Rodeo Rancher. Mary Sullivan
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Travis had been raised in southern Arizona, and she’d lived in Nevada for years and then California for the past year. She’d seen snow a handful of times in her life, but never a storm.
“I’m not out in it now,” she replied. “The car broke down.”
“But you just bought it before you left.”
“I know.”
“You didn’t buy used, did you?”
“No! It’s brand-spanking-new. I don’t know what happened. It just stopped running and the boys and I were stuck.”
“Stuck? Are you still in the car?” His voice had risen.
“No. We walked to a rancher’s house.”
“Whose house? What rancher?” Her older brother was fiercely protective of her and her sons.
“Michael Moreno.”
“Hold on.” She heard Travis talking to someone else. A second later he came back on the phone. “Okay. Apparently Michael’s a good guy.”
“That’s my impression.” A good guy, even if he was grumpy.
Travis sounded calmer, as though whoever he’d just spoken to had done a good job of reassuring him. “You can trust him.”
She sort of, kind of already did, even though he was obviously not at all happy to have them. Her instincts about people were pretty good.
“We’re going to stay here tonight,” she said.
“At least for tonight. This storm system is massive.”
“I had no idea. I usually check the forecast on my phone, but it’s been acting up.” Unease raced through her. Now that she’d heard Travis’s voice, all she wanted was to be with him. “Honestly, Travis, I didn’t know what I was heading into.”
She cupped the phone and her mouth with her hand so Michael wouldn’t hear her. “I was so scared, Travis. I will never drive in a snowstorm again.”
“This is a bad one. You and the boys stay put until this whole thing passes and I can come get you, okay?”
“Okay.” She exhaled. She would be able to relax soon. All of the trouble of the past two years would be over once they made it to Travis’s house. “Who’s there with you? Your new girlfriend?”
“Rachel. Yeah. I can’t wait for you two to meet. I love her, Sammy. She’s the one.”
“Oh, Travis. I’m so happy for you.” She was. Truly. “I’ve wanted this for a long time.”
It was just strange for Travis to have someone. Not just a girlfriend, but the one. He’d never talked about love before though he’d had plenty of girlfriends, even that phony Vivian he’d been so infatuated with. Thank God that hadn’t lasted.
But who was this Rachel? How had he fallen so hard so quickly? What was she like? Could Sammy trust her to love Travis as much as he deserved to be loved?
“I’m going to marry her, Sammy.”
Samantha choked. When she stopped coughing, she whispered, “Marry?”
“Yep.” Her brother had never sounded more certain.
“I’m happy for you, bro.” She was, but a tiny part of her knew that this changed everything.
She bit her lip. “Where will you live? In the house?”
“Yes, with her two children.”
Rachel had children? “But—” She’d thought the house would be a home for her and the boys.
“It will all work out, Sammy. We’ll make it work. You’re going to love Rachel and her girls,” Travis said, and his calm confidence soothed her even while she still worried. How on earth was it all supposed to work?
Sammy and her boys would never again have her brother’s undivided love and attention.
Well, wasn’t that the point you were going to make when you arrived at the house he bought for you? Weren’t you determined to pay him every cent he paid for that house, even if it took years?
Weren’t you the one who was going to finally fight for independence from every single man, even your brother?
Her father and her ex-husband had let her down. Depending on men sucked. Only Travis had been trustworthy.
“I love you, bro.”
“And I love you, sis. Tell the boys I love them, too.”
“I will. Bye.” She hated to hang up, hated to wait another day or two before seeing him, before moving to a happier home than this one seemed to be. But the house she was moving to with Travis would soon contain another woman and two more children.
She just didn’t know what to think.
Everything was topsy-turvy. Her ex had taught her some hard lessons about life. She would find a way to be independent, for her own sake and her sons’.
If the house didn’t work out, she would find some other place to live. After all, she was a hard worker and had a job to start next month.
Turning away, she found Michael watching her. “Is everything okay?” he asked. “Did you get through?”
She smiled. “Yes. It was good to talk to him. Thank you.”
“How long has it been since you’ve seen him?”
“Close to six months.” She rubbed her hands on her thighs and shivered.
He frowned. “I didn’t ask. Did your clothes get wet in the snow?”
“My pants are really damp.”
“Follow me.” He led her into his bedroom. “I’m a lot wider than you, but we can find something.”
He handed her a pair of gray sweatpants. “You can cinch these with the string at the waist. If that’s not enough, I’ll find you a belt.”
He also gave her a sweatshirt, which was faded but soft. “Layer this over your sweater to keep warm.”
Michael left the room. The pants were snug in the hips, but big in the waist. She managed to tie the string tightly enough to hold them up. She put on the sweatshirt and immediately felt warmer.
In the bathroom, she hung her pants over the shower stall to dry.
She joined him in the kitchen. “Thanks. That feels a lot better.” She stepped close to the counter. “We should probably start cooking, right?”
* * *
DAMN. SAMANTHA LOOKED good in his clothes. They weren’t the least bit feminine, but she made them so...and that was a problem.
Michael turned away from her to open the fridge door, resisting even the faintest hint of awareness.
“We do need to cook,” he finally said in answer to her question. Lighten up, Moreno.
He might not be able to control the situation, but he could control his reaction to it. “It’s better to have the food cooked before we lose power. It’ll keep longer than raw.”
“What’s all the meat for?”
“Chicken soup and meat loaf. The kids like both.”
“My boys would like that, too.”
So they weren’t vegetarians like her? Strange.
He got the proteins out of the fridge.
“That’s a lot of ground beef,” she said.
“I was going to make a couple of loaves. I’m not much of a cook, but I can handle the basics.”
“Would you mind if I check your cupboards to see what