Annie listened for sounds of Mitch, the stranger she was trusting to treat her and her son right.
A few minutes later the shower came on. She pictured him shampooing his hair, which curled down his neck a little, inviting fingers to twine in it gently.
Some time passed after the water was turned off. Was he shaving? Yes. She could hear the tap of his razor against the sink edge. If they were a couple, he would be coming to bed clean and smooth shaven â¦
Tonight she would sleep even better, knowing a strong man was next door. She could give up her fears for a while, get a solid nightâs sleep and face the new day not alone, not putting on a show of being okay and in control for Austin.
Now, if she could just do something about her suddenly-come-to-life libido.
SUSAN CROSBY believes in the value of setting goals, but also in the magic of making wishes, which often do come trueâas long as she works hard enough. Along lifeâs journey sheâs done a lot of the usual thingsâmarried, had children, attended college a little later than the average co-ed and earned a BA in English. Then she dove off the deep end into a full-time writing career, a wish come true.
Susan enjoys writing about people who take a chance on love, sometimes against all odds. She loves warm, strong heroes and good-hearted, self-reliant heroines, and she will always believe in happily-ever-after.
More can be learned about her at www.susancrosby.com.
Nostalgia struck Mitch Ryder with unexpected force as he drove the final miles toward home. Heâd been out of the country and might have continued to stay away longer except his father had issued his fourth edictâmore emphatic than previous onesâto get home or else. The Ryders were cattlemen, having ranched in this particular area of Northern California since the gold rush. Mitch was expected to pull his own weight in the family business, something he hadnât done for three years now.
As he drove, Mitch drew a deep breath, letting the heat of midsummer fill his lungs, savoring the magnificent view. The landscape changed with almost every mileâexcept for the spectacular sight of Gold Ridge Mountain, which was a constant, the centerpiece. The Red Valley surrounding it could be flat endless acres of hay or low grassy hills or orchards, all of it beautiful in its own way, but Gold Ridge Mountain dominated from every vantage point.
Nerves grabbed at Mitch as he neared the road leading to Ryder Ranch, gripped so hard he didnât make the turn but kept going. Twenty miles later, his gut finally unclenched, just before his truck coughed and lurched. âAre you trying to tell me something, Lulu?â he asked his prized old vehicle as she smoothed out. âI shouldnât have driven past the homestead?â
Mitch was only half kidding. He believed in omens. As a man who dealt with the realities every day of animals and often unforgiving land and weather, it probably seemed fanciful, but heâd learned to pay attention to his instincts, even if it was for something mechanical.
Like now. His truck coughed harder and lurched farther, signs of imminent death. He spotted the mailbox and private driveway of John âBarneyâ Barnard and turned in. Then Lulu died.
He checked his cell phone. No service.
Mitch didnât waste energy getting angry. Heâd been asking a lot of the old girl to be in top shape after three years of neglect.
He started walking. The land looked different, less abundant, not the well-tended orchard it had always been. Barneyâs small, weathered house was blocked from view until Mitch got much closer, where the property looked better maintained, less of a jungle. Berry bushes stretched in orderly rows, and raised boxes held thriving plants, although the greenhouse was a dilapidated mess. Chickens pecked at the ground, ignoring him.
What had happened here? Barney had always beenâ
The front door opened, and out stepped a womanâmaybe five-five, curvy, with long, blond hair pulled into a ponytail. Younger than him, he figured, but not by much.
âItâs about time,â she said, plunking her fists on her hips. âDid you get lost? Or go on a binge?â
âUm, no, maâam,â Mitch said, entertained. He wondered who sheâd mistaken him for.
âYou were supposed to be here yesterday. Thatâs what you promised on the phone. Look around. You can see how much work there is to be done.â
Mitch swept his hat off and brushed it against his thigh as he considered her. She looked anxious, and sounded desperate.
âWell?â she asked. âAre you going to take the job? Room and board, just like we discussed, and a small salary. I canât do more than that.â