door behind her. “Sorry,” she said, “but I didn’t want the boys to hear me. You see, Peter, my younger son, has asthma. The condition is well controlled, but I don’t like him being out in the cold night air for too long. Back at the party he was near the warm campfire. Out here, without the car heater—well, he’ll probably be all right until the mechanic arrives, but I’d feel better if you’d drive us back to the ranch.”
The man studied her for a brief moment, then glanced at the car’s back window. “You don’t want the little guy to think he needs special care?”
Surprised that he understood, she decided he must have children of his own. “That’s it, exactly. He’s ten and wants to think he’s just as strong as his eleven-year-old brother.”
A faint grin tilted the cowboy’s lips. “Sure he does. I won’t mention the asthma. So get your sons and whatever else you need from the vehicle and I’ll take you back to my place. You can wait there until the mechanic gets your car going.”
His unexpected offer caused her jaw to drop. “Your place? I wouldn’t want to barge in on you. Lilly and Ava—”
“Are busy wrapping up the party,” he finished her sentence. “And I live just a short distance from here.”
Deciding she was in no position to turn down help from this Good Samaritan, she said, “Thank you, Mr. Yates. I really appreciate your help. Uh—but first—well, I hope you won’t take offense, but would you mind if I used your phone to call Lilly? Just so she can confirm who you are?”
“Sure. I’m glad you’re being cautious.”
He pulled a smartphone from a leather carrier on his belt and handed it to her. Marcella quickly tapped out her friend’s number and to her immense relief Lilly answered immediately.
After giving Lilly a brief explanation of what was going on with the car and Denver, Lilly assured Marcella she was in safe, capable hands.
When the brief conversation ended, she handed the phone back to the ranch hand. “Lilly tells me you’re a nice, capable guy. So if you’ll give me a minute, I’ll get the boys and my things from the car.”
“Fine,” he told her. “While you do that, I’ll call the roadside service.”
* * *
Short minutes later, Denver steered his truckload of passengers onto the long drive leading up to his house. Next to him, in the passenger seat, Marcella Grayson’s hands were clenched tightly together on her lap as she stared straight ahead at the dark landscape beyond the windshield.
Beneath the dim lighting of the dashboard, he could see enough to tell him the long hair hanging nearly to her waist was a light shade of red, but the thick lashes framing her eyes made it impossible to detect their color. Her features were dainty and soft, and from what he could see, she had that creamy pale skin that only true redheads possessed.
What kind of idiot could have left this little beauty and two boys behind? he wondered. Or had she left him?
What the hell does it matter, Denver? This pretty redhead is none of your business. You need to concentrate on helping her get her car going and forget about all the rest. That’s what you need to do.
“Mister, do you know how to ride a horse?”
Denver glanced over his shoulder to see the question had been spoken by the boy called Peter. Tall and thin, with a headful of corn-yellow hair, he had a wide mouth and an eagerness in his voice that said he was basically a curious child.
“A little,” Denver said, then realizing the woman was giving him an odd look, he gave her a reassuring wink.
Harry was quick to correct his brother. “Dummy! He’s a cowboy and that’s what cowboys do. They ride horses!”
“How do you know he’s a cowboy?” Peter demanded.
Harry let out a loud sigh of exasperation. “Can’t you see his hat?”
“Yeah, but he might be wearing that for Halloween,” Peter reasoned.
The exchange between the two boys had Denver smiling to himself. Clearly this was a pair of town kids. Unlike the children who’d been raised here on the Silver Horn and were accustomed to being around ranch hands and livestock.
“Harry, quit calling your brother a dummy,” his mother chided. “Peter is asking questions because he wants to learn.”
Marcella’s statement must have given the older boy the idea to ask his own questions, because the next thing Denver knew Harry had scooted to the edge of his seat.
“I’ll bet you have a horse of your own, don’t you?” he asked.
“I have five horses,” Denver replied.
Clearly impressed, Harry exclaimed, “Five! What do you do with that many?”
Stifling a chuckle, Denver said, “I use the horses to work with. We cowboys have to ride the range, you know. And riding just one horse every day would make him too tired.”
“See, numskull,” Peter tossed at his brother. “You don’t know everything!”
Just as the boys began to argue between themselves again, Denver braked the truck to a stop beneath a low-roofed carport connected to the east side of a wide, rambling house that appeared to be gray in color.
“Here we are,” he said to the woman. “Let me turn on the lights and we’ll go in.”
He climbed from the truck, and after flipping a light on beneath the patio, he opened a side entry door and switched on a light in the mudroom.
Back at the truck, he opened the passenger door and offered his hand up to Marcella. When her fingers clasped around his, he couldn’t help thinking how soft and fragile her hand felt against his. And when she stood down on the ground next to him, he noticed she smelled like a mix of wildflowers and campfire smoke, a scent that was oddly appealing.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “This is very kind of you, Mr. Yates.”
Resisting the urge to clear his throat, he forced himself to release his hold on her hand. “Just call me Denver, ma’am. I’m not used to answering to Mister.”
Smiling, she said, “Okay, Denver it is.”
He stepped away from her and opened the back door of the truck. “Okay, boys, we’re here,” he announced. “Unbuckle and climb out.”
Once the two children had departed the truck and sidled up to their mother, he locked the vehicle, then ushered the trio toward the nearest entry to the house.
“I apologize for taking you through the mudroom,” he told Marcella, “but the light on the front porch isn’t working right now. I wouldn’t want any of you tripping over something in the dark.”
“Don’t apologize,” she told him. “We’re just happy to be out of the cold. Right, boys?”
“That’s right. Thank you, Mr. Yates,” Harry spoke up.
“Yeah,
