to get up in the night to check on them, she wouldn’t risk running into Mr. Loves-the-Dark Ranger. She didn’t trust him, not one bit. He’d probably jump out and grab her again just for the pleasure of hearing her yelp. And he’d made it obvious this morning that he didn’t want her there—he hadn’t spoken a word to her. Not even a polite good morning. So she’d sung to keep the frosty awkwardness in check.
“Fine by me,” she told the girls. “It’s better when he’s not around being pigheaded.”
The babies slept on without heeding her comment. She’d named the eighteen-month-old girls Nicole and Sandra after her mother. For the hundredth time, she thought about calling her mother, then decided it wouldn’t be a good idea. Her mother, who lived in Fort Wylie, had told Suzy in no uncertain terms that being pregnant and unmarried was a disgrace. Her mother and father were scions of Fort Wylie and reputation mattered to them. Appearances were important.
Suzy’s appearance was one of loose living, her mother had said, and they hadn’t spoken since. She’d never visited the hospital to see the newborns. It killed Suzy, broke her heart, but it was her mother’s right to feel as she did. “I wasn’t delighted when your father packed up, either,” she murmured to her daughters. “I didn’t foresee Frank being so afraid of responsibility.”
He’d liked her well enough for her family’s money—but when he’d realized that the Winterstones were, well, wintry about their new grandchildren, cutting off even Suzy’s trust fund she would have received at age thirty, well, Frank had disappeared like a puff of dust under a vacuum cleaner.
“Speaking of vacuums,” she said, closing her eyes, “just as soon as we finish our beauty rest, girls, we need to lug that monstrous canister up here and vacuum all the rooms thoroughly. Don’t think it’s been done in thirty years.”
She hadn’t planned on napping, but the wind was howling outside, the snow sugaring the ground, and at the moment, she felt so blessed lying on the bed with her children that she drifted off to sleep.
DANE WALKED IN WITH A LOAD of firewood, and remembering Suzy’s caution about dirtying up the floors, swept off the snow and ice as best he could from the logs and his boots. Last thing he wanted was a further discourse on his cleanliness. He carried the wood upstairs. There were two fireplaces up, plus two downstairs. He’d take care of the upper level fireplaces first, particularly in his room. It was a great night for a nice, cozy fire in the hearth in Pop’s bedroom, which he had decided to commandeer for himself as the only son in residence.
He deserved some of the finer things in life. One, for living in this godforsaken backwater and, two, for having Suzy and her tiny crew cast upon him.
At the door of the bedroom, he stopped in his tracks. On his bed lay Suzy, her two little angels sleeping soundly beside her. Well, they weren’t angels, they were more like time bombs, he reminded himself, backing into the hallway. Set to explode his world, drawing him in with their cherubic faces. Tingles ran over his arms. He allowed himself to give Suzy a thorough, yet lightning-fast once-over, avoiding the pink-wrapped dolls beside her.
“Holy smokes, that was close.” He went down the hall, placed the firewood in the stacker in the smaller bedroom. What the hell was she doing in his room? On his bed? She couldn’t stay there, that was for certain. Somehow he was going to have to explain to her that she just couldn’t fall asleep on the job, cushy employment though it was, in the first available reclining apparatus she came upon. His bed should be his domain—and anyway, hadn’t she already read him the riot act about how she was never stepping in his room?
His heart thundered in his chest. Pop stayed in France almost year-round, giving the boys a lot of time to gnash their teeth over his wily proposal. Dane was proud that he’d been wilier. Pop believed that money would buy love, like castles in France and sandboxes in the Caribbean, but Dane knew money and love were not always good bed partners.
Dane intended to tell Goldilocks when she awakened that his bed was not “just right” for her. She could just stick that in her proverbial little pipe and move into a smaller, less-appointed chamber.
No. Sighing, he knew he wouldn’t do that. There were three of her family and only one of him. Besides, he could be a gentleman if it was absolutely required, and in Suzy’s case, it probably was. Besides, he didn’t actually need the gold-outfitted bidet and tub Pop had in his master bath; he didn’t need the slipper sofa by the hearth, nor the lush rugs underfoot surrounding the massive canopied bed. One of the other starker, less decked-out rooms would be fine for him—like this one.
Restlessly he rose to light a fire in the small fireplace. The tinder caught slowly, the cold, damp logs reluctant to take the heat.
He realized that no matter how much he fought it, staying on the ranch for a year was not going to be the easiest assignment he’d ever had. He’d talked himself into this “cream puff” of a situation, but Pop would certainly laugh if he saw him now, cowed into a small bedroom and padding around with clean, silent feet, all thanks to Pop and his Grandchildren Conspiracy.
Chapter Three
In the morning, Suzy was awakened by her children stirring. Nicole gently touched her mother’s face. Sandra waved a tiny hand at some sunlight streaming into the room. Suzy smiled, enjoying the gentle wake up. “You must be getting hungry,” she told her girls, and then realized they had slept the entire night in the house without any incident concerning Dane Morgan. “This is going to work just fine,” she said, putting on her clothes.
She helped her daughters dress, a slow process because they were at the age when they wanted to do things themselves. Their little fingers weren’t quite ready for pulling on tights to keep their legs warm, or brushing their own hair. Finally, they were all ready to leave the sanctuary of their bedroom and head into the kitchen.
“Hold my hands,” she told her girls. “We have to be very careful on these stairs.” She tiptoed by the other bedrooms on the hall in order to avoid a run-in with Josiah’s son, breathing much easier when she made it to the kitchen.
But the dark-haired, cold-eyed handsome stranger sitting at the table pulled a startled shriek from her. He jumped to his feet, spilling hot coffee on his hand and swearing a blue streak. Her daughters began to cry so she clutched them to her, glaring at the stranger. “Who are you?”
“Who are you?” he demanded. “You don’t live here.”
She raised her chin. “I do live here. And if you don’t leave right this instant, I’ll scream. There’s a man sleeping upstairs and he’ll come running down—”
The back door opened. “It’s durn cold out—” Dane stopped when he saw the scene in the kitchen. His gaze swept over her, registering her panic, and then went to the stranger. He calmly walked over to the sink to wash his hands.
Suzy gasped. “What are you doing?”
“Washing my hands to warm them up.” Dane smiled at her. “Is there a problem?”
She blinked. “Do you know this person?”
The man took off his hat, nodding to her. “My name’s Pete. I’m one of Dane’s brothers,” he explained. “I let myself in,” he said to Dane who merely nodded. “I apologize if I frightened you.” He gave Suzy what she supposed was a reassuring smile. “Dane says I unnerve him when I pop in, too. I didn’t realize he had company.”
“I am not his company,” Suzy said, stiffening.
