start now!”
“That’s not necessary.” He chuckled. “We’ll decide on your schedule tomorrow. Might only be part-time until we’re ready for guests.”
“Thank you, Mr. Wyler.” She rushed toward him, grabbed his hand and pumped it enthusiastically. “I’m grateful to you.”
“My daughter and I are the ones who are grateful to you. Otherwise, we might starve or be buried alive in a mountain of dirty clothes.”
She smiled shyly, displaying slightly crooked teeth. “I’ll see you at eight sharp.”
Something told him Irma would be here at seven forty-five. “Looking forward to it.”
Gathering her brood, she hurried them to the car as if afraid Sam might change his mind.
Unlikely, he decided. So far, he was more than pleased with his staff. And he had Fiona Hennessy to thank.
If she and Annie weren’t so determined to rebuild the inn, he’d hire Fiona to manage the Gold Nugget. He needed someone trustworthy, competent and with her vast hospitality experience. Someone whose skills would allow him to be a long-distance owner.
Sam made his way toward the barn in search of Lyndsey. She’d been in there the entire time with Porky and Daffy. A few good meals had made all the difference to the kits. They were active and curious and had already figured out their long, sharp claws were perfect tools for scaling the sides of a cardboard box.
They were also kind of cute, Sam had to admit, with their little button noses, whiskers and black face masks.
Lyndsey had moved them into an old wooden crate until the cage arrived. She couldn’t be a more attentive and devoted caretaker. Sam was proud of her. And worried. He tried not to think about how she’d take losing the kits when the time came.
She was just where he’d left her, sitting cross-legged in the center of the barn floor. Sunlight poured in through cracks in the wooden walls, painting a pattern of stripes on her and the crate beside her.
“Hi, Dad.” She cradled Daffy, the smaller of the kits, in her lap, his front paws balanced on her towel-covered forearm in the manner the vet had instructed. Daffy lustily drained a bottle of kitten formula.
“How’re they doing?” Sam asked.
“They like the canned cat food!” Her face radiated delight.
“Dr. Murry says they’ll eat almost anything.”
“They licked it off a spoon.”
Sam’s earlier concern returned. “They didn’t bite you, did they?”
“Oh, Dad.”
He took that as a no and breathed easier.
“Grandpa said he can’t wait to see them.”
“Lyndsey, sweetie.” He reached for her. “You—”
She stiffened and pulled away. “Don’t say we can’t take them home.”
“Okay, I won’t.”
Withdrawing his hand, he squatted beside the crate and gave Daffy a little scratch. Porky was attempting to squeeze his apple-shaped head between the narrow openings in the crate.
“I can’t believe how much difference one day makes.”
“Porky purred and kneaded my arm when he ate.”
“No fooling?” Sam attempted to pet Porky. The kit jerked instantly back and growled at him, his fur standing on end. He looked and sounded more comical than threatening.
“Dad! Be careful. You’ll hurt him.”
“Hurt him? What about me?” Sam inspected his hand. “I’m the one who almost lost a finger.”
“It’s instinctive. You have to move slowly.”
He turned at the sound of Annie’s voice.
She stood in the entrance to the barn, wearing her NDF uniform and holding an empty cage.
“Hey. Thanks for coming by.” He pushed to his feet, noticing the exhaustion on her face. “You okay?”
“Just beat. We ran erosion and water repellency tests all day in the field.”
Despite her busy schedule, she’d found time to locate a cage for Lyndsey and deliver it. If he could, he would take her in his arms and the hell with the consequences.
“Sounds grueling.”
“It was.”
She must have seen the urge reflected in his eyes because she retreated a step—just like she’d done yesterday when they first met and again last night when he picked her up on the way home.
Would she ever stop being wary of him? And if she did, what then?
Nothing, he thought. Even if they were able to move past their unhappy history, the timing was off, for both of them, and no amount of wishing would change that.
Chapter Four
Annie tried not to stare at Sam as she set the cage down and walked over to Lyndsey. He didn’t make it easy. Levi’s, a faded chambray shirt and a Stetson covering thick, dark hair in need of a cut was a look he wore well.
Standing straight, she reminded herself he’d left her high and dry. Not once, but twice. There would be no third time.
“Gosh, would you look at them!” She directed her smile at Lyndsey and the kits.
“They’re eating canned cat food!” Lyndsey exclaimed. One kit scrambled up her chest toward her shoulder while the other one clawed at the crate.
“Already? I’m impressed.”
“You think they’re going to be all right?”
The kits were active, alert and responsive. All encouraging signs.
“It’s a little too soon to say for certain, but my guess is they’ll make it.”
“Why did their mommy and brothers die? Was it because of the fire?”
“Not the fire itself.” Annie started to say the entire eco-structure in the area had been profoundly altered, which, in turn, affected local wildlife, then decided the explanation was too complicated for an eight-year-old. “The land’s changed, and the animals are have a harder time surviving than they once did.”
“This one is Daffy.” Lindsey lifted the kit from her lap into the air. “Want to hold him?”
“Sure.” Annie took the kit and cradled it close. The warm feel and musky scent were familiar. How many baby raccoons had she rescued and raised? Six? Ten?
Now
