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A Cowboy In Shepherd's Crossing
Ruth Logan Herne


From bachelor to daddy…Cowboy bachelor Jace Middleton was ready to leave Shepherd's Crossing for good—until he learns his family's unspoken secrets.Now Jace finds himself not only caring for his twin baby nieces, but working with beautiful, strong-willed designer Melonie Fitzgerald to renovate his grandmother's run-down estate. Love wasn't part of the plan…but Jace soon finds himself wishing Melonie could become part of his unexpected family







From bachelor to daddy...

Shepherd’s Crossing is full of surprises

Cowboy bachelor Jace Middleton was ready to leave Shepherd’s Crossing for good—until he learns his family’s unspoken secrets. Now Jace finds himself not only caring for his twin baby nieces, but working with beautiful, strong-willed designer Melonie Fitzgerald to renovate his grandmother’s run-down estate. Love wasn’t part of the plan...but Jace soon finds himself wishing Melonie could become part of his unexpected family.


Multipublished bestselling author RUTH LOGAN HERNE loves God, her country, her family, dogs, chocolate and coffee! Married to a very patient man, she lives in an old farmhouse in upstate New York and thinks possums should leave the cat food alone and snakes should always live outside. There are no exceptions to either rule! Visit Ruth at ruthloganherne.com (http://ruthloganherne.com).


Also by Ruth Logan Herne (#u43a4fc65-1f7c-5833-9aec-0865ec80b932)

Shepherd’s Crossing

Her Cowboy Reunion

A Cowboy in Shepherd’s Crossing

Grace Haven

An Unexpected Groom

Her Unexpected Family

Their Surprise Daddy

The Lawman’s Yuletide Baby

Her Secret Daughter

Kirkwood Lake

The Lawman’s Second Chance

Falling for the Lawman

The Lawman’s Holiday Wish

Loving the Lawman

Her Holiday Family

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).


A Cowboy in Shepherd’s Crossing

Ruth Logan Herne






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


ISBN: 978-1-474-09043-8

A COWBOY IN SHEPHERD’S CROSSING

© 2018 Ruth M. Blodgett

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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


“If a man isn’t smart enough to love you for yourself, who needs him?”

It sounded so right coming from Jace. “So we’re the walking wounded?” Melonie asked.

“My scars are healed, but I am most assuredly gun-shy,” he said firmly. “Besides, we’ve been busy enough the past couple of years that it didn’t much matter.” He stood and rolled his shoulders, and she tried to pretend he didn’t look absolutely amazing when he did it. “Now with kids to raise, my focus needs to be on them.”

“Agreed.” She stood, too.

He stayed right there, looking at her.

She looked right back.

“So why is my focus longing to shift, Melonie?” Jace whispered the words, gazing at her. Into her eyes.

Was his heart slow-tripping like hers? Were his palms growing damp?

Stop this. You know better. You know your plans. You’re leaving as soon as you’ve secured your inheritance. His life is here. Yours isn’t. And there are two baby girls to consider...


Dear Reader (#u43a4fc65-1f7c-5833-9aec-0865ec80b932),

Life has a way of handing us curves, doesn’t it? Sometimes we see them coming and we dodge left, then right. And yet they still come!

Sometimes we’re caught unaware, and we’re faced with life changes we didn’t expect and maybe didn’t want.

But faith is our rock. Faith is our solidity, it’s the binding force that lets us face those challenges head-on to make a difference.

Melonie knew what she wanted. She’d felt unloved and often unworthy to be loved, even when she knew it wasn’t true. Taking a sharp right turn toward Idaho wasn’t in her plans, but isn’t it funny what God holds in store for us?

Jace was facing a future he didn’t want. He’d lost his parents, had no work, and his sister was finding her own life, and he could do nothing to stop the changes.

But when old sorrows intervened, a whole new path sprang open.

Sometimes our deepest regrets spawn unexpected opportunities.

I hope you loved this wonderful story, set in the gorgeous hills and valleys of western Idaho, a place that drew men and women courageous enough to settle a land that can be harsh yet amazingly giving.

I hope to hear from you! Email me at loganherne@gmail.com, friend me on Facebook, where I love to play and pray and talk farm stuff with you, or stop by my website, ruthloganherne.com (http://ruthloganherne.com), and check out what’s going on in books or at the pumpkin farm!

And may the sweet Lord bless and keep you, not just today but in all days!

With love,

Ruthy


Judge not, and ye shall not be judged: condemn not, and ye shall not be condemned: forgive, and ye shall be forgiven.

—Luke 6:37


This book is dedicated to Christina,

a wonderful young woman who won my heart

from the very beginning... Thank you

for becoming a true “overcomer.” Your story

is the kind of thing that inspires others

to do their best. To try harder. To never give up.

I love you, kid.


Contents

Cover (#u04bcdc05-9519-5530-9bc0-15257eca3fb0)

Back Cover Text (#uf57d7a41-eee2-5ef2-994d-5475b48d3173)

About the Author (#u0c73d9c7-aa79-599e-ad80-dc2fe6c92d29)

Booklist (#ua429c492-9dd4-5137-b244-02a1717bda35)

Title Page (#u16aa3bde-3473-5c97-ae81-856abe7bb988)

Copyright (#ud50784db-0a0c-5f86-8176-8fbe9e688204)

Introduction (#ufc5c794f-4a59-5415-abe7-bdc930b31829)

Dear Reader (#u54a42614-d8d2-5b67-b3fb-0350b8140314)

Bible Verse (#u94f6f320-9ede-5b81-860f-24d428d06e0e)

Dedication (#u3d68e435-6be2-5b62-8534-d2888f136de2)

Chapter One (#u03592ca4-d203-56cc-b36b-4d5f80d8d895)

Chapter Two (#u291c7c17-61c0-5700-8afd-4c78cc4bb72b)

Chapter Three (#u046cf5de-b75d-5647-8bc5-4d58d1090db0)

Chapter Four (#ud05c6d21-c682-576e-bea8-e3fa7e598371)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)




Chapter One (#u43a4fc65-1f7c-5833-9aec-0865ec80b932)


The last thing Jace Middleton wanted was to leave the place he loved so well. The place he knew, the town he’d called home for nearly thirty years and the land that beckoned him like a cow calls a calf. But the town had fallen on hard times, and the choices he wanted no longer existed in Shepherd’s Crossing.

He ran one hand across the nape of his neck as he studied the family farmhouse that had been passed down for three generations. Three generations that ended with him.

He shoved emotions aside and studied the old house from a builder’s perspective. The faded gray house lacked...everything.

Not the essentials. The modest one-and-a-half-story home was solidly built, and the mid-twentieth-century addition nearly doubled the first-floor living space, but there was nothing about this house that tempted folks to make an offer anywhere near his asking price. The way Jace saw things playing out, he would be left with two choices.

Walk away, begin life anew in Sun Valley and let the Realtor handle it. Or fix the place up, except...

He sighed.

He couldn’t do it. He was good at tearing apart other folks’ things and putting them back together. The thought made him flex his arms. There was nothing Jace liked better than reconfiguring something old into something new, but every time he went to change something in his parents’ home, he ground to a stop. These were family walls. Family memories. They belonged to him and his younger sister, Justine.

These walls held all he had left of his parents, Jason and Ivy Middleton. He’d lost one to cancer and the other one to heartbreak, and he couldn’t bring himself to demolish one stinking part of this house, even to increase the resale value. It felt wrong. Plain wrong. But he was slated to begin a new job in Sun Valley by Labor Day, which meant he had a couple of months to get things in order, sell the unsellable house, pay off his sister’s college loans and start fresh. With dwindling jobs, cash and population, there was little left in Shepherd’s Crossing, and things had grown worse over time.

He needed a fresh start.

He pretended he didn’t downright hate that thought as a stylish SUV pulled into the nearby intersection. The car started to turn left, then paused.

It pulled back, onto the main road. Then the driver cranked the wheel in the opposite direction.

She paused again, looking left, then right, then frowned down at something... A map? A GPS?

Jace had no idea but every now and again a stormy day messed up satellite signals so he started her way about the same time she banked a sharp left turn and spotted him. She pulled up in front of the house, climbed out and came his way, leaving her car running in the middle of the road. Not pulled off to the edge like normal folks do, but smack-dab in the middle of the road, hogging the northbound lane. Who did things like that?

Tall, beautiful, well-dressed women who think they own the world, he decided as she crossed the driveway looking way too fine for their humble little town. He’d done a stint with a worldly woman a few years back, and one high-heeled heart-stomping had been more than enough.

“Your car.” He pointed behind her as she approached. “You might want to move it off the road.”

“I won’t be long.” Strong. Self-assured. And cucumber-cool. So already annoying. “You’re selling this place?”

Was she a would-be buyer? If that was the case, she could leave her car wherever she wanted and he’d be crazy polite. “Yes.”

“What’s the asking price?”

He told her and she lifted an eyebrow. “How long has it been on the market?”

Longer than it should have taken, but he wasn’t about to admit that to her. “A few weeks.”

She waited, watching him, as if she knew he was downscaling the time frame.

“Six weeks, actually.”

Her look went from him to the house and back as two cars came down the road. She paid no attention to the cars, or the fact that they needed to get around her car to make it into the intersection. She moved forward, toward the house, then paused. “This is your place?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want advice?”

“Not if it requires me changing anything.” It was a stupid answer, and he knew it, but he couldn’t bring himself to pretend.

“I see.” She gave him a smile that was half-polite and half something that wasn’t one bit polite. “Well, best of luck to you.”

She crossed back to her car, waited at the road while another car buzzed by, then took her place behind the wheel. He thought she was going to put it in gear and go, but she paused. Looked back at him. “I’m going to Pine Ridge Ranch. Do you know where that is?”

He shoved his cowboy hat back on his head and choked down a sigh.

He knew all right. He’d spent the last dozen years working there with his friend Heath Caufield. This must be the middle Fitzgerald sister, come to stake a claim on the ranch. He knew that because her sister Lizzie told him she’d be along soon.

This sister was different, though. Smoky gray eyes, dark curly hair and skin the color of biscuit-toned porcelain, a current popular choice in kitchens and baths. Lizzie failed to mention that her sister thought herself a cut above, so his work time on the ranch just got a little more tedious than it needed to be. “I’m heading there right now. I’ll take lead. You follow.”

“Or just tell me how to get there,” she replied in a voice that suggested she wasn’t about to follow anyone anywhere.

So be it. He did a slow count to five before he let her have it her way. “Two miles up the road, give or take, a left turn into a winding drive that heads deeper into the valley. There’s a mailbox that marks the spot.”

“Great. Thanks.” She put the car into gear and drove off.

He got into his worn pickup truck, turned it around and followed her, and when he parked the truck at the ranch about five minutes later, her stylish SUV was nowhere to be seen.

“Jace, you want to run the baler now that the dew’s burned off? That first cutting of hay looks mighty nice this year.” Heath Caufield came his way and Jace nodded as he shut the truck door.

“Glad to. Hey, buddy. What’s up?” Jace high-fived Heath’s son when the five-year-old raced over to him—the child seemed unhampered by the neon-green cast on his right forearm.

“We’re having another baby horse, and a wedding!” shrieked Zeke. He barreled into Jace’s arms and gave him a big hug. “And you’re goin’ to be with Daddy when he gets married and then my Lizzie gets to be my mom like every...single...day.” He paused between words to magnify their importance, and Jace understood real well how nice it was to have a mom. And how much you missed them once they were gone.

“Zeke.” Heath made a face at the boy. “I’m supposed to ask Jace to stand up with me at the wedding. Not boss him around.”

Zeke put his little hands over his face and giggled. “Oops. Sorry! Hey, somebody’s coming, Dad!” He pointed up the hill as the white SUV made its way into the valley. Dust rose from the graveled drive, blanketing the car, and when it finally made its way into the barnyard, the sleek white paint wore a film of fine Idaho dirt.

The door opened. The woman got out, and waited for the dust to clear. When it did, she spotted Jace right off. “You beat me here.”

He may have smirked slightly. “The turnoff could be better marked, I suppose.”

Her eyes narrowed, but then she spotted Heath.

She smiled then, and Jace was pretty sure it was about the prettiest smile he’d ever seen. Fitzgerald eyes, about the only thing she had in common with her uncle Sean and her sister Lizzie.

“Melonie?” Heath started forward. “Gosh, it’s great to see you. Lizzie will be over the moon that you’re here. And this big guy—” Heath set his hand on the five-year-old’s head “—is my son, Zeke.”

“We’ve met over the computer.” Lizzie’s sister bent to the boy’s level and offered him a sweet smile. “But you’re even more handsome in real life, Zeke Caufield.”

Zeke grinned, clearly charmed in less time than a foolish man takes to ride a rodeo bull. Heath clapped the boy on the back and laughed. “Lizzie’s at the horse stables, but she’ll be right along. How are you?” he asked as the woman stepped forward and gave him a hug.

“Ask me in twelve months when I can take my career off hold,” she told him. She lifted her eyebrows toward the beautiful horse stables just west of the graveled parking area. “If I live that long. You know me and horses—we learned the hard way to stay clear of one another and that’s not about to change. Sakes alive, Heath.” She gazed around and her eyes softened with appreciation. Her voice drawled now, a nod to the woman’s Southern roots. Funny there was no trace of that drawl when she’d stopped at Jace’s place. “This has got to be the back door to nowhere, isn’t it? And yet... It’s real pretty in its own Western way.”

Back door to nowhere?

Jace hung back, purposely.

He knew her kind, all right. The sort that kept themselves separate, disparaging the dawn-to-dusk hard work on a spread like this. The kind of woman that found down-home ranching beneath them. His family had helped settle this town. They’d built homes, dug wells and arranged for schooling and libraries, and they’d done it all expecting nothing in return except a chance to grow a town worth living in, so he not only respected the work that went into this town. He admired it.

“Jace.” Heath motioned him over and it would be rude to stand still. Rude...but tempting, nonetheless. He rebuffed the temptation and crossed between the vehicles. “Jace, this is Lizzie’s sister, Melonie. Mel, this is my friend and right-hand man, Jace Middleton.”

“Mr. Middleton.” She drawled his name out with all the pomp of a modern day Scarlett O’Hara and if that didn’t spell trouble with a capital T, then nothing did. “It is a pleasure to make your official acquaintance.”

“Mine, too, ma’am.” He extended his hand. She met his gaze, straight on, then took his hand. The strength of her grip surprised him but he refused to show it. “Glad you found your way. Eventually.”

“As am I.” He was pretty sure the Southern drawl was all for his benefit because it disappeared when Lizzie came running across the grass from the stables.

“Melonie!”

“Lizzie!” They hugged and laughed and at that moment he couldn’t resent her because he knew what it was like to have family love.

You knew it, you mean.

He choked down a sigh. He started for the baler, wishing things were different. He wished the town’s economy hadn’t started to nose-dive two decades back when no one bothered looking. Wished he wasn’t the last Middleton in a town built by Middletons.

But he was, and there were no two ways about it. Jace was going to do the one thing he hated to do. He was going to leave Shepherd’s Crossing and all his family had built over the years. Built...and lost.

He yanked his cowboy hat onto his head and fired up the baler. He’d longed for a chance to set things right, to make a name for himself in his hometown, but that wasn’t about to happen now.

So be it.

He’d do whatever it took to help his kid sister, Justine, get the start she deserved, and to make his way in the world. Even if it meant changing up the old house. He pushed the thoughts aside as he maneuvered the big machine out of the equipment barn to gas it up.

Lizzie’s sister looked up. Not at him, but beyond him. Something marked her gaze. Something shadowed and maybe even sad as her eyes swept over the beautiful ranch with a long, slow look. A look that indicated she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. She righted her features before she turned back toward Lizzie, but then she saw him looking her way.

Her gaze narrowed. Her mouth did, too. But the face she showed Lizzie two seconds later was warm and genuine.

Only it wasn’t, and right now Jace Middleton was pretty sure only he and Melonie Fitzgerald knew that.



Sparse population, drastically cold winters and a herd of horses probably waiting to trample her senseless.

What on earth was Melonie Fitzgerald doing in western Idaho, when she’d been on the verge of contracting her own home-design TV show?

She knew the answer. Her father. He was a major publishing owner/executive who’d brought down his company, his home and his three daughters when he diverted millions in cold, hard cash into overseas accounts...then followed it there.

She didn’t do ranches. She steered clear of horses for good reason. And when her long-term boyfriend realized she was not only broke, but also in a mountain of debt, he’d dumped her like a hot potato fresh out of the coals.

Yet here she was, fulfilling the terms of a bequest on her late uncle’s ranch when she should have been on camera, filming the pilot episode of Shoestring Southern Charm.

Girl, you make the best of every situation. If it gets dark, you light a candle. If it gets cold, start a fire, or warm a room with your smile. A smile goes a lot further than a frown.

Corrie’s words. Succinct and true, always dependable. She turned to ask Lizzie about their nanny/surrogate mother, but caught the cowboy’s gaze instead.

He was hot. Not big-city hot, either. Country hot, with his long-sleeved blue thermal shirt, dark blue jeans and a to-die-for real cowboy hat. The black hat showed off his bronze skin and made him look even more rugged, if such a thing was possible.

He’d duped her over the directions.

After you treated him like a back-road hick.

She winced because she’d iced him and she wasn’t usually like that. But four years of running part of the magazine’s corporate office had affected her. She faced her sister. “Where’s Corrie?”

“Up the drive visiting Rosie and the baby.”

Was Melonie supposed to have a clue what she meant? Because she didn’t.

Lizzie took her arm as the good-looking cowboy busied himself with a fairly monstrous piece of machinery. “You’ll get to know folks quick enough. There are a lot of nice people here, Mel.”

Mel locked eyes with her. “There are nice people everywhere. Doesn’t mean I intend to live there. You know me. This isn’t exactly my thing.”

“And on that note.” Heath slipped an arm around Lizzie, kissed her, then bumped his forehead to hers. “I’ll be back tomorrow. Love you.”

Lizzie gave him a smile that said more than words. “Love you, too. See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, see you, Dad!” The brown-skinned little boy jumped into his father’s arms and gave Heath a big hug. “Maybe we’ll make some cookies for you. Okay?”

“Okay.” Heath shared a grin with the boy, then took off in a muscled-out pickup truck.

“They’re taking the winter lambs to market.”

Melonie scowled. “I know what that means.”

“Says the steak lover in the family.”

Melonie started to acknowledge that, but spotted Corrie coming their way. She dropped her purse and raced off to meet the woman who’d stood by the three sisters for as long as she could remember.

“Have mercy, I’ve missed you, girl!” Corrie pulled back, looked Mel over, then offered her a sweet, wide smile. “Look at you, all Louisville fancy in the heart of western Idaho.”

“Please do not tell me this is overdressed,” said Mel. She glanced at Lizzie’s blue jeans, barn boots and T-shirt and sighed. “Never mind.”

“I’ve got stuff you can use, Mel. But yeah, even casual silk has no place here. ” Lizzie exchanged a grin with Corrie. “And cotton’s a must.”

“Meaning I might as well leave my luggage in the car, right?”

Corrie laughed. “Let’s get your things inside and we’ll catch up. Did Cottonwood Productions offer you a contract? And are they willing to wait?”

“Yes and no.” Melonie pushed a lock of hair out of her eyes as she trundled a bag up the steps. “When they realized I had to be here, they quietly shredded the whole thing.”

“Oh, Mel.” Lizzie stopped on the top step. “That could have been a huge step forward for you. Wasn’t it worth foregoing Uncle Sean’s bequest to give it a shot?”

Melonie shook her head as she climbed the stairs. “Breaking into cable is high risk. Most pilots go nowhere. Only a few make it, but with nothing to live on, the choice became a no-brainer. Ezra is shopping it around, but I’ve got bills to pay.” Ezra had been a photographer for the magazine. Now he was working freelance photography and videography.

“I hear you,” said Lizzie. “Come on in, let’s get you settled. And I don’t know about the two of you, but I’m hungry. Let’s make some sandwiches and eat them on the porch with the cute kid. We can play with the puppies.”

Cute kid. Puppies. Sandwiches?

Was this her low-carb, former publishing-executive sister talking? The one whose job disappeared along with their swindling father? She reached out a hand to Lizzie’s forehead. “No fever, but possible delirium. Who are you and what have you done with my sister?”

Lizzie laughed as Zeke popped in, grabbed a cookie, then headed right back out again. “I’m a rancher, Mel. Welcome to the Pine Ridge Ranch. It is—” she slipped an arm around Melonie’s shoulders and gave her a half hug as they moved to the stairs “—real nice to have you on board. I’m hoping you’ll be surprised by the reception you get when you meet the locals. I gave all kinds of people the last two copies of your magazine and they loved them. Who knows?” She lifted the suitcase to carry it up the stairs. “You might land some jobs here.”

Melonie had gotten an eyeful of what Shepherd’s Crossing had to offer when she shot past the farm drive on her first pass through. The small town just north of Pine Ridge featured worn-out buildings, paint-peeling facades and a pervading air of desperation. Not exactly a recipe for success.

She could make a difference. She knew that instantly, but she had no stake, no cash and no reserves to draw on. For a design person like her, Shepherd’s Crossing would be a fresh canvas. She’d love to engage her hands in a project like that, to help renovate a run-down community.

But she’d found out the hard way that nothing came from nothing, and without money... Well, there were no options without money.

“Ladies.”

That voice. Jace’s voice, ringing deep and strong and true. She came face-to-face with him as he crossed the broad front porch. She moved to the screen door and pointed. “They’re taking my things upstairs. Can I help?”

“Let Lizzie know we’ll be running hay all day. Have her text if she needs me between loads.”

“I will. And hey—I was short with you when I stopped by your place. I’m sorry.”

“No harm done.”

“There was,” she insisted, opening the screen door. For some reason she wanted him to understand. “Generally I’m a nice person. Except around horses and dirt and manure.”

He didn’t smile at the joke. He looked almost sorry for her, then put up his hands. “Apology accepted. Those of us who work around all three on a daily basis will be sure to steer clear.”

That wasn’t what she meant and only a thin-skinned, stubborn, boneheaded man would take it that way. A man with the greatest set of shoulders she’d ever seen.

He walked away, climbed onto the big machine and started it up. Then he rumbled it past the barns, down a long lane stretching to faraway fields. And he didn’t look back.




Chapter Two (#u43a4fc65-1f7c-5833-9aec-0865ec80b932)


Jace parked the baler midafternoon and headed toward the ranch house for lunch. Bob “Cookie” Cook managed the ranch kitchen. He was gone for the day, but he’d texted that he’d left a platter of meat, cheese and sandwich fixings in the kitchen, along with a bowl of potato salad. After five hours of baling the important first cutting of hay, he and the others would get the hay under cover before the predicted overnight rain. Wet hay fostered mold growth, so they’d be running the hay wagons back and forth from the field to the hay barns and lofts until dark...and maybe after. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d hauled hay in the dark.

He climbed the steps and met two of the other hands in the kitchen. Harve Jr. was building a sandwich and Wick was already plowing into a monster-sized plate of potato salad. He saw the women on the front porch, laughing together, but the cool reprieve of the kitchen offered more invitation. He’d taken his first bite when the crunch of tires on gravel drew the men’s attention. From his seat, he spotted Gilda Hardaway, the grumpy eccentric who lived in a sprawling, decaying house on an empty ranch near the Payette National Forest. She approached the porch, looking testier than ever.

But then the front door opened. Lizzie came in. She spotted him and motioned him forward.

Wick and Harve Jr. exchanged grins, glad they weren’t summoned.

He stood, swiped his mouth with a piece of paper towel and walked to the porch. “Ladies.” He tipped his head in their direction. “What can I do for you?”

“Not them. Me, young man.”

He was afraid of that. He faced Gilda. “Well, how can I be of help, Mrs. Hardaway?”

She looked him up and down as if he was a science exhibit. Then she sighed. “Can I come inside or do I have to air dirty laundry out here where any Tom, Dick or Harry might overhear?”

“Of course,” Lizzie answered. She opened the white, wooden screen door and let the old woman precede her. Then she sent Jace a questioning look.

He shrugged, because he didn’t know any more than she did.

“We should sit down,” said the old woman.

Jace didn’t want to sit. He wanted to eat his lunch and get back to work. He was on a tight schedule. One band of sheep was still in the hills, and Heath and two other hands were loading lambs for market on the far side of the mountain. Already he heard noise in the kitchen, meaning the other men had wolfed down their food and were ready to haul. One look at Gilda Hardaway nixed his choices. He sat.

The old woman lifted a magazine from the coffee table. She held it up to Lizzie. “That your sister out there on the porch? This one?” She waggled the magazine.

Lizzie nodded.

“We’ll need her in here.”

Jace watched Lizzie fight whatever she wanted to say, because Lizzie wasn’t the kind of woman anyone bossed around. But she kept her lips pressed tight, then called Melonie and Corrie in. If the old woman didn’t want Corrie on hand, she at least had the grace not to show it.

Once the other two women had taken seats, Mrs. Hardaway turned back toward him. “Your name is not Jace Middleton.”

Well, that explained the unexplainable visit. She’d gone batty. Clearly batty because he knew who he was.

“Your father was Lionel Tate.”

Lionel Tate was his father’s cousin. He’d left town a long time ago and died somewhere. Jace didn’t remember where because he’d never known the man. “My father was Jason Middleton.”

The old woman’s frown deepened. “Jason and Ivy took you in as a baby. You were just over a year old, and when they offered to take you in, it was agreed upon because it fit.”

Hairs began to rise along the nape of Jace’s neck. What was she talking about?

“Your mother was angry when Lionel left. Very angry. She handed you over and went off on her own. As far as I know, no one heard from her until she showed back up nine years later with a baby girl.”

“Mrs. Hardaway, I believe you’re confused.” He kept his voice calm as he offered an explanation. “Justine is six years younger than me. She’s just finished her master’s in biochemistry and she’s doing a paid internship in Seattle.”

“Your other sister,” she told him. “Your biological half sister. She is younger than you by nearly eleven years.”

The firmness in her voice—the staunch look in her eye, as if she was the one who was right—unnerved him. “Mrs. Hardaway...”

Lizzie put a hand on his arm. Her sister darted a look from him to the old woman and back, as if embarrassed for him. Or her. Or just plain embarrassed to be there.

“She gave that baby up for adoption, too, because she came here and no one stepped in to take care of that baby girl, and there’s plenty of shame to go around about that. When your folks offered to take her in, too, seeing as she was your sister, they were told ‘no’ because of tough family finances.”

She wasn’t making sense, and yet... He remembered hushed whispers around that time. He’d been plenty old enough to realize something was going on, but never knew what. Snips of private conversation came back to him, conversations that meant nothing then...and everything at this moment. “That makes no sense, because we weren’t poor. My mother was a schoolteacher and Dad was a contractor. He worked all the time. We were always financially solid.”

She locked her eyes with his, then said something that tipped everything into sharper focus. “Your sister is white.”

And there it was. A divide he’d never personally felt in Shepherd’s Crossing because the Middletons had been some of the earliest pioneers in the area. But now—

A mix of raw emotions began churning inside him. “How can that be, Mrs. Hardaway?”

She held his gaze, held it hard, as if this whole thing hurt her more than it pained him. Then she spoke, and he understood the wounded expression. “Because I am your grandmother, Jace. And my daughter Barbara was...” Her mouth trembled slightly. And her eyes looked sad. “Your mother.”

None of this could be true.

It couldn’t.

He’d seen his birth certificate. He had it, back at the house. “You’re wrong, I’m afraid. I have proof of who I am at my home. My family home, Mrs. Hardaway.” He stood, ready to end this nonsense and get to work.

“Your birth certificate,” she said.

He nodded. “It lists everything. Mother. Father. Date and time of birth. Place of birth. We’re haying today, but if you give me a day or two, I’ll bring it by so you can see it for yourself.” Whatever had happened back then, he had government-certified proof of who he was. Clearly the old woman was mistaken.

“It is the practice in many states to alter the birth certificates of adopted children, Jace. Adoptions back then were meant to be private affairs for a reason. I have the original certificate here.” She reached into an old purse and withdrew a folded, faded sheet of paper. Then she handed it over.

He didn’t want to look at it.

What if it was true?

He unfolded the paper and read the information there. And his heart chugged to a slow, draining stop in his chest.

“Jace.” Lizzie had stood, too. She gripped his arm gently.

He read his birth date.

The time of birth, the place—all exactly the same as his certificate at home. But the names were different. He swallowed hard, wanting to shove the paper back at her and walk out the door. Wanting—

“I know this is hard, but there’s a reason I’m here today.” The old woman hunched forward. “I have things to fix.”

Not on his dime.

He set down the paper. He didn’t crumple it and throw it back at her, which is what he wanted to do. No. He set it down and started for the door.

“Jace.” The old woman stood and began to hobble after him. She looked frantic, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care one bit, he—

“I’m not looking for forgiveness.” She rasped the words and his heart lurched. “I’m looking for help. For labor.”

None of this was making sense, but he turned back. “Listen, Mrs. Hardaway...”

“Gilda. Please.” She held out a picture of the old, rambling house on Hardaway Ranch. The place must have been a beauty in its time, but that was a generation or two back. Now it was a neglected wreck with a grumpy recluse living inside. “I had to tell you the truth, Jace, because I need you. Your sister’s gone off, leaving her two babies. If we don’t step in and do something to claim those little girls, they’ll end up in foster care. And I can’t let another wrong go unchecked.”

Now she had his attention. “What do you mean about my sister? About babies?”

“Valencia.” Corrie breathed the word softly. She folded her hands tight in her lap, as if praying.

“You know her?” asked Mrs. Hardaway.

“I have met her twice, but it’s the children I know best. Two beautiful children, twin girls. Ava and Annie. Rosie watches them here on the ranch. But I believe that Valencia has a mother working at the Carrington Ranch. Correct?”

“She did, but she’s left there and gone to Florida. Lora Garcia is her adoptive mother and she wants nothing to do with Valencia or those children,” Gilda told them. “She has made that clear. But I cannot turn my back on another child. I’ve done that three times.” She stood and locked eyes with Jace. “I must make amends, but my house is unlivable for children.”

“You’re thinking of taking these children?” This reclusive woman could barely care for herself. “Impossible. If what you say is true—”

“It is,” she interrupted firmly, then waited.

He prayed.

In his head, quiet as can be, he prayed because right now he had no idea what to do. Except he knew he couldn’t turn over two small children to an elderly woman with health issues and a laundry list of regrets regarding children already. He’d seen the two little girls at Rosie’s house a time or two. He hadn’t thought much of it. Now he’d be able to think of nothing else. “I will take charge of the children.” He thought he glimpsed a gleam of approval in her eye, but if he did, it was short-lived. “Unless you have objections to their dark uncle taking charge.”

She flinched, but then shook her head. “No objections at all. I don’t have energy for little children, I’m not what they need, but I’ve got money.”

He didn’t need her money. “I—”

She raised a hand “To hire you. And her.” She poked a finger toward Lizzie’s very surprised sister and Melonie’s eyes opened wide. “To make a difference. I want my house to be beautiful again. To be a place I can be proud to leave for these children. It’s time I took charge, Jace. And I’ve seen your work.” She tapped the magazine as she drew Melonie into the conversation. “It’s remarkable and inviting. I want you to do the designing.” She turned to face Jace again. “I want you to make her designs come true. If you can both look at the project once the hay is in the barn, you can come up with an estimate and I’ll give you start-up costs. Then we’ll have begun to fix two things. My great-grandchildren will have a place to live. And maybe the ranch won’t look sad and lonely anymore.”

Renovate her home. Her ranch. Take on the custody of twin toddlers he didn’t know.

Six hours ago he’d lamented his lack of family in Shepherd’s Crossing.

What a joke. Because now he seemed to have more family than he knew what to do with...

He caught Melonie’s eyes across the room. She had the grace to stay quiet, but what choice did he have?

He turned toward Lizzie and Corrie. “I’ve got to help get the hay in. Rain’s expected and my house isn’t ready for two little kids. Can I impose—”

Melonie stood up. “It’s no imposition. You can have my room here. I’ll bunk in the stable with Lizzie.” She faced her sister. “There’s room, isn’t there?”

“Always, Mel. It will be like old times,” Lizzie said quietly. “The horses won’t bother you?”

“Not as long as they stay downstairs.”

They’d thrown him a lifeline. A lifeline he’d gladly take hold of. “I’d be grateful,” Jace told them. “Just until I can get things right at the house. And—” he turned toward Melonie and had to eat his words from that morning “—the advice you offered this morning?”

“About your house?”

The sudden addition of two toddlers negated his reluctance to change things up. “I’m ready to take it.”

He went through the door and didn’t look back. The women would sort things out with Gilda, and they’d be more diplomatic than he could be right now.

He crossed to the hay stacker, climbed in and turned it on. He spotted Wick and young Harve making bales in the far field. He aimed the stacker that way while his mind churned on what he’d just heard.

He hated that it made sense. He hated that the two wonderful, faith-filled people he loved weren’t really his parents and had never trusted him enough to tell him. Why would they keep this a secret? It wasn’t like there was shame in adoption.

He’d been hoping for local jobs to crop up again. He’d said that often enough, and here was a mammoth one being laid at his feet, a job that hinged on something he’d never much thought of until just now. The color of his skin and the accidents of birth.

His grandmother hadn’t wanted him thirty years ago. She’d made sure he was tucked in with a lovely black family because it fit.

And now it didn’t.

His phone buzzed. He pulled it out. Glanced down. I scheduled a meeting with Gilda Hardaway for 3:00 p.m. tomorrow. Okay?

It was from Melonie Fitzgerald, telling him what to do and how to do it. Could this possibly get any worse?

He sighed, texted back Yes and shoved the phone away because he was pretty sure it could get worse.

And there wasn’t a thing he could do about it.




Chapter Three (#u43a4fc65-1f7c-5833-9aec-0865ec80b932)


Two borrowed portable cribs.

A mountain-sized stack of disposable diapers.

Creams, lotions, shampoos and bottles. Lots of bottles. Two babies had just moved into the ranch house.

Melonie Fitzgerald had never changed a diaper in her life. Nor had she cared to.

By hour three she’d changed two under Corrie’s watchful eye. “Done.” She set the wriggling girl onto the floor and stood up to wash her hands.

The baby burst into tears. Big, loud tears.

Then the second one noted her sister’s agony and followed suit. The babies looked around the room at all the strange faces and kept right on crying.

“Here, sweetie.” Lizzie picked up one. Corrie lifted the other. And still they cried.

“Mel, Rosie brought bottles ready to warm. Can you do that for us?”

“Sure.” She slipped into the kitchen, took out the bottles and stared at them. Then she picked up her smartphone and asked it how to warm a baby’s bottle while the twins howled in the front room.

No answer and they had two screaming babies and a perfectly good microwave. She searched for directions.

Oops. Microwave warming was not recommended...but desperate times called for desperate measures. She followed the non-recommended directions, made sure the formula wasn’t too hot, shook it and tested it again, then recapped the bottles.

“Mel?” Lizzie’s voice sounded desperate.

“Coming.” She brought the bottles into the great room and handed one to Lizzie and the other to Corrie, but Corrie surprised her. “You take charge of this one.”

“Me?”

Corrie nodded as she tucked the baby into Melonie’s arms. “I promised Zeke I’d take him to play with the puppies. We don’t want him to feel left out.”

“Corrie, thank you.” Lizzie looked up from the straight-backed chair and Melonie was glad she didn’t look any more skilled than Melonie felt at that moment. “We’ll get the hang of this. Won’t we, Mel?”

Don’t say what you’re thinking. Just smile and nod.

She did and Lizzie grinned, because Lizzie always knew what Mel was thinking. She sat down primly and posed the nipple near the baby’s mouth.

The baby... Ava, maybe? Or Annie? She wasn’t sure so she peeked at the baby’s arm.

Ava. She knew because she’d surreptitiously put a tiny dot on her right forearm.

The baby grabbed hold of that bottle, yanked it into her mouth and proceeded to drink as if starvation was on the horizon. From the looks of the wee one’s chunky thighs, Melonie was pretty sure her desperation was vastly overdone.

“Are they supposed to be this big?” she whispered to Lizzie. “They’re like monster-sized.”

Lizzie burst out laughing. “I was thinking the same thing. But Rosie said they’re ten months old, so that’s almost a year. And Rosie has been taking wonderful care of them. And she said she’s happy to continue being their nanny while we all work.”

Work.

Melonie drew up a mental image of the picture Gilda Hardaway had flashed her way. The two-and-a-half-story home was a skeleton of its former self, but with help...

“This is them?”

Jace’s voice drew her gaze. He was framed in the screen door, looking every bit as good as he had that morning, which meant she needed to work harder to ignore it. He opened the door and walked in. Once inside, he glanced from one baby to the next and she wasn’t sure if he was going to run screaming or cry.

He did neither.

He set that big, black cowboy hat on a small table, crouched down in front of her and Baby Number One and smiled.

Oh, that smile.

Melonie’s heart did a skip-jump that would have done an Irish dancer proud. She quashed it instantly. She was here to do her part, whatever that might be, and then leave. Her dream wasn’t here in the craggy hills of western Idaho. It resided south, in the warm, rolling streets of Kentucky and Tennessee, where she yearned to show folks how to create a pocketbook-friendly version of Southern charm.

He started to reach out for the baby, but then his phone rang. He glanced at the display and made a face. “Justine.” He turned to face Lizzie. “How do I explain all this to my kid sister?”

“The same way it got explained to us,” she said softly. “But first.” She stood and crossed the room, then handed him the baby. “Let Justine go to voice mail for a few minutes. Meet your niece. This is Ava.”

Melonie frowned. “That’s Annie. This is Ava.”

Lizzie frowned, too. “No, I’m sure that—”

Melonie shifted the sleeve of the baby’s right arm. The tiny black dot showed up.

“You marked her?” Lizzie lifted both eyebrows in surprise.

“Well, we had to do something,” said Mel. “Even Rosie said she had trouble telling them apart except when they’re sleeping. Annie brings her right hand up to her face. Ava brings up the left.”

“Well, let’s try this again.” Lizzie handed the baby to Jace. “This is Annie. Annie, this is your Uncle Jace and he’s a really good guy.”

Jace looked down.

The baby looked up. She squirmed into a more upright position in his arms, then squinted at him. Her right hand reached up and touched his cheek and his face. And then she patted his face with that sweet baby hand and gurgled up at him.

“She’s talking to you.” Lizzie grinned. “Look at that, Mel. She’s talking to Jace!”

Annie looked around, then back at him. She frowned slightly, then touched his cheek again and laughed.

“She likes you.”

He met Melonie’s gaze across the room. “I think she finds me an interesting specimen at the moment. They’re pretty little things, aren’t they?”

“Beautiful. And this one—” she eased up, out of the chair “—is sound asleep. Should we put her in bed? Hold her? What do we do next?”

Rosie came up the front steps just then, carrying two bags. “Don’t let her sleep now, or she’ll keep you up tonight. Except that once Ava’s asleep, she does not want to waken, so good luck with that.” She smiled as she said the words, then set down the bags. “What do we do if Valencia comes back? How do we handle this?” she asked. She faced Jace. “The women filled me in on your story. What if your half sister returns? Do we simply allow her to take these babies, knowing she abandoned them once? Should we call the authorities?” Concern deepened her voice. “I can’t understand such behavior because the preciousness of life is very important to me. But what do I do if Valencia comes to my door when I’m watching the girls?”

Jace looked down at Annie. She dimpled up at him, then yawned.

He shifted his attention to Mel and Ava. Then he sighed. “I don’t know. We’ll have to figure that out. I’m prone to putting things in the Good Lord’s hands, but we need to put their safety first. And that might cause a ruckus if she comes back. Rosie, I have no idea what to tell you.”

“Do you think she’ll come back, Rosie?” Melonie asked. The thought of someone abandoning this sleeping baby gutted her, because parents weren’t supposed to abandon their children. Ever.

Uncertainty clouded Rosie’s eyes. “I do not know. She is not a maternal person, and yet I feel she loves these babies. In her own way.”

“Maybe loves them enough to give them up.” Mel kept her voice soft as Ava squirmed in her arms.

Jace turned her way. “Giving up children shows them love?” Disbelief marked his voice and his expression. “I don’t buy that. Caring for kids. Feeding them, clothing them, teaching them. That’s what love’s all about. Anyone can toss something away. It takes a real parent to go the distance.”

He knew nothing, Melonie decided. Because she’d been on the other side of that equation and he was wrong. So wrong.

She stood and handed Ava to Rosie. “I’ve got to get my stuff settled in the stable.”

She walked out, refusing to go toe-to-toe with him. The only reason she held back was because he’d been handed a rough reality a few hours before.

By Jace’s definition, her father had gone the distance.

Wrong.

He’d provided funds to raise her and her two sisters, he’d paid Corrie to mother them and he’d encouraged them to make the grade in good schools. The recent corporate bankruptcy had left her and Lizzie jobless at a time when print media was shrinking. Her father’s personal finances had left her and Charlotte with massive college loans to repay. Jobless with massive debt wasn’t how she’d expected to face the year, but her late uncle’s legacy would help.

As she crossed the sunlit lawn dividing the two arms of the horse stables, she was glad she’d kept silent inside. If tomorrow’s meeting went all right, she’d be working with Jace daily. She’d avoid arguments if she could, but she knew one thing for certain: it took a whole lot more than providing food and shelter to be a parent.



No way was he going to take on Gilda Hardaway’s job, Jace decided as he steered his truck toward the Payette forest the next afternoon.

He couldn’t bring himself to use the term grandmother. She’d gotten the title by circumstance only. It might be a biological truth, but it meant nothing to him. And saving her broken-down house meant even less. He was sticking with his plan, one hundred percent. Sell the house. Move to Sun Valley. Take the girls along with him. End of story.

“How’d your night go?” Melonie had been busying herself doing something in her electronic notebook. She looked up as they made a turn. “With the twins?”

“All right.”

She whistled softly. “That’s not what I heard.”

“Well. They’re babies. And I know nothing about babies, so let’s say it went all right, considering the circumstances.”

The twins hadn’t loved their new sleeping arrangements. They’d let that be known in full voice several times during the night. Corrie had jumped in to help him, which was a good thing because Jace would have crashed and burned by hour four. This way they both got some sleep. Just not much. The twins woke up babbling and smiling as if they’d gotten a full night’s slumber. But then, they got to take naps. Naps didn’t happen for grown-ups.

“Were you guys able to get the hay all in?”

“Harve Junior and Wick stayed out late to beat the rain. It’s done.”

The rain had held off until just after midnight, but it was coming down now. Not a massive storm. A steady gray drizzle, the kind of rain that benefited crops but thwarted farmers needing to access fields.

But the hay was safe. The girls were with Rosie and Corrie. Now, if he could get through this afternoon’s interview...

“And you spoke with your sister?”

Justine. He’d told her as gently as he could, but when she burst into tears, he half wanted to cry with her. He didn’t, because big brothers hang strong. Always. “She was shocked. Understandably.”

“I expect she was. Whoa.” Melonie stretched up in her seat as they took the weed-edged asphalt drive leading up to Hardaway Ranch. Tucked behind trees leading to the national forest, he’d never had a clear look at this house. He’d heard of it, of course. Small towns loved to talk about their eccentrics, and Gilda fit the bill.

But as they emerged from the final curve and the once-grandiose home rose up before them, he took a deep breath.

“Did you just get a horror-film vibe?” Melonie whispered. “Because I sure did.”

He couldn’t fault her comment because the large, moldy two-and-a-half-story structure would have done Stephen King proud. Surrounded by a yard in desperate need of a brush hog, the place sat like a haunted house on a hill, shrouded by three decades of shrub and tree growth. It was an absolute mess from top to bottom. So bad that he was almost tempted to take the job for the challenge it offered, but not stupid enough to do it. “Here we are.” He pulled up to vine-choked steps and stopped the truck. He studied the building, then Melonie. “We don’t have to get out. We can head right back to the road and go home.”

Genuine surprise made her look quizzical. “Not go in? Are you crazy? I just had to turn down a cable TV contract to come here, and that was tough. That makes this an amazing opportunity. I absolutely cannot wait to get inside. Come on.” She opened her door. “Let’s go.”

She wanted the job.

The anticipation in her voice was reflected in her eyes as she climbed out of the truck. That meant he had to climb out of the truck, too.

He did. Then he studied the house, the choked yard and the sprawling acres beyond it.

Somewhere within him he could almost imagine the beauty it had been thirty years ago. Before he was born, he realized.

He fought a sigh. He was all for getting back into the truck when Gilda’s voice called down to them. “I’m here. And I’m waiting. And there’s a few things folks my age don’t do well. Waiting’s one of them. Come on, come on, I’m not getting any younger.”

The old saying drew his attention. It struck a nerve or a memory or something... He kept quiet and followed Melonie up the stairs.



Full sensory overload.

Melonie cloaked her excitement as she walked into the big house. She paused inside the door to take in the ruination of what should have been a gracious old home. The classic, wide farmhouse stood as a shell of its former self. Moldings had been damaged by water leaks. Some were rotted straight through. Others had simply disintegrated. Plaster showed water damage in multiple rooms on the first floor, which meant the second floor wasn’t going to be too pretty because that water came from somewhere. The thought of reclaiming this wreck of a home and showing off her talents was a power boost for Melonie. Getting this job would keep her in Idaho, as required, but she’d be working away from the smell of the horses. Sheep she could deal with. She had no violent history with sheep.

Horses were another story altogether.

“You’re quiet. Both of you.” Gilda pressed her lips into a thin line. “I don’t like it when folks get quiet because that usually means they’re scared to say what they think.”

Melonie had been jotting a note in her tablet. She raised her eyes without raising her head. “This doesn’t scare me, Gilda.”

The old woman looked skeptical.

Melonie jotted something else before she continued. “It invigorates me. It’s rare that a designer gets the chance to walk in and lay out a fresh canvas.”

“What does that mean?”

Jace shifted his attention to her, too. She’d seen his initial reaction as he walked into the house. Horror...and interest. And something else. Regret, maybe. As if the decay made him sad.

She stopped making notes and faced them. “It means I’m mentally planning massive demolition and starting new. I think the bones of the house are great.”

“Bones?”

“The structure,” she explained. “The water leaks have done significant damage. The first order of business will be new roofs. Once that’s done we can begin the demo inside. No sense starting anything until we’ve got a solid roof in place.”

Jace stayed quiet. He’d brought a few simple tools with him. He poked walls for plaster rot and found plenty. The ceilings on the first floor were ruined, except in the front parlor. He noted that into his phone, then laser-measured the house dimensions. As they moved from room to room, the magnitude of what the elderly woman was asking became obvious.

“Mrs. Hardaway.” He slipped his phone into the leather pouch on his belt and rubbed a hand to his neck. “I’m going to be honest with you.”

“I am not paying for opinions,” she told him in a craggy voice. She’d been following them with a bright pink cane. She tapped that cane sharply against the water-stained floor.

“I beg to differ.” He kept his tone even. “That’s exactly what you asked, and I’m telling you that the cost of refurbishing this place is astronomical. Perhaps—”

“I’ve got a five-hundred-thousand-dollar budget earmarked for this. How much help can I get for five hundred thousand dollars?”

Jace stopped dead.

So did Melonie because that was some serious money.

Jace stared at Gilda, then scanned the house, then looked at his grandmother again. “All I’m saying is that we could start over. Something more practical. We tear this down and build a well-constructed ranch house on the site. Everything would be bright and new and accessible.” He noted the cane with a glance. “That’s nothing to take lightly.”

Melonie didn’t like Jace’s suggestion, but she understood his reasoning. An old woman in frail health—what was she doing here all these years, living amid the decay?

She stood there, silent, letting the old woman make the choice as offered. And hoped she opted for a complete renovation.



Jace had to shoot fair and square, even with the rich eccentric who had shaken his world to the rafters the previous day. He’d handle that later. This was different.

He didn’t pretend to like her as she gazed around the house, considering his words. Growing up in Shepherd’s Crossing, he’d heard all kinds of things, and he was pretty sure no one much liked her, but this wasn’t about emotion. It was about common sense. “We could have it done before winter.”

A small, cozy rebuild made more sense. He knew it. And he was pretty sure the women knew it, too.

He didn’t look at Melonie. She’d be disappointed because he could see her mental wheels spinning as she moved from room to room. But who in their right mind would put that kind of money into—

“I appreciate your suggestion, young man. I know it makes sense and it’s an honest man that lays out the truth even if it doesn’t pay as well. But I need my home back.” Gilda Hardaway locked eyes with him, sorrow in her gaze. “From top to bottom.” She gripped her cane hard, and her hand shook with the pressure. “I messed up my time, but I can fix this if God gives me the days and if you’ll take the job. It’s not about money, son.”

He wanted to take offense at the familial term, but he couldn’t because she looked too sad and alone to mean anything bad.

“It’s about fixing what needs to be fixed. Can you do it?” She turned to include Melonie in the question. “Now that the first hay is in and the winter lambs are off to market?”

She was ranch-savvy. She’d caught him at a good time. They’d have to hire roofers first, and that would give him a couple of weeks to renovate his house to make it safe for the twins. “I can do it.”

“But will you?”

There was the crux of the question.

Could he handle this mammoth job, with help, and still make it to Sun Valley as planned? Because as grand as this job was, it was one job and now he had not one, but three mouths to feed. Two babies to raise. And he couldn’t even begin to think about the astronomical costs of day care in Sun Valley.

Stop worrying about tomorrow. If the Lord sees fit to take care of the birds of the air and the lilies of the field, He’s got you. He’s got this.

Jace wasn’t so sure, but when he brought his gaze back to Gilda’s, something in her eyes, her face...

Something made him say yes.

He was pretty sure he’d regret it. He already did, truth be told, and when Melonie began shooting pictures of each room, he realized something else.

For the next few months they’d be working side by side.

She’d lay out plans and expect him to follow them. Oh, he’d looked at her magazine that morning as research. She liked to plot intricate layouts, but that was for a two-dimensional magazine, where every shot was strategically perfect.

Gutting a place like this was about as three-dimensional—and dirty—as it could get. And the silk-wearing Fitzgerald woman didn’t seem like the type to get her hands dirty. Or compromise. Which meant this could be the longest three months of his life.

Then she turned. Met his gaze. Smiled at him.

Something went soft inside him.

He hardened it right back up. No way was he about to let a pretty smile get in his way. Melonie Fitzgerald had fancy written all over her. He’d sworn off fancy a few years ago when he showed up at the church...and his bride was nowhere to be found. That was a punch in the gut for any self-respecting cowboy.

But when they got to the truck and Melonie turned toward him, excitement brightened those gray eyes to liquid silver. Distinctive eyes set in one of the sweetest faces he’d ever seen.

Maintain your distance. You’ve been nailed by a woman with dreams of stardom once. Don’t be stupid a second time.

He wouldn’t be stupid. Not again. But with her bright floral scent filling the cab of the truck, Jace didn’t fool himself that it would be easy.




Chapter Four (#u43a4fc65-1f7c-5833-9aec-0865ec80b932)


“We need to have a meeting.” Melonie scribbled notes into her tablet at a furious pace as Jace drove them back to Pine Ridge Ranch.

“You’re here. I’m here. Let’s have a meeting.”

She angled a wry look his way.

His jaw quirked, just a little. So he might have a sense of humor hidden under layers of angst after all. Good. “Are you doing the roofs?”

“No. Contracting them out. There’s a couple of great roofing companies between McCall and Council. I’ll get some estimates for the job. People around here are hungry for work, so we should be able to line up someone fairly quickly. How much of your designs are you running by Mrs. Hardaway?”

“I want to put together a package and present it to her. My goal is to keep it true to the structure and history, but make it more modern. Less fuss, more open space, but still classic design.”

“It must have been something in its time.”

“Did people realize how bad it was getting?” she wondered. “Did they just ignore it?”

“Well, it’s Gilda Hardaway, and you’ve met her. She’s always been rich and beyond eccentric since I’ve been old enough to know she existed. But you can’t see the house from the road, the weeds and brush are a turnoff and, other than a few old-timers, I don’t think she entertains visitors.”

“So this is a huge step forward for her.”

He didn’t answer.

He stared straight ahead, his jaw tight and his hands firmly clenched on the steering wheel. She changed the subject. “I’ll come up with an exterior palette so we can pick roofing materials by the time we head up there tomorrow morning. And I’ll work on the design this evening. It won’t be quick.” The fact that she couldn’t redo a two-and-a-half-story house in a matter of hours made her feel like she should apologize. “I’ll need some time.”

“We’ve got as much time as the roofing takes.”

“That might not be enough, even if I don’t sleep. How about this, instead?” He glanced her way as they turned into the Pine Ridge Ranch driveway, and she had to remind herself that those big brown eyes were off-limits. This guy had “Welcome to Idaho” written all over him. She was headed south once her year was complete. He was staying. “I come up with a quick design for you to fix up your place, you focus on that, roofs get done, my design for Gilda gets done and we move forward in a couple of weeks.”

He didn’t say anything right away, then he flexed his jaw. “It will have to work.”

Have to work?

She climbed out of her side of the truck and shut the door. “‘Thanks, Mel, that’s a great idea.’ ‘Glad to help, Jace. Great working with you.’”

She started toward the stables, and it would have been a perfect stomp-off, but then she realized she needed to see his house. Like quickly.

She turned.

He was standing there, stock-still, arms folded, watching her. And a hinted smile softened his jaw and put a sparkle in his eyes. “Forgetting something?”

“You are a particularly annoying person.”

“Nothing I haven’t heard before.” He indicated the house with a tip of his head. “Let’s grab sandwiches, head to my place and then you can march off indignantly. Okay?”

“It’s not okay at all,” she grumbled as they climbed the steps. “It totally loses punch in the delay, so what sane woman wastes a great walk-off when it’s already been defeated. No.” She turned to face him at the door, and she wasn’t afraid to add a slight splash of Southern geniality to her tone. “I will save my stomping for moments of necessity. Right now, we have work to do. You. Me. And my design program.”

“So I can expect the cold shoulder at a future time?”

“Only as needed, Jace.”



Sassy. Saucy. And strong, despite her diminutive size. Did she know her stuff?

The magazine pictures said yes, but while the pictures looked great, he worried. Did someone have to rein her in and explain bearing walls and structural integrity?

“I smell something amazing.”

“Cookie’s beef-and-onion soup.”

“Be still my heart.” She set her bags onto the couch and inhaled deeply. “Who’d have thought soup would smell so amazing on a summer’s day?”

“Cookie makes soup all year round, don’t you?” Jace asked as they entered the kitchen. “Are we too early?”

“Give me fifteen,” answered the cook. “Bread’s in the oven. Nothing like hot beef-and-onion soup with fresh-baked bread. There’s sandwich makings in the fridge.”

“I’m waiting on soup,” Melonie declared.

“I’ll call the roofers, see who’s available to get on the job quickly.”

“Because of the farm timing, right?”

He turned slightly. “Because I’m scheduled to leave town by Labor Day and that’s already going to have to be delayed with this project.”

“You’re leaving?”

“Jobs have pretty much dried up around here. I have little choice.”

Doubt clouded her features. “But you stand to make a year’s worth of money on this project. Correct?”

“That will all depend on costs and labor, but we should both do all right.”

“Then why leave now? Why not take the year God’s given you and see what happens?”

Just what he needed, a stranger pointing out the flaws in his logic—logic that had worked until yesterday, when he discovered his whole life was a lie.

“I don’t mean to interfere.”

He was pretty sure that’s exactly what she meant.

“But to become an instant father, tackle a huge project and have your moving time delayed until winter, why not put it on hold? Unless you’re precontracted there?”

“I’m not.”

She faced him, waiting, then she turned.

He hated that she was right, but it did make sense. He’d have plenty to live on with Gilda’s project, and using that as a showcase in his portfolio would make sense during the next building season. “I’ll add the Realtor to my list of calls.”

She grabbed a cookie from the old-fashioned cookie jar that had a place of honor on the counter. Then she paused, grabbed two more and handed them to him as she went back to the living room for her tablet. “Best appetizers ever.”

He made the first calls and wasn’t sure what soothed him more, getting the roofers to meet him at Gilda’s place tomorrow, canceling the sale of his house, or the two macadamia-nut, white-chocolate-chip cookies.

It almost didn’t even matter that she was right. He could relist the house if he regretted the decision, but renovating his house while prospective buyers were coming through would be a lost cause. He only wished he’d thought of it first.

He called Rosie quickly. “How are the girls doing?”

“Fine, as always, so adorable these two and getting busy! Ava is determined to walk, but, of course, that means falling.”

“You let them fall?” Babies weren’t supposed to fall. Were they?

“I blame this on gravity, Jace. Not ineptitude.”

“No, of course, I didn’t mean...”

She laughed. “I must go—Annie is crawling faster than her sister is walking along the sofa’s edge and she seems determined to trip her.”

Sibling rivalry already?

He put off the next roofing call to hop online and order three how-to-raise-your-child books. Then he called two more roofers for scheduled meetings at Hardaway Ranch. He might be in over his head when it came to raising babies, but he knew building and he knew ranching. And with three books slated to be here in two days’ time, he’d have a firm handle on raising children, too.

“Soup’s on!” Cookie jangled the porch bell. Midday meals were casual. Cookie knew folks couldn’t just drop what they were doing and run to the house in the middle of the workday.

Suppertime wasn’t formal, but it was more structured. At least it had been. With the arrival of the Fitzgerald sisters, new foals dropping, Annie and Ava staying in the big house temporarily and Rosie’s infant daughter, Jo Jo, the plethora of small people meant change. Flexibility. And a mountain of diapers, he’d realized yesterday.

He went inside. And saw Melonie busily making notes into her device. She looked up when the door smacked shut behind him.

She smiled.

Those eyes...like mercury.

Mercury’s poisonous, in case you’ve forgotten.

He knew that, but there wasn’t one hint of poison in those pretty gray eyes. “Any luck on roofing estimates?” she asked.

“Two can meet me tomorrow.”

“Us?”

“Sure, if you want to be there. But it’s roofing,” he continued. “Pretty cut-and-dried if you’re keeping the original lines.”

“I’ll come anyway. I like being involved in every step of the process—it gives me the feel for the end product.”

“Nine thirty and ten thirty. Then a third one in two days, if needed.”

“Got it.” She jotted it into her online calendar and stood. “Food. Then your place.”

Did she think bossy was cute? It wasn’t. But when he let her walk in front of him toward the kitchen, he realized she wasn’t just cute...she was beautiful. And curvy. And smelled great.

Doomed.

Except he couldn’t allow that to happen, so he focused on the delicious food as Melonie put a bit of the melted provolone onto the bread. “This is to die for, isn’t it?”

It was but when she had a second helping, he was perplexed. “How can you eat all that?”

She gazed down at the soup, then up at him. “I honestly don’t know. Trucker’s appetite. And I don’t sit around worrying about being a size zero because I like food. And exercise. And last I knew, women were supposed to have curves.”

What was he supposed to say to that? “My sister was on a too-skinny kick for a while. It got better, then we lost Mom after Dad died and she slipped downhill again. I hate that she’s over in Seattle, where I can’t boss her around. Make her eat doughnuts.”

“Weight and eating disorders are tough.” She sipped water, and frowned. “We humans are hard to figure out at times, aren’t we?”

After what he’d found out yesterday? “Can’t argue that.”

“How hard do you think that was for her?” She stood up to clear her dishes, and he appreciated the effort. Some folks thought Cookie was part maid and housekeeper. He wasn’t, but it was nice that she didn’t have to be schooled on ranch manners. “Your grandmother, I mean. To come here like that and tell you everything?”

“Not as hard as it was on me hearing it.” He didn’t soften the bitter edge of his voice. He stood, too, then raised his hands. “Sorry. This isn’t your fight, and twenty-four hours isn’t enough time for me to be waving the peace flag.”

“I wonder when it will be time?” she said softly, and when she walked toward the kitchen, he realized she might not be talking about him. “Cookie, that was the best. Thank you so much for making it. I wouldn’t have thought hot soup would taste so good on a beautiful summer’s day.”

“You’re welcome. Jace said you two are heading to his place to figure things out. You might want to grab a few of those.” He indicated the cookies with a glance. “His cupboards are pretty bare. He makes sure the horses have food. He doesn’t worry so much about himself.”

“The few times I eat at home don’t require a lot of groceries.” Jace grabbed his cowboy hat from the wall of hooks just inside the back door. “Although if I’m up at Hardaway’s place and raising two little girls, I’ll have to change that up pretty quick.”

“Truth.” Cookie liked to wear an old-style fishing cap in the house. He said it was to keep hair out of the food, but Jace figured the older man just liked wearing a hat. The cook raised one finger to the hat as they were leaving. “See you at supper.”

Melonie grabbed her two bags. He held the screen door open for her and tried to ignore the sweet scent that came back to him as she went by.

“You have horses?” she asked once they were settled in the truck.

“Two,” he answered. “Sometimes I keep them at Pine Ridge. We used to take the sheep into the hills for browsing but we had to stop doing that.”

She arched one really well-groomed eyebrow in silent question.

“Government changed up the rules and took away grazing rights.”

“Lizzie said something about that but we didn’t have time to go into detail. So now the sheep are pretty much being raised in the valley?”

“With more hay, less exercise so less muscle mass.”

“Oh, of course. That makes sense.”

Now he was the questioner. “You get that?”

“We had fresh-raised turkeys in Kentucky. It was a Fitzgerald thing. We only raised enough for family and friends or esteemed business acquaintances of my grandfather. It was a mark of acceptance to be given a Fitzgerald turkey in November.”

“And this relates to sheep...how?”

She laughed. “Good point. When you eat a store-bought turkey, the consistency is different. It’s been tenderized. The home-raised turkeys had a much firmer feel.”

“That’s it exactly.” He sent her an approving look. “The sheep will be the same weight and look the same, but the ratio of fat to lean will be slightly different and the texture will vary. Here we are,” he said as he pulled into the driveway. “That’s Bonnie Lass over there.” He pointed to a dark sorrel mare on the far side of the split-rail paddock. “And the black-and-white is Bubba. My dad’s horse. Would you like to go see them?”

“No.”

He’d started that way. He stopped, surprised.

She took a step back and shook her head. “I can admire them from afar, thanks. Lizzie and Char are the horsewomen in the family. I’m better inside a house than inside a barn.”

How did someone with an aversion to animals just become quarter owner of a multimillion-dollar ranching operation? “Good to know.” He moved back and led the way to the front of the house. He unlocked the door and waited for her to follow.

She didn’t.

She stepped back and snapped several pictures of the exterior.

“The outside doesn’t need fixing.”

She jotted something into the tablet and shrugged. “I want to envision the whole package, if that’s okay? Just like with Gilda’s place.”

She followed him inside.

He expected criticism because the real estate agent had given him a hefty list of changes—a list he tore up as soon as she was gone.

Melonie surprised him instantly when she grabbed hold of his arm. “Jace, this is charming.”

“Is it?” He ran a hand over the stubble along his jaw.

“Well, it needs a little spruce-up, some painting and some crown molding, but look at these built-ins.” She motioned to the floor-to-ceiling bookcases flanking the fireplace. “You put a wood-burning insert in here.”

“The Realtor told me I should pull it out and redo the fireplace. She said it adds eye appeal to the buyer.”

“And then they freeze all winter?” When she rounded her eyes in disbelief, a wave of relief washed over him. “Cold winds, slashing rains, heavy snow? Who wouldn’t want a cozy wood-burning stove to come home to?”

“Exactly. It takes the pressure off the heating bill and gave me some extra money to help Justine get through college.”

“Jace, what a good brother you are.” She’d been jotting quick notes as she moved through the downstairs rooms. Now she turned. Met his gaze. And then she didn’t stop meeting his gaze. She brought one hand up, her free one, and touched her throat.

Oh, man.

He wanted to step forward. Smile at her. Maybe flirt, just a little.

He stepped back instead. “There are two bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs.”

“Let’s check them out.” He followed her up the stairs. She paused at the top and snapped a couple of pictures. She didn’t say anything.

That kind of unnerved him. A quiet woman was a rare bird in his experience, and as she tapped things into her tablet, he shoved his hands into his pockets. Then pulled them out again. He motioned downstairs. “I can make coffee. I’ve got a one-cup system so it’s always ready.”

“Coffee sounds great,” she told him. But she didn’t look up. She was perched against the short stair rail at the top of the stairs while her fingers flew.

“Okay.” He went downstairs. Made the coffee. When she didn’t come down, he called up to her. “Coffee’s ready.”

“Perfect.”

She hurried down the stairs, and came really close to sliding across the hardwoods like he’d done as a kid. “Is it in the kitchen?”

“On the counter. There’s milk, too. And sugar. Nothing fancy, though. Sorry.”

“Black’s fine. If it’s great coffee, why ruin it with all that other stuff?” She grabbed the coffee, took a seat at the table and sipped. Then she savored the moment, eyes round, before she lifted the mug like a salute. “Perfect blend.”

“Cowboy blend,” he told her.

“You made this?” That got her full attention. “Like the actual coffee beans and stuff?”

“No.” He didn’t sit. Not in the middle of the workday. There was too much stuff to do. “I order it from a place in Boise—White Cloud Coffee. This is one of their signature blends. Cowboy.”

She smiled at him, then took another sip of pure appreciation. “It’s ideal. Not bitter. Not weak. Great aroma.”

“You love coffee.” He did, too. Maybe too much.

“I love good coffee,” she corrected him. “I will admit to being a coffee snob. It’s a fault, I know.”

“Then it’s one I share because bad coffee shouldn’t be allowed.”

“Exactly.” She smiled up at him again. Did she know how inviting that was? Was she using that pretty smile to break him down before she gave him bad news about the house?

“I’m going to go take care of the horses while you nose around, all right?”

She lifted the ironstone mug. “I’ve got coffee in a great mug and the info I need. I’m good.”

“And cookies,” he reminded her. He set the little pack of Pine Ridge cookies on the table. “It’s like afternoon tea, ranch-style.”

“Way better,” she told him.

He went outside, conflicted.

She dressed upscale and talked hometown-friendly. Until she turned the drawl on to put him in his place.

He smiled, thinking of that, then stopped smiling because he was thinking of it. Thinking of her. That’s all he needed, to fall for another woman with big dreams of TV or stardom or anything that wasn’t down-home Idaho.

His phone buzzed a text from Justine. Can we talk? Soon? Because I can’t get my head around all this, Jace.




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