Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Epilogue
Extract
Justin Morant recognized trouble when his buddy Ty Spurlock texted him a link to a dating website. This was what happened when you had to leave the rodeo circuit thanks to a career-ending injury: your friends decided you needed a woman with whom to share your retirement, and maybe a spread to call your own because you were going to need something to do with your new spare time. The woman would run your life and the spread would rule your life, and maybe it was one and the same. You’d work hard, be tied to the land and the woman, never have two nickels to call your own. You’d have children and, suddenly, you were up to your neck in obligations and debt.
He’d seen it happen too many times. At twenty-seven, Justin was in no hurry to be fobbed off on a woman who was so desperate for a man that she’d use an online service.
He packed up his duffel, tossed it in his seen-better-days white truck and headed away from Montana, destination unknown, knee killing him this fine summer day.
His phone rang and Justin pulled over. This was a conversation that was going to follow him every step of his self-imposed sabbatical if he didn’t stamp it out now.
“I’m not going to answer the ad, Ty,” he said, skipping the greetings.
“Hear me out, big guy. I’m from Bridesmaids Creek. I know where the Hawthorne spread is. It’s the Hanging H ranch, or, as we locals fondly call it, the Haunted H. Go check out the place. You’ve got nothing better to do, my friend.”
“What kind of a name is Haunted H?”
“The Hawthornes used to run a yearly haunted house for kiddies there, and folks remember that. It was bad to the bone, and rug rats to small-fry attended like bees at a hive. Mackenzie’s folks did everything they could to turn a dime with it. Her family raked in dough nine months a year with puppet shows, petting zoos, pony rides and lots of good treats.”
“Nine months a year?”
“Well, three months a year it was turned into Winter Wonderland at the Haunted H, to go with the town’s annual Christmastown on the square,” Ty said, as if Justin didn’t understand the importance of holidays. “You have to appreciate that a haunted house wouldn’t be as much of a draw as Santa Claus for the youngsters.”
“So what happened to the place?”
“Hard times hit us all, buddy,” Ty said, a little mysteriously for Justin’s radar. “Give Mackenzie a call. You’re burning daylight on this deal. Someone’s going to answer that ad, which will come as a shock to her because she doesn’t know what’s been done on her behalf.” Ty laughed. “The only thing I haven’t been able to figure out is why someone in Bridesmaids Creek hasn’t already gotten her to the altar. I’m not suggesting you try to do that, of course. Small towns usually keep their own pretty well matched up, and judging by her profile on the dating site, that should happen soon enough. Good luck, my friend.”
Ty hung up. Justin tossed his Stetson onto the seat with some righteous disgust and pulled back on the road.
He wasn’t going to Texas. Not to Bridesmaids Creek to a woman whose family had operated a haunted house.
Just because a man could no longer ride didn’t mean he had to make a laughingstock of himself.
* * *
MACKENZIE HAWTHORNE SMILED, looking at the four tiny babies finally sleeping in their white bassinets. “Whew,” she said to Jade Harper. “Thanks for the help.”
“That’s what best friends are for.” She arranged soft white blankets over each baby, protecting them from the cool drafts blowing from the air conditioner, which seemed to run almost constantly this baking-hot July. “Who would have ever thought Tommy possessed the swimmers to make four beautiful little girls?”
Mackenzie smiled at her adorable daughters, all scrunchy-faced in their tiny pink onesies. “Don’t talk to me about my ex. Every time I think about him dating that twenty-year-old, I want to eat chocolate. I’m trying very hard not to do that. Your mother keeps me busy enough with desserts I can’t resist.”
Jade laughed. “Tommy Fields was never right for you. What you need is a real man.” She hugged Mackenzie. “You rest while these little angels are asleep. Mom will be over this afternoon with dinner and to help out. I’ve got to get down to the peach stand and help make ice cream. ’Bye, darling.”
“Thanks for everything.”
Jade flopped a hand at her. Mackenzie was grateful for all the friends she had in Bridesmaids Creek. Everyone had been pitching in almost nonstop, bringing food, baby clothes, and giving their time so she could shower and even nap sometimes. She hated to be a burden, but when she mentioned that to anyone, she was reminded that she gave generously of her time to the community, as had her parents.
Mackenzie walked through the huge, heavily gingerbreaded old Victorian mansion, wondering how she was going to fix the fences that were rotting and sagging, not to mention the gutters on the house. Never mind run the horse operation. With four-month-old babies, she was constantly running, taking care of them.
But she wouldn’t trade her babies for anything. Tommy might have turned out to be a zero as a husband, but Jade was right: he’d left her with four incredible gifts.
And a lot of bills.
But her parents had been entrepreneurs, smart with money. She had a small cushion, if she was very careful with those funds. She wasn’t destitute, thank God. Raising four children was going to take everything she had and then some.
She needed a miracle to keep herself from going into debt, and with no income coming in and no way for her to work until the babies were older, things could get tight fast.
* * *
JUSTIN WAS NOBODY’S idea of a miracle, certainly not from his point of view. If the little lady was looking for one, she was doomed to disappointment. Yet here he stood on the porch of the strangest-looking house he’d ever seen two weeks after Ty had tweaked him about it, wondering what in the hell he was thinking by letting his curiosity get the best of him.
The house hovered tall and white on the green hilly land several miles outside Austin. Four tall turrets stretched to the sky, and mullioned windows sparkled on the upper floor. A wide wraparound porch painted sky-blue had a white wicker sofa with blue cushions on it, and a collection of wrought-iron roosters in a clutch near a bristly doormat with a big burgundy H on it.
Quaint. The place was homey in a well-worn sort of shabby way, and he’d be sure to tell Ty that he didn’t appreciate him sending him out here to see a doll’s house in the middle of nowhere. Miles and miles of green pastureland badly in need of mowing surrounded the house, wrapped by white-painted pipe fence so it wasn’t totally hopeless, but still. No man would live here willingly.
The
