miles.”
“Well, it certainly is beautiful,” she said, marveling at the contrast between her newly inherited property and this well-kept ranch. She wondered if she’d ever be able to get hers looking as nice. If she could, she knew for certain she’d be able to find backers for the camp she wanted to open for homeless children.
Morgan didn’t say anything, but she could tell by the slight curving at the corners of his mouth that her comment had pleased him.
When they drew closer, he turned the truck onto a lane that led to the house. Tall wooden posts stood on either side of the road, supporting a log spanning the width between them. As they passed beneath it, Samantha caught a fleeting glimpse of the words Lonetree Ranch carved into a wooden sign suspended from the middle of the arch.
He stopped the pickup at the side of the house, then got out and came around to help her from the passenger side. “I had Bettylou, the wife of the man working on your car, come by and make up one of the guest rooms,” he said, unfastening the lap belt from the baby’s carrier. He lifted it from the center of the bench seat, then using the handle, carried it in one hand as he cupped her elbow with the other to guide her up the steps of the front porch. “After I get you two settled in your room, I’ll go down to the machine shed and check to see if Frank knows what’s wrong with your car. I’ll get your things while I’m at it.”
His big hand warmed her arm through the light jacket she wore and sent a tremor up her spine. She quickly stepped away from him.
“I won’t need everything from the car,” she said, waiting for him to open the door. “Timmy and I won’t be staying more than a couple of days.”
Holding the door for her, he smiled. “We’ll see.”
She needed to make it clear to him, she wasn’t a charity case, nor did she intend to take advantage of his generosity. Before she could respond to his obvious disbelief, they entered the foyer of the Lonetree ranch house and she forgot anything she’d been about to say. The interior of the log home was every bit as impressive as the exterior.
When Morgan led her into the great room, her breath caught. “This is absolutely gorgeous.”
A huge stone fireplace with a split log mantel stood against the outside wall of the room, the rounded blue, gray and tan stones the perfect accent to the golden hue of the varnished log walls. The house had a warm, friendly feel to it, but it was the openness that Samantha fell in love with. The ceiling was vaulted and open all the way to the huge log rafters, and the rooms seemed to flow from one into another.
“Make yourself at home,” Morgan said, placing the car seat with her sleeping son on the most unusual coffee table she’d ever seen.
A thick, flat piece of dark blue-gray slate rested on a pedestal base made from a section of an entire tree trunk. The bark had been left on and contrasted beautifully with the warm patina of the polished hardwood floor and the burnt sienna colored leather furniture.
“Were you going for durability?” she asked dryly.
Chuckling, Morgan shrugged. “Brant and I ruined the surface of my mom’s other table so many times by running our cars and trucks over it, that Mom and Dad came up with the idea of a slate topped table before Colt was born. Then after Mom died, and Dad was faced with raising three rowdy boys by himself, I don’t think he had much choice but to keep it.”
“You were raised by your father?”
She noticed a fleeting shadow in his intense blue eyes a moment before he nodded. “Mom died while giving birth to our youngest brother, Colt.”
Samantha gazed up at him for several long seconds. “I’m sorry, Morgan. I know what it feels like to lose your mother,” she said quietly. “I was almost seventeen when mine passed away.”
As they stood staring at each other, the baby suddenly let loose with a lusty cry, breaking the somber mood that had come over the two adults.
“It’s time for him to nurse,” she said, releasing the straps securing Timmy in the baby seat. “Is there somewhere I could—”
“I’ll show you to your room,” Morgan said, nodding toward the staircase behind her. The stairs, banister and railings of the loft area above were crafted from the same golden wood as the walls, and added to the rustic appeal of the house.
Samantha held the baby close and tried to concentrate on breathing as she climbed the split-log steps beside Morgan. He’d placed his arm around her waist to steady her and his touch was doing some very strange things to her insides. Tingles raced the length of her spine and a warm, protected feeling seemed to course through her.
Needing to put a little distance between them, she waited for him to lead the way across the loft and down a hall where several bedrooms were located. Her uncharacteristic reaction to him had to be due to a major postnatal hormone imbalance. That’s all it could be, she decided. After giving birth two days ago, there was no way she could possibly be feeling any kind of physical awareness. Was there?
When he opened the door to a room at the end of the hall, her eyes misted over. A cradle, made up with soft-looking, baby-blue bedding sat by a beautiful four-poster bed. She couldn’t remember a time since her mother’s passing that anyone had been as thoughtful as Morgan had been in the past few hours. He’d made sure she and the baby had a ride home from the hospital, offered them a place to stay and had gone to the trouble of arranging for Timmy to have a warm, comfortable place to sleep.
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