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.
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
