Meeting the Cowboyâs Family
Looking for inspiration, artist Ella Langton rents a cabin in the isolated Porcupine Hills of Alberta. She didnât count on having neighbors, but rancher Cord Walsh and his three children are just a stoneâs throw away. Still healing from a tragic accident, Ella has no plans of reaching out, but sheâs having a hard time keeping them out of her yard...and her thoughts. And when little Suzy ropes Ella into helping her with an art project, she canât help her growing feelings for the girlâs rugged daddy. With three persistent children, Cord and Ella may find their fenced-off hearts opening up sooner than they thought!
âI know youâre only here because my daughter roped you into it,â Cord said.
Ella knew she had come across as reluctant around the children, but his resistance to her watching the kids stung.
âI make my own choices,â she said, struggling to keep the annoyance out of her voice.
Cord returned her look. âIâm sorry. Youâre right. Itâs justââ
She lifted her hand to stop another protest coming from him.
âLook, I know I didnât come across all warm and welcoming the first time I saw your kids, but I...I have my reasons.â
As the words slipped out of her she caught his frown.
âWhat reasons?â
She had already said too much and she wasnât about to divulge more.
âSuffice to say I wouldnât be here if I didnât want to be.â
She wanted to say more, but sensed they were treading on the edges of conversations that would lead them to places neither of them wanted to go.
Chapter One
Ella tossed the pencil onto the kitchen counter with a clatter, glaring at the doodles on her sketch pad. Sheâd been working all morning trying to capture the image in her mind but all she could create was pages of dark scribbles, a grocery list and a cartoon of her dog. None of which bore any resemblance to the eerie forest she had envisioned.
It used to come easier.
Before.
She shook off the thoughts and closed her sketch pad. If youâve got nothing, youâve got nothing. Move, get out and get something.
The voice of her art instructor in her head wasnât any consolation. Ella had been painting and producing for years and sheâd never had...nothing. It was mostly the past two years that she felt empty and uninspired.
She thought moving to this cabin, nestled in the Porcupine Hills of Alberta, would jump-start her moribund creativity. The low price was perfect for her. Her reduced income, thanks to her inactive creative life, had narrowed her options. When her mother called her to tell her about this place she encouraged Ella to take it.
Behind her motherâs suggestion was the unsubtle hint that Ella start producing. Ella knew what was on the line. She had applied to Lâécole des Arts Créatifs, an art school attached to a prominent art gallery in Montreal for a position as a teacher. One of the conditions was that she come up with a series of new works for the gallery.
So Ella signed a six-month lease on the cabin, packed up her apartment in Calgary and moved here.
That was when she discovered that the owner of the ranch where the cabin was located, an elderly man named Boyce Walsh, lived in town. And that his son and three young grandkids were the ones who lived in the other house on the yard. She didnât need the distraction but by then it was too late to back out of the lease. She had given her notice at her other apartment, and other than moving in with her mother, which wasnât an option at all, she had no recourse but to move.
Boyce had assured her the kids would leave her alone, and they did. It wasnât that she didnât like kids. But lately they created a sadness she didnât want to face.
âWhat do you figure, Pablo?â she said to the dog lying on the floor at her feet as she slid off the stool she was perched on. âTime for some coffee?â
Pablo lifted his large head, his brown eyes staring at her as if trying to decide what he wanted, then unexpectedly he stood and trotted to the door, his bushy tail curved over his back as he released a single bark.
Ella got up to see what he was barking at, then frowned as she saw, through the glass window in the door, a flustered-looking young woman standing on her step. She wore snug blue jeans and a tight blue T-shirt that said Awesome Ends with Me. She had one hand on the shoulder of a young boy who seemed to be about seven and was all skinny arms and legs sticking out of cargo shorts and a button-down short-sleeved shirt. The younger girl beside him looked to be about six and was chewing on one end of a loose braid, her pink sundress hanging crooked on her tiny frame.