Chapter Four

      As usual, the food was mouthwatering, but Denver could have been eating hay and not noticed the difference. Having Marcella, looking like a dream and smelling like a meadow of wildflowers, sitting next to him throughout the long dinner had jangled his senses.

      When she’d first appeared on the patio earlier this evening, he’d been shocked. Although on second thought, he shouldn’t have been all that surprised. She was good friends with Lilly and Ava. For all he knew, she might be a regular dinner guest.

      However, during the past week, he’d been telling himself he’d never see the beautiful nurse again. Then she’d suddenly been standing in front of him. It was like his daydreams had suddenly come to life.

      A few minutes ago he’d watched Marcella leave the room and so far she hadn’t returned. Damn it, why was he noticing her comings and goings, anyway? She was just a pretty friend of the Calhouns and certainly nothing to him.

      “Denver, would you like more cake?”

      He glanced up to see that Lilly had paused in front of the chair where he was sitting in the family room.

      Smiling, he shook his head. “Thanks, Lilly. It was delicious, but I couldn’t hold another bite.”

      She gestured toward the opposite end of the room, where a long bar stretched across one corner. At the moment Bowie was playing bartender to Clancy and Rafe. The brothers were joking and laughing and obviously enjoying the evening. Denver was glad to see the men so relaxed. To an outsider, it probably appeared that the Calhouns had an easy life. But Denver knew firsthand how tirelessly Orin and his sons worked to keep the ranch thriving.

      “Bowie has been spiking his brothers’ coffee with apricot brandy,” Lilly said with an impish grin. “You might want to join them.”

      His senses were already whirling enough, Denver thought. He didn’t need to make them worse. “Thanks, but I think I’ll stretch my legs a bit and walk out by the fire.”

      “Great idea,” she said, then added, “If the fire needs more wood, there’s plenty stacked on the end of the patio.”

      Denver thanked her, then left the chair and slipped through the glass doors and onto the dark patio.

      The night air had turned very chilly, but the fire was still burning, warming the area around the fire pit to a comfortable temperature. Grabbing a chair from the shadows, he started to drag it closer to the fire when he heard a female voice off to his left.

      “You must have needed some fresh air.”

      He glanced around to see Marcella walking out of the shadows. Where had she come from, he wondered—another part of the house?

      “I thought I’d come out and enjoy the fire.” He gestured to the chair. “Have a seat. I’ll drag up another.”

      She smiled and thanked him, and while she made herself comfortable, Denver went after another chair. By the time he’d rejoined her in the orange glow of the firelight, he was wondering if he was the luckiest man alive or the most ill-fated. Sitting out here in the dark with a beautiful redhead could be detrimental to his health, mainly his ability to think.

      As he took a seat a short distance away from her, she said, “I’ve been upstairs visiting the kids. So I thought I’d come out here and enjoy the fire a bit before I rejoined everybody in the family room.”

      “Do you have a fireplace in your home?” he asked.

      She grunted with amusement. “Even if I did, I couldn’t afford to buy wood to burn.” She looked over at him. “I noticed you had a fireplace in your living room. Do you use it very often?”

      “No. Although there’s plenty of dead wood up in the mountains here on the Horn that I could gather and burn. By the time I get home in the evenings, it’s easier just to let the heating system do its job.” Maybe if he had someone to sit with him and share the warmth of the flames, he’d feel differently, Denver thought. Maybe someone with soft curves, long red hair and lush pink lips that tilted at the corners would make building a fire all worthwhile.

      “My grandparents live in Northern California in the countryside out from Redding,” she told him. “When my brother and I were just youngsters, Grandfather would build a campfire for us. We thought it was wonderful.”

      He looked over at her and inwardly groaned at the sight of her delicate features bathed in firelight. Just more pleasant memories he’d have to try to erase from his mind, he thought.

      “You have a brother?” he asked.

      “Yes. He’s four years younger. He was married for a while, but now he’s divorced.”

      “You see him often?”

      “When he lived in Carson City, I saw him regularly. But he moved back to Redding to be near our grandparents. Which is a good thing. Since they’re getting older, they need help around the farm.” She cast him a curious glance. “What about you? Do you have siblings?”

      “A sister. She’s five years younger than me. She lives in Gillette. Our parents live near Moorcroft. That’s a little town not far away.”

      “Do your parents still ranch there?”

      The fact that she remembered that much about him not only surprised Denver, but it touched him in a way he never expected. Sure, he could find a woman to have a drink with, or even share a bed with. But none of those women cared about the things that were important to him. This one did seem to care, and that made her very different.

      It also makes her as dangerous as hell, Denver. Marcella is a family woman. She’s not looking for casual sex. If she ever went to bed with a man, it would be out of love. Not to ease a basic urge. Just keep remembering that when you look into those sky blue eyes of hers.

      He cleared his throat while trying to rid himself of the voice of warning going off in his head. “Yes. Thankfully Dad is still in good health and able to handle the daily work. Mom helps, too. She’s pretty good with horses and a rope.”

      Marcella smiled at him. “Sounds like you came by ranching naturally.”

      “It’s the only life I’ve known,” he admitted. “What about you? Was your mother a nurse?”

      She laughed softly. “Not hardly. Mom panics at the sight of blood. My grandmothers weren’t nurses, either. It was just something that called to me when I was about twelve years old. I like helping people—helping to make them feel well and whole again.”

      All the nurses and doctors in the world hadn’t been able to help Christa. But Denver didn’t want to think about her or that part of his