day’s work and still had time for her kids. As Clara fed the needle through the fabric, she missed her mother something terrible. She talked to Ty about mending fences, so maybe once she was settled she’d reach out to Wendy, too. Maybe they could be a part of each other’s lives again.

But for now Molly sat across from Clara, her own needle flashing in and out as she made stitches on the patterned lines of fabric.

“It’s almost ready to roll,” Molly remarked, tying off her thread and moving to cut a new piece.

The quilt was tied onto old-fashioned wood frames with metal brackets holding the corners. Once they’d quilted as far as they could reach comfortably, the frame would be rolled in and clamped tight. When it was all done Molly would bind the perimeter. But that was weeks away yet, especially since they only sneaked the occasional hour to work on it.

“It’s beautiful,” Clara replied. “The burgundy-and-green pattern is stunning against the cream.”

They stitched for a few more moments, but Clara got the sense that Molly wanted to say something. She shifted in her chair and there was a tension around them that usually didn’t exist. Clara’s fingers tightened on the needle. Did Molly have a concern about Virgil’s care? Or was it something else? Molly, along with the rest of Cadence Creek, had surely seen Clara run from Ty at the wedding. She’d probably seen how close they’d danced, too. And she would be foolish to think the older woman hadn’t noticed the strain around the house since his arrival. There was no question that despite breaking the ice, Clara and Ty still tiptoed around each other.

“Is something wrong, Molly?”

Molly put down her needle and sighed. “I suppose so, Clara. I find myself feeling a little bit selfish these days.”

Molly? Selfish? Impossible. Clara tied off her thread and snipped it with the scissors. “I don’t think you know how to be selfish, Molly.” She smiled, but inside she was feeling a bit uneasy.

“No, I am,” she admitted. “I have gotten used to having you here. I like having you here. And I have taken terrible advantage of you.”

Clara’s head swam with confusion. Advantage? She had so much to thank Molly for. If anything, Clara felt like she was taking advantage of the Diamonds’ generosity. “You gave me a job when I needed one, Molly. You made me feel welcome from the moment I arrived.”

“Virgil’s care is not a full-time job, Clara, and I feel I’ve kept you here when you might have found another better position somewhere else. And I’ve kept you for my own selfish reasons that have nothing to do with medical care.”

A cold line of dread snuck down Clara’s spine. Was this Molly’s gentle way of letting her go? She could look for something else, but it would mean she’d be even longer getting into her own place. She swallowed against the growing lump in her throat. It wasn’t just the money either. She’d come to care for Molly and Virgil very much. She already knew it was going to be difficult to say goodbye when the time came.

Molly sighed and began stitching again. “I never had a daughter around, you see. Never had someone to cook with or talk to or sit and quilt with. It was all boys all the time, and I’ve enjoyed having you here so much. But you’re a nurse, Clara, not a hired companion. I just want you to know that if you were to find another position it’s okay. I’d miss you, but I’d understand.”

Clara swallowed again as relief made her wilt on the inside. “You’re not letting me go, then?”

Molly lifted startled eyes to Clara’s. “Heavens, no! Was that what you thought?”

Clara’s cheeks heated. “I thought you were letting me down easy.”

“Oh, goodness.” Molly’s eyes softened with compassion. “We all adore you. But this is about you, not us.”

All adore her? She doubted it. Obviously Molly hadn’t included Ty in that equation. Since their talk things had been a bit easier, but it was a long way from being totally comfortable, and adoration was a joke.

“I’ll stay as long as you feel Virgil needs my help,” she replied carefully. “Honestly, Molly, sometimes I feel guilty taking a paycheck.” She offered a smile.

“How much longer are you staying at Butterfly House, then?” Molly didn’t look up but her stitches seemed to slow.

“I’ve been saving up for my own place,” Clara explained. “The program is great, but if I can find an apartment, that frees up my spot for someone else who needs it more.”

Molly’s voice remained conversational as she stitched along a dark green leaf. “This job could easily include room and board.”

Clara’s heart leapt. Oh, that was generous and so very Molly. And a few weeks ago she might have accepted—especially with Angela and Sam getting married and moving into their new house soon. But now there was Ty. It shouldn’t matter that he lived here now, too, but somehow it did.

“Oh, Molly, that’s so kind of you to offer, but I can’t do that. You’ve been far too good to me already.”

Molly’s soft eyes met hers. “You’re already like one of the family. It doesn’t make sense for you to have to scrimp and save when there is plenty of room here.”

But there was every reason, and not just because of Ty. “I wouldn’t hurt your feelings for the world, so I hope when I say that this is something I need to do on my own—on my own two feet—you understand. I know you’re offering from your heart, and that means so much.” Her throat tightened with emotion. “But I can’t stay here. I need my own place, my own space. And even though I know you don’t mean it that way, I would feel a bit like a charity case.”

“Of course I understand.” Molly smiled. “I told you I was being selfish. And I’ll confess, I’m a bit relieved that you’re not going anywhere for a while. You’ve made all our lives easier.”

Except Ty’s, Clara thought dryly. She put her needle to work again. Every time he came into a room where she was, he got this weird look on his face before masking it away.

And despite her assertions that she needed independence, she knew darn well she’d be tempted to take up the offer if it didn’t mean being faced with Ty twenty-four-seven. Morning, noon and night. Running into each other in the hallways. Sleeping down the hall from each other…

That thought made something delicious hum inside her and that was how she knew it was trouble. Trouble she wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole.

They worked together until they’d each finished the side they were stitching. Molly took a few moments to check on Virgil, who was watching television, and came back with Ty in tow.

“Look who I found hovering around the doughnut jar. Just the help we need to roll the quilt.”

Ty’s eyes met hers and their gazes caught for one breathless moment. Goodness, she didn’t know why he had the power to make her feel all fizzy and flustered. He looked so ordinary, after all, dressed in plain jeans and a plaid work shirt, with his hair still slightly messy. One of Ty’s eyebrows rose as he spoke to Molly but kept his gaze locked on Clara. “I haven’t rolled a quilt since …”

“Since you were a teenager and still at home, and you and Sam did the rolling while I put on the clamps,” Molly finished.

Ty looked down on the top of Molly’s head. Clara hid a smile. Ty was what, close to thirty? It had to be constricting for a grown man to be back in his childhood bed again after years of living on his own.

“I haven’t forgotten how,” he replied, going to one end of the quilt. “Mom, you and I can roll and Clara can do the clamps.”

Molly braced her hip against one of the frame pieces and held everything taut while Clara removed the clamps. Then together Molly and Tyson pulled the fabric tight and rolled it under—once, twice, three times.




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