âWhereâs your little boy?â
Cimarron turned to a corner of the kitchen and paled when he saw the cubbyhole was empty. âHe was right there.â
âMaybe he slipped out the back door.â
âI would have heard him. Heâs here somewhere. Wyatt?â He moved to the cubbyhole, where Wyattâs toys were still strewn about. He squatted and let out his breath, relieved. âHere he is.â
Sarah followed Cimarronâs gaze. The child was curled into a ball on an open shelf under the counter, all but hidden from view. Cimarron stuffed the toys into a bag and gently slid Wyatt out. He hoisted the bag over one shoulder and the boy over the other.
Sarah studied the two of them. Neither was at ease with the other and she wondered why.
âYouâre not very good at looking after him, are you?â she said bluntly.
Available in April 2010 from Mills & Boon® Special Momentsâ¢
Fortuneâs Woman by RaeAnne Thayne & A Fortune Wedding by Kristin Hardy
Reining in the Rancher by Karen Templeton & His Brotherâs Secret by Debra Salonen
Healing the MDâs Heart by Nicole Foster & Welcome Home, Daddy by Carrie Weaver
The Bravo Bachelor by Christine Rimmer
The Nanny Solution by Teresa Hill
An Ideal Father by Elaine Grant
Not Without Her Family by Beth Andrews
When Elaine Grant was five years old, she decided she wanted to be a writer who illustrated her own books. Her first short story was published in the local weekly newspaper when she was nine. There was no turning back after that! At sixteen Elaine began her first manuscript ndash; an English historical about a highwayman. That one is still in the closet. In 1998, her dream came true when her novel Roses for Chloe was published, a story combining romance with the Southern lore of ghosts and long, sultry days perfect for falling in love. An Ideal Father is the second book set in Little Lobo, Montana. Elaine loves horses, cowboys, gardening, baseball, travel and eating sushi with her son when heâs home from college. She lives in Louisiana with her husband, son, a psycho cat and a lovely Australian shepherd, and loves the food and the unique culture of the area. Visit Elaineâs website, www.elainegrant.com.
This book is dedicated to my family and friends, all of whom enrich my life constantly.
Iâd like to acknowledge several people for their patience and expertise in answering my questions. They graciously gave of their time and knowledge and any misinterpretations or errors belong to me, not them.
Thanks to Bori Sunsuri for answering my questions about adoption; Billy Cocreham and Otto Buehler for their expertise on construction and restoration; Frank Stedman III for all his help on managing a restaurant; Jim Mayer, Bud Bailey and Mark Pencil for information on and demonstrations of fly-fishing; and Sandra Cahill, 63 Ranch, for answering questions on fly-fishing specific to Montana.
South Louisiana
June
âNOW YOU JUST STAY there for a minute. Everything will be all right.â
The low, gruff voice came from outside the construction trailer where Cimarron Cole was working at a paper-strewn desk. Frosty air from a window air conditioner blasted the side of his face and ruffled his hair, but at least it beat the stifling humidity outside. Cimarron glanced at the large clock on the opposite wall as the doorknob turned.
Cimarronâs brother, R.J., popped his head around the door, a sheepish look on his face. âHey, little bro. Late again. Sorry.â
âYeah, Iâve heard that before. Get to work. Youâve put the painters behind schedule already.â
âWell, see, ahâ¦â R.J. screwed up his mouth and glanced behind him. âIâve got a little problem.â
Cimarron waited in silence. R.J. had a lot of little problems. He was good-looking, with curly dark hair and the Cole familyâs legendary doe-brown eyes that women couldnât seem to resist. The thirty-eight-year-old still considered himself a ladiesâ man. Well, at least until the past few years, when heâd been forced to slow down.
âYou see, Erica ran out on me this morning. Left me. Told me toâ¦Well, you probably can figure out what she told me.â
Cimarron grunted and made an impatient gesture with his hand. âSo, whatâs new? You trade girlfriends like most people trade cars. And come insideâyouâre wasting energy and letting the cool air out, to boot.â
R.J. twisted around in the doorway and motioned. A five-year-old miniature R.J. stepped hesitantly into the tiny office. R.J.âs son, Wyatt. Cimarron tensed. What now? Why the hell had he caved and hired his brother on this project?
âSee, she just up and left. And I ainât got nobody to watch Wyatt, so I thought maybe he could sit here while youâ¦â
Cimarronâs jaw clenched and he shoved his chair back and went around the desk, taking R.J. by the arm and forcing him outside onto the narrow stoop. Cimarron shut the door and they faced off with their chests almost touching.
âYou think Iâm going to