minute later he said, “It’s been a long time. About six years.”
Sara smiled to herself. Progress. She waited another minute, then said, “How old are they?”
“Twelve and six.”
Six? Only a year older than Misty. Excitement simmered in Sara’s chest. “How long will they be here?”
“Until Christmas.”
He turned down a long dusty road that seemed to go nowhere, and she remained quiet, forcing herself to breathe slowly. His younger niece’s company would be great for Misty, and surely he wasn’t equipped to care for the two girls by himself. Whereas Sara was really good with children. And the isolation of the ranch was perfect. If Cal were looking…
Her heart started to hammer at the thought she might be able to give Misty a decent Christmas after all. Now, all she had to do was convince Ethan Slade that for the next two weeks, she was indispensable to him.
“THE KITCHEN is that way.” Ethan gestured to his left. “I’ll show you the two rooms the girls will be using.”
“Wait a minute.” She finished settling Misty on the couch with her headphones. “Can’t we go peek in the kitchen? I have a feeling that’s where most of my elbow grease will be needed.”
“Later. After I leave.” He started down the long hall, his chest tightening as he approached the master bedroom. The one that had once been used by his parents and then by him and Emily.
The kitchen, he wasn’t ready to face. Emily had spent too much time there, cooking and canning and proudly gazing out at her vegetable garden. The patch of land was surely nothing but weeds now, but the memories would still be thriving.
He hadn’t managed to lose the lump in his throat that had formed when the house had come into view, and the sooner he got out of here the better. “This room here—”
He frowned at the empty hall behind him, then started to retrace his steps. Where the hell was Sara?
She was standing in the middle of the family room, slowly running her hand over the intricate details of the mahogany rocker his grandfather had carved. For whatever reason, it was the only piece of furniture in the room not covered by a white sheet.
She looked up. “This is beautiful.” Her gaze wandered toward the dirty windows framing a portion of the San Juan Mountains. “And the view…” She shook her head. “It’s a shame no one lives here anymore.”
“You can look at all this later,” he said gruffly, which earned him a quizzical look. “I want to show you the bedrooms, then I have to go.”
“All right.” Her hand fell from the chair, and she started toward him. But then she stopped, and so did he.
“What now?”
She was staring at the stone fireplace. “Over in that corner,” she said with a jerk of her chin. “Is that where you’re putting the tree?”
“What tree?”
She looked at him like he’d grown a horn in the middle of his forehead. “The Christmas tree, of course.”
Ethan groaned and rubbed his eyes. “I’m not getting one. We don’t have any ornaments anyway.”
She shrugged. “It might be fun for the girls to make some.”
“No tree.” He stalked down the hall without turning to see if she’d followed. But she sure as hell had better be right behind him, or…
She was. “Why not?”
He briefly closed his eyes. “Because I don’t have time to find one or worry about decorations.”
“I can do that.”
“You won’t be here.”
“Oh.” She drew in her lower lip for a moment, then opened her mouth, but at his warning look, promptly shut it again.
He opened the bedroom door, and musty, dusty air poured out, throwing them both into fits of coughing. Quickly, he brought his attack under control, but Sara seemed to be gasping for breath.
“Are you okay?”
She nodded, coughed, then gasped.
He circled his fingers around her upper arm and drew her away from the room. She felt tiny, fragile, where her arm should have been more meaty.
Peanut butter and crackers.
Was that her staple? Was that all she could afford?
He kept his hand wrapped around her arm, not sure if she needed him to steady her, as he opened a window. Frosty air snaked down the hall, but at least she’d stopped coughing.
She took a couple of shallow breaths and shifted her arm. He got the message and released her.
“Okay?” he asked, ducking his head to get a better look at her face. Her color was high and her eyes too bright but she quickly nodded.
“I’m fine, really.” She took a deeper breath. “I had a touch of asthma as a child and occasionally I have a slight attack. Nothing to worry about,” she added hastily. “I outgrew it in my teens.”
The information bothered Ethan. He wasn’t sure she should be doing this kind of work. “Look, Sara—”
She touched his arm, alarm in her eyes. “Please, don’t withdraw the job offer.” She lifted her chin. “I need the work.”
Ah, hell. Why did she have to look at him with those big pleading blue eyes like that? “Wait here a minute.”
He returned to the room, flipping on the ceiling fan on his way to the window. Good thing Sam had talked him into keeping the utilities turned on. Of course Sam thought Ethan would have tired of the caretaker’s shack and returned by now. It wasn’t that simple.
The window was old and stubborn from lack of use, but he finally managed to open it halfway. More cold air swirled through the room, but it sure beat letting the musty stagnant air suffocate them.
He went to the next room and did the same thing. On his way out to call Sara, he saw Emily’s sewing basket sitting on the oak dresser. His heart thumped as memories of them sitting by the fire sliced through him as cleanly as a knife through pudding.
She’d loved working with her hands, and she’d loved Christmas. Around July she’d always started sewing and knitting presents. He still had every sweater she’d knitted him. They were all in boxes he never opened.
“Ethan?”
He didn’t know how long he’d been standing there staring, when Sara’s troubled voice drifted to him. Silently he cleared his throat as he saw her in the doorway. Her nose was still red from her coughing fit, and so were her cheeks. She looked about sixteen. “I was trying to air out the rooms.”
She sniffed. “It’s better already. I take it this is the other room you want me to get ready?” She started
