She’d thought she’d left California and her family and their big Christmas to spend the holidays in the middle of nowhere Montana with a dour rancher and five surly ranch hands. That was the job she’d accepted, and wanted.

And she had loved being here this past week. She loved the granite face of the mountain, the towering pine trees, the pastures tucked into the valleys, as well as the silence and freedom from everything she knew in Central California.

Harley drew a deep breath, aware that she hadn’t yet answered Brock Sheenan’s question. “Probably not,” she whispered.

“Seriously?”

The harsh, incredulous note in his voice put a lump in her throat. She bit her tongue to keep from saying more. She’d already said too much.

“You hate kids that much?” he demanded.

She looked away, pain rippling through her even as tension crackled in the kitchen. He didn’t understand and she wasn’t sure she could make him understand, not tonight. Not when she was so tired and barely keeping it together. But the austerity of life here on frigid Copper Mountain Ranch with its gusts of icy wind and blizzard-like storms had been good for her. It allowed her to work and not feel.

It was good not to feel.

It was even better not to want, or need.

“Miss Diekerhoff?”

She turned her head, looked at him. “I don’t hate them at all,” she said lowly. “I like children very much.”

“Then what are you saying?”

She stared at him, stomach churning, heart thudding, aching. “I’m saying that I don’t belong here, and that I didn’t understand the situation here—” she broke off, gulping air for courage, before pressing on, “—but now that I do, it’s better if I leave.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m shocked. I can’t believe this. I can’t believe you.”

Harley couldn’t hold his gaze any longer. The censure was too much. “I’ll call the agency first thing in the morning and they should be able to send out a temporary replacement that should get you through the weekend—”

He laughed, a dark low bitter laugh that silenced her. “I see. I’ll get a temp for my temp? That’s great. That’s wonderful. Thank you, Miss Diekerhoff, for a fantastic week but maybe I shouldn’t be surprised you’re walking out on us. Deep down I knew you were too good to be true.”

 


 

 

CHAPTER THREE

 

 

I knew you were too good to be true.

The words echoed in Harley’s head all night, making her heart hurt and sleep impossible. How could she sleep when every time she closed her eyes, she saw the censure in his dark eyes? Heard the disappointment in his deep voice?

She didn’t like disappointing people. And she really didn’t like disappointing him.

It’s not as if she needed Brock’s good opinion. When she left here, she’d never see him again, never have any contact. It shouldn’t matter what he thought, or how he said things...

But it did.

She didn’t know why. She didn’t understand it, but there was something about him that resonated with her. She identified with his silence and rough edges, as well as the deep grief that had made him retreat from the world.

She’d wanted to die after the plane crash that took her family, but her parents and brothers and sisters wouldn’t let her quit.

They urged her to cling to her faith.

They told her she still had them.

They reminded her that she was still young with a whole future ahead of her.

She’d weathered the worst of the grief and now she was trying to move forward, putting one foot in front of the other, but it didn’t mean she was whole and strong yet.

She still found certain things heartbreakingly painful. Like holidays. And children.

Put the two together and it made her sick with grief.

She wanted her children back. Wanted Emma, Ana, and Davi, nestled close, sitting pressed to her side as they used to when they’d watch a favorite holiday program like Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer or The Grinch that Stole Christmas.

Her kids had loved Christmas and she’d loved giving them the most magical Christmas possible...

Her eyes burned and pain splintered inside her heart, making her want to cry aloud.

She pressed her fists to her eyes to keep the tears from falling. She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t. Tears changed nothing and she had to keep it together. Keep it together and move on.

One step at a time.

One day at a time.

She’d get there. She would.

 

 

Harley woke early despite not falling to sleep until after three. Downstairs in the kitchen she made coffee and a cinnamon bread her kids had loved called Monkey Bread, hoping the warm gooey cinnamon bread would be a peace offering.

It wasn’t.

Brock didn’t speak to her when he came downstairs at six. He filled his coffee cup and stalked out.

Her sticky sweet pull-apart cinnamon bread went uneaten.

Late morning Harley stood on the front porch of the ranch house, cell phone pressed to her ear, as she spoke with the manager of the Marietta employment agency for the third time in the past two hours.

The manager had finally found someone to replace Harley, but the new temp couldn’t start until Saturday.

“Saturday?” Harley cried, listening to the manager even as she kept an eye on the barn door, as the twins had disappeared inside, swaddled in puffy winter coats, scarves, hats and boots. “That’s six days from now.”

“Five, if you don’t count today,” the manager answered.

Harley was most certainly counting today “You can’t get anyone sooner?”

“It took us weeks to find you, Miss Diekerhoff. You don’t just pull good temps out of a hat.”

Harley suppressed a sigh, acknowledging that was probably true. And she wouldn’t want the agency to send just anyone here to the ranch.