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A Weaver Vow
Allison Leigh
When Isabella Lockhart leaves New York for Wyoming, she’s keeping a vow – to provide a loving home for her late fiancé’s son. But trouble could be the boy’s middle name and Isabella is soon on a collision course with handsome rancher Erik Clay.Erik may be a sworn bachelor, but the instant attraction they feel for each other might just complicate Isabella’s perfectly planned life!




“You’re relentless.”
She took the plate of cheesecake he was waving under her nose.
“When I need to be.” He dug in to his own helping. “Murphy and the twins are checking out some puppies at the horse barn.”
“Murphy knows we can’t afford a dog.”
“You didn’t have any pets when you were a kid?”
“A few of the families I lived with had a dog or a cat.”
“Families. As in foster families?”
She nodded. “This is really good,” she managed around an enormous bite.
“And you don’t want to talk about it,” he guessed. “The foster families, I mean.”
She caught a fleck of crust from the corner of her mouth with the tip of her tongue. “Do you think your grandmother would give me the recipe?”
He smiled slightly. It was no easy task squelching the urge to kiss away the tiny golden crumb she’d missed. “She will if she figures you’re gonna give me a piece, too.”

About the Author
There is a saying that you can never be too rich or too thin. ALLISON LEIGH doesn’t believe that, but she does believe that you can never have enough books! When her stories find a way into the hearts—and bookshelves—of others, Allison says she feels she’s done something right. Making her home in Arizona with her husband, she enjoys hearing from her readers at Allison@allisonleigh.com or PO Box 40772, Mesa, AZ 85274-0772, USA.

A Weaver Vow
Allison Leigh


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For Ray and Saing.
Thank you for sharing your slice of Alaska so generously with us.
The beauty all around you was exceeded only by your magnificent graciousness.

Chapter One
It was the yelling that got her attention.
Murphy. It was so easy to recognize his voice. Particularly when he was yelling at a few million decibels.
Her stomach sinking like a lead balloon, Isabella Lockhart instantly dropped her cleaning rag on the lunch counter at Ruby’s Café and raced for the door.
Locked.
Of course it was locked. She’d locked it herself just thirty minutes earlier. She darted back for the keys that Tabby Taggart had entrusted her with, finally spotting them on the stainless-steel work counter in the kitchen, where she’d left them after locking up the rear door.
She rushed back to the front entrance, fumbled with the lock, then burst out the glass door. Not only had the yelling continued, it was angrier than ever.
And it was all occurring smack-dab in the middle of Main Street, right there in front of the café, where a large, dusty blue pickup truck was parked.
Murphy, please don’t get into more trouble.
The whispered prayer was much, much too familiar. Moving here to Weaver had been supposed to change that.
She ran toward the truck, toward the yelling, then nearly skidded to a halt at the sight of the thin boy glaring up at a tall, broad man who was glaring right back at him.
What concerned her most, however, was the baseball bat clenched in Murphy’s white-knuckled fists. If he took the bat to one more thing…
She couldn’t bear to think about it.
“You damn well did know what you were doing!” The man’s deep voice was furious.
“It was an accident!” Murphy yelled back. “I told you that a hunnert times!”
“Murphy!” Isabella dashed between the two males, grabbing the bat as Murphy raised it. At eleven, he already topped five feet, and only the fact that she was wearing a bit of a wedge heel kept his eyes from being at a level with her own. She tugged on the bat hard, pressing her hand flat against his heaving chest, but his grip was equally tight. “Let it go!”
His mutinous brown eyes—so like his father’s that at first it had been a physical ache to see them each and every day—met hers and his knuckles turned even whiter around the wood. “No!”
She heard the man behind her mutter something, and then a large, tanned hand closed over the bat just above hers. “Give me that damn thing before you hurt someone,” the man snapped, and yanked it directly out of both her and Murphy’s battling grips. Then he tossed it into the cab of his truck and slammed the door shut.
Murphy’s voice went up half an octave as he unleashed a fresh round of curses that made her pale. “Dude! That’s my bat. You can’t just take my bat!”
“I just did, dude,” the man returned flatly. He closed his hand over Murphy’s thin shoulder and forcibly moved him away from Isabella. “Stay,” he spit.
Isabella rounded on the man, gaping at him. He was wearing a faded brown ball cap and aviator sunglasses that hid his eyes. “Take your hand off him!” Whatever the cause of Murphy’s latest altercation, this man had no right to put a hand on him. “Who do you think you are?”
“The man your boy took aim at with his blasted baseball.” His jaw was sharp and shadowed by brown stubble and his lips were thinned.
“I did not!” Murphy shouted, right into Isabella’s ear.
She winced, giving him a fierce look. “Go sit down.” She pointed at the wooden bench on the sidewalk in front of the café. Her head was pounding and she had to control her own urge to add to the screaming.
Whatever had made her think she could be a parent to Murphy? He needed a man around, not just a woman he could barely tolerate.
He needed his father.
And now all they had was each other.
She pointed. “Go.”
All gangling arms and legs and outraged male, Murphy jerked his shoulder out from the man’s grip and stomped over to the bench, throwing himself down on it.
She pulled her gaze away from Murphy and looked up at the man. “I don’t know what happened here—”
“Don’t you have any sense at all, stepping in front of him when he’s waving around a baseball bat?”
Isabella clamped down on her own temper. Whatever Murphy had done, it wouldn’t help for her to lose her own cool. “Murphy would never hurt me,” she said evenly, ignoring the snort the man gave in response.
She drew in a calming breath and turned her head into the breeze that she’d begun to suspect never died here in Weaver, Wyoming. She let it cool her face before she turned to face him again. “I’m Isabella Lockhart,” she began.
“I know who you are.”
She pressed her lips together for a moment. She’d only been in Weaver a few weeks, but it really was a small town if people she’d never met already knew who she was. Lucy had told her—warned her, really—about how different Weaver was from New York. That was why Isabella had hoped—still did—that the radical change might be the solution to her problems with Murphy. As long as she was able to hold on to him.
She focused on the man’s face—what she could see of it beneath the hat and sunglasses, at any rate. “I’m sure we can resolve whatever’s happened here,” she continued in the same appeasing tone she’d once used to great effect with outraged prima ballerinas, “but could we do it somewhere other than the middle of Main Street, Mr., uh—”
“Erik Clay. Since there’s no traffic to speak of, I don’t know what you’re worried about. But I am mighty curious how you think we’re going to resolve that.” He jerked his chin toward the bed of his truck.
He wasn’t known for having much of a temper, but considering everything, Erik felt like retrieving that baseball bat and bashing something with it himself.
Focusing on the woman in front of him was a lot safer than focusing on the skinny, black-haired hellion sprawled on Ruby’s bench.
She tucked her white-blond hair behind her ear with a visibly shaking hand. Bleached blond, he figured, considering her eyes were such a dark brown they were nearly black. It didn’t seem natural that anyone with such light hair would have such dark eyes. He’d never much understood the bleached-hair deal. But even pissed as he was, he wasn’t blind to the whole effect.
Weaver’s newcomer was a serious looker.
“I’m sorry,” she was saying. “Whatever happened, I’m sure I can make it right.”
“Really?” He very nearly took her arm, but the way she’d squawked over him pushing the kid away from her kept him from doing so. Instead, he held out his hand in obvious invitation toward the truck bed. “Care to tell me how?”
Her brown-black gaze flicked over him. Her unease was as plain as the pert nose on her pretty face when she stepped over to the truck bed, which was nearly as tall as she was, and peered over the side. “Oh…sugar,” she whispered.
The words he had for the damage were a lot less sweet than sugar. But sharing them held no appeal, considering the foul mouth her kid had already exhibited.
He reached down and plucked a baseball from amid the shards of colored glass that had once been a very large, very elaborate stained-glass window destined for the Weaver Community Church. “Your boy threw the ball deliberately.”
“I did not!” Murphy screeched as he launched himself back into Erik’s face. “And I ain’t her—” he dropped an fbomb as if it were a regular component of his vocabulary “—boy!”
Erik shot out a hand, halting the kid’s progress even as he scooped the woman out of the kid’s angry path.
“Murphy!” She wriggled out of Erik’s grip and grabbed the boy’s arm, physically dragging him back to the bench. “I told you to sit.” She leaned over and said something under her breath that Erik couldn’t make out, but that obviously had some effect, because the kid angrily sank against the bench and crossed his arms defensively over his chest.
The woman tugged at the pink skirt of her waitress uniform as she straightened. Erik quickly directed his gaze upward from her shapely rear when she turned and walked back to him.
She stepped up to the side of the truck and peered over the edge once more. “It looks valuable.”
The window depicting the Weaver landscape had been a gift. An unexpected, completely unwanted gift. And it was probably wrong of him, but Erik calculated the value more in terms of personal discomfort than dollars, since the artist was a woman he was no longer seeing. and who’d likely tell him to pound sand when he approached her for a replacement, which he’d have to do, since he’d gone and donated the thing to the church, seeing how churches were more suited for that sort of thing than his plain old ranch house. Now they were expecting the thing. “It was.”
Her slender shoulders rose and fell in a sigh that only served to make the curves filling out her uniform even more noticeable. Her gaze lifted to his. “If you could tell me how much the damage is, I’ll figure out a way to pay you.”
Erik looked away from those near-black eyes that were so full of earnestness he couldn’t help but feel his anger lessening. And that just irritated him all over again. “You didn’t throw the ball at my window. He did.” He gestured toward the kid. “In my day, we pulled stunts like that, it earned us a trip to the sheriff’s office.”
She was fair-skinned to begin with, but he actually saw color drain right out of her face. Without seeming to realize it, she closed her hands over his arm, as if to prevent him from heading toward the sheriff’s office right then and there. “Please. Not the police.”
“Tell me why I shouldn’t.”
“He didn’t mean to cause any harm.”
Erik snorted, though it was a shame for such dark, pretty eyes to show so much panic. “Really? He wound up his arm and aimed straight for my truck. I saw it with my own eyes.”
“He’s just a boy. Didn’t you ever make a mistake when you were a boy?”
Heat was running up his arm, starting exactly where her fingers were digging into it. But it was her expression of sheer panic that had him sighing. That and the fact that he could remember a few ill-considered stunts from his youth.
“Relax.” He eyed the boy, who gave him a sullen look in return. “He can work off the damages.” Maybe that was to be his penance. Break the heart of a perfectly nice woman who’d saddled you with a stained-glass window you never wanted in the first place. In return, get saddled with a demon kid. “Out at my place.”
Isabella showed no signs of relaxing, however. “Your place?” Her eyebrows—considerably darker than her whitish hair—shot up her smooth forehead as she visibly bristled. “What sort of thing are you suggesting?”
His irritation ratcheted up a notch again. “Honey, this isn’t a big city filled with perverts. I have a ranch. The Rocking-C. The kid can do chores for me there.”
“The kid has a name.”
Why did Erik feel as if he was in the wrong here? He wasn’t the one who’d willfully destroyed a piece of artwork worth thousands of dollars. “Murphy can shovel manure and haul hay and clean stalls. I figure every Saturday morning until the end of summer oughta do it.” It wouldn’t come close, but he wasn’t saddling his peaceful existence with a delinquent for any longer than necessary.
“No way.” Murphy shot to his feet. “I’m not wasting Saturdays with him.”
Isabella wanted to tear out her hair. She pointed at the bench again. “Sit. I mean it, Murphy.” She waited until he’d done so before looking back up at the man. “Mr. Clay, I—”
“No need for the mister, honey. Just Erik’ll do.”
“Fine.” He undoubtedly called every female he encountered honey. She felt she ought to find it derogatory or something. She hadn’t particularly loved being called babe, after all, even though she’d loved the man who’d called her that.
She blamed her scattered thoughts on too little sleep and too many months of worry. “I appreciate your willingness to work with me on this. Really appreciate it.” He would never know how imperative it was that Murphy have no more brushes with the law. “But we don’t even know you.” She felt pretty certain that perverts—to use his word—weren’t strictly the domain of large cities. “Small-town folk or not, I just can’t send Murphy off with a complete str—”
“Talk to Lucy,” he suggested. He didn’t look amused. Exactly. But his tight jaw had relaxed just a little. It was still sharply angled, coming to a point with a whisper of a cleft in his chin. “She’ll vouch for me,” he added.
“Lucy Ventura?” She folded her arms, giving him a considering look. He was tall. Taller even than Jimmy had been, and he’d been six-three. This man was also broader in the shoulders, which—along with his chin or anything else about him—wasn’t anything she ought to be noticing. Jimmy had only been gone for nine months. “You know her?”
“You could say that. She’s my cousin.”
“Oh.” She dropped her arms and pushed her hair away from her face. Knowing that he was related to Lucy made her feel some hope that the situation could be redeemed. Not only had she and Lucy worked together in New York, they’d also been roommates for a time.
But that had all happened before Jimmy Bartholomew blew into Isabella’s life.
“Here.” Erik handed her the dirt-smudged baseball. It was clearly Murphy’s. She recognized his scrawled signature on it that he’d added when Jimmy had given it to him. Pretending to be a big-league player, or just marking his own territory among his hoodlum friends. Whatever his reasons had been, there was no way Murphy could deny it was his ball.
She took it, rubbing her thumb over the stitching. She remembered the day Jimmy had given it to Murphy as if it had been yesterday.
Despair threatened to roll over her.
For her, Jimmy had been a whirlwind. Sweeping her off her feet one minute with buckets of flowers and outrageous displays, and proposing the next in front of his entire firehouse. But they’d never made it to a wedding.
It wasn’t even three months from the moment they’d met until she and Jimmy’s son were standing beside his grave.
She looked over at Murphy. When his father died, Murphy lost everyone he had.
Now he only had her because of the tenuous approval she’d received from a family court judge that placed him provisionally under her guardianship.
“Thank you,” she whispered huskily. She held up the baseball between her fingers. “The ball means a lot to Murphy.”
She could see Erik’s jaw tighten again. “Then he shouldn’t be tossing it at passing vehicles.”
Another thing she could blame herself for. She’d been the one to send Murphy outside in the first place, thinking she could finish closing up the diner more quickly without him inside and underfoot, constantly complaining that he wanted to go home.
She wanted to believe that Murphy hadn’t done it on purpose. But experience had taught her to be wary.
She looked along the street. There were plenty of cars slanted into the curb up and down Main, parked in front of the various businesses there. Not a single vehicle had driven by during their argument, though.
She’d wanted a place different than the city. She’d definitely gotten it. No Starbucks on every other corner in Weaver. No Starbucks at all, in fact. Just homey cafés like Ruby’s that served up coffee the old-fashioned way, and no other.
She gestured toward the front door. “Do you want to go inside? We can work out the details.” She wished she could see past his sunglasses. Get a better gauge on how merciful he might be inclined to be. “The least I can do is offer you some coffee.” She managed a hopeful smile, even though all she wanted to do was put her head down on her arms and cry.
“Throw in a piece of pie if you’ve got it,” he suggested as he headed around the truck for the driver’s side. “And we’ll talk. Meantime, I’ll get this out of the middle of the road.”
Murphy came off the bench when the truck engine started with a low growl. “What about my bat?”
Isabella shushed him. “Don’t worry about your bat.” She tucked the ball in her pocket and closed her hands over his thin shoulders, steering him toward the open door. “You’re lucky he’s not calling the police,” she hissed. Inside, she pointed at the corner booth where his schoolbooks were still stacked. “Go sit over there and do some homework.” His sixth-grade teacher, Mr. Rasmussen, was a big believer in homework. Murphy had hours of it every day.
“I’m done with my homework, remember?” Murphy rolled his eyes and slunk over to the corner.
How could she forget? It was because he’d been done with his homework that he’d wanted to go home. But she wasn’t finished at the café yet, and she couldn’t trust him to be alone yet. With no other option left for after-school care for him—she couldn’t afford it—he had to come to Ruby’s, where she could provide some supervision.
“Then redo it,” she suggested wearily. She didn’t think she’d ever been so tired in her life. “Just sit over there and be quiet while I try to get us out of this mess.”
“I wasn’t doing nothing wrong.”
“Really?” She gave him a look. “Like you weren’t doing anything wrong when you were caught red-handed vandalizing a brownstone in our own neighborhood?”
He slid down into the booth, ignoring her.
She sighed and went behind the counter to put a pot of coffee on to brew. Then she went to the refrigerator case and pulled out an apple pie. She cut off a large wedge and popped it in the microwave to warm. If she was going to try bribery with coffee and pie, she might as well go all the way.
She was placing a large scoop of creamy vanilla ice cream on top of the pie when Erik appeared in the doorway. He was so large that he seemed to block out the afternoon sun for a moment. When he stepped inside, he pulled off his cap and rubbed his hand over his hair.
Dark blond. Lighter than the whiskers on his angular jaw. Cut short, it was thick and full even with the dent in it from his ball cap. Her mouth felt dry and she swallowed a little, looking down at what she was doing.
“Can I have a piece of that?” Murphy asked when she set the plate on top of the lunch counter.
Isabella nodded and started to turn toward the refrigerator case again.
“Please.” At Erik’s deep voice, she paused, looking back. But he wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at Murphy, over in the red vinyl corner booth. “Please,” he prompted again.
Murphy’s lips twisted. “You’re not my dad,” he muttered, not quite low enough to go unheard.
“Damn skippy,” Erik returned flatly. “If I were, you’d have enough manners to use please when you should, and you wouldn’t curse around a lady.”
The two males stared each other down for a moment. Isabella, who’d given the whole please-and-thank-you-and-no-cursing speech to Murphy countless times, was ready to break in when Murphy grunted, “Please may I have a piece of pie?” His tone was sarcastic.
Isabella quickly nudged the plate she’d already prepared closer to Erik. “Ice cream is melting.” She set up a folded paper napkin with a knife, fork and spoon next to the plate and filled a coffee mug. “Sugar or cream?”
“No thanks.” With a last glance toward Murphy, he lifted one jean-clad leg over the padded red stool. “Looks great. Thanks.” He slid the flatware aside and shook out the napkin, tossing it over his lap.
His ball cap was stained with God knew what; she was pretty sure it was mud caking the bottom of his jeans; his plaid short-sleeved shirt was damp with sweat and he smelled of hay. At least, she was guessing it was hay. But he used a paper napkin on his lap.
Shaking off her strange bemusement, she cut a slice of pie for Murphy, heated it for a few seconds and added ice cream to his, as well. She didn’t even consider telling him to come get it. She wanted to keep as much distance between Murphy and Erik as possible.
She took it with a glass of milk over to the booth and set it in front of him. “You’ll still have to eat your dinner,” she warned.
He didn’t answer. But his gaze flicked past her, then back down to his pie. “Thanks,” he muttered a moment before he shoveled a forkful into his mouth.
Isabella pushed her hand into the side pocket of her uniform, toying with the baseball stuffed there. The pink dress was simple and clean, and she was perfectly happy to wear it, since it came with a paying job. Between it and the classes that Lucy had hired her to teach over at her dance studio, it would keep a roof—barely—over her and Murphy’s heads. “You’re welcome.” She headed back behind the lunch counter. Having three feet of laminate countertop between her and Erik Clay seemed like a good thing. Having her hormones climb out of Jimmy’s grave at this point was completely unacceptable.
“Okay,” she said on a sigh. “Exactly how many hours on how many Saturdays are we talking about?” Murphy still had a few months left of school before summer vacation. And if his grades remained as poor as they were, she knew he’d be taking summer school, if it was even available. Otherwise, there’d be no choice but to add tutoring to an already thin budget. He also had to meet regularly with his therapist. It had been mandated by the court as a condition of her being allowed to bring him to Wyoming.
All of which, of course, could come to a screeching halt once their caseworker visited in seven weeks and made her final evaluation.
She blocked the thought.
Handling one worry at a time right now was about all she could manage.
“Well, now, that’s a fair question.” Erik tapped the tines of his fork softly against the surface of the plate a few times before he set the fork down altogether. He slowly tugged off his sunglasses and dropped them on the countertop next to the coffee mug.
Then his gaze lifted to hers, and Isabella’s heart nearly skipped a beat.
Violet. His eyes were violet. Elizabeth Taylor violet. Surrounded by thick, spiky brown lashes that ought to have looked feminine but didn’t. Nor did she make the mistake of thinking the color was derived from contact lenses. Not with this man.
“You bring him out next Saturday,” he said, mercifully unaware of her thoughts. “Not this week. I’m busy moving stock with my uncle. But next. For four hours. We’ll see how it goes from there. If he works hard, maybe he won’t have to bless me with his charming company all the way through spring and summer, and we’ll call it quits after a few months. If he doesn’t…” He shrugged and picked up his fork again, looking as if it made no difference to him whatsoever.
She chewed the inside of her lip. It was late March. She was praying she still had Murphy come the end of the summer. “But if he does work steadily, you’ll consider everything squared? Maybe even by the end of the school year?”
His gaze didn’t waver from her face. “I won’t call the sheriff, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
She didn’t care about being so transparent. When it came to Murphy, she didn’t have that luxury. “It is.” She wanted to look away from Erik’s mesmerizing eyes but couldn’t seem to.
“Got a pen?”
She automatically handed him the pen from her pocket. He leaned across the counter and grabbed a fresh napkin from the metal dispenser near his coffee mug, his arm brushing against hers. Without so much as a blink, he sat back on his stool and scratched out a few words on the napkin.
There was no quelling the shudder rippling down her spine as she whirled around, busying herself with the coffeepot that needed no busying. Without looking at him, she grabbed the cleaning rag she’d abandoned when she’d heard the commotion outside and started running it over the vinyl seats of the stools lining the long counter. When she reached Erik, she stopped and looked at what he’d written.
Four hours every Saturday through end of school year but no later than end of summer in return for destruction of stained-glass window.
He’d signed and dated it.
Hardly legalese, but she didn’t care. He was Lucy’s cousin and she could only hope that he was just as decent. The fact that he hadn’t immediately summoned the sheriff when he could have was already more than Murphy deserved. “Do you want me to sign it, too?”
He shook his head. He jabbed the pen in Murphy’s direction. “He does.”

Chapter Two
“You let a set of pretty eyes and a smokin’ body get to you, didn’t you?” Erik’s cousin Casey gave him a knowing look before focusing on lining up his pool shot. With a smooth stroke, he broke the balls, sending them rolling across the felt, sinking two. Case straightened and walked around the table, studying his options. “Otherwise, you’d have hauled that kid straight over to Max.”
Max was their cousin Sarah’s husband. He was also the local sheriff. “I thought about it,” Erik admitted. He picked up the chalk from the side of the table.
It was a Friday night. He’d spent half the past week hauling Double-C cattle with his uncle Matthew. They were playing out at Erik’s place tonight because lately Case had taken some aversion to playing at their usual spot in town. Colbys offered up plenty of pool tables as well as a cold beer and a burger. But getting his cousin over there these days was like pulling teeth.
Instead, Casey willingly drove forty minutes outta town to come to Erik’s place.
Leaving that particular mystery alone for now, he thought about his encounter with the Lockhart woman and her kid the week before. “I didn’t even notice her eyes—” bull “—or anything else about her. It was remembering the times when I could have been hauled into the sheriff’s office for some stupid stunt.” He chalked his cue even though it didn’t look as if Case was going to stop clearing the table anytime soon. “Same as you.”
His cousin grinned slightly. “Yeah, but that was when Sawyer was sheriff. He’d have gone easy.”
Erik snorted. Sawyer was their uncle. A Clay through and through who put family above nearly everything. Except the law. “He’d have skinned us and hung us up to dry just to teach us a lesson.”
“Or handed us over to Squire.” Case was still grinning. “Let the old man teach us a lesson or two.”
Squire was their grandfather. And if his sons were a hard, demanding lot, they came by it honestly enough from him.
“Dad told me the other day he thinks Squire’s mellowing in his old age.”
At that, his cousin finally missed a shot. “Right,” he drawled. “And you didn’t notice the Lockhart lady’s pretty eyes.”
Erik ignored that and took over the table.
“So she’ll be bringing the kid out here tomorrow morning?”
“Yup.” He sank a ball and moved around to the end of the table, lining up his next shot.
“What’re you gonna have him do?”
“Shovel crap by hand for a few hours. Hell, I don’t know. Pick rocks outta that field I haven’t cleared yet.” He got pissed all over again just thinking about it and he blew the shot.
Case grinned. “Just hand your money over now,” he suggested as he took over the table again.
Erik grimaced and slapped a ten down on the side of the table. Then he returned his cue to the rack on the wall and went behind the wooden bar that Case, his father, Daniel, and Erik had built a few summers earlier. He grabbed a cold bottle from the refrigerator beneath the bar.
His cousin had the pool table cleared in seconds. “You want one?” Erik asked.
Case stuck the cue he’d been using in the rack. “I want a real beer. Not that prissy stuff you drink.”
Erik pulled out a longneck and slid it across the bar. “Don’t be sneering at my root beer,” he said mildly. They both knew that if he chose to, he could drink Casey under the table. “Ordered this up special on the internet from some place in Colorado.” He held up the dark brown bottle and smiled. “Home-brewed and smooth as cream. Lady who makes it is as old as Squire, or I think I’d be in love.”
His cousin rolled his eyes. He took the beer and they headed up the stairs, ending up in the kitchen, where Erik had a pot of chili on the stove. He wasn’t much of a cook, but a thirty-one-year-old man whose closest dining alternative was forty-minutes away tended to be able to scrounge a few things together. Between that and the frozen stuff his mother, aunts and cousins kept him supplied with, he managed well enough.
They filled their bowls and then went onto the porch that overlooked Erik’s land.
“You gonna tear that old barn down anytime soon?” Case asked after he’d shoveled in most of his chili.
They leaned back in the oversize chairs that Erik had bought from a woodcrafter in Gillette, their boot heels propped on the wood rail in front of them. “Sometime this summer, maybe.” The barn was the only structure still standing from when Erik had bought the property four years earlier.
He could have helped Matt run the Double-C. The Clay family ranch was the largest one in the state. But Erik had wanted something to call his own. “Gotten sort of used to looking at it.” That, or he was starting to get lazy. He always had plenty of other things around the ranch to keep him busy, anyway. Chores never stopped in his business. And now his heifers were starting to calve. Another month, and there’d be more calves to deal with. Plus, he wanted to get started on the addition to his house.
The work went on and on. But it was the life he’d chosen. And the life he loved.
Casey yawned and slouched down in the chair another few inches. “So what’re you gonna do about the window?”
Erik grimaced. “Haven’t decided.”
“Jessica’d make you another one.”
“She thought I was getting ready to propose,” Erik reminded. He still could hardly wrap his head around it. They hadn’t even been serious. At least, that was what he’d thought. “Last month, after the whole window incident, she told me to eat glass and die.” The window had been a heartfelt gift intended to pave the way for their future. She’d said a whole lot more when Erik had had to tell her how he felt—or didn’t feel—but what still made Erik feel bad were the tears in her eyes when she’d said it. He didn’t make a habit of hurting women like that, and he wished he could undo those few months of seeing her altogether. She hadn’t been a nutcase. She’d been a perfectly nice woman. But that hadn’t meant he’d been even remotely thinking marriage, now or way the hell off in the future.
And she’d flatly refused to take back the window. He hadn’t wanted it. So he’d contacted the church.
“Women think about marriage all the time, I hear.”
He blinked away the image of Isabella Lockhart that kept swimming into his head. He’d told Jess he wasn’t looking for a wife. He wasn’t all that interested in looking for a girlfriend, either.
And hookin’ up for a night or two with a woman raising an angry kid like that Murphy of hers just didn’t seem right. No matter how pretty she was.
He looked over when his cousin yawned again. “Keeping you up here?”
“Been up late all week working on a project.”
His cousin worked for Erik’s dad, Tristan, out at Cee-Vid. The company designed and manufactured computer games, and had made Erik’s dad a millionaire several times over. But Erik had grown up knowing the business was still a cover for what his dad really was. An intelligence expert. And even though Erik and Case never discussed it, he figured his cousin’s “projects” more likely involved Erik’s dad’s true calling than the computer games.
“Be glad Jessica lives over in Gillette,” Case had continued. “You won’t run into her unless you make the effort.” He pulled his boots off the rail and sat up. “Pretty as your face is, I’m headin’ home.”
“Wash that bowl,” Erik said. “I’m pretty but I’m not doing your dishes.”
Case grinned and headed inside the house. A few minutes later, Erik heard the slap of the kitchen screen door followed by the rumble of his cousin’s ancient pickup.
Erik waved as Case drove past, and then looked out over his land. The sun was still a big, burning ball of red hanging in the thin clouds on the horizon. Snow could easily fall this time of year, but the fields in front of him were starting to green, and his horses were grazing in the pasture. All in all, it should’ve been a completely pleasant evening.
If he hadn’t had to look forward to that hellion coming the next morning.
He hunched forward and thumped his boots down onto the wooden porch. Isabella would have to drive the kid out to his place. It wasn’t as if Weaver had any sort of bus service. He’d given her directions to the ranch that day at Ruby’s. Warned her that the road had a few rough patches along the way.
Personally, he liked the rough patches. They kept the occasional salesperson who thought they might head out his way from getting too enthusiastic about the trip. If someone drove out to the Rocking-C, it meant he really wanted to get there.
Isabella Lockhart, he knew, was from New York City. She hadn’t been a dancer—Lucy had told him that—but she’d been in charge of costumes, or some such, at the dance company where Lucy had been the star dancer. When he’d been over at Lucy and Beck’s place for supper a few weeks earlier, Lucy had been all excited about her friend moving to Weaver. Erik hadn’t given her chatter much mind, mostly because he’d been more interested in the blueprints that Beck had drawn up for him for the great room Erik was adding to his ranch house. Now that he’d encountered the newcomer, he wished he’d paid his cousin more attention.
Calling her about it wasn’t gonna happen, though. She might consider his curiosity more personal in nature than he intended. And after the mess with Jessica, he didn’t need anyone making more of a man’s simple curiosity than there was.
If Isabella really wanted to make things right, as she’d said, she’d have to make the trip, rough road or not.
He couldn’t help wondering if she’d have the fortitude to stick it out long enough to save her boy’s hide, or if she’d decide along the way that life back in New York was more preferable and hightail it right back out of town. She wouldn’t be the first person who did. Just because he’d never wanted anything else didn’t mean he failed to understand that life in Weaver wasn’t everyone’s cup of joe.
Still, aside from the boy, the next several months were looking a tad more interesting than they might otherwise have been.
If she stuck it out.
“You gotta be kidding me,” Murphy muttered, peering through the dusty windshield at the two-story house that finally appeared as they reached the top of a rise in the road.
Road was a generous term, considering it wasn’t much more than two tracks in the dirt with a shorn strip of wild grass growing down the middle.
Her would-be stepson continued complaining. “This is crazy out here, Iz. Like The Hills Have Eyes or something.”
“You’re too young for R-rated movies. Especially horror stories like that one.”
Murphy sat back in his seat and gave her a superior look. “I watched ’em all the time when Dad took me to the firehouse.”
And had nightmares because of it, she thought but kept it to herself. “You heard Lucy as well as I did when we saw her yesterday. Mr. Clay’s place is a working cattle ranch. You’ll be outside, in the fresh air, exactly where you like to be.”
“Yeah. Hanging with my friends, not with Bessie the cow.” He made a face. “I hate it here.”
“And I hated seeing you sitting in that jail cell after you broke half the third-floor windows of Mr. Goldstein’s brownstone back home.” She shot him a look, only to quickly turn her attention back out the windshield when the steering wheel nearly jerked out of her hands. “We’re here only as long as the court allows it, Murph. Don’t forget that.”
“What’s the difference between one foster home and another?” His shrug was uncaring, but Isabella heard the pain beneath his bravado.
At least, she hoped she heard it. It was the only way she could look past her own sorrow, knowing he didn’t care that he was with her or not.
In the eight months since he’d been provisionally placed under her guardianship, she still wasn’t entirely certain what was going on inside his head. While his father had been alive, Murphy had at least tolerated her. Since then, he seemed to enjoy taking every opportunity to prove otherwise.
“There’s a lot of difference,” she said now, deciding not to get into the distinction between being his guardian and being a foster parent. “Believe me. I know from personal experience what it feels like not having a place to belong. I saw the size of that stained-glass window, Murph. You’re lucky he’s giving you a chance to work it off.” She had done some research online at the library and had a hefty suspicion that they were getting off incredibly lightly.
Evidently losing interest, Murphy looked out the passengerside window and remained silent.
The entire car shuddered as she continued coaxing it along the ridiculous excuse for a road. Neither she nor Jimmy had owned vehicles in the city. She’d bought the four-door sedan from a dealer down in Cheyenne when they’d arrived in Wyoming.
Isabella had been thankful that the car had been a thousand dollars less than she’d budgeted. Which meant she’d been able to apply that toward the restitution the court had ordered for the vandalized brownstone. She’d still be making payments for some time, but it had felt good to send off that chunk.
With no small amount of relief, she felt the road beneath the tires smooth out as they drew closer to the house. It was white clapboard with dark green shutters at the windows and had a wide covered deck sticking out on one side. Not overly large, but with the ridiculously blue sky behind it, peppered with fat white clouds, it looked perfectly charming.
Somehow, it seemed to suit a man who’d cover his filthy jeans with a paper napkin while he ate pie in a café.
She followed the gravel-covered road around the side of the house. There was no obvious place to park, so she just stopped near the house. She turned off the car but left the keys hanging in the ignition. There wasn’t any danger of being jacked out here in this place. “Come on,” she prompted Murphy as she got out.
He swore under his breath, but shoved open the door and climbed out, too.
She looked at him over the roof of the car. “Remember what we talked about?”
He made a face. “Be polite. Follow instructions. Don’t cause trouble.”
She’d also told him not to curse. But she wasn’t going to nitpick. “Right.” She closed her door, and the sound seemed to get swallowed up in the quiet, open countryside.
“So where is he?” Murphy asked. Their shoes crunched on the gravel as they walked toward the house.
“Here.” As if by magic, Erik Clay appeared. He was wearing a white T-shirt that seemed stretched to its limits over his broad shoulders and another pair of jeans that were just as mud-caked at the bottoms as the ones he’d been wearing the week before. He was also wearing a cowboy hat and leather gloves that only made the tanned wrists above them look even more masculine. “Wondered if you were gonna make it or not.”
She didn’t want him blaming Murphy for their lateness. “My fault. I didn’t think it would take me quite this long to drive out here.” She tried to aim her eyes somewhere other than at that impressive chest, but looking at his face was no less disturbing. And for some reason, those wrists above his gloves were…erotic. She finally settled for looking back the way she’d come. “When you said the road was a little rough, I had no idea.” She turned toward him. “Next time I’ll plan better.”
His teeth flashed briefly. “Now that you’re here, I’ll show you around.”
The desire to stay and have a tour was sudden and strong. So much so that it was unwelcome. “I can’t. I have to get back to Weaver for a class.”
He thumbed his hat back a few inches. “What’re you studying?”
“Teaching,” she corrected. “Lucy’s put me on the schedule for several classes at her dance studio.”
“Is that right… .” He didn’t seem to care when Murphy wandered away from them toward the wooden rails of the deck. “I didn’t think you were a dancer like Lucy.”
Isabella waved her hands ruefully. “Believe me. I’m not.” Until an injury sidelined her career, Lucy had been one of the top ballerinas at the Northeast Ballet Theater. “I was the wardrobe supervisor at NEBT. But I’ve had enough training to teach some little girls a few basics.” She also would be teaching the big girls a few things throughout the week, but didn’t think tall-tanned-and-macho would be interested in hearing about yoga.
“So that’s the reason for the getup?”
She thought she’d given up blushing when she was about fifteen. But when his violet gaze seemed to travel down her body, that was exactly what she found herself doing. “Um, yeah.” She didn’t ordinarily go around wearing formfitting jazz pants and stretchy camis that clung like a second skin. She wished she’d zipped up the sweatshirt. Doing so now would seem obvious, though. “Tap shoes are in the car.”
“Tap?”
She nodded. One of her foster moms had been avidly into the activity. Isabelle had been happy enough to go along, because it meant she didn’t have to stay back at home with the other six foster kids living there. When she’d been granted her emancipation a few years later and could afford it, she’d taken more classes. “So—” she gestured toward Murphy “—it is okay if I leave him here with you like this?”
Erik smiled a little. “Didn’t figure I’d be treated to your company all the while, appealing as it might be.”
She was definitely blushing now. She brushed her palms down her thighs. The diamond engagement ring on her ring finger winked in the sunlight. She tried to remember what Jimmy’s wrists had looked like, and failed. “What time should I pick him up?”
“What time are you done at Lucy’s place?”
“I’m only on for two hours.” So far. If Lucy’s business kept growing, she could end up with more classes. Which meant a little more money and a little less debt.
“Come on back anytime after that.” His tone was easy. “If we’re not finished, you can sit on the porch and relax a bit.”
There were several rustic chairs scattered along the wide deck. Some had yellow-and-green cushions. Some didn’t. Overall, the whole effect was entirely inviting.
Another unwelcome thought. Just as it was unwelcome recognizing that his deep, calm voice had a way of easing the knots between her shoulders.
“You’re being very nice.” Lucy had said he was nice. A very decent, perfectly nice man. And Murphy would be as safe as houses with him. “I’ve really got to go now, though, or I’m going to be late to my class. Murphy?” She raised her voice, looking toward him. “Don’t forget what we talked about.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He twisted his heel into the gravel.
Hiding a sigh, she gave Erik an apologetic smile. “Thank you again for giving us this opportunity.”
“Not us.” He nodded his head sideways toward Murphy. “Him. He’s the one who did it, not you.”
“Yes, well, he is my responsibility. And I do thank you.” She started edging backward toward her car. “I’ll see you soon, Murphy.”
Aware of Erik’s gaze on her, she hurried to her car. When she started the engine and turned around to drive back the way she’d come, she could see in her rearview mirror that Erik and Murphy had not budged.
“Please let this go well,” she whispered. Neither she nor Murphy could afford otherwise, whether her stubborn young ward realized it or not.
Once the faded red car was out of sight, Erik looked over at Murphy. Wearing an oversize black hoodie and blue jeans with a hole in the knee, he was still leaning against the porch, digging his shoe into the dirt. “All right,” Erik said. “Your mom brought you—”
“She’s not my mom.” Murphy kicked the gravel, scattering the small pebbles. “She never married my d—She’s just my guardian.”
Erik decided he really should have listened more closely to Lucy’s chatter. Or caved to his curiosity and called her at least once over the past week to pump her for more info, regardless of the consequences. “So where’re your parents?”
“My dad’s dead.”
Erik stifled an oath. “Sorry. I didn’t know.” He studied the kid for a moment, wondering about his mother. “How long ago?”
“Nine months.” The kid lifted a shoulder that looked skinny even beneath the hoodie. “It’s no big deal, dude. Am I gonna shovel cow crap or what?”
Erik figured it had to be a very big deal. Both his parents were still alive and he was glad of it, though he could do with a little less of his mother’s unsubtle comments that she’d like grandchildren before she was too old to enjoy them. A crock, since he considered his mom to be pretty darn young, having passed fifty only a few years back.
He abruptly changed his mind about mucking out the horse stalls and pointed instead at the old barn. “You’re gonna help me tear that old thing down.”
“Then can I have my bat back?”
“Nope.” He started toward his new barn. “Come on.”
“Where?” Murphy’s voice was rife with suspicion.
Erik’s stride didn’t slow. “To get some tools other than your baseball bat.”
After a moment, he heard the shuffle of footsteps following behind him.
At least it was something.
“I’ve got a dozen women signed up for a second yoga class.” Lucy Ventura sat on the edge of the desk in her small office, jiggling the baby she held against her shoulder.
Isabella swiped her neck with her hand towel. Tap dancing—even with six-year-olds—was a lot of work. “I can hardly believe a couple dozen women exist in Weaver who want to take yoga.” She’d been happy to think they had enough for one class. Two would be amazing.
Lucy grinned. “You’d be surprised, Iz.” A small burp filled the office. “Genteel as always, my daughter.” She turned the infant around until she was sitting on her lap, facing Isabella. Where Lucy was fair, her daughter, Sunny, was dark. A mop of dark brown hair was tied at the top of her little round head with a bright red bow, and her dark brown eyes fairly snapped with cheer.
Until Jimmy, Isabella had never aspired to motherhood. Not with the childhood she’d had. Then he’d swept her off her feet, and her orderly life had flown right out the window. She couldn’t help wondering what might have happened if he’d lived. What their baby—if he’d ever changed his mind about not having any—might have looked like.
An image of Murphy swam into her head. He looked like his father.
Would Erik Clay’s children have his violet eyes?
She banished the errant thought and draped the towel around her neck before giving Sunny her finger. The baby latched on and yanked it around. “She’s so beautiful, Luce. I can’t believe how life has changed for us.”
Lucy smiled gently. “Weaver’s a good place to heal, Iz.”
“I hope so,” she murmured. Sunny’s skin was as soft as down. “Murphy has a lot to heal from. He adored Jimmy.”
“I was talking about you, too.”
Isabella lifted her shoulder. “I’m a big girl. I’ll survive, as usual.”
“Surviving isn’t necessarily the same as living,” Lucy countered. She’d dropped by the studio only to see how Isabella’s classes had gone and was dressed in a pretty sundress that Isabella herself had made for her a few years ago as a gift. “I learned that when I met Beck.”
“He seems like a good guy.”
“Oh, he’s good all right.” Lucy’s eyes suddenly danced. “Anyway, what did you think about the Rocking-C? Erik’s place,” she prompted when Isabella gave her a blank look.
“I didn’t see much of it. The road out there is terrible.” She didn’t want to think about him. “I just hope this whole deal works out between him and Murphy.”
“If Erik has any say in it, it will,” Lucy assured. “I told you. He’s one of the good ones.”
The baby had lost interest in Isabella’s finger and she moved to peer through the window that overlooked the dance studio. The room wasn’t large but it was perfectly outfitted, which was typical for Lucy. “I don’t want Murphy to forget that his father was one of the good ones, too.” Her thumb nudged the engagement ring Jimmy had given her around and around her finger.
“You miss him.”
Isabella sighed. “Sometimes it feels like I haven’t had a whole lot of time to miss him.” She exhaled again. “I loved him, but there are times I want to scream over his lack of planning.” Only the fact that she and Lucy had been friends for more than a decade allowed her to admit it. “The standard life-insurance policy the department offered? Only once he was gone did I discover that he’d never updated the beneficiary from Murphy’s mother.” Even though, when he’d realized just how serious his situation was, he’d told her he had. If there was anything left after the medical bills, he’d believed she would need it to care for Murphy.
Lucy was wincing. “Maybe he didn’t have time,” she suggested tactfully. “Considering how fast everything happened. Does anyone even know where she is?”
Isabella shook her head. “Not since she finished serving her prison sentence. Jimmy had no idea where Kim went after that. Seems horrible to think of one’s life in terms of money, but it would have gone a long way toward the medical bills.”
“Not to mention paying restitution for Murphy’s stunt.”
Isabella didn’t deny it. She might not have been named on the life insurance, but she was in charge of settling what was left of Jimmy’s estate. She’d sold off nearly everything, except their clothes and a few other personal possessions, to take care of the debts he’d left. “He always figured he’d die in the line of duty. Not—” Her throat tightened. She shook her head. A firefighter, Jimmy had been largerthan-life. But dealing with the minutiae of real life had not been his forte. Even in the short time they’d had together, she’d realized that. And she hadn’t cared because she was good with real life. She’d had to be since she’d been orphaned as a baby. And she’d loved him.
When the staph infection had hit after a seemingly simple scrape he’d gotten during a fundraiser for a homeless shelter, there had been nothing any of them could do. Despite Jimmy’s excellent health, every treatment the doctors had tried had failed. In a matter of weeks he’d been gone; the only thing he’d left behind was his trust in her that she’d take care of everything. Most importantly, his son.
“Well,” Lucy said after a moment, “you give Weaver a chance to work its magic. On both you and Murphy.”

Chapter Three
Erik heard the sound of the car approaching long before it arrived.
He looked at Murphy, who was unenthusiastically pulling nails from a stack of boards. “Your—Isabella is here.”
Murphy immediately flipped the heavy hammer he’d been using down onto the messy pile of boards. “’Bout freakin’ time.”
Erik decided to ignore the comment. “Hammer goes back in the barn on the wall with the other tools.”
The kid gave him a sidelong look. They’d already had about a half dozen of what Erik was kindly considering instructional moments. The first one, over wearing safety goggles while they started the demo, had earned Erik a blue earful of what he could do with his orders.
Erik had heard the boy out, told him the next time he spoke like that he’d toss him in the water tank and held out the goggles. Murphy had begrudgingly put them on, possibly because he’d noticed the big metal tank was surrounded by a half dozen mama cows that didn’t look particularly eager to share.
Not that he hadn’t put Erik to the test again soon after. But the second time Murphy had mouthed off, Erik had pitched him headlong into the deep, cold water.
Hopefully, he’d learned by now that Erik meant what he said.
Now he just eyed the kid back, waiting for him to make his decision. Fortunately for Murphy, working in the sun had gone a long way to drying out his soaked clothes.
Grumbling, Murphy pulled off the goggles and picked up the hammer to carry over to the new barn.
Erik blew out a breath, glad the kid hadn’t pushed him again. He wasn’t sure what he could resort to after the tank, which was a pretty harmless punishment all in all. He didn’t figure Isabella would appreciate his washing the kid’s mouth out with soap, which is what he’d earned once when he was young.
Leaving his sledgehammer propped against the side of the partially dismantled barn, he started walking toward the house. Isabella was just pulling up next to it in the same spot she’d parked earlier, and he watched her climb out of her car.
He’d have had to be dead not to admire the sight.
And he wasn’t close to dead.
Unlike Murphy’s father, he reminded himself, whose loss still had to be affecting both the boy and Isabella.
Continuing toward her, he started peeling off his ancient leather gloves. She wasn’t a widow. She and Murphy’s dad hadn’t been married. The boy had told him that. But she was still wearing an engagement ring. He could see it now, casting sparkles as she shaded her eyes with her hand, looking his way.
“Put your eyes back in your head, dude,” Murphy muttered as he caught up to Erik and passed him by. He aimed straight for the car, not giving Isabella a single word of greeting on his way toward the passenger door. He just yanked it open and sank down on the front seat.
He saw Isabella’s slender shoulders dip a moment as she watched Murphy, then they straightened as she continued closing the distance between her car and Erik.
“Did it go well enough to continue again next week?” she asked bluntly, and he felt the impact of her black-brown gaze somewhere in the middle of his stomach.
“Went fine.” A lie, but what occurred while Murphy was working for him could stay between him and the kid. For now. “How’d your dance classes go?”
She shot the car another glance, but the smile she gave Erik seemed sincere, even revealing a faint dimple in her cheek that he hadn’t noticed before. “Great. There’s nothing like being in a studio with a bunch of little girls wearing taps on their shoes.”
“I’ll have to take your word for it,” he said drily.
She laughed lightly. “Trust me. There’re worse ways to earn a dollar.”
He thought about Murphy’s outraged face when he’d dumped the kid in the tank. “Probably.” He wondered how long she’d been engaged. And knew that wondering wasn’t one of the more productive ways to spend his time. “Next time you might want to send him with a hat,” he suggested. “He didn’t want to wear one of mine, but the sun’s only gonna get brighter, and he’ll be outside most of the time.”
“I’ll make sure he brings one.” He easily had a dozen baseball caps, most of them gifts from Jimmy that Isabella had known he would never part with.
It was much easier looking past Erik’s big body to the land around them than at the man himself. “So what, um, what sort of chores did Murphy do?” She couldn’t even get him to make his bed in the mornings.
“We’re tearing down that barn over there.” He gestured toward a ramshackle wooden structure that didn’t look like any barn Isabella had ever seen. It was a narrow, long building with half its roof and walls missing. But even partially torn down, it was big.
“Looks like a huge job. You will tell me if he misbehaves, won’t you?” She’d rather deal with small insurrections along the way than an out-and-out war that might give Erik cause to cancel the entire arrangement.
“I’ll tell you if something serious occurs,” he said.
It wasn’t entirely the answer she was looking for, but she had to believe it meant that for now, Murphy’s method of restitution was still a go.
“It’s pretty obvious he misses his dad.”
Isabella couldn’t help looking back at Erik. Beneath the shade of his stained cowboy hat, his violet gaze was gentle. And it unnerved her entirely.
“We both do.” She took a step toward the car. “So same time next week?” She couldn’t help but hold her breath.
“Actually—”
She felt her stomach drop.
“You don’t have to wait until Saturday. Unless he’s busy during the week after school, he could come out here and work.”
She felt as if her brain was scrambling to keep up. “You want him to come more often?”
Erik shrugged. “He’ll just work off the window that much sooner.”
If Murphy were occupied even one afternoon after school, it would be one less day she needed to worry about him during those hours. But the extra driving would cost time and money for gas. “Would you mind if I think about it? Murphy’s still settling in at school, and—”
“Think as long as you need to,” he said easily. “You know how to reach me if you want to bring him. Otherwise, I’ll just see you next week. Maybe you’ll allow yourself enough time to get that tour,” he suggested, “if you’re interested in seeing where your boy’s gonna be spending a lot of his time.”
She was interested. Not entirely because of Murphy. But it was only because of Murphy that she nodded. At least, that was what she told herself. “I will.” A glance told her that the boy had his feet propped on his opened door. It was lunchtime and she imagined he’d be pretty hungry after the way he’d spent the morning. “Thanks, again,” she said, turning to go.
“It’s going to be all right, Isabella.”
She paused. “Excuse me?”
“You and Murph. You’re both going to be all right.”
Murph. What Jimmy had called him. Deep behind her eyes, she felt a sudden burning. Unable to think of a response, she just nodded jerkily and hurried toward the car, almost as fast as Murphy had done.
“I want McDonald’s,” Murphy said as soon as she got in beside him.
“There isn’t one in Weaver.” And she had no interest in finding out where the nearest one was. “I’ll fix you a hamburger at home.”
He made a wordless sound that clearly conveyed his disgust. “Everything here sucks. Especially El Jailer back there.”
“Mr. Clay is not your jailer.” He’d probably go ballistic if he thought he’d have less than a week before he had to return. Cowardly or not, she decided it wasn’t the time to bring it up. “And it will continue to suck,” she added evenly, “as long as you keep thinking that way. Get your feet down, close your door and put on your seat belt.”
He did so, slamming the door with more force than necessary before yanking his belt across his thin body.
She was much too aware of Erik Clay standing right where she’d left them, witnessing everything. His evident agreeableness aside, he already knew too much about her less-than-stellar parenting attempts. Now he was seeing even more. She started the car. “You were cooperative with Mr. Clay, weren’t you?”
Murphy shot her wary look. “Why you askin’ me? He prob’ly already ratted me out.”
She turned the car around, trying not to notice Erik in the rearview mirror. “Ratted you out about what?” Then she frowned, really looking at Murphy. “Are your clothes damp?”
He just made a face and crossed his arms, ignoring her.
All systems normal, then.
She hid another sigh and resolutely kept her gaze on the road. If Erik was still watching them drive away from his house, she did not want to know about it.
So why did disappointment tug inside her when her gaze flicked to the mirror despite her resolve and she saw nothing but his house?
Erik went over to his folks’ place for Sunday dinner the next afternoon. His dad wasn’t one much for the ranching life he’d been raised with, but they still lived on a spacious property out near the Double-C where he’d grown up. The place was crowded and boisterous. This wasn’t unusual when the Clay family got together, as it did every Sunday, what with uncles and aunts and cousins and their spouses and their kids.
Erik sometimes showed, sometimes didn’t, depending on how busy he was at the Rocking-C. And while he was keeping a pretty close eye on those mama cows, today he was restless enough to want a change of scene. The fact that Lucy and Beck might be there as well was incidental.
When they weren’t, though, he just had to lump it. He could have called ahead to find out for sure, but he wasn’t willing to raise any particular questions over why he was so interested. So he tucked into his mom’s tender pot roast, stayed through blueberry cobbler, then headed out with the excuse he wanted to get in a few hours of fishing.
Because it was one of his favorite ways of relaxing, he figured he wouldn’t arouse his family’s perpetual curiosity. So when he made it all the way out to his truck, he thought he was home free.
Until his mother, Hope, trotted from around the back of the house, carrying a covered dish and calling his name.
He waited, knowing there wasn’t much else he could do.
“I’m so glad I caught you,” she said and held up the dish. “You skedaddled out so quickly.”
He took the dish from her. She’d wrapped it in a towel, and even through that, it still felt hot. He looked under the lid. Leftover pot roast nestled in mashed potatoes. “Looks like I’ll be eating well this week. Thanks.” He brushed a kiss over her cheek and pulled open the truck door.
“Honey, you’re not still worried about the church getting that window, are you?”
He shook his head. He was resigned to contacting Jessica again. He also knew it’d be smart to give her more time to cool down first before he did. “I warned Reverend Stone it’d be a while before they’ll be able to install it.” Since the church hadn’t expected a new stained-glass window until Erik had needed to get rid of one, they’d only gotten as far as calling meetings to discuss where it should be installed. But still, Erik felt honor-bound to deliver one at some point.
He’d cooled off enough since that ball had flown straight at his truck to appreciate the irony of his situation.
Behind her stylish eyeglasses, his mother’s gaze was sharp. “Then what’s bothering you?”
“Nothing, ’cept I got a rainbow waiting on me.”
She just lifted an eyebrow. “That old trout you keep trying to catch doesn’t bite a lick after seven in the morning and I know you’re not pining away for Jessica. Perfectly nice girl, but you were no more in love with her than you were with Sally Jane Murphy in the tenth grade.”
And this was what he got for not heading straight to the fishing hole and bypassing dinner altogether. Sally Jane had been the first girl he’d ever slept with. Even then he hadn’t mistaken her definite appeal for something it wasn’t. “That kid who broke my window is named Murphy.”
She nodded. “I’d heard that.”
He expected she had. Nothing happened in Weaver without the town’s grapevine buzzing about it. “When’s Justin get home from school?” His little brother was back east getting his master’s degree in something too convoluted for Erik to even understand.
She cocked her head slightly and her long, brown hair slid over her shoulder. Just like when he’d been a kid trying to hide his broccoli in the napkin on his lap, he wasn’t fooling her, and they both knew it.
“The kid’s guardian is a friend of Lucy’s,” he added.
“Heard that, too.” She smiled slightly. “I’m taking Isabella’s yoga class on Tuesday evenings.”
He nearly choked. “’Cause you’re interested in yoga, or just checking out the newest woman of marrying age to come to town?”
She merely smiled with as much satisfaction as she had when his guilty conscience made him confess about the broccoli, and patted his cheek. “Enjoy the fishing, honey.” Then she turned on her heel and sauntered away, disappearing around the corner of the house.
Undoubtedly to spread the word among everyone still inside that her oldest boy was showing interest in the newcomer.
“Shoulda stayed home with the cows,” he muttered to himself and swung up into his truck. Nothing good ever came out of trying to be subtle around his family.
He headed toward home, not bothering to maintain the pretense of fishing. His mom was right. He’d been angling for that rainbow longer than he cared to admit, and the damn thing never bothered taunting him unless it was early in the morning.
The drive home from his folks’ house, though, took him straight through Weaver and right on past Ruby’s. Being Sunday, it was closed. But that didn’t stop Erik from wondering where Isabella was living. Maybe, like a lot of newcomers, she’d chosen the newer side of town where Cee-Vid was headquartered. There was a Shop-World out that way and apartments and office buildings, all of which Erik privately considered an eyesore despite their convenience. Or maybe she’d chosen to live in the older part of town.
And wondering at all just made him even more restless.
He passed Lucy’s dance studio. Nearly the entire front of it was lined with windows, though white curtains hung in them to obscure glimpses inside from passersby. Like Ruby’s, there was no activity.
He abruptly turned into Colbys’s parking lot next to the studio. There were only a few people inside the bar and grill when he entered and took a stool at one end of the bar.
“Hey there, Erik,” Jane, the new owner, greeted him from the other end. “Don’t usually see you in here on a Sunday afternoon.” Her gaze went past him toward the door. “You alone?”
He nodded and folded his arms atop the gleaming wood bar. “Give me something dark from the tap, would you please?”
She slung a white bar towel over her shoulder and moved to the taps. A moment later, she was sliding a cold pint toward him. “Get you anything else?” She held up the food menu.
“Just came from dinner at my folks’.” He nodded toward the flat-screen television hanging on the wall to his left. “Mind turning that on?”
She pulled a remote from beneath the bar, turned on the television and handed the remote to him. “Choice is all yours.” With a smile, she left him in peace.
Smart lady. Aside from a temporary misstep over thinking to charge for playing pool, which she’d since corrected, he didn’t get why Casey had a bug up his butt about her.
He turned to ESPN and left the volume low. If there’d been anyone around who looked interested, he’d have picked up a game of pool. But he didn’t feel like shooting a game by himself. Jane was back at the end of the bar chatting with Pam Rasmussen, who was dispatcher over at the sheriff’s office and married to Rob Rasmussen, who taught over at the school. He easily tuned them out as he nursed his beer and watched the tube.
And then he heard the word yoga, and his attention zoomed right in on the women like a dog going on point.
He grimaced, turning up the volume a little, hoping to drown them out, but it was no use. He finally looked over his shoulder casually. “Yoga’s a popular subject,” he said. “My mother was talking about it this afternoon.”
Pam looked at him, her round face wreathed with a smile. “When I called up Lucy to register for the class, she told me I’d just snuck in before she had to cut off registrations.”
He grinned wryly. “Who woulda thought? Yoga classes in Weaver.”
“Not just yoga. I hear Isabella’s gonna teach a belly dancing series soon, too.” She smiled wickedly. “And maybe pole dancing. Robby’s not sold on the idea, but I told him it’s supposed to be terrific exercise.”
Erik tried not to let his jaw drop. And then he had to work hard not imagining Isabella wiggling her hips around in some dance-of-the-seven-veils thing…much less swinging around on some damn pole. He could well imagine conservative Rob’s reaction to his wife doing it.
Obviously recognizing his discomfort, Pam laughed. “Blame your cousin Lucy. She’s the one who hired Isabella. I was talking to Neesa Tanner at church this morning and she was raving over how much little Jenny likes her tap classes with Isabella.” She swiveled her stool around to face him. “You’ve got that boy of hers working out at your place. What do you think of her?” Her nose practically wriggled. “She’s single,” she said in a singsong tone.
He made a face and turned back toward the television. Pam was the dispatcher, but even when she wasn’t on duty, she seemed compelled to dispatch news concerning the residents of Weaver. After a moment, he stood, dropped some cash on the bar for the beer he’d only partly consumed and headed out.
His brain could stay preoccupied with a woman just as easily at home.
“I hear she’s staying at your mom’s old house.” Pam’s voice followed him.
He stopped cold at that revelation but tried to act nonchalant. “Oh, yeah? Small world.” Then, because something he didn’t want to examine really closely had started zipping through his veins, he sketched a wave and pushed out the entrance.
Out in the parking lot, however, he raked his fingers through his hair, struggling with disbelief. He almost called his mom right then and there to ask why she had kept that particular nugget to herself, but fortunately a glimmer of common sense remained inside his head. Not that that glimmer kept him from driving right past that very house.
His mom had grown up there, not moving out until she’d married his dad. But she’d never sold it. Somebody in the family had always seemed to find a use for it at one time or another through the years.
The grass in the little rectangular yard was a bit overgrown, but otherwise, the place looked pretty much the same as it always had. White paint. Black trim.
And in the picture window that looked in on the living room, he could see Isabella sitting at a table, her head propped in her hands. Weariness screamed from her hunched shoulders.
The glimmer of sense faded to black. Winked out completely.
He pulled next to the curb in front of the house and shut off the engine.
She hadn’t budged.
Calling himself ten kinds of fool, he got out of the truck, spotted the covered dish from his mom and grabbed it. It was still warm but no longer hot enough to need the towel. Dish in hand, he headed up the front walk and knocked on the door. From there he couldn’t see through the window, but it was only a few seconds before she pulled open the door.
Her dark eyes widened and filled with alarm. “What are you doing here? I thought everything went okay yesterday.”
He wanted to kick himself. “It did,” he assured her quickly. The last thing he wanted was to cause her more worry. “I was just at my folks’ place,” he added, holding out the dish. “And since I was passing this way anyway, figured I’d deliver these leftovers from my mom.” Hell. His ears were burning. “She remembers how much I ate when I was Murph’s age.”
Her gaze dropped to the dish, then lifted back to his face for a moment before skittering away again. “I don’t know what to say.”
He’d have been better off staying at Colbys and putting up with Pam. He lifted the lid. “Say you’re not a vegetarian.”
She let out a sudden, breathy laugh. “This is a very unexpected surprise.” She reached for the dish and her fingers brushed against his as she took it. If she felt the tingling that he did, she showed no sign of it as she lifted the lid again and leaned over a little, inhaling deeply. “Smells wonderful.” She glanced up at him. “But would these leftovers be yours if not for us?”
“You won’t be taking any food outta my mouth,” he assured her drily. “Every week I get another batch or two from someone. You’re saving my refrigerator from being overloaded.”
“Well, then.” She smiled. “How can I refuse? I’m sure Murphy will devour it.”
Erik could easily see over her head into the living room. the furniture was the same furniture that had been there for years, from the squishy, slightly worn couch to the round table in the dining area. “Where is he?” He couldn’t be certain, but the papers spread across the table looked like bills.
“In his room doing homework.” Her smile turned wry. “Or else just avoiding me as much as he can.” She took a step back. “Would you like to come in?”
She was wearing a pair of skinny blue jeans and an oversize white shirt that hung down to her thighs. Her white-blond hair was pinned up in a messy sort of knot on top of her head and her feet were bare.
Everything about her was appealing.
Except the sparkling diamond on her finger that blinked at him like a flashing stoplight.
“Thanks, but I gotta head back home.”
“Okay.” Her lips curved a little, seeming only to accentuate the fullness of her rosy lower lip. “I’ll be sure to get the dish back to your mother the next time I see her.”
This was what he got for attributing the leftovers to his mom. “Just bring it out next time you drive Murph to the ranch.” He managed not to ask if he’d have to wait until Saturday for that. He had no intention of pushing it.
“I’ll make sure she gets the dish with all the other stuff I’m collecting from her,” he added. “Now, go on and enjoy the rest of your Sunday,” he said.
Her eyes turned bright and her dimple flashed. “I will,” she said, clasping the dish to her chest. “Especially now that I won’t even have to cook.”
He managed a grin and turned to go.
It was all he could do not to trip over his own two feet as he strode back to his truck.
Whoever said the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach had it all wrong.
All it took was a pair of flashing brown-black eyes and a mischievous dimple.

Chapter Four
The following Saturday, Isabella tried to allow more time to get out to the ranch. Erik had been kind enough to drop off those leftovers. The least she could do was take him up on his offer of a tour of his ranch.
Not that she had a single inkling whatsoever about cattle ranches. She wouldn’t know at all if she was oohing and aahing at the appropriate times.
But still.
Having driven the rough stretch of road four times now, she was a little better prepared for that particular experience. She fancied that she was even beginning to learn when to maneuver to the right or left to avoid particularly jarring holes. Which made the trip go considerably faster.
But they still didn’t arrive as early as she’d planned.
She just hadn’t anticipated having to nearly physically drag Murphy out of bed to get him going this morning. And it hadn’t helped that she’d dithered over what outfit to wear, all because she’d be seeing Erik Clay for a few minutes. That was something she had never done in her life. Not even with Murphy’s father.
The boy was sprawled in his seat, his eyes at half-mast and his lips turned down in displeasure at having to spend more time with the man he called “the Jailer.”
She wished she knew what to do to help him change his attitude. She’d already spoken with his counselor, Hayley Templeton, for suggestions. But nothing was working.
“I wanna go back to New York—” Murphy broke his silence with the abrupt announcement “—and live with my real mom.”
Her hands tightened around the steering wheel. It wasn’t the first time that he’d mentioned his mother. Jimmy had never lied to his son about her, though. Murphy knew perfectly well that Kim was a troubled woman who’d spent time in jail. “I know you want to go back to New York. But that doesn’t mean we know where your mother is.” If Isabella took him back, admitted that she had failed to provide him what he needed, he’d be placed into the foster-care system. Maybe with a better, more suitable family than her.
But guilt and grief collided inside her chest every time she thought about it.
She’d promised Jimmy.
“I’m sorry,” she said huskily. “I know you miss your dad. I do, too. But going back isn’t going to happen right now.”
“Then when?”
They topped the rise in the road, and the ranch buildings came into view. It relieved her as much as it worried her. “I don’t know,” she said. Never, if she had her choice. Sooner, if the caseworker didn’t like what she saw when she visited.
Murphy just gave that disgusted wordless grunt of his.
But he said nothing more as she drove the rest of the way and parked next to the dusty blue pickup truck beside Erik’s house. “Come on,” she said as she climbed out of the car. “The sooner you get started, the sooner you’ll be finished.”
“Yeah, until you get out here to take me home.” He slammed the car door shut and stomped ahead of her, heading toward the barn he’d worked on last week. When Isabella followed, his head swiveled around, and even beneath his Yankees ball cap she could see the alarm in his eyes. “Don’t you gotta leave to go teach?”
“Yes. But not right this minute.” She caught up to him. “I want to see what you’re doing and say hello to Mr. Clay. He’s offered to show me around the ranch.”
His lips twisted. She was certain he would have said something if Erik hadn’t appeared at that particular moment. Luckily he did, coming out of the partially standing barn. He had a pair of goggles dangling around his neck and a sledgehammer in his leather-gloved hand. Dusty jeans and a pair of equally dusty boots completed his outfit.
And she nearly swallowed her tongue.
Lucy hadn’t told her exactly how well they grew male gods out here in Wyoming.
With nothing else covering his wide shoulders and washboard stomach but the gleam of sweat, Erik Clay looked as if he belonged on some calendar somewhere for women to drool over.
“Thought you said you missed my dad,” Murphy accused in a low voice.
Horrified at herself, Isabella dragged her attention away from all that raw glory. “I do.”
Murphy just made a face.
And why wouldn’t he?

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