No Ordinary Cowboy

Dust settled on the stretch of dirt road she’d just driven in on from the highway. The driveway bisected golden fields of…what? No clue. Amber waves of grain. But what kind of grain? One of the things she’d have to find out. What was it and how much profit did they make on it? Or did they feed it to animals, an expense they could claim?

Meadows of green and gold stretched as far as she could see, changing into rolling hills on the horizon.

Above it all, white puffs of cotton candy dotted the huge bowl of brilliant blue that earned Montana the moniker Big Sky.

She sucked in a breath. “Beautiful.” She listened to the gentle breeze carrying the distant sounds of children’s laughter and her heartbeat slowed, her shoulders relaxed. Calmness crept through her.

A sigh slipped from her lips.

Not fifty yards away, a flock of birds waddled through the grass, older birds leading the flock and young furry chicks following behind. Ducks? Geese? She didn’t know the difference.

She was out of her element here. Once a city girl, always a city girl.

The ranch house stood wide, white and placid in the late morning sun. Blue shutters framed windows on the second floor, flower boxes brightened windowsills with yellow pansies. Wicker chairs on the veranda beckoned. Come and rest a spell, put up your feet, unburden your weary shoulders. Welcome.

Pretty. She’d expected something rugged, made with logs and adobe or whatever materials people used in the country.

She stepped onto the veranda and heard a cacophony of children’s voices approach from the side of the house. A big man with kids dangling from his back, arms and legs rounded the corner of the house. Muscles on top of muscles bulged in his denim shirt and jeans.

Amy smiled. This must be Hank Shelter. Leila said her brother always had children hanging on to him. Amy hadn’t known she’d been speaking literally. She counted five children clinging to the man.

Hank leaned down to talk to the two sitting on his feet. “You kids are comin’ in for lunch whether you want to or not.” His voice, as rough as cowboy boots shuffling on gravel, sent sexy shivers running through Amy.

She rubbed goose bumps from her arms.

The kids answered Hank in varied chirps, “No, Hank, not yet.”

“We want one more ride around the house.”

“Now kids, we’ve been around this veranda three times already this mornin’ and old Hank ain’t gettin’ any younger. I gotta wet my whistle and fill my grumblin’ belly.”

Amy rolled her eyes. Corny. A smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

The man looked up from under the brim of a dusty white cowboy hat. Eyes that shone with the warmth of aged scotch widened when he saw her.

His average-looking face—large nose and strong jaw—would never grace a magazine cover, but a face as bracketed by creases as Hank’s was spoke of character.

He snatched the hat from his head, exposing a thick mass of glorious brown hair. One streak of caramel ran across the top of his head from a widow’s peak.

Then he smiled and Amy’s breath caught. The world was suddenly a brighter place. Good thing he lived under the open Big Sky. He’d eclipse the sun in any other state.

Warmth and sincerity shone from his broad white smile and she felt an answering smile creep across her mouth.

His hazelnut and whiskey eyes sparkled. My, my. With only a handful of grins, this man could chase the devil out of a witch’s den and have the old crones eating out of his hand.

Crones? Where had that come from? It certainly wasn’t a word she ever used in the city. She’d been on the ranch less than five minutes and already she was relaxing into a different lingo.

Amy’s hands itched to trim Hank’s ragged mustache. Don’t hide a smile so beautiful. Flaunt it.

Hank Shelter, aren’t you a surprise?

One little girl let go of his biceps to wrap her arms around his waist. “I love you, Hank.” She gazed up at him with adoring blue eyes.

“Thank you, darlin’,” he answered. “A man needs to hear that every so often from a beautiful woman.” He rubbed his hand across the child’s neck with such tenderness that Amy felt a longing rise in her.

Do that to me.

The young girl giggled and hid her face against his shirt.

When Hank removed his big hand from the back of the child’s head, Amy gasped.

From beneath the girl’s baseball cap, a bare skull peeked out above a baby-chick neck. A cancer survivor.

Her brief moment of peace shattered. Amy rubbed her chest.

She’d known that the Sheltering Arms ranch took in poor, inner-city kids who were recovering from cancer, and she thought she’d prepared herself for them.

So wrong.

They all wore ball caps with no hair peeking out below. Nothing but more of those delicate bare necks.

The hands Amy wiped on her thighs shook.

The girl turned her face toward Amy. Sallow skin, dark circles under her eyes, thin to the point of pain.

Gulping deep breaths, Amy washed herself with icy aloofness. Rise above it. Come on, you can do it.

She turned away and stared hard at the fields, digging deep for strength.

Amy’s glance returned to the children against her will, like a tongue probing a sore tooth to see whether pain lingered.

It did.

A boy sitting on Hank’s foot pointed to her and asked, “Who is she, Hank?”

HANK’S TONGUE stuck to the roof of his mouth. What was this curvy female, the most beautiful one he’d ever seen, doing on his ranch?

Blond hair. Green eyes. Perfect body. Made a man want to…what? Where were his treasured words when he needed them?

“Exquisite,” he whispered. His favorite word. Damn. Hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

For a second, he thought she might be mother to one of the children, but he’d met them all in the city a few weeks ago.

“Can I help you, ma’am?” He tried to clear the battery acid out of his voice.

“Are you Hank Shelter?” she asked and her voice washed over him like a Chinook melting February snow. Awareness hummed along his nerve endings.

“Yes, ma’am, I am.” Nerves—or the kid clinging to his throat—made him sound rougher than usual.