A HOLIDAY FOR HEALING

Nothing’s been simple in Sweetheart, Nevada, since the wildfire that ravaged the charming little town. Miranda Staley is among those who’ve sworn to stay on and bring Sweetheart back to life. She loves running a group home for the elderly, but it’s getting difficult to keep her business going. She could lose everything she’s worked so hard to create.

On the day of the fire, Will Desarro helped save some of Miranda’s elderly residents. The handsome ranch hand is a man of few words, but Miranda soon discovers that beneath that quiet exterior beats a heart of gold. Will can help save Miranda’s home and her business—but only if their love is strong enough to conquer his painful past.

He could, she supposed, be an AWOL soldier.

A criminal on the lam. A serial killer. A witness in the protection program. A deadbeat dad evading child support payments.

Her instincts told her Will was none of those things. She’d seen him with her residents and Crackers, her therapy dog. He was innately good and kind.

But something had caused him to close himself off from people. Something harsh and heartbreaking. If she weren’t afraid of appearing nosy or gossipy, she’d prod Will’s boss, the new owner of the Gold Nugget Ranch, for answers.

“Next time perhaps?” Miranda dropped another hint even though Will never took them. “Nell’s constantly cooking up sinfully delicious dishes with far too many calories. I swear I’ve gained five pounds this past week alone.”

He took her in from head to toe and, for a fraction of a second, his gaze heated. “You look fine.”

It was the most emotion Miranda had ever seen him show, and a shiver of awareness wound slowly through her.

She inched closer. “Aren’t you the flatterer.”

Dear Reader,

Story ideas can come to me at the strangest times and from the most unusual sources. Often when I’m in the middle of a completely different book or series. I file these ideas away, hoping and waiting for the day when I get the chance to use them. That day can take years.

Such was the case with His Christmas Sweetheart, book two in my Sweetheart, Nevada series. For at least a decade I’ve wanted to write a heroine who owns and operates an elder care group home. Miranda Staley is the kind of individual I want to be—smart, caring, resourceful and with a huge personality to match her incredible smile. Her elder care home is full of quirky senior citizens who liven up the place while bringing a touch of humor and tenderness to the story. Vivacious Miranda is the perfect match for loner Will Dessaro, a man suffering from acute post-traumatic stress disorder. She’s faced with a difficult challenge, that of convincing him they’re deserving of their own happily ever after. I can’t blame him for doubting—their relationship does seem improbable.

I had a really fun time pushing and prodding these two stubborn individuals and getting them to discover that no obstacle is impossible to overcome when it comes to love. Be sure to look for book three, Most Eligible Sheriff, coming out this spring.

Warmest wishes,

Cathy McDavid

P.S. I love hearing from readers. Visit my website at www.cathymcdavid.com and drop me a line.

His Christmas

Sweetheart

Cathy McDavid

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Cathy makes her home in Scottsdale, Arizona, near the breathtaking McDowell Mountains, where hawks fly overhead, javelina traipse across her front yard and mountain lions occasionally come calling. She embraced the country life at an early age, acquiring her first horse in eighth grade. Dozens of horses followed through the years, along with mules, an obscenely fat donkey, chickens, ducks, goats and a potbellied pig who had her own swimming pool. Nowadays, two spoiled dogs and two spoiled-er cats round out the McDavid pets. Cathy loves contemporary and historical ranch stories and often incorporates her own experiences into her books.

When not writing, Cathy and her family and friends spend as much time as they can at her cabin in the small town of Young. Of course, she takes her laptop with her on the chance inspiration strikes.

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To Rob, my PTSD guru. Thanks again for all your spot-on advice and for pointing me in the right direction.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Excerpt

Chapter One

The front door to Harmony House swung open before he had a chance to knock.

Fist raised, he stared at Nell, the part-time caregiver.

“Will Dessaro, you gave me start.” Laughing good-naturedly, she stepped back to allow him entry. Short, ebony-skinned and possessing an endless supply of patience, Nell helped run the elder-care group home. “Guess I’m not the only one. You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

Nothing could be truer. Will saw a ghost every time he visited.

“I’m not bothering you?” he asked, removing his cowboy hat.

“Nonsense. You’re always welcome here. Mrs. Litey loves seeing you, and she’s such a lamb after you leave. For a few hours. Or a day. Then...” The unfinished sentence was followed by a shrug. “She’s a pistol, that one.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Will had witnessed the octogenarian’s normally cantankerous nature more than once when she hadn’t realized he was in the room. Describing her as a pistol was being kind. Acute Alzheimer’s did that to a person, he supposed.

Nell ushered him into the main room, where a couple sat together watching a loudly blaring TV, the frail-looking woman wheelchair bound. Babs and her gentleman friend, Arthur. He called on her almost daily—and stayed all day from what Will could gather.

Sounding the alarm several beats late, a white terrier mix jumped down from his favorite roost atop Mr. Lexington’s lap. Obviously hard of hearing, Mr. Lexington dozed in one of three recliners. The dog trotted over for a sniff, his scraggly tail wagging.

Will bent and scratched him behind the ears. “Hey, buddy.”

“Let me check on Mrs. Litey before I take you back,” Nell said. “Just in case she’s indisposed.”

Will straightened and nodded at Babs and Arthur. He was always more comfortable with animals than people. Horses especially, but dogs and cats, too. His own shepherd mix waited patiently in his pickup parked out front.

“Afternoon to you, young fellow.” Arthur released Babs’s hand to operate the remote control. Lowering the TV’s volume, he rose with telltale arthritic stiffness and greeted Will. “How’s the world treating you?”

“Good.”

“Keeping busy? I hear business is picking up at the Gold Nugget.”

“Some.”

Will didn’t elaborate. He seldom talked much, preferring to listen—which he did as Arthur reminisced about the guest ranch where Will was employed as livestock foreman, trail guide, farrier and all-around hand. Whatever his boss required of him.

The ranch, one of the more famous landmarks of Sweetheart, Nevada, was originally built in the 1960s and was used as a film location for the wildly popular TV Western The Forty-Niners. After the show ceased production, the ranch was opened to the public. Mrs. Litey had served as curator, tour guide and resident authority on local history all that time, until her Alzheimer’s had advanced and the ranch had closed.

“Miranda’s not here,” Arthur said, “if you’re hoping to find her.”

“I’m not.”

He waggled his bushy gray brows and elbowed Will in the ribs. “I would be, if I were you. She’s pretty easy on the eyes, even for eyes as old as mine.”

Will generally avoided Miranda Staley, the owner and operator of Sweetheart’s only senior-care facility. She made him nervous. People in general made Will nervous, but her especially. And it wasn’t just all those curves packed into her petite body.

She lit up any room she entered, drawing the attention of everyone present. Will, on the other hand, preferred to go unnoticed, and usually did. Except at Harmony House, where the close quarters made escaping attention impossible.

He usually dropped by to visit Mrs. Litey in the early afternoon. Miranda ran her errands then, and he was less likely to cross paths with her, as had happened before. Often. As pretty as she was bubbly, she had an uncanny ability to tie his tongue in knots, which didn’t fare well for someone who spoke only when necessary.

Thinking of her caused his heart to race and his lungs to work overtime.

Easy does it. Just breathe. In and out. That’s right.

The mantra had no effect. Angling his body away from the room’s other occupants, he removed his jacket and reached underneath the cuff on his left sleeve, snapping the rubber band around his wrist. Once. Twice. Three times. The sharp stinging helped him to focus. Focusing enabled him to relax.

There would be no panic attack today. At least not here.

“I said, Mrs. Litey’s been having fits all morning. Did you hear me?”

Will blinked himself back to the present and turned to face Arthur and Babs. It was hard not to think of them as cute, even for someone as unsentimental as Will. When asked, he blamed his preference for keeping his distance on a six-year stint in the army. Easier that way. No one liked talking about death and guilt and emotional disabilities. Will sure didn’t.

“You go in there and work whatever magic it is you do.” Arthur chuckled. “Maybe then we can watch the rest of Babs’s show without Mrs. Litey hollering and carrying on.”

“I’ll do my best, sir.”

Nell returned, all smiles. “She’s waiting for you. I’ll bring some tea.”

Will made his way down the familiar hallway to the residents’ bedrooms. Mrs. Litey’s was the second on the right.

She and Babs had private rooms, while Mr. Lexington and Himey shared what had once been the master suite. There had been a fifth resident, but his family had recently relocated him to a facility near Lake Tahoe, citing that Sweetheart was no longer a safe place.

They had their reasons. A lot of people had left when, this past summer, a forest fire had leaped a ravine, ran amok and nearly destroyed the town.

Will paused briefly at a closed door. Behind it were stairs leading to a converted attic suite: bedroom, bath and a sitting area. Miranda’s quarters.

He’d never been up there, had only heard about it from Arthur and Babs.

The day of the fire and evacuation, Miranda had come running down those stairs, carting a suitcase. Face flushed with fear and exertion, she’d looked at him as if she didn’t recognize him, which was probably the case. Will flew miles beneath her radar.

The same couldn’t be said about her. He’d bumped into Miranda on his first day in town, in an aisle at the general store, and had kept her in his radar ever since.

Thoughts of Miranda started his heart racing again, and he repeated the mantra.

At the doorway to Mrs. Litey’s room, he stopped and waited. Someone, Nell probably, had opened the drapes. Late November sunshine filled every corner. Though clean and tidy and now well lit, the room clearly belonged to an ill person. Rails on the bed, a walker beside the dresser, call button within easy reach and a lingering antiseptic smell were a few of the signs.

Mrs. Litey stood facing the window. Will thought she might be oblivious to the world, as sometimes happened. Suddenly she pivoted. At the sight of him, her wrinkled face erupted in a delighted grin.

“You’re here.” Feeble arms extended, her gait unsteady, she started toward him, ignoring the walker.

Will hurried to meet her halfway, afraid she might fall. She collapsed into his arms and cried with joy. He held her, stroking her bony back and murmuring soothing words.

It was the same every time he visited her.

“Joseph.” She stared up at him, tears in her eyes, and cradled his cheek in her gnarled hand. “You’re home. I’ve missed you so much.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Ma’am! So polite. The army has certainly taught you manners.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He hesitated. “Mom.”

“Oh, honey.” She hugged him close, her thin frame no larger than that of a young girl. “How long is your leave?”

Will answered as he always did. “Three days.”

“That’s all? We’ll spend every minute of it together. Are you hungry? I can make some sandwiches.” She scanned the room, confusion clouding her features. The next instant she brightened and tugged on his Western-cut shirt. “They’re not feeding you enough. Look how this uniform hangs on you. No worries. I’ll fatten you up while you’re home.”

Nell slipped quietly into the room and set a tray on the bedside table. It held a pot of tea, two mugs and a plate of sugar cookies. After giving Will a wink, she disappeared.

“I ate earlier, Mom,” Will said. “But I wouldn’t mind some tea.”

Another moment of confusion, then Mrs. Litey spotted the tray with the tea and cookies. “I have a fresh pot.”

Will insisted on helping to pour. They sat in a pair of chairs by the window. Mrs. Litey chatted amiably, asking Will questions about his current tour. He answered as best he could. How her son, Joseph, might have answered had he not died thirty years ago in a training accident when the armored personnel carrier he was commanding flipped on a patch of black ice.

Will didn’t know why Mrs. Litey took one look at him and decided he was her son. Perhaps through her haze, she’d sensed his military background. He really didn’t care.

Sitting in the too-small chair, listening to her ramble, he let the present slide away.

It was then he saw the ghost. His late grandmother.

Closing his eyes, he was transported back in time to his grandmother’s kitchen on her farm outside of Fort Scott, Kansas. The sugar cookies were fresh from the oven, not store-bought from a box. Mrs. Litey’s voice became deeper, warmer, resembling his grandmother’s. She was inquiring about school and baseball practice and what colleges he’d applied to.

In a world that had been chaos for far too long, Will was finally at peace, his demons temporarily silenced. Mrs. Litey’s, too, he imagined. It was the reason he visited her and why he let her believe he was her son.

They were a pair, each of them escaping the memories of an unhappy past by taking solace in one another.

A noise from another part of the house traveled down the hall to Will. Then Arthur called hello to Miranda.

She was here!

Will cast about for an escape route, knowing there was none. He’d have to leave the same way he came in. Let her bubbly personality wash over him. Fend off her attempts to know him better. Remind him of the love he’d once had and lost because of his PTSD.

“Mom, I need to go.” He pushed to his feet.

“So soon?” Mrs. Litey’s voice trailed off as fragments of clarity returned.

Will kissed her cheek. She didn’t respond. Sad as her distance made him feel, it was easier to handle than when she clung to him, begging him to stay.

“See you soon,” he whispered and patted her shoulder. Then he started for the door—only to come up short.

Miranda stood not five feet in front of him, a hand pressed lightly to her heart, an aren’t-you-sweet smile on her face. The panic he’d staved off earlier returned, and for one paralyzing moment he feared his coping techniques would fail him.

* * *

MIRANDA GRINNED BROADLY. Will Dessaro was absolutely adorable when flustered—and he was flustered a lot around her.

To be honest, she enjoyed her share of admiring glances from men. Had even plied her charms on occasion to elicit them. The bold, sometimes shameless, looks flattered her. But they were nothing compared to the thrill that Will’s undisguised longing gave her.

How had she coexisted in the same town with him for all these years and not noticed him?

Then came the day of the fire, and the order to evacuate within two hours. He’d shown up on her doorstep—strong, silent, capable—and provided the help she’d needed to rally and load her five frightened and uncooperative residents into the van.

She couldn’t have done it without him. And he’d been visiting Mrs. Litey regularly ever since.

Thank the Lord her house had been spared. The same couldn’t be said for several hundred other homes and buildings in Sweetheart, including many on her own street. Her beautiful and quaint hometown had been brought to its knees in a matter of hours and still hadn’t recovered five months later.

“I hate to impose...” Miranda glanced over her shoulder, making sure Will had accompanied her into the kitchen. It was empty, her part-time helper Nell attending to the residents and their afternoon medications. “There’s a leak in the pipe under the sink. The repairman can’t fit me in his schedule till Monday, and the leak’s worsening by the hour.” She paused. “You’re good with tools, aren’t you?”

“Good enough.” He blushed.

Sweet heaven, he was a cutie.

Wavy brown hair that insisted on falling rakishly over one brow. Dark eyes. Cleft in his chin. Breathtakingly tall. He towered above her five-foot-three frame.

If only he’d respond to one of the many dozen hints she’d dropped and ask her on a date.

“Do you mind taking a peek for me?” She gestured toward the open cabinet doors beneath the sink. “I’d really appreciate it.”

“Sure.” His gaze went to the toolbox on the floor. “You have an old towel or pillow I can use?”

That had to be the longest sentence he’d ever uttered in her presence.

“Be right back.” She returned shortly with an old beach towel folded in a large square.

By then Will had set his cowboy hat on the table and had rolled up his sleeves to his elbows.

Nice arms, she noted. Tanned, lightly dusted with hair and corded with muscles.

Handing him the towel, she indicated the rubber band on his left wrist. “What’s that?”

“Nothing.”

“I do the same thing.”

He stared at her.

“Find rubber bands and put them on my wrist. Never know when you’ll need one.”

“Yeah.” He was back to monotone answers.

Miranda didn’t mind. Words weren’t the only way to communicate. She flashed him another brilliant smile.

His blush deepened.

Excellent. Message sent and received.

Will dug through the toolbox and selected a wrench. Laying the towel down in front of the cabinet she’d cleared out in preparation, he sat on it and then rolled onto his back, adjusting his long body until he was half in, half out of the cabinet.

“Water turned off?”

“Did that when I first got home.”

Miranda knelt on the floor beside him and, for the first time, got a good look at the large silver belt buckle he wore.

U.S. Army. Not a rodeo event.

That answered some questions. She’d often wondered how he was able to effectively play the part of Mrs. Litey’s late son. Where, then, had he learned to be such a first-rate cowboy?

“How long were you in for?” she asked.

He stilled. “Pardon?”

“The army. How long?”

“Six years.”

“Where did you serve?” she persisted.

“Overseas.”

“The Middle East?”

“Some. Also stateside.”

He was certainly a challenge. Luckily Miranda didn’t give up easily.

Minutes of silence passed, then a low grunt, a loud thud and a softly spoken curse word.

“Everything all right?” Miranda leaned her head down to peer under the sink.

“The fitting’s frozen.”

“I have some pipe-joint compound.” She reached for the jar in the toolbox.

“Don’t need it.” His arms strained, she swore to the point of breaking, only to relax. “Done.”

“Really? The leak’s fixed?” The pipes were as old as the house, and she’d expected the repair to take considerably longer. He really was strong.

“Keep the appointment with the plumber. What I did is only temporary.” Will pushed out from beneath the sink and sat up. Because of her proximity to him, they were nearly face-to-face.

Miranda couldn’t be more pleased, and tilted her head appealingly. “Thank you. Don’t know what I would have done without your help.”

She’d said something similar to him the day of the fire, after he’d coaxed her residents into the van and calmed their fears, when nothing she’d said or done had worked. In relief and gratitude, she’d thrown her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. She’d been wanting to do the same ever since.

Kiss him, not evacuate her residents.

“No problem.” He swallowed.

She wondered if he was remembering that day, too. “Someone who works as hard as you deserves a reward.”

His eyes widened a fraction and a thin sheen of sweat appeared on his forehead.

“Can I get you a cold drink or a snack? Nell made some cherry cobbler for dessert. I’m sure I can sneak you a piece without her getting mad.”

“I have to get back to the ranch.”

“One small piece?”

“Thanks, but no.” He scooted forward and stood.

Miranda had no choice but to give him room. To her surprise, his hand appeared in front of her face.

She took it and let him pull her to her feet, noting his calluses. A working man’s hand. Like her foster father’s. She found comfort in that.

“Such a gentleman.”

He met her glance briefly before turning away.

A warm glow bloomed inside her. His severe shyness, as much as his good looks, had kept her intrigued and putting herself in his path at every opportunity these past five months. There was also something about him, a complexity, a depth, a sensitivity that most women probably missed.

Dropping the wrench into the toolbox, he retrieved the towel from the floor.

“Where can I throw this?”

“I’ll take it.” She did, and her attention was drawn again to the rubber band on his wrist.

Odd habit for a man, she mused. Miranda had picked hers up from her foster mother, the queen of practicality and thriftiness.

But then Will was a person of many odd habits. And mystery. She’d asked around after the fire. Few knew him, none well, and no one had any idea where he’d come from or what he’d done before arriving in Sweetheart. Besides serving in the army, which he’d confirmed today.

He could, she supposed, be an AWOL soldier. A criminal on the lam. A serial killer. A witness in the protection program. A deadbeat dad evading child-support payments.

Her instincts told her Will was none of those things. She’d seen him with her residents and Crackers, her therapy dog. Will was innately good and kind.

But something had caused him to close himself off from people. Something harsh and heartbreaking. If she wasn’t afraid of appearing nosy or gossipy, she’d prod Will’s boss, the new owner of the Gold Nugget Ranch, for answers.

“Next time, perhaps?” Miranda dropped another hint, even though Will never took them. “Nell’s constantly cooking up delicious dishes with far too many calories. I swear I’ve gained five pounds this past week alone.”

He took her in from head to toe and, for a fraction of a second, his gaze heated. “You look fine.”

It was the most emotion Miranda had ever seen him show, and a shiver of awareness wound slowly through her.

She inched closer. “Aren’t you the flatterer.”

Grabbing his hat off the table, he all but stumbled out of the kitchen in his haste to depart.

She saw him to the door, but he was three steps ahead of her and barely acknowledged Arthur’s booming goodbye and Babs’s wave. Mr. Lexington and Crackers didn’t so much as stir from their place in the recliner.

Miranda returned to the kitchen, feeling quite satisfied with herself. Finally she’d gotten a reaction from Will. A small one, but there was no mistaking it. He was interested in her, and that was enough for now.

She had considered being less intimidating—her big personality didn’t appeal to everyone—only to change her mind. Will seemed to like her plenty fine the way she was, despite his wariness.

Nell came into the kitchen just as Miranda was closing the lid on the toolbox.

“Himey is finished with his bath, and Mrs. Litey’s napping. Took her medication without a fuss. What I’d give to have Will visit every day.”

Miranda thought the same thing.

“Leak fixed?” Nell inspected the cupboard under the sink.

“For now.”

“What a dirty trick you played on that poor unsuspecting man.”

“I did no such thing.” Miranda pretended naïveté.

Nell chuckled as she opened the refrigerator and removed items in preparation of dinner. “We both know you could have fixed that leak easy as him. Maybe easier.”

It was true. Miranda had grown up scrappy. There wasn’t much she couldn’t repair, be it mechanical, electrical or automotive.

“Men like feeling useful. I was merely feeding his ego.”

“Right.” Nell’s reply dripped sarcasm. “You wanted a reason to get close to him.”

“What if I did?”

Her friend and employee arranged chicken breasts in a baking pan. “Honey, if Will Dessaro hasn’t succumbed to your charms by now, I doubt he ever will.”

“I disagree.”

“Other than he’s handsome as sin, I’m not sure why you bother. There are plenty of other single men in town more than willing to walk into any trap you set.”

Miranda picked up the toolbox, planning on returning it to the garage. “I feel sorry for him. He can’t be happy living how he is. Alone and isolated.”

Nell covered the seasoned chicken with foil and popped the pan in the oven. “And you think you’re the one to draw him out?”

“Why not me? Besides, I owe him for helping me the day of the fire. It’s the least I can do.”

“Ah! I see. You’re returning a favor.”

“Exactly.”

“Favor, my foot,” Nell scoffed. “You like him. More than you want to admit.”

Miranda headed out the kitchen door, through the laundry room and to the garage, where she set the toolbox on a crowded shelf. Nell’s belly laugh trailed Miranda the entire way.

She wasn’t annoyed or offended. How could she be, when Nell’s assessment was spot on? She did like Will. Liked him more every time she saw him. And she wasn’t about to let a little case of shyness on his part get in their way.

Chapter Two

Will didn’t make it to the end of Miranda’s street before his hands started to shake. By the time he reached the main street running through town, the shaking had traveled up his arms to his shoulders, making driving impossible. Luckily no one was behind him, and he waited at the stop sign.

A whine and a nudge to his arm distracted him. Cruze pressed close, instinctively sensing his master’s need for comfort. Will draped an arm around the big dog’s neck. Only when he could safely steer the truck without causing a wreck did he proceed onto the main road.

Up ahead, the Paydirt Saloon came into view. He turned into the lot and parked his pickup in the space farthest from the entrance. There he quit fighting and yielded to the panic, his first full-blown attack in over four years.

No matter how he tried to relax, he couldn’t breathe. His lungs refused to draw in sufficient air. His heart labored to beat, hindered by the giant invisible vise squeezing it. Sweat soaked his shirt even as chills racked his body. His stomach pitched, threatening to expel the tea and cookies he’d recently consumed.

Will was going to die. Even Cruze’s head resting on his leg didn’t calm him.

The small part of Will’s brain hanging on to reason assured him the fear was temporary and would pass. It always did. But for the next five minutes, he believed in his imminent demise.

All because Miranda Staley, with her long blond hair and laughing blue eyes, had flirted with him and had sat close enough that their legs had brushed.

Little by little, the panic subsided. Eventually Will felt nothing but stupid. He was thirty-two years old. A grown man. Not some high school junior, when he’d suffered his first attack. Back then he’d had good reason, when a tragic automobile accident had changed his life.

A pretty woman throwing herself at him, however, was nothing compared to that trauma, or the one he’d suffered when his grandmother had died. Miranda was no reason for him to lose it. Not when he’d come so far, done so well since moving to Sweetheart.

Will flipped down the sun visor and studied himself in the small mirror. The face of a stranger stared back at him. Pale, drawn, with deer-in-headlights eyes.

“I think I’m in big trouble, boy.”

In reply, Cruze licked his face.

When Will had told Miranda he needed to return to the ranch, he hadn’t been lying, and he had every intention of doing exactly that. But not now. The Gold Nugget was the last place he wanted to be. Too many people and too many questions. Especially with him looking the way he did.

The Paydirt Saloon was familiar ground. He stopped by two or three times a week after work for a beer. Oddly enough, a bar was a good place to seek out when a person craved solitude. The patrons understood Will wasn’t the social type and respected his wish to be left alone. Routines also helped soothe him.

Pulling out his phone, he texted his boss, Sam, and let him know he’d be late, confident there wouldn’t be a problem. Then he grabbed his jacket and gave Cruze a last pat before he cracked open the window and shut the door. This time of year the temperature could drop significantly the moment the sun dipped beneath the mountain peaks. The shepherd mix would rather wait for Will in the truck cab, curled up on a blanket, than be left at home alone.

Inside the bar, Will received a round of enthusiastic hellos from the twenty or so customers. After that, nothing. As luck would have it, his favorite stool at the end of the bar was unoccupied.

The middle-aged woman bartender, who also happened to be the owner of the Paydirt and the mayor of Sweetheart, was already filling a mug with his favorite brew by the time Will had settled himself on the stool, his jacket laid across his lap.

“Thanks,” he muttered when the beer was slid in front of him.

“Same here.” The mayor accepted the bills Will left on the bar, which covered his drink and a tip.

That was the extent of their conversation. As the minutes passed, more patrons came in, Friday-night regulars getting a head start on the weekend.

Before the fire, Sweetheart had boasted three drinking establishments. Two had burned down. While one of the other saloons was currently undergoing repairs, it wasn’t yet operational, leaving the Paydirt to service the needs of the entire town and the few tourists who had recently returned.

Sitting there sipping his beer, Will remembered Sweetheart as it was before the fire. He’d worked for High Country Outfitters, taking tourists on trail rides, fishing trips and hikes in the summer, and cross-country ski excursions in the winter.

Honeymooners had made the town into what it was. Named after a pair of sweethearts who had met on a wagon train passing through the Sierra Nevada Mountains during the gold rush, the town had gained popularity around the turn of the twentieth century. Couples had eloped here in droves, thanks to a judge who had turned a blind eye when it came to verifying ages. The mayor’s distant uncle, in fact.

He had retired after ten years, but the honeymooners continued to come. Hundreds of weddings were performed every year. The entire town’s economy had relied on the wedding trade and—until the Gold Nugget had closed a few years ago—fans of the show The Forty-Niners.

Last summer, careless hikers had abandoned a still-burning campfire, which had caught and destroyed over nine thousand acres of spectacular mountain wilderness—along with the town of Sweetheart.

The honeymooners and tourists had abandoned the town. Profound devastation didn’t exactly make a nice backdrop for a wedding. And tourists didn’t want to hike trails or ride horses through a blackened wasteland. As a result, the town had nearly died.

Then three months ago Sam Wyler, Will’s boss, had purchased the Gold Nugget and converted it into a working cattle ranch where guests could experience the cowboy way of life. Will, who’d lost his previous job in the wake of the fire, was hired on and began the newest phase in a life of many phases.

Even with the ranch, Sweetheart was slow to recover. Nearly one-third of the original thousand residents had moved away. Homeless and unemployed, they’d had no choice. Will was fortunate. His new job suited him fine, and the single-wide trailer he resided in, while not much, satisfied his needs.

“There you are.”

Will turned at the deep voice addressing him, surprised yet not surprised. “Howdy.”

Sam Wyler claimed the empty bar stool next to him. Will turned his attention to his half-empty beer mug. He wasn’t much in the mood for company, even good company like Sam’s.

“I was in town having the oil changed in the truck. Got your text and figured I’d join you.” Sam signaled Mayor Dempsey for a beer.

“Sorry about not heading straight back to the ranch.”

“No problem.” The beer arrived and Sam took a swig. “You’ve worked for me, what? Three months? Four?”

“Something like that.”

“If you want to take a long lunch once in a while, you won’t hear me complain.”

They drank in companionable silence for several minutes. Will liked Sam. More than that, he respected the man. He’d done a lot to help the town after the fire. Not only had he brought back the tourists and created jobs for a few fortunate locals, he’d helped home owners and business owners rebuild by bringing in an architect and a construction contractor.

As the hometown boy who’d returned after a nine-year absence, Sam was well liked, if not loved, by all. He’d further cemented his place in the community by marrying his former love, Annie Hennessy, last month. Theirs had been the first wedding in Sweetheart since the fire. It was also the only one so far.

The entire population was concerned about the lack of honeymooners. Especially the mayor. She and Sam had sponsored a contest for a free wedding and a week’s stay at the ranch, hoping to generate publicity. In addition to a ceremony in the chapel and a honeymoon cabin at the ranch, the couple would also receive free tuxedo rentals, photographs and a fully catered reception at the Paydirt Saloon.

The winning couple was scheduled to arrive next week with their families. Everyone in town, especially the business owners, hoped and prayed they were the first of many.

Will had been assigned to the contest winners and their families, his job to make sure they enjoyed themselves at the ranch and to teach them the basics of calf roping. The last thing he needed was to be suffering from panic attacks right now.

“You okay?” Sam asked.

Will considered his answer. His boss wasn’t one to stick his nose in Will’s personal business. Not that a simple, “You okay?” qualified as prying.

“Fine.”

“If you want to talk about what happened—”

“Nothing happened.”

“If you say so. But this is the first time you’ve taken a long lunch.”

Three more minutes of silence ticked by.

“You stop by Miranda’s today?” Apparently his boss wasn’t going to let this go.

“Yeah.”

“Is Mrs. Litey all right?”

“Same.”

Sam had known the ranch’s curator from when he had spent time in Sweetheart as a younger man. For thirty years the woman had given tours of the iconic TV ranch and had overseen the daily operations. Her Alzheimer’s and inability to remember Sam was hard on him.

“Then I guess it’s Miranda that’s bugging you.”

That got Will’s attention. He slanted Sam a sideways glance.

“Hey, I like the woman,” Sam said. “Even if she’s caused me and my contractor a pile of grief. Insisting the sheriff issue him all those tickets...”

“Not her fault her neighbor’s house burned down and that the work crews are always parking their trucks in front of her place.” Will’s defense of Miranda came out stronger than he’d intended.

“’Course it’s not her fault. And she does need unobstructed access to get those residents of hers in and out.”

Will didn’t respond. Instead, he focused on his breathing. Steady. Rhythmic. He didn’t feel another panic attack coming on, but why take the chance?

“Ask her out,” Sam said.

“What?”

“Just get it over with. Same as plunging into ice-cold water. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Besides falling apart in front of her? The last woman who’d seen that happen had left him on the spot, taking his pride and heart with her. “No.”

“Why not? You like her.”

“She’s not interested in me.”

“You’re wrong, pal.” Sam took a long swallow of his beer, making Will wait. Finally he said, “She asked Fiona about you. And Irma.”

Sam’s mother-in-law, who worked as manager of guest relations at the ranch, and the housekeeper.

“When?”

“A while ago. After the fire.”

That made sense and was nothing to get excited about. Miranda was probably curious about the man who’d shown up out of the blue to help her and her residents evacuate.

With no family in Sweetheart to worry about, Will had quickly gathered his few possessions, a week’s supply of food and water and his dog. On a whim, he had driven to the group home on his way out of town, deciding to make sure Miranda and her residents got out safely.

Good thing he had. Corralling five frightened and confused senior citizens was no easy task. Even with Will’s assistance, it had taken a while. That was the day he had first met Mrs. Litey.

While Miranda had transported her van load of residents to her parents’ house in Tahoe City, Will had camped out on Grey Rock Point, an area two miles from the fire, until they had been allowed to return to their homes. It was the farthest he could venture out of town without becoming violently ill.

Sweetheart was more than his haven. In some ways it was his prison. And Will was perfectly okay with that. All his needs were met right here in town.

Food. Shelter. Employment. Companionship, such as it was. If he was sick, he went to the clinic. If he had a cavity, he waited for old Doc Bulregard’s twice-monthly mobile dental visits. If he required something that wasn’t readily available in Sweetheart or couldn’t be shipped in by mail order, he did without.

“Then again, last week,” Sam said.

Will’s brows rose. “She asked about me last week, too?”

That seemed to be the reaction his boss wanted. “Yep. She’s interested. And I’d say it’s mutual.”

“Got too much on my plate to be distracted by some gal.”

“Like what? Taking care of the contest winners?”

“You said to make sure they had a great time. And there’s the cross-country ski trails. This whole place will be covered in snow within a month. Maybe sooner. I need those trails marked as of yesterday.”

Sam reached under his hat and scratched behind his ear. “Not sure how coffee or even dinner with a pretty gal is going to screw with your schedule.”

Maybe not, but Will couldn’t tell Sam the real reason. His boss, he was sure, suspected there was more amiss with Will than a craving for privacy and an aversion to conversation. They had worked closely these past months. And even if Sam had guessed Will suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder, Sam didn’t know the real cause and never would.

“You don’t make your move soon, pal, someone else will.” Finished with his beer, Sam stood and left. He didn’t ask if Will was staying or leaving.

Will stayed. He debated ordering another beer and settled on a bowl of the mayor’s homemade chili and a side of corn bread. By the end of the meal, he’d reached a decision.

He wasn’t going to ask Miranda out. He couldn’t risk jeopardizing his job. His entire life. The contentment—if not happiness—he’d found after nearly sixteen straight years of living hell.

In fact, if possible, he wasn’t going to talk to her ever again.

And the only way to accomplish that was to stop visiting the senior-care home and Mrs. Litey.

* * *

MIRANDA SAT IN the visitor’s chair, her spine ramrod straight. Not an easy feat considering the cushion beneath her felt like a bed of thorns. She struggled not to squirm as the mortgage banker at the desk across from her reviewed her records.

“I haven’t missed a single payment. Until this month,” she amended when he peered at her from above the rims of his reading glasses.

“You were also late with your August, September and October payments.”

“Yes, sir.” She refused to let his brusque manner intimidate her. “The fire was unexpected. And a burden on all of us.”

“Your house was spared.”

“For which I’m grateful. But as I mentioned earlier, I lost one of my residents.”

“Will you be replacing him?”

“There’s nothing I’d like more, but Sweetheart’s a small town. We’re growing old folks as fast as we can.”

He scowled, apparently not finding her stab at humor particularly funny.

Well, fine. Be a stiff. If she’d had a choice, she’d take her business to a different bank. Unfortunately, the modest branch of Northern Nevada Savings and Loan was the only one in town. It was also where she’d originally obtained her mortgage and hoped to refinance.

“I bring in enough money to cover my costs with the four remaining residents,” she pointed out.

“Just enough. If I may ask, Ms. Staley, how is it you pay for your personal expenses? I assume you have some. Clothing. Health insurance. Credit cards.”

Her chin lifted a notch. “I’m making do.”

For about two more weeks. The plumber’s fee had cut into her rainy-day fund. Will was right last Friday when he’d suggested she keep her appointment with the plumber. The leak had worsened, defying even Miranda’s skills.

“If I could refinance my mortgage—” she looked hopefully at the banker “—and lower my monthly payments, I’d manage better until I took in a fifth resident.”

“Which could be a while. You said yourself there aren’t many ‘old folks’ in Sweetheart.”

“I’ve had some recent inquiries.” She was so going to pay for lying.

“I’m sorry to inform you, but refinancing isn’t possible without being current on monthly payments and after all late fees are satisfied.”

Late fees. She hated to ask how much those were. “I’ll have November’s payment first of the week.”

“Next week is also when your December payment is due. Do you by chance have it, as well?”

She lowered her gaze. “I will, I swear.”

He tapped her records into a neat rectangle and placed them in a file folder. “When that happens, we can continue this discussion.”

Disappointment welled up inside and choked her. “Please, Mr. Carter...” She couldn’t finish.

“Ms. Staley.” He removed his glasses, and his eyes weren’t unkind. “I wish I could be more accommodating. But the bank’s policies aren’t negotiable. You must be current on your payments in order to refinance.”

“I understand.” She wouldn’t cry. Not in this stuffy cubicle with the other bank employees hovering within earshot.

“There are some programs available,” Mr. Carter said. “For customers in arrears. Significantly in arrears. You don’t qualify yet. We can, however, check into it later.”

When Miranda was significantly in arrears.

Not going to happen!

“Thank you for your time.” She slung her purse over her arm. “I’ll be in touch. Soon.”

She made her way out of the bank and onto the street. Damn, damn, damn. Where was she going to get the money? Her foster parents would gladly assist. Except Miranda wouldn’t ask. They’d loaned her the down payment to buy the house with the agreement she’d repay them in five years.

At the rate she was going, five years was looking more like six or seven.

Fueled by anger and frustration, she walked rather than drove the short distance to the Sweetheart Medical Clinic, where an order of medications for her residents waited. One way or another, she’d figure out a solution to her dilemma. She was nothing if not resourceful.

Halloween had only been four weekends ago, yet storefronts were already displaying Christmas decorations. Normally folks in Sweetheart pulled out all the stops, transforming the town into a winter wonderland. She didn’t think the same would happen this year. Hard to be in a festive mood when most people were barely hanging on.

Her spirits sank lower when she saw a going-out-of-business banner strung atop the door of Forever and Ever Jewelry Store. Though she didn’t know the owners well, she felt sorry for them. One by one, all the wedding-related businesses that had survived the fire were closing.

On the plus side, several businesses were showing hints of growth. The Rough and Ready Outdoor Depot, Dempsey’s General Store and Trading Post and the Lumberjack Diner, for instance. Businesses not dependent on the wedding trade.

Maybe the mayor was wrong. Instead of trying to lure back the honeymooners, what if they concentrated on the tourists? Those wanting to experience cowboy life at the Gold Nugget Ranch, mountaineers and skiers and even amateur prospectors.

Only how would that help her? Honeymooners or tourists, it made no difference to the number of elderly citizens requiring supervised care.

At the clinic, Miranda was asked to wait until a staff member was available to review the medications with her. A young girl sat at a miniature table, coloring in a book. Her mother paid no attention, glued instead to whatever was displayed on her phone. The girl smiled tentatively when Miranda winked at her.

Someday Miranda would have children of her own. A houseful, like her foster parents. And like her foster parents, she didn’t care if the children were biological or products of the system. Both, hopefully. She was a pay-it-forward kind of person.

“Miranda,” the nurse called out. “Your order’s ready.”

She was just turning to leave when the door leading to the examination rooms opened and Will stepped out. She noticed his surprised expression first, then the splint encasing his left wrist.

Grabbing the sack of meds off the counter, she rushed toward him. “Are you all right? What happened?”

“It’s nothing.”

She pointed at the splint. “That’s not nothing.”

“I had a small run-in.”

“With what? A two-ton tank?”

“A calf.” He started toward the exit.

She followed him, refusing to be put off. “A calf broke your wrist?”

“Sprained it.”

Honestly his clipped answers were sometimes quite annoying. “How, for crying out loud?”

“It pinned me. Against the fence.”

She gave him a pointed stare. “What shape is the calf in?”

One corner of his mouth lifted ever so slightly. “This round went to him.”

Miranda was transfixed, like the other day in her kitchen. Only then, a flash of heat in his eyes had been responsible.

“Mr. Dessaro?” the nurse called right before they reached the door. “You forgot your pain medication.”

“Don’t need it.”

“You say that now,” Miranda cautioned. “Wait till tonight.”

He shook his head.

“Trust me. I’m a nurse. Don’t try to be tough. A sprain is painful. You’re going to want some relief. About ten o’clock tonight you’ll be crying like a baby.”

After a moment’s hesitation he returned to the counter and paid for his medication. The small white bag containing his prescription promptly disappeared inside his jacket pocket.

She waited for him by the entrance. He insisted on opening the door for her with his good arm despite her protests.

Miranda suppressed an eye roll. Men.

A chilly breeze swept along the sidewalk, engulfing them and forcing them to take momentary shelter beneath the clinic awning. She snuggled deeper in her wool coat. “Won’t be long now till the first snow.”

“Yeah.” He touched the brim of his cowboy hat. “See you.”

“Hold on a sec!” She had absolutely no reason to keep him from his next destination. Yet she couldn’t stop herself. “You haven’t dropped by to see Mrs. Litey since Friday.”

“Been busy.”

“She misses you.”

“How is she doing?”

“Obliging part of the day. Cantankerous the rest. If you could spare a few minutes, I know she’d love to see you.”

Oh, sweet Lord, Miranda should be ashamed of herself. Using poor old Mrs. Litey to manipulate Will for purely selfish reasons.

“Can’t.”

“Tomorrow, then?”

“We’ll see.”

His we’ll see had the ring of not likely. “Did something happen? I mean, other than your sprained wrist?”

“No.”

Hmm. She didn’t quite believe him. “I know this is a ridiculous suggestion, considering the weather, but would you want to have an ice-cream sundae with me?”

She’d clearly rendered him speechless, not that it was hard. After several false starts, he uttered, “Thanks, but no—”

“Please,” she said, cutting him off. “I’ve had a really crummy afternoon, and I could use some high-calorie, high-fat comfort food. Along with an ear to bend. I promise you won’t have to contribute much to the conversation. I’ll carry it all. I’d invite you for a beer,” she blurted out when she sensed a refusal forthcoming, “but you can’t have alcohol with your pain meds.”

Just when she had decided her efforts were in vain, he muttered, “Sure,” under his breath.

Miranda smiled for the first time that afternoon.

Chapter Three

The ice-cream parlor, across the street and up half a block, had recently reopened after sustaining significant damage in the fire. Miranda liked the remodeling job, though the place lacked the ambiance of the old one.

A few of the original furnishings had been salvaged, including a pair of wrought-iron chairs with heart-shaped backs from the fifties, glass root-beer mugs from the sixties and a Coca-Cola poster the owner swore was his great-great-aunt’s from the roaring twenties.

All the spared items were currently stored and on display in the brand-new Sweetheart Memorial Museum. Annie Wyler, Will’s boss’s new wife, had donated the land—on which her family’s inn had once stood—to the memorial and paid for its construction out of the insurance settlement money. It was a grand gesture and much appreciated by the folks of Sweetheart.

Miranda had been by the memorial three times so far. She particularly enjoyed seeing what new items had been donated, most of them stirring happy memories of her childhood from age seven on, when she’d come to live with her foster parents.

Before age seven had been less happy. Miserable, actually. She didn’t forget those days, either. Miranda accepted the cards life dealt her, learned from them and moved on. What else was a person to do?

Sneaking a glimpse at Will sitting across from her in the booth, she supposed there were other options. One could hang on to the past. Retreat into it. Let it disempower them. In her opinion Will had done all those things.

She took another spoonful of her brownie delight hot-fudge sundae and almost groaned in ecstasy. “How’s your...” What was it he’d ordered? “Scoop of plain vanilla ice cream?” She failed to mask her disdain.

“It’s okay.”

“You should have ordered a little hot fudge with that.” She relished an even larger spoonful of her sundae.

“Maybe.”

“Seriously, Will, what does it take to wring more than one or two words out of you?”

He observed her from over his spoon. The small glint of heat she’d seen the other day in her kitchen reappeared, lighting eyes as dark as the hot fudge that had been generously poured over her ice cream.

Proximity. To her. That was what it took to wring more words from him. Well, she could certainly arrange for proximity. Lots of it.

“What went wrong?”

“I beg your pardon?” She dabbed at her mouth before melted ice cream dribbled down her chin.

“You said you had a crummy morning.”

“Oh, yes. That.” For a brief second she lost her appetite. Fortunately it returned, and she dug into her remaining sundae. “My appointment at the bank didn’t go well.”

“Your appointment?”

“I’m trying, hoping, to refinance my house. Problem is I’ve had a little trouble making the monthly payments on time since losing a resident.” Miranda didn’t wave her dirty laundry in public. But she was also a plainspoken person, and Will had asked.

“The bank won’t cut you any slack?”

“No. Rules are rules and policies are policies. I can possibly refinance if I bring my account current.”

“How far behind are you?”

It was a rather bold question for someone who rarely spoke. “Two months as of next week. Then, when I make November’s payment, which I will on Tuesday, I’ll only be behind one month.”

“What are you going to do?”

She sighed and set down her spoon. “Whatever I have to. I’m not losing my house or my business. I have worked too long and hard to get it off the ground. My residents need me. I’m the only certified elder-care facility in Sweetheart run by a registered nurse. If I go under, they’ll have nowhere to live.”

All right, she was being melodramatic. Other than Mrs. Litey, all her residents had family to go to.

“Any prospects?”

“No. Not at the moment.” She didn’t fib to Will as she had to the banker.

“You can’t go under.”

No, she couldn’t. Will stating as much piqued her interest. Did he care? For her or Mrs. Litey?

“Thanks for the support. If you by chance have a relative needing supervised care hiding in your back pocket, I have a room available.”

“I wish I did.”

His sincerity touched her. Without thinking, she reached across the table and laid her hand atop his uninjured one. For several seconds he froze. Then he jerked his hand away with such speed, he knocked her arm sideways.

Miranda gathered herself, feeling a little hurt. “Sorry about that. I’m a touchy-feely kind of person. Goes with the territory, being in the medical profession and from a large family.”

He remained silent.

“Look, Will, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

She noticed then that he was breathing regularly. Really regularly. As if he was counting his breaths. His hands had disappeared beneath the tabletop, and she thought she heard the snapping of a rubber band against skin.

Well, wasn’t that curious?

She wanted to ask him about the snapping—who wouldn’t?—but, for once, she curbed her impulses. What she’d learned about Will during the past few months was that he defined the term “private person” and wouldn’t appreciate her prodding.

“I didn’t... I wasn’t expecting it.”

She hadn’t been expecting it, either. Reaching for Will’s hand had been an impulse. The response to a moment of feeling connected to him. She’d thought—hoped—the connection was reciprocal.

“Hey, no worries.” She grabbed her spoon and polished off the last of her sundae. “I’m not easily offended. If I was, I wouldn’t surround myself with crotchety old people and a smart-mouthed aide.”

“Are they really that bad?”

“Other than Mrs. Litey? Heavens, no. I love my job. I even love her. On her good days.”

The reminder that he hadn’t been around much wasn’t lost on him. “Give her my best,” he said with an end-of-discussion abruptness.

As if that would stop her. “Which is it? Your work or visiting Mrs. Litey?”

Now it was his turn to ask, “I beg your pardon?”

“What don’t you want to talk about?”

He developed an avid interest in finishing his boring single scoop of vanilla ice cream.

“Fine. None of my business.” Except she wasn’t able to keep her mouth shut. “The thing is, I’ve come to depend on your visits, and I shouldn’t have. Mrs. Litey is my responsibility.”

“I like visiting her.”

“So it’s work, then.”

“I’ve been marking the cross-country ski trails.”

“How’s that going?”

“Not easy.”

“I imagine the fire’s made it hard to find decent trails.”

He nodded.

“If you need any help, give me a holler.” When his brows lifted in surprise, she said, “What? I know these woods better than most. Better than you, I bet.”

“Right.”

“Ha. You forget, or maybe you don’t know, my dad was assistant superintendent of the Sierra Consolidated Mining Company. He dragged us kids over every inch of these mountains when we were growing up.”

“Your mother’s also a nurse.”

Well, well. He’d done some of his own research. On her. Miranda was pleased.

“I followed in her footsteps. After earning my degree, I worked a few years at the Renown Regional Medical Center in Reno. That’s where I became interested in elder care. When I moved back to Sweetheart, I worked at the clinic with my mom for a while. Then the economy tanked, and Dad lost his job at the mining company. He and Mom moved to Tahoe City. She still works as a nurse, and Dad’s a stay-at-home Mr. Mom. I have two new foster sisters, nine-year-old twins.”

“How many altogether?”

“Foster siblings? Eight. And my parents love every one of us like their own. They’re pretty amazing people.”

“I’d say.”

“What about your parents? Are they in the Tahoe area?”

“No.”

“Another state?”

“No.”

His short replies were no doubt intended to put her off, but they only served to make her more curious. Will was a puzzle, and Miranda had a fondness for puzzles. “I take it you aren’t close to them.”

He waited a beat before answering. “They’re dead. They were killed in an accident.”

She nearly jumped at the jolt that shot through her, and pressed a hand to her middle. The sundae in her stomach sat like a heavy stone.

“I’m so sorry.” She couldn’t imagine the horror of losing both her parents at once. “How awful for you.”

He looked at her across the table, emotion once again flaring in his eyes. Not heat and definitely not passion. Anger perhaps? Remorse?

“It was more awful for them,” he ground out.

“When did it happen? How old were you?”

Standing, he announced, “I have to go,” and let in a gust of cold air as he exited the parlor, which reached Miranda clear on her side of the room. She waited a minute before collecting her things.

Will was even more complex than she’d originally thought. And more damaged. She’d be smart to leave him be, as he clearly wasn’t ready for any kind of romantic relationship.

Except Miranda didn’t think she could. She wasn’t just attracted to him or challenged by him, she was fond of him. Growing fonder by the day. He was like no man she’d ever met.

Outside she glanced up and down the street. Her car was parked two blocks away, near the bank. Seeing the building’s brick facade, she was again reminded of her financial dilemma. Determination surged inside her. She wasn’t one to let a minor setback derail her from her goals. If she needed extra money to keep her business afloat, she’d get it. One way or the other.

Setting off, she strode confidently toward the Paydirt Saloon. During college when she’d come home for the summers, she’d worked part-time at the Paydirt, earning extra money to supplement her scholarships.

The mayor was clearing tables amid the sparse gathering of afternoon regulars. Behind the bar, the mayor’s son washed glassware. Both issued her a friendly hello.

“What can I get you today?” the mayor asked when Miranda approached.

Without hesitating, she relieved the mayor of the tray she was holding and reached for the towel on the table. “A job. Even a few hours a week if that’s all you have.”

Mayor Dempsey studied her critically.

Miranda braced herself for a slew of questions. Why did she need a job? What about her elder-care home? What made Miranda think there was a position available when employment in Sweetheart was as scarce as crow’s teeth? She also braced herself for rejection.

To her overwhelming relief, the mayor’s expression softened. “I assume you can start today.”

* * *

“YOU ABLE TO ride with that bum wrist?” Sam asked.

Will tugged the cinch tighter and looped the excess strap into a tight knot. Gripping the pommel and back of the seat, he tugged and demonstrated how little his injury bothered him by testing the saddle’s stability.

Rocket Dog, a stout, sassy four-year-old mare that had originally belonged to Will’s former employer, High Country Outfitters, pawed the ground in anticipation. This one liked the cold weather and the challenge of climbing steep frost-covered hills. She was a perfect match for Will’s current mood.

“Why aren’t you taking one of the ATVs?” Sam leaned against the corral fence and crossed his arms over his chest.

Will double-checked the maps in his saddlebags and his supplies. Two bottles of water, a thermos of black coffee and a protein bar. That should be enough to last the morning.

“Some of the trails I want to mark are blocked by fallen timber.”

Easier to ride a horse over the obstructions than drive an ATV around them. In his opinion anyway.

“I’m thinking you have enough trails already marked. We don’t have many skiers making reservations.”

“Could change.”

He wasn’t one to oppose his boss, and if Sam insisted, he’d cancel the outing or take an ATV. In truth, the ride was more for him than work related. Will needed the solitude and the feel of a horse beneath him. The more he was in the company of others, the more tangled his thoughts became. Alone he could sort them out and compartmentalize them. Less likely to plague him that way.

Why had he told Miranda his parents had died? No one in Sweetheart knew that about him. Not even Sam.

For the past two days, his and Miranda’s conversation in the ice-cream parlor had replayed over and over in his mind, affecting his every waking moment. All he could see was her eating that damn sundae and him revealing the darkest of many dark moments from his past.

“Don’t forget a poncho,” Sam advised.

Both men glanced at the sky. Clouds had been gathering since dawn. They weren’t yet heavy with snow, but weather this time of year was unreliable at best.

“Got one.”

“The contest winners and their families are arriving tomorrow afternoon. I’d like to introduce you to them once they’re registered and settled into their cabins. Over dinner. The following morning you can give them a tour of the ranch.”

“Sure.”

The dining hall wasn’t scheduled for construction until spring. In the meantime, guests were served family-style meals in the kitchen of the main house. Hearty country breakfasts every morning comprised the usual fare, with the occasional dinner. Like tomorrow, in honor of their special guests. Most people seemed to enjoy sitting at the same table as the cast members of the show The Forty-Niners once had.

Will’s presence at a meal had only been requested once before. When his boss had gotten married.

He and his bride had looked happy that day. Sometimes when Sam didn’t think anyone was watching, he wore the same dopey smile he had during the ceremony. With their two daughters from their respective previous marriages, they were now one big happy family.

Will envied his boss. Happiness like that had once been within his reach.

Lexie had been his first love and the woman he believed he’d spend the rest of his live with. But then, he’d also believed he’d conquered his PTSD. He’d been wrong on both counts and had learned a very hard lesson. Women didn’t want a broken man.

“I only ask because I’m wondering how long you intend to stay in the mountains.”

Will slanted Sam a look.

“Bedroll. Tarp. Rope.” One by one, Sam listed the items Will had packed.

“Two hours. Three at the most.”

“Okay. Just making sure. You’ve been burying yourself in work the last couple of days. Not that you don’t always bury yourself in work.”

“It’s important the winning couple have a good time.”

“Yeah, but the entire burden of their stay doesn’t rest on your shoulders.”

Will retied the bedroll behind his saddle and patted the mare’s rump, a signal to Sam that he was ready to leave.

“How’s Mrs. Litey?”

“Don’t know.”

“When was the last time you saw her?”

Apparently Sam wasn’t ready to cut Will loose yet. “A while.”

“Is there a reason you’re avoiding her?”

“I’m not.”

“Miranda, then.”

“I better head out while the weather’s holding.” Will didn’t wait for a response. He flung the reins over Rocket Dog’s neck and mounted her in one fluid move. Cruze jumped up from where he’d been lying and waiting.

“Sorry, boy. You need to stay here.”

The shepherd mix instantly planted his hind end on the ground. He used to hate being left behind. Lately his age had started to show, and a trip to town would exhaust him. He’d be there when Will returned, or in the barn.

“Do me a favor, will you?” Sam patted Cruze’s head, letting Will know his dog would be watched during his absence. “On your way back.”

“Sure.” As long as it wasn’t stopping by a certain elder-care group home.

“Mayor Dempsey has a package for me. Some vouchers for the contest winners. Can you pick them up at the Paydirt on your way back?”

“Will do.”

Will didn’t normally ride through town, though he had before. During Sweetheart’s early days and up until The Forty-Niners had ceased production, horses were a common sight on the streets.

Saluting Sam, Will turned Rocket Dog toward the long tree-lined drive leading from the ranch. Halfway to the main road, he chose a partially hidden trail, one used more by deer and elk than humans. He and Rocket Dog were immediately engulfed by towering ponderosa pines.

Will was in his element. He rode the mare hard, down one hill and up the next, until their breathing was labored. The terrain, still thick and green despite the encroaching winter, didn’t last. Within a mile, the forest gave way to a sea of barren, blackened land. This was how close the fire had gotten to the Gold Nugget.

Skirting the border of the vast wasteland, Will stopped occasionally to dismount and mark the trail with a red plastic tie fastened to a low-slung branch. Only the most stalwart and athletic of riders, hikers and cross-country skiers would choose this trail. He couldn’t wait to lead them.

At one point he nudged Rocket Dog across a rushing stream. Well, more like a babbling creek until spring, when the snow melted. Then crossing would be tricky. At the very top of the hill, where the stream originated from an underground spring, Sweetheart’s original settlers had chanced upon gold and had staked a claim. They’d prospected the area for thirty years until it had panned out.

Will thought the old claim, with its discarded and derelict equipment still there, might make an interesting rest stop and noted it on his map.

Hard riding and fresh air took his mind off Miranda, but only for a short while. Too soon, he was back to thinking about her. Constantly.

Had she and her father visited this mining site when she was young? Did they hike this same path? Picnic at this same spot along the creek? View the town nestled in the valley below from this same vantage point? Why did she waste even a minute of her time with him?

Will couldn’t fathom the answer.

Two hours later, the narrow trail merged with a larger and more frequently used one that led to town. By now the mare’s steps were slower, her excess energy having been spent. Will relaxed and let her set the pace for the last leg of their trip. Miranda still filled his thoughts, but caused him less anxiety.

In his opinion, the woods surrounding Sweetheart showed no signs of recovery from the fire—other than the forest service’s clearing the network of dirt roads. Scorched pine tree trunks stood at bent angles, resembling an army of ghoulish stick soldiers. Here and there a tree remained, miraculously spared from destruction. It would be years before the seeds from their cones produced new generations.

Will wondered if winter, with its gray skies and heavy blankets of snow, would be kind and hide the forest’s blemishes, or unkind and magnify them.

His ride down Matrimony Lane drew a lot of stares and a few waves, which Will returned with a nod. He didn’t admit to searching every female face for Miranda’s. At the Paydirt Saloon, he tethered Rocket Dog to the old hitching post beside the building. Drooping her head, she eagerly indulged in a well-deserved snooze.

Inside, the mayor hailed Will from behind the bar and reached for a clean mug. “The usual?”

“Not today.”

“What brings you by?”

“Sam sent me. You have some vouchers for him.”

She frowned in confusion. “What vouchers?”

“For the contest winners.”

“Don’t know what he’s talking about.”

“I’ll call him.” Will reached into his jacket pocket for his cell phone and dialed Sam. His boss didn’t pick up. “Must be a mistake.”

“Try again in a few minutes. In the meantime, have a beer.”

“How ’bout a water?” He wasn’t in the mood for drinking.

Finding his regular stool open, he sat and attempted to reach Sam again, with the same results. Disconnecting, he debated what to do.

“You look as if you are wrestling with a mighty problem.”

At the sound of Miranda’s voice, he sat instantly straighter.

“We know it’s not Mrs. Litey, unless you’re feeling bad about ignoring her. She misses you something awful, by the way.”

Will suffered a stab of remorse.

“You shouldn’t make her pay just because you’re mad at me.”

Having no choice, he turned slowly around. “I’m not mad at you.”

“Seems like it.” She stood with a serving tray propped on her hip, a red apron tied around her waist and a pert scowl on her pretty face.

He blinked in disbelief. “You’re working here?”

“Part-time.” She squared her shoulders. “Just until I catch up on the mortgage payments. So I guess we’ll be running into each other, seeing as you’re here a lot.”

He suppressed a groan. His one place of practically guaranteed solitude had just been invaded.

It was in that moment that he realized there were no vouchers and never had been. His boss knew about Miranda’s job and had set Will up.

The snake.

“Well, what’ll it be, cowboy? Can’t rent that bar stool for free.” Miranda flashed him a saucy smile that sent his pulse rate into the triple digits. “Swiss-and-bacon burger’s on special today.”

She moved closer—on purpose, he was sure of it—until her thigh brushed his knee. He swallowed hard and waited for the panic attack, ready to bolt at the first sign.

To his shock, it didn’t come. And when he spoke, his voice sounded normal.

“I’ll take mine medium well.”

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