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Clearing his throat, he said, “From what Rafe tells me, you nurses are kind of like us cowboys. You have a job that gets in your blood. That’s why Lilly still works two days a week.”
“That’s true. We can’t stay away from it. Not completely. At the time I adopted Peter I thought it would be better to quit the hospital and get a job with strictly daytime hours. So I did. I worked in a family clinic downtown for an excellent physician. But after a while I missed the hustle and bustle of the hospital. Especially the ER. So I went back to Tahoe General. That’s the good part about being a nurse. You never have to beg for a job.”
Denver realized he must be staring at her like some goofy idiot, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. Or stop the next question from forming on his tongue. “Your younger son is adopted?”
She nodded. “About three years ago. Actually, Jett Sundell handled all the legal issues for me. With you working here on the ranch, I’m sure you’re acquainted with him.”
“Sure. Jett’s been the Calhoun family lawyer for as long as I’ve been here on the ranch.” He thrust the carafe under the tap and filled it with cold water. “Plus he’s married to Orin’s daughter.”
“Sounds like you’ve worked on the Silver Horn for a long time,” she said.
“Twelve years.” He got the coffeemaker going, then crossed to the refrigerator and pulled out two cans of cola.
She said, “What does your job entail? I know you told the boys you rode the range. But I understand there’s much more to running a ranch than that.”
He carried the sodas over to the cabinet counter. “I’m manager of the cow/calf operation. I make sure the mama cows are healthy and bred each year by the most productive bulls. That their babies are born safely and grow at the right rate, weaned with as little stress on them as possible, then sorted and sold at the most profitable time. That’s just a few of my responsibilities.”
She let out a soft laugh, and the sound punched Denver right in the gut. Along with being sweet, it was sassy enough to turn his thoughts to a hot night and sweaty sheets.
“A few? No wonder you don’t have time to clean the kitchen!”
What in hell is wrong with you, Denver? You haven’t shared sweaty sheets with a woman in years! You haven’t even wanted a woman in years! So what are you doing allowing this one to put such erotic notions in your head?
Slapping away the voice in his head, he gestured to the sodas. “Are these okay for the boys?”
“Fine. I’ll take them.” She walked over to where he stood and picked up the chilled cans. “But I can’t promise you won’t end up with cola on your floor or furniture. If I made them come in here to the table, it might save your living room.”
She was close enough for him to pick up the scent of mesquite smoke and wildflowers in her hair. And as his gaze took in the long red waves dangling against her back, he was struck with the urge to touch the silky strands and feel them slide against his fingers.
“Uh—no need for that,” he told her. “There’s nothing in the living room the kids can hurt.”
She looked at him, and as he met her clear blue gaze, he felt the last bit of oxygen leave his lungs.
“Thanks. I’ll be right back.” She took the soda cans and left the kitchen.
Denver sucked in a long breath and wiped a hand over his face. What in the hell was coming over him? She was just a woman with two kids and a dead battery. There was nothing about her, or the situation, to turn him into a randy teenager. Besides, in an hour or so, she’d be gone and he’d never see her again.
Between now and then, he was going to have to get a grip on his senses and remember he was a widower. It wasn’t meant for him to have a woman or a family. Not now. Not ever.
Chapter Two
When Marcella reappeared in the kitchen, Denver had already filled two mugs with coffee and placed them, along with a sugar bowl and container of powdered creamer, on the table.
“The boys are watching a sci-fi movie,” she said cheerfully. “Between space monsters and Orin’s ghost stories, they’ll probably wake up with nightmares.”
“Well, that’s what Halloween is all about—getting spooked by imaginary creatures.” He gestured toward the mugs. “The coffee is ready. I’ll let you fix your own.”
“Mmm. It smells heavenly.” She stepped over to the table and began to spoon creamer and sugar into the steaming liquid. “This is very nice of you. And I’m feeling very awful about intruding into your home. Believe me, if Peter hadn’t been with me, I wouldn’t have minded waiting in the cold.”
She stepped away from the table and Denver moved close enough to collect his mug.
“You say he has asthma. Is that something he developed recently?”
She shook her head, then after a careful sip of coffee said, “No. He’s had the condition since he was very small. About two years old from what I can gather. I first met Peter when he was admitted to the hospital with asthma. He was—”
Her words broke off and Denver suddenly spotted a shimmer of tears in her eyes. She was a woman who felt deeply about others, he realized. Maybe that was the nurse in her, or simply her maternal feelings showing, but no matter the reason, it touched him in a way that he hadn’t expected.
“Sorry,” she said huskily, then forced a smile to her face. “I get emotional when I think back to the first time I saw Peter lying there struggling to breathe. He was...so frail and sick. You see, Peter’s biological parents had abandoned him. A very old grandfather was trying to care for him, but he was too poor and decrepit to take care of himself, much less a child. But that’s all in the past, thank God. He’s mine now.”
Denver didn’t know what to say. He was too busy trying to imagine this dainty little woman opening her heart and her home to a lost child. Not just for a day or two. Or even a week or a month. She’d welcomed him into her family for a lifetime. He wasn’t even sure his late wife could’ve shown that much compassion and devotion.
Swallowing away the tightness in his throat, he said, “Peter’s a lucky little boy.”
She laughed lightly. “He doesn’t think he’s all that lucky whenever I have him and Harry washing dishes or pushing the vacuum cleaner.”
Relieved that she was lightening the moment, he gestured to the dirty dishes stacked in the sink. “It’s pretty obvious that guys don’t much care for cleaning chores.”
She chuckled, then an idea appeared to suddenly strike her. “I’d be happy to do the dishes for you,” she offered. “It’s the least I can do for all your help.”
She was already making the place feel too homey, Denver thought. He didn’t want to imagine how he’d feel to see her standing at the kitchen sink washing his dirty dishes. As though she belonged there.
“Thanks. But I’ll take care of this mess later. Let’s take our coffee out to the living room,” he suggested.
* * *
Moments later, Marcella joined the boys on the couch and Denver took a seat in a big armchair that was angled to her left. At this time of the evening, she suspected he normally stretched out in the recliner across the room, but he must have decided that making himself that comfortable in front of his guests would show bad manners.
The idea made Marcella feel even more like an intruder, but then, he’d given her little choice in the matter. Damn, damn, if her battery was going to die, why couldn’t it have done it back at the big ranch house? At least there she would have felt comfortable and welcome.
The rueful thought brought her up short and she mentally shamed herself. She and the boys were complete strangers to Denver Yates, yet he’d opened his home to them. She needed to be thinking grateful thoughts toward the man instead of wishing she was anywhere else but here.
It wasn’t his fault that his big, masculine presence was making her feel hot and bothered. Or that looking at his rugged face was sending very unladylike images through her head. And why would she be thinking about kissing a man, anyway? Men were nothing but trouble, and for the past ten years she’d made it just fine without one.
Sipping her coffee, she glanced at Harry and Peter. Both her sons’ attention was glued to the television screen. Since the music was building to a frantic crescendo and the last monster was about to meet his doom, the movie was clearly reaching the end.
She glanced over to Denver and was jolted by the fact that he was looking at her.
“Uh—do you watch much television?” She realized the question probably sounded inane to him, but this whole situation had knocked her off-kilter. No doubt tomorrow she’d look back on it and groan with embarrassment.
He said, “Not much. News. Weather. The farm and ranch report. Things like that.” His lips twisted to a wry slant. “I’m not big on entertainment. Guess my job gives me more than enough to think about.”
She smiled. “I’m sure you’ve heard the old adage about all work and no play.”
“Yeah. It makes a dull boy,” he said with a faint grin. “Sorry. I guess I am pretty boring.”
She clutched her coffee cup even tighter as she tried to keep from laughing. He was the furthest thing from boring that she could imagine. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d encountered a man who’d interested her as much as this big rancher.
“I wouldn’t say that. You’re not boring me.” Oh my, she sounded like a teenager instead of a thirty-three-year-old mother, she thought. Clearing her throat, she added, “I’m sure you and Rafe have plenty of exciting stories to tell. Were you with him and Bowie when the stallion got loose and ran off into the mountains?”
Surprise arched one of his brows. “You know about that?”
She nodded. “Lilly and Ava told me all about it. Rafe was black-and-blue from the spill he took when his horse fell.”
“I was helping with the hunt,” he said. “But I wasn’t riding in the area where Rafe fell. We were fortunate that only Rafe got hurt that night. The weather turned really nasty with snow and ice.”
“I don’t understand you ranchers. You’re always wanting lots of snow to put moisture and nitrates into the ground, but doesn’t that make terrible conditions for the cattle?”
“If the snow gets too deep it causes problems. Or if we have blizzard conditions. The worst case is when calves are being born in that sort of weather. We try to see that all of them make it. Unfortunately, we lose a few. Those are the times when the ranch hands might get an hour or two of sleep each night.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think I could bear seeing a baby animal of any kind struggle.”
He looked straight at her, and Marcella found her gaze traveling over his chiseled features. Once they’d come into the house, he’d removed the black cowboy hat from his head. Now as the dim glow of a shaded lamp cast an orb of light over him, she noticed the thick wave falling over his forehead was the color of dark chocolate. The kind that was supposed to be good for your health, she thought wryly. She figured Denver would be just as tasty as a piece of dark chocolate. But good for her health? No, in her opinion, he looked like a massive heartache.
“I’m sure you see people struggling in the ER,” he said. “Animals are no different. They need help, and we cowboys do our best to give it to them. Just like you nurses do for people.”
“I wasn’t thinking of it in that way. But you’re right. Except that we nurses get to work under the best conditions,” she reasoned. “You ranchers are dealing with the raw elements.”
She felt a tug on her arm and glanced around to see Harry holding up the television remote. “The movie is over, Mom, and the stuff showing now is no good. Would you change the channel?”
“Excuse me,” she said to Denver, then turned her attention to finding some sort of program to hold the boys’ attention. After a moment, she parked the channel on a child-appropriate sitcom. “There. That’s the best I can do.”
“Aw, Mom, that’s goofy stuff for girls,” Peter complained.
“Yeah,” Harry seconded his brother. “We want to see cops and car chases.”
“Yeah,” Peter chimed in. “Or spaceships and laser fights.”
“Sorry, boys. Take it or leave it,” Marcella said firmly.
A pout came over Peter’s face and he looked to Denver for support. “I’ll bet when you were a kid you got to watch good stuff. Not boring stuff like giggling girls.”
Marcella watched Denver glance her way, before he turned his attention to Peter.
“Actually, I never watched much TV,” he said.
“You didn’t?” Harry asked, clearly mystified by the rancher’s statement. “What did you do? Play computer games?”
Denver chuckled and Marcella was struck by the sound. It was rich and warm and so pleasant she wished she could hear it again.
“No,” he answered Harry. “Back when I was your age, we didn’t have a computer at home. Or smartphones. Sometimes, when I went to town, I’d play video games with my friends.”
“You didn’t live in town?” Peter asked. “Where did you live? Here?”
He shook his head, and though Marcella knew she should scold the boys for asking personal questions, she was just as curious as they were about their unexpected rescuer.
“No. I lived on a ranch in Wyoming with my parents. I mostly stayed busy helping my dad with ranching chores. When I wasn’t doing that, I was riding horses or doing my homework.”
“Homework. Ugh!” Peter complained. “Nobody but bookworms likes that stuff.”
“Nobody wants to be dumb,” Denver reasoned. “And you need to do your homework to get smarter.”
“Me and Harry don’t have a dad,” Harry said with a shrug. “We just have Mom. She plays baseball with us. But she doesn’t know all that much about boy things. Like fishing. Do you know how to fish—for trout?”
“I’ve done a little fishing. Not much.”
Peter scooted to the edge of the couch. “I don’t want to learn how to fish. I want to learn how to ride a horse and run really fast! As fast as the wind!”
Harry looked at his brother and rolled his eyes as though he was eons older rather than a mere eight months. “You’re just saying that because of Mr. Yates. Yesterday you said you wanted to be a doctor.”
Peter’s head tilted from side to side in contemplation. “I still do. I wanta make people well, like Mom does. But I can do that and ride a horse, too. Can’t I, Denver?”
He exchanged a knowing glance with Marcella before he answered Peter’s question. “Sure. Doctors can ride horses, too. So can people who fish for trout.”
Harry thought about that for a moment, then said, “Yeah, I guess it would be fun to run fast. As long as I didn’t fall off.”
Marcella said, “You have to learn how to walk the horse before you run it. I’m sure Mr. Yates didn’t run the first pony he got on.”
Denver chuckled again and the sound came as a relief to Marcella. Maybe she and the boys weren’t getting on his nerves too badly. The idea had her studying him from beneath her lashes and wondering things she shouldn’t be wondering. Like why he wasn’t married. And why he had no children of his own. A man like him would have no trouble finding a woman who’d be more than willing to give him a family.
Maybe he’d already tried marriage and had gotten a divorce, Marcella silently contemplated. Or could be some woman had soured him on love and put him off the idea of marriage. Or perhaps he simply wanted to keep his freedom. Whatever the reason for his bachelorhood, Denver’s personal life was none of her business.
“I was a baby when my dad put me on a pony,” Denver spoke up. “So I don’t remember the occasion. But I can assure you there wasn’t any galloping done that day.”
“Orin told us ghost stories,” Harry said. “One was about Little Joe the wrangler who was trampled in a stampede. He said his ghost rides the hills and the desert flats. Have you ever seen him?”
“A few times,” Denver said, then tossed her a sly smile.
Marcella felt as enthralled by this man as her sons seemed to be, which should have made her feel foolish, but it didn’t. Tonight was a party night for fun, and it had been a long, long time since she’d spent a few enjoyable moments in a man’s company.
“Really?” she asked impishly.
“Cross my heart,” he said with feigned seriousness. “He wears a black-oiled duster and rides a white horse.”
Peter jumped to his feet with excitement. “That’s right! And the horse’s mane and tail looks like flames! When did you see him? At night?”
“Usually at night. But once, some of the ranch hands and I saw him in the late afternoon riding through a patch of Joshua trees. A big storm had blown up and turned the sky dark. Lightning was flashing everywhere and jumping like streaks of blue fire off the horns of the cattle. The herd stampeded and we raced our horses after them.”
“What happened?”
The question came from both boys, and as Marcella studied their mesmerized faces, she couldn’t help but dream and wish that she could give them the father they needed and deserved. Her mother was constantly harping for her to date, to make an effort to find a man willing to marry her and be a father to her sons. But Marcella didn’t want a marriage of convenience. She wanted love. For herself and her boys. They deserved nothing less.
Denver said, “The cattle were running straight toward a deep gorge and going so fast we couldn’t catch up. They were all going to fall over the cliff and die. Then suddenly out of nowhere Little Joe appeared from the black, boiling clouds. His white horse was so fast it was a blur in the wind and they turned the herd just in time.”
“Wow! That must’ve been cool!” Peter exclaimed.
“What happened then?” Harry asked. “Did you see Little Joe up close?”
Denver shook his head. “By the time we reached the gorge, he was gone. But we thought we heard the sound of his horse’s hooves echoing down in the canyon. It gave us all the shivers.”
“That’s awesome!” Harry spoke in a breathless rush, then turned an excited look on his mother. “Mom, did you hear that? Mr. Yates saw a ghost! A real ghost!”
“Well, I’m sure Mr. Yates has seen a lot of...strange things out on the range,” she reasoned.
“Tell us some more, Mr. Yates,” Harry pleaded. “Orin told us about a headless prospector and he walks around with a pickax. Have you seen him?”
“Boys, that’s enough for now. Mr. Yates has had a long day. And—”
Before she could finish, Denver’s cell phone rang. Marcella and the boys went quiet while he answered the call.
Once he tapped the face of his phone to end the conversation, he looked over at Marcella. “The mechanic is finished with your car. So if you and the boys are ready, I’ll drive you back to it.”
When the car had gone kaput, she’d been thinking of the endless chores she needed to get done at home and lamenting the time that was going to be wasted waiting on a mechanic to repair it. Now all she could think was that she wasn’t quite ready to leave Denver’s company.
“Oh, Mom, do we have to go right now?” Harry asked.
Peter quickly seconded his brother’s suggestion. “Yeah, Mom, do we? We want to talk to Mr. Yates some more.”
Forcing herself to her feet, she motioned for the two boys to join her. “Sorry, fellas. It’s getting late and we’ve already interrupted Mr. Yates’s evening enough. Come on. Pull on your jackets and gather up your empty soda cans.”
Less than ten minutes later, the boys were loaded in the backseat of the car. She’d filled out the necessary forms for the repair cost, and the mechanic had driven away.
Now as she stood outside the driver’s door with Denver less than two steps away, she’d never felt so awkward or deflated in her life. An hour ago, she was desperate to get home. Now she was reluctant for her time with this man to end. It made no sense. None at all.
“There’s no way I can begin to explain how much I appreciate your help,” she told him. “And thank you for being so patient with Harry and Peter. I imagine tomorrow your ears will still be ringing.”
With a wry smile, he shook his head. “Not at all. I enjoyed their company. It made me remember back to when I was that age.”
She said, “You might not believe this, but they don’t normally have such motormouths. Especially with a person they’ve just met. They like you.”
“I’m honored.”
She hadn’t expected him to say anything close to that. But then everything about him and this evening had caught her off guard.
“Well, I’d better be going.”
She extended her hand to him, but instead of shaking it, he wrapped both hands around hers. The contact felt incredibly intimate, and for a moment she wondered if she’d forgotten how to breathe.
“Goodbye, Marcella. It was nice meeting you and your sons. Have a safe trip home.”
It was nice meeting her, she thought, but not nice enough to ask for her phone number, or mention he might like seeing her again. The notion filled her with disappointment, but she wasn’t about to let it show. Instead, she gave him the cheeriest smile she could muster.
“Thanks, Denver. And you be careful to watch out for Little Joe,” she teased. “You know Halloween is actually tomorrow night. He and that white horse might be on the prowl.”
He grinned. “Right. I’ll keep my eye out.”
“Goodbye,” she said, then slipping her hand from his, she quickly turned and climbed into the car.
Once she’d shut the door and fastened her seat belt, she didn’t allow herself to glance at him through the window. Instead, she drove away and tried her best not to notice the lights of his truck reflecting in her rearview mirror.
Chapter Three
A week later, Marcella was nearing the close of her Friday shift in the ER when fellow nurse and friend Paige Winters walked up behind her.
“Dr. Sherman is being his usual nasty self again,” she said with a weary sigh. “Thank goodness our shift is nearly over. He can take out the rest of his sour attitude on the next crew of nurses instead of us—or me, I should say. The man has had the evil eye on me ever since I came to work in the ER. I’d give anything to slap that smirk of his right off his face.”
“Including your job?” Marcella asked as she yanked a soiled sheet from an empty bed.
“Well, no. I love my job here at Tahoe General too much to let one moody doctor ruin it.”
Marcella tossed the dirty sheet into a nearby hamper, then turned to see that the other nurse had already started fitting a clean sheet on the just-stripped mattress.
Paige was a year or two younger than Marcella, and though she was a natural redhead, like her, Paige’s shoulder-length hair was a deep wine color that contrasted vividly with her pale gray eyes. She was an extremely hardworking, dedicated nurse, and Marcella had often hoped that the other woman would find a man to love her. She deserved that much from life and more.
From the opposite side of the narrow bed, Marcella said in a hushed voice, “Dr. Sherman isn’t giving you the evil eye. He’s giving you the eye. Period.”
A fiery blush spread across Paige’s cheeks. “I am so tired of everyone hinting that Dr. Sherman has the hots for me,” she muttered. “The man is as cold as an ice cube. He wouldn’t know what to do with a woman if she fell right into his arms!”
“Nurse Winters! I need you down here! Pronto!”
The sound of Dr. Sherman’s bellow from the opposite side of the treatment room put a tight grimace on Paige’s face.
“See? He’s a jerk in a lab coat. And not nearly as good-looking as Dr. Whitehorse, who’s been giving you the eye for months now.”
The other woman hurried away, making it impossible for Marcella to deflect Paige’s remark about Dr. Whitehorse. Sure, the man was young and handsome and nice. She liked him as a friend, but he just didn’t make her heart go pitter-patter. Not the way that darned cowboy up on the Silver Horn had done.
Denver Yates. This past week she’d thought of little else. And the fact that Harry and Peter kept bringing up his name didn’t help matters at all. From the remarks they made, she could tell both of them expected to see Denver again. Preferably in the near future. And she hadn’t had the heart to burst their bubble. Neither of them would understand that enduring friendships rarely grew out of chance meetings.