Melanie frowned. “You aren’t going to give me an inch, are you?”
Vince knew the moment he’d lost the battle, which was the second their gazes met. Her nose wrinkled, making the smattering of freckles dance on her cheeks. He couldn’t keep his gaze away from them.
“Well?” she demanded when he didn’t answer her.
“Well?” he repeated. “What?”
“I can put the office back the way it was—which, for the record, was completely messy and disorganized, in case you hadn’t noticed.” The frown that followed her comment wasn’t, Vince thought, completely convincing.
“You would, wouldn’t you?” From the look in her eye, he thought she just might. That made him smile.
Then again, she might be teasing him, although he couldn’t be certain. She was hard to figure out. Whatever else was to be said about Melanie Frazer, she was nothing if not interesting.
And determined.
And absolutely beautiful.
DEB KASTNER
lives and writes in colorful Colorado with the front range of the Rocky Mountains for inspiration. She loves writing for the Steeple Hill Love Inspired line, where she can write about her two favorite things—faith and love. Her characters range from upbeat and humorous to (her favorite) dark and brooding heroes. Her plots fall anywhere in between, from a playful romp to the deeply emotional.
Deb’s books have been twice nominated for the RT Book Reviews Reviewer’s Award for Best Book of the Year for Steeple Hill.
Deb and her husband share their home with their two youngest daughters. Deb is thrilled about the newest member of the family—her first granddaughter, Isabella. What fun to be a granny!
Deb loves to hear from her readers. You can contact her by email at [email protected], or on her MySpace or Facebook pages.
A Colorado Match
Deb Kastner
MILLS & BOON
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“My son,” the father said, “you are always with me, and everything I have is yours.”
—Matthew 15:31
For Joe
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter One
Vincent Morningway leaned heavily on his crutches, attempting—not entirely successfully—to write coherently with one hand, keep the telephone to his ear with the other hand and not completely lose his balance and pitch straight down on his backside. He sighed as he finished his call and dropped the receiver back in the cradle. Stupid crutches.
Stupid cast.
Stupid skiing accident.
He’d unknowingly skied over a patch of hidden ice and had catapulted into a tree. He supposed he ought to be thankful that his injuries weren’t any worse than a broken leg and a slight concussion; but at the moment, he didn’t feel very blessed.
The whole incident still frustrated him every time he thought about it—which was every time he tried to move.
Growing up in the Rocky Mountains, he’d been skiing almost as long as he’d been walking. Didn’t it just figure that the one day a year he allowed himself some downtime to get away from the lodge and pursue an activity he was passionate about, he had to go and get hurt.
Even without his injury, he was already angry at himself for taking time off at all, what with the recent fire that had laid waste to the day care on Morningway Lodge property. Pop and Nate, Vince’s interfering younger brother, had ganged up on him, insisting he not cancel his plans.
So much for heeding Nate’s advice, he thought sardonically. Ever since they were children, Nate had always managed to get Vince into trouble, yet another instance of an entire lifetime of strife between him and his brother.
Vince was still frowning when the bell over the front door suddenly rang out. He glanced up, adjusted his rectangular black glasses and pasted a polite smile on his face. No matter how out of sorts he was, he still had a job to do. People depended on him, and no matter how he felt, he would not let them down.
A petite redhead whisked in and delicately stamped her feet on the mat just inside the front door, then brushed her free hand down her slim blue skirt. In her other arm she firmly clutched a black leather satchel. She was wearing some kind of spiky high-heeled shoes, which Vince privately thought wasn’t the best idea, given that there were several inches of snow on the ground.
What kind of woman made such an obviously foolish judgment call? Either
