Page 17 (1/2)
Chapter ONE
Harley Diekerhoff looked up frolance out the kitchen
It was still snowing even harder than it had been this
So much white, it dazzled
Hands still, breath catching, she watched the thick, white flakes blow past the ranch house at a dizzying pace, enthralled by the flurry of the lacy snowflakes
So beautiful Magical A , twirling just like it did in her favorite scene from the Nutcracker—the one with the Snow Queen and her breathtaking corps in their white tutus with their precision and speed—and then that dazzling snow at the end, the delicate flakes powdering the stage
Harley’s chest ached She gripped the peeler
She didn’t want to remember
She wasn’t going to remember
Wasn’t going to go there, not now, not today Not when she had six hungry men to feed in a little over two hours She picked up a potato, started peeling
She’d come to Montana to work She’d taken the teet so on the Paradise Valley cattle ranch would give her new memories
Like the snow piling up outside the
She’d never lived in a place that snowed like this Where she came fro Thick soupy Tule fog that blanketed the entire valley, socking in airports, hts when the fog lifted and terowers rushed to light se crops
Her faes Her fa dairy fare, and they’d had their own dairy, too
But that’s the part she needed to forget
That’s why she’d coed river valleys and long cold winters
She’d arrived here the Sunday following Thanksgiving and would work through mid-January, when Brock Sheenan’s housekeeper returned from a personal leave of absence
In January, Harley would either return to California or look for another job in Crawford County Harley was teency assured her they’d have no proble her a per about her job on the isolated ranch, fro wind that howled beyond the ranch’s thick log cabin walls, to the cooking, cleaning, and laundry required
The physicality of the as exactly what her ood to lift, bend, carry, mop, sweep, dust, fold The harder she worked, the better she felt, and today, for the first time in years, she actually felt almost
Happy
Harley paused, brows knitting in surprise
Almost happy
Wow
That was huge Alave her hope that one day she would feel ain, and life wouldn’t be so bleak and cold
Because it had been bleak
It’d been
She shook her head, brushed off the little peel clinging to her thu heron the texture of the wet potato, the cool water in the sink, the quickwhite flurries at the , and the crackle of the fire behind her
She liked being here It was good being here This wasn’t her house and yet in just one week it felt like home
She enjoyed this kitchen with its golden, hand-planed pine cabinets, wide-planked hardwood floor, and the corner fireplace rimmed in local rock from the Yellowstone River She loved how the rustic exterior of the sprawling two-story cabin hid the large, comfortable, efficient kitchen and the adjacent over-sized laundry roo and looking after, not just Brock Sheenan, owner of Copper Mountain Ranch, but the hired hands orked for Brock and lived in the bunk house behind the barn
In winter the ranch hands didn’t leave the property hts fell early, and driving at night could be treacherous on the windy, icy h Friday Brock provided dinners for his five men, and clean, dry clothes, too Come weekend, they were on their own, but Harley wouldn’t havefor extra mouths seven days a week
The isolation of Copper Mountain Ranch, tucked back in the Absarokas, higher than the typical Paradise Valley ranch, ht have scared off other job applicants, but not her She didn’t mind the severe weather or Brock Sheenan’s brusqueness—and she’d been warned about that in advance—but she was okay with a silent, gruff boss She didn’t co for friendship Like Brock himself, she didn’t need conversation and co left alone
The eency liked her attitude They said she was perfect for the teer, more prominent families that had settled in Paradise Valley around the turn of the century She’d be working for Brock Sheenan, the oldest of the five Sheenan sons Brock had bought Copper Mountain Ranch to get away from his dad, which had caused some bad blood within the faned the two-story log cabin hi present for his bride
But tragedy struck a year and a half into their e, when Brock’s wife A mountain roads Devastated, Brock disappeared into his ranch, beco almost reclusive after that
The e for her confidence But they thought it was important she understand that Brock Sheenan had a reputation for being eccentric He didn’t need people the way others did, and he’d been quite specific in his desire for a tidy, professional, and disciplined housekeeper He wouldn’t tolerate lazy and he couldn’t abide chatty He needed a quiet, orderly house, and he liked things done his way
Harley didn’t have a problem with that She was quiet too, and this year she’d been detero away for Dece t
o escape her big California family that celebrated Christmas with endless activity, festivities, and fuss
She loved all her nieces and nephews but this Christmas she didn’t want to be around kids Because this year she wasn’t celebrating Christs, no stockings, or brightly wrapped toys
Eyes hot, chest burning, she scooped up the h male voice startled her
“You okay, Miss Diekerhoff?”
Turning quickly, potato skins still dripping, Harley blinked back tears as she spotted Brock Sheenan standing by the fireplace, war his hands
Brock was a big man He was tall—six one or tith broad shoulders, a wide y black hair
Harley’s late husband, David, was Portuguese and darkly handsoroomed and polished while the Montana rancher see shave
The truth was, Brock Sheenan looked like a pirate, and neverto his wild hair and shadowed jaw
“I’m fine,” she said breathlessly, embarrassed “I didn’t hear you come in”
“The faucet was on” He rubbed his hands together, the skin red and raw “You’re not crying are you?”
She heard the uncoed a little “No,” she said quickly, straightening and squaring her shoulders as she du’s wonderful”
“So you’re not crying?”
“No,” she repeated crisply, drying her hands “Just peeling potatoes for dinner”
Her gaze swept his big fra to the heler jeans that peeked beneath leather chaps and white glitter dusting his black brows His supple leather chaps weren’t for show It was frigid outside and he’d spent the week in the saddle, driving the last herds of cattle from the back country to the valley below so they could take shelter beneath trees “Can I get you so?”
“You don’t happen to have any coffee left fro that you could heat up?”
“I can lass carafe to fill it ater “Want regular or decaf?”
He glanced at the clock mounted on the wall above the door and then out the here the snow flurries were thickening,one corner of the yard “Leaded,” he said “Make it strong, too It’s going to be a late night for me”
She added the coffee grounds, and then hit the brew button “You’re heading back out?”