Buch lesen: «The Magnificent Seven»
Stories of family and romance beneath the Big Sky!
What had just happened to her?
More than once, Heather had found herself looking at Mitch Fielding with preposterously sexy thoughts. She’d never mused in that feverish manner before.
Remembering the way Mitch’s simple touch set her skin tingling, she closed her eyes and relished the memories. The strength of her reactions frightened her. Looking at him, smelling him…Heather’s heart fluttered.
She was the almost-thirty-year-old mother of three children. She’d been married. And she’d never had these overpowering feelings toward a man before.
Her body remembered his touch. His kiss. The intoxicating loss of control and the frantic desire to possess, be possessed. The lack of restraint terrified her.
And thrilled her.
The question was, how much courage did she really possess?
The Magnificent Seven
Cheryl St.John
MILLS & BOON
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CHERYL ST.JOHN
A peacemaker, a romantic, an idealist and a discouraged perfectionist—these are the words that Cheryl uses to describe herself. The award-winning author of both historical and contemporary novels says she’s been told that she is painfully honest.
Cheryl admits to being an avid collector, displaying everything from dolls to depression glass as well as white ironstone, teapots, cups and saucers, old photographs and—most especially—books. When not doing a home improvement project, she and her husband love to browse antiques shops. In her spare time, she’s an amateur photographer and a pretty good baker.
She says that knowing her stories bring hope and pleasure to readers is one of the best parts of being a writer. The other wonderful part is being able to set her own schedule and have time to work around her growing family. Cheryl loves to hear from readers! E-mail her at SaintJohn@aol.com.
In memory of Carol Backus, aka Suzanne Barclay.
This book is lovingly dedicated to the newest darling in our family: Elijah.
I praise God that he is fearfully and wonderfully made.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
One
M itch Fielding led his twin six-year-olds, Taylor and Ashley, through the lunch crowd at the Hip Hop Café as though he were guiding them through a minefield. Taylor narrowly missed knocking over a gray-haired gent’s cane that was leaning against a table edge, and Mitch clamped his hand firmly over Ashley’s mouth as soon as he noticed an overweight woman shoveling chocolate-cream pie between her lips.
He got them settled into a booth and released his breath. “There.” He picked up the plastic-coated menu and scanned for something nourishing the twins would eat without pitching a fit. “They have hamburgers and chicken fingers.”
“Yuck. I want a chocolate malt and a pickle,” Ashley pronounced.
“I want skettios,” Taylor said.
“They don’t have skettios,” he replied to one daughter, then turned to the other. “And you can have a chocolate malt if you eat a hamburger.”
“Gross. I don’t want a hamburger.” She folded her arms over the front of her Teletubbie T-shirt. “I want a pickle.”
“You can have a pickle with your hamburger. Taylor, they have spaghetti.”
“Don’t like spaghetti.”
“Of course you do. It’s the same stuff that comes out of the cans, only real.”
“Uh-uh-uh,” she said in a singsongy voice with a shake of her head. “It doesn’t taste the same.”
He resisted the urge to argue or bargain in public, which always made him feel as if his daughters were getting the upper hand anyway. How long could a child survive on pickles, malts and canned spaghetti? It was his job as a parent to see that they were well nourished, but how did he go about it? Some nights he dropped into bed mentally exhausted, feeling lucky to have gotten several bites of anything into them.
A waitress appeared at his elbow, and Mitch glanced up to see the slim blonde in a blue T-shirt proclaiming Breakfast Served All Day give him a curious once-over. Everyone in Whitehorn, Montana, seemed to know each other, and he obviously stuck out as a newcomer. A quick scan confirmed that a dozen eyes had zeroed in on him and his daughters.
“Afternoon,” she said pleasantly. “I’m Janie Austin. Which one of Garrett Kincaid’s grandsons are you?”
“Mitch Fielding,” he replied self-consciously. “How did you know?”
She cast him a friendly smile. “In Whitehorn everybody knows everybody else’s business. Anticipating each grandson’s arrival has been the hot topic for quite a while.”
He didn’t know how well he liked being the subject of gossip, but this young woman seemed friendly and accepting enough. Apparently everyone already knew he was one of six illegitimate grandsons the old man had summoned to his ranch. Garrett was still searching for a seventh.
She touched his shoulder in a brief gesture of greeting that put him at ease. “Nice to meet you, Mitch.”
He returned her neighborly smile. “These are my daughters, Taylor and Ashley.”
“Look at that pretty blond hair. What’ll you have, girls?”
He gave her their orders, amid objections from his daughters. Taylor waved her arm to get his attention and knocked the ketchup bottle into the salt and pepper shakers. Pepper spilled on the laminate tabletop, and she promptly blew it into her sister’s face.
Ashley sneezed and her eyes watered. She grabbed for the rolled paper napkin that held her silverware and sent the metal utensils flying across the table and onto the floor.
Mitch picked up the utensils, handed them to the astonished waitress and admonished the girls to sit on their behinds.
By the time their food arrived, everyone in the room knew Taylor had to go to the bathroom. He took them to the women’s room, standing outside until their food was cold. Finally he rapped on the door.
Thank God it was a one-seater, because he had to go in to dry their hands and pull them out. So that the next person wouldn’t slip and break her neck, he mentioned to the waitress that the rest room floor was flooded.
“My spaghetti’s cold,” Taylor complained loudly.
“So’s everything else.” With a sigh, Mitch picked up his cold burger and took a bite, just as Ashley knocked over her malt.
Twenty minutes later he released their hands to get his wallet and pay the cashier. He ran back to leave a generous tip at the table for the patient waitress.
A bulletin board on the wall by the cash register caught his attention and, ignoring the yanks on his hands, he scanned the notices of cars and household items for sale. He was particularly looking for someone to watch the girls for him so he could line up a few jobs. Most of the Want Ads had been placed by junior and high school students; the twins needed someone more experienced. Much more experienced. A warden, perhaps.
One notice caught his eye. Handyman Wanted. He released a small hand to tap the card with his forefinger.
“Know anything about this one?” He directed his question to the gray-haired waitress in orthopedic shoes standing near the cash register.
“That’s Pete Bolton’s ranch,” she replied. “His daughter was in here a couple of weeks ago, looking for someone to help her fix up the place to sell.”
That sounded like just the job for him. A couple of months back he’d had to sell all of his contracts, to take care of the girls. His mother had been caring for them, but one calamity after another had pulled him from work sites, until it wasn’t fair to his customers or his subcontractors for him to continue. While trying to figure out what to do, he’d decided that Garrett Kincaid’s invitation was just the solution.
This had been the perfect time to do some traveling, and he’d been eager to spend more time with, and get to know, this grandfather he’d never known existed until last May.
“Do you have some paper I can write the number on?” he asked.
“Sure, sugar.” She fished in her pocket, came out with her order tablet and a pen, and scribbled the phone number, tearing off the sheet and handing it to him.
The bell over the door clanged and he turned to see one of his daughters dash outside.
“Thanks.” He stuffed the paper into his shirt pocket and pulled the other child out the door behind him.
Lily Mae Wheeler got up out of her permanent seat in the first booth and walked over to Charlene, her gaudy jewelry clanking at her wrists and weighing down her bony chest.
“Heard he was at Garrett’s ranch,” she said to let Charlene know she’d been the first to hear. “Nobody knows much about him yet, ’cept his wife died when those two were just babies. Those children are holy terrors, have you ever seen the likes?”
“Must be difficult for a young father to raise two girls alone,” Janie said sympathetically, coming up beside them.
“They need a good paddling, if you ask me,” Lily Mae scoffed.
“Be interesting to see what happens at the Bolton ranch this afternoon, wouldn’t it?” Charlene said with a devilish smile.
The three exchanged amused glances.
Engaging her ten-year-old daughter’s help, Heather Johnson tackled the stack of dishes from lunch and breakfast.
“We need a dishwasher, Mom.” Jessica dried a chipped plate and stood on tiptoe to place it in the cupboard.
“I didn’t think we were going to be here long enough to need one,” Heather replied with a regretful sigh. She turned and glanced at her sons who sat on the worn linoleum floor with coloring books. With his tongue angled out the side of his mouth, five-year-old Patrick studiously labored to keep the purple crayon inside the lines on the page. Two-year-old Andrew spent more time chasing the crayons under the table and tasting them than he did coloring, but at least her boys were temporarily occupied.
When she’d brought her children to the ranch after her father’s death, she’d planned to take a two-week vacation, go through her father’s personal belongings, and sell the property. A neat-and-tidy plan, something that should have gone smoothly.
Now, two and a half weeks later, she still hadn’t been able to make any progress on selling. She hadn’t planned on all the repairs that the real estate lady had suggested be made to get a decent price. Heather hadn’t been back to Whitehorn in years, and the property had deteriorated more than she’d imagined. Her father obviously hadn’t paid any more attention to the house than he ever had to her.
She shrugged off the depressing thought and gave Jessica a smile. “Thank you, angel. You are a big help to me, you know that?”
Wiping another plate, her daughter nodded in a grown-up manner. “Can we do something fun after this, Mom?”
A little pang of regret snagged Heather. She knew it hadn’t been much fun for Jess to help with the boys all morning while Heather went through boxes and trunks and years’ worth of accumulated junk. “What would you like to do?”
“Catch turtles in the pond?”
Heather wrinkled her nose. “Who’s going to wade out there with the net?”
“You’ll help, won’t you?”
Heather had to admit she’d been appreciating this much-needed time with her kids. She loved her public relations job in San Francisco, and the sense of self-worth it had always brought, but she often felt guilty about the time she missed with her children. This time with them had been enjoyable, even though it had to be spent here—the last place on earth she’d choose to vacation.
She tapped Jessica on the nose with a sudsy finger. “Okay, I’ll help you catch a turtle.”
Jessica grinned that knockout smile, revealing dimples that would one day drive young men crazy. Heather’s heart gave a sad twinge at the thought. She wasn’t too concerned about her daughter’s future. She’d tried her best to ensure Jessica wouldn’t make the same mistakes Heather had made.
Patrick jumped up and ran to the screen door that overlooked the long gravel drive. “Somebody’s coming! It’s a way cool truck!”
Andrew got up, crunching crayons beneath his red-and-blue tennis shoes in the process, and followed his brother. “Thumbody coming!” he mimicked.
Heather dried her hands and moved to the door. She’d been expecting the man who had called earlier about interviewing for the handyman job. The blue-and-silver duel cab Silverado pickup leaving a dust trail must belong to him.
“This is the appointment I was expecting.” She hung up the towel. “We’ll be discussing business in the other room. I want all of you to play quietly in here until we’re finished.”
She waited for the children’s nods of understanding, then stepped back to the door.
The driver parked in the gravel area behind the house, but instead of getting out right away he turned toward the back seat. Heather noticed a couple of heads she hadn’t seen at first. He’d brought children to a job interview? One big strike against him.
She stepped out onto the back porch, the age-splintered boards creaking precariously beneath her feet.
He exited the truck at last, closing the door and glancing over his shoulder.
He was tall, she noticed right away. Maybe thirty, with sandy-brown hair and a golden tan attesting to hours working in the sun.
The jeans he wore encased long legs and slim hips. A navy-blue, button-down knit shirt, work boots, and a slim black folder with a clipboard completed the classically sexy look of a handyman. Heather could picture him with a tool belt around his hips and smiled to herself. Certainly nothing wrong with his appearance.
He neared the porch. “Mrs. Johnson?”
She composed her face and nodded.
“Mitch Fielding.”
She reached to shake his hand. He had calluses on his palms. Hardworking. Steadfast. Where had that come from? It had been a long time since she’d noticed a man the way she noticed this one. Perturbed, she released his hand. “We can talk inside.”
He glanced uncomfortably over his shoulder.
“Your children?” she asked.
He nodded. “They’re supposed to sit there until I get back.”
She wondered again why he’d brought them along. It was completely unprofessional. “Would you like to let them come in and color at the kitchen table?”
“No,” he said immediately with a shake of his head. “I don’t think so.”
She glanced at the truck, seeing he’d left the windows partially down. It wasn’t a hot day and this meeting shouldn’t take more than a few minutes. The children would be safe.
She led the way through the kitchen, reminding her own to play quietly until she was finished with her business.
“Your kids?” he asked, turning his head to observe the trio at the table.
She nodded.
They entered the sparsely furnished room her father had used for an office. Pushing aside a drawer she’d been emptying, she sat in the cracked leather chair and Mitch took the wooden one.
“Sorry about your father,” he said, catching her off guard.
She fumbled with her thoughts for a moment before realizing he meant Pete Bolton’s recent death. “Thank you. I came here nearly three weeks ago to sort through things and sell the ranch, but the house and outbuildings are in terrible condition, as you’ve seen. The Realtor wants me to fix up the property. She suggested updating the house, but I don’t know if I want to go to that much trouble and expense, and I don’t know the first thing about how to go about it.”
“I’m a contractor,” he said. “That’s what I do for a living. You could leave all that up to me.”
“I didn’t see you in the directory.”
“I’m not from Whitehorn. I’m here visiting my grandfather.” When she didn’t comment, he opened the folder he’d brought and presented her with several sheets of paper. “These are my references and specs on similar projects.”
Heather glanced through the impressive details, not questioning his ability. “I don’t have funds for a big undertaking.”
He nodded understandingly. “I don’t require a retainer. You wouldn’t have to pay me until you’ve seen the work in progress. Sometimes I can get suppliers to delay billing until after the sale goes through. I could work on that. If not, I’ll handle the cost until the place is sold.”
That sounded encouraging. Still, there was the eventual expense of his fee, which would be considerable, with all the hours needed to get the place in shape. Remodeling would be ideal and bring the best price, but a quick fix was about all she could afford.
He glanced at the desk and back up. “Are you home all day long?”
She nodded, wondering why he’d asked. Did he think her children would get in the way of construction projects? “Unless I go into town to shop.”
“I might have a solution for both of us.”
She’d been studying the papers, but she glanced up, caught off guard by the way the navy shirt sculpted his solid-looking chest and arms. She focused deliberately on his face. His disturbingly sensual lips pursed for a moment, then opened as he spoke. The odd little tremor in her stomach must have been caused by too much coffee that morning.
“Maybe we can work something out. I’ve been trying to find someone to keep my girls for me, so I can work. I would lower my bid considerably in exchange for you taking care of them while I do the job.”
Heather dragged her distracted thoughts from his arresting appearance and mulled his suggestion over. It did sound like a wise arrangement. And she was here anyway.
Childish shrieks caught their attention at the same time. Heather listened, but Mitch immediately jumped off his seat and shot out of the room, surprising her with his agility. She followed.
Her three children had gathered at the screen door to see what was going on outside. They gave Mitch wide berth as he bolted past, then followed Heather out onto the porch.
The shiny Silverado, which had been parked on the gravel behind the house only minutes ago, now rolled slowly toward the corner of the corral, gaining momentum.
Heather watched in horror. Her gaze immediately searched for whoever had been in the back seat. Thank goodness, two blond-haired girls stood on the grass, clinging to each other, jumping and screaming as the truck crunched into the wooden coral fence, flattened the corner sections with a crack, and kept going.
Mitch had reached the girls, checked them over for injuries, then ran after his truck, which was now on the grassy slope leading to the pond. Heather followed in dismay. The screen door slammed forgotten behind her.
By the time she reached the edge of the pond, the pickup had come to a stop, the entire front end submerged in the green water, the tailgate pointing toward the horizon.
Two
M itch Fielding stood on the bank and sank the fingers of one hand into his hair in frustration. He splayed the other hand on his hip.
Heather came up behind him in time to hear the curt expletive whistled from between his rigid lips. He turned quickly. “Sorry.”
She absently waved his apology away. They both turned and gaped at his partially submerged truck. Behind them, the girls continued to howl shrill cries of terror.
A little anxious over what this stranger’s reaction might be, Heather glanced at his profile. He stared in disbelief, and she couldn’t help feeling sorry for him.
“You think it’ll sink more?” a childish voice asked.
Heather turned to see that her own kids had followed and now stood beside them. Patrick had asked the question and gazed wide-eyed up at Mitch. Heather readied herself to hush him or move her children safely back.
Mitch studied the situation and replied calmly, “I don’t think so. Probably hit a rock or something that’s holding it there.” He turned to Heather. “You have a truck or a tractor?”
“There are both in the machine shed,” she answered with relief at his composed reaction. “I’ll get you the keys.” Taking a few steps, she turned back. “Need some help?”
“I need some help, all right,” he muttered, following her up the incline.
Mitch couldn’t believe this had happened. He’d had a perfect chance at a job; now this woman would never hire him. As he neared the girls, Ashley gaped at him with wide blue eyes, her tears subsiding. Taylor threw herself on the ground and wailed.
“Which one of you did this?” he asked.
“I told her you’d be real mad,” Ashley said. “I told her we should stay strapped in just like you said.”
“No, you din’t!” Taylor whined, halting her histrionics long enough to sit up and argue. “You took your seat belt off first!”
“How did that truck move?” he demanded to know. “I had the engine turned off and the key with me.” He stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out his key ring, dangling it in front of them, but assuring himself. There was no way he would have left the key in the ignition, and the gearshift wouldn’t budge without the key.
“Taylor got the ’mergency key. I told her not to.”
“No, you din’t! You said maybe we could drive back home!”
He groaned. He’d had a magnetic holder under the front fender, with an extra ignition key, in case he ever locked himself out. But he hadn’t figured they’d known it was there. He should have known better than to underestimate their uncanny ability to find something they shouldn’t and wreak havoc. “How did you know that key was there?” he asked, bewildered.
“You took it out and gave it to the man who fixed the horn. That day we got a borrowed truck.”
Sure enough, he had. And they’d seen him do it. How careless of him. But he’d never imagined—
“Here.” Heather Johnson had returned from a trek into her house and dangled a key ring out in front of him. “I really don’t know what’s what on here, but I think that’s the tractor key there. I’m not sure how it runs or if there’s gas in the tank. If not, there’s a pump beside the barn.”
“Thanks.” He looked down at his daughters, lost for a suitable punishment, stunned by his own incompetence. Sometimes life was just so overwhelming, he didn’t know which way to turn.
“I’ll keep an eye on them,” the unsuspecting woman said kindly.
Mitch cast his daughters a look that would blister paint and bent over them to ensure intimidation. “You be quiet and nice until I get my truck out of the water. Then I’ll deal with you.”
Four watery blue eyes riveted on his face and two identical chins quivered. The girls nodded solemnly.
He located the tractor, an amazingly well-kept old Alice Chalmers that would probably bring a small fortune at an antique auction, checked it for gas, and lifted a tow chain down from the wall.
He drove the smooth-running tractor to the pond and waded out to the Silverado, lamenting his beautiful cab filled with scummy water. Noting that the gearshift was in Neutral, he made his way back to dry ground.
Hooking the chain to the truck axle, he climbed onto the seat and slowly eased the tractor forward, pulling the truck out. Murky green water streamed all the way up the incline. He stopped the tractor in the gravel parking area and got down to secure the pickup. Water dripped from beneath the hood and from the bottoms of the doors. A long crease marred the front fender where it had scraped along the fence post. He’d sure been fond of this truck.
He opened the driver’s door and a gush of water hit his already soaked boots. He glanced around and found the girls sitting on the porch with the Johnsons, the entire group watching the proceedings with apprehensive interest.
He placed the gearshift in Park and opened the other door, though not hopeful of the interior drying out anytime soon. At least Taylor and Ashley were all right. That was what was important, he told himself, gritting his teeth. It was, after all, just a truck. A very expensive truck.
Heather Johnson and the children walked toward him. She’d picked up her youngest and carried him on her hip. Her eyes held a mixture of apprehension and curiosity, and for some reason he didn’t care for the fact that she was a little bit afraid of him.
“You gonna keep that turtle, mister?” The oldest child questioned him with wide hazel eyes, eyes very different from her mother’s.
Mitch followed her gaze and discovered the turtle that had been swept out of his cab on that last rush of pond water. The creature had poked head and feet out of its shell and was lumbering slowly toward the grass. “No.”
“Hey, look, Mama!” she said, hurrying over to kneel near the animal, who stopped and tucked its head into the shell. “You won’t have to find us a turtle now! The man caught us this one. Thanks!”
The rest of the kids gathered around the turtle and touched its shell.
“No problem.” He raised his gaze to the woman’s and found her studying him with those golden-brown eyes that still revealed a hint of mistrust. “Sorry about our interview. And about—” he glanced around and felt tingling heat climb into his cheeks “—this. I’ll fix your corral right away.”
“How long do you suppose it will take for your truck to dry out?” she asked.
No doubt she wondered how soon she could be rid of him. He didn’t blame her. “At least a day—just to see if it will start.”
The seats and carpet would never look—or smell—the same. Wondering if his insurance would cover this, his shook his head.
“I’ll give you a ride back to Whitehorn,” she offered, at once very businesslike.
“I don’t want to get your car wet or dirty,” he said, gesturing at his soaked jeans and boots.
“I’m sure I can find you something of my father’s to wear home.” Apparently his actions had satisfied her fears, and he appreciated her consideration.
“I’m hungry,” Taylor said.
His anger simmered anew at her words. She hadn’t eaten three bites of her meal at the café. “You can wait.”
“No, I can’t. I’m starving!”
Embarrassed, he moved toward her.
“Why don’t I fix everyone a snack while you’re changing?” Heather’s no-nonsense voice stopped him. He glanced over and found those disturbing eyes on him. “You can shower if you’d like. The upstairs bathroom has ancient plumbing and one of those old cast-iron tubs, but it gets the job done.”
He took a calming breath. His jeans were cold and clammy and getting out of them sounded too good to pass up. “She probably won’t eat anything. They’re both picky eaters.”
“Well, I’ll see if I can’t find them something.” She ushered the throng toward the house, brought Mitch clothes and a towel, and directed him to the upstairs bathroom. He couldn’t help watching her walk away, her denim shorts a mere teasing cover-up for a softly rounded backside. Once she’d disappeared down the hallway, he discovered a pair of faded boxers tucked between the folded jeans and shirt.
She’d been right. The fixtures were old and the room outdated, but it was an enormous space, with a window overlooking open pastureland. He imagined the room with a Jacuzzi tub and a skylight. What he’d seen of the house so far was sound and spacious, merely sadly outdated. It would make a good family home for a relatively small investment.
Showering in the old tub, he found himself wondering how much land went with the house. Garrett wanted to give him a section of the Kincaid ranch, but right now the details were hung up in court. If Mitch had the money and the inclination to stay in Montana, this would be a good spread to look into.
Heather’s father had been as tall as Mitch, but wider, so the jeans hung precariously on his hips. He wrapped his wet clothing in the towel he’d used and carried them down to the kitchen.
“I’ll wash those and you can get them when you come back for your truck,” Heather said, reaching for the bundle.
“No, you don’t—”
“Don’t argue,” she insisted. “A few more things won’t make a dent in the amount of laundry I do.”
“Well, thank you.” He released the bundle, but not his grip on his waistband.
“Here.” She fished in a drawer and came up with a length of twine.
Mitch thanked her and tied the cord through the belt loops, then glanced toward the kids.
Taylor and Ashley sat at the round oak table with her children, nearly empty plates in front of them.
“We never got around to proper introductions,” Heather said. “This is my daughter, Jessica, and these are my sons, Patrick and Andrew. Children, this is Mr. Fielding.”
“Mitch, please,” he corrected, appreciating her cordiality. She had every right to think him the biggest loser in history. Times like this, he would agree. “And you met Taylor and Ashley.”
Heather nodded.
Had she ever. “They ate something?”
“Just a small snack. Grapes and raisins and a few cubes of cheese with crackers, nothing to spoil their dinner.”
Spoil their dinner? As if! He marveled at the concept of them eating the nourishing fare she’d provided. The food she described was more than they ever ate for dinner! How had she done it? He wanted to ask, but he didn’t want to appear even more incapable in her eyes.
“Children, wash your hands and use the bathroom. I’m going to get the Blazer.” She opened a cupboard and took out a small purse.
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