Rodeo Rancher. Mary Sullivan

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      “This is the third bad storm in two months. Meteorologists predicted a bad winter this year, and they were right. I like to be prepared.”

      He left the room and headed for the kitchen. She followed, interested in what he might have. She’d sensed his disapproval of her vegetarianism.

      “Earlier in the week when I heard we were likely to be snowed in again, I put in an extra supply of stores. Wasn’t expecting company, though.”

      Her hackles rose. “I’m sorry. If I could have stopped at a motel I would have.”

      “I’m not complaining about that,” he said, as though there were other things he wanted to protest.

      Like what?

      He opened the refrigerator. “Come here and check everything out. What will your boys eat?”

      “Anything.”

      He looked at her skeptically. “Really?”

      “Just about.” She studied the contents of the fridge’s shelves lined with ground beef, chicken and steaks. “You’ve got a lot of meat.”

      She opened the crisper to find only root vegetables. Not a single salad green in sight.

      “No greens?”

      “Nope.” He sounded defiant. “I don’t eat ’em and the kids don’t want ’em.”

      A loud bang at the back of the house startled her. Michael rushed down the hallway and opened a sturdy-looking exterior door. The storm door was banging against the wall of the house.

      Michael latched it firmly and closed the door again. The gust of frigid air that had rushed in like an invader brought home to Samantha just how lucky she and the boys were to have found this refuge.

      Grumpy guy or not, Michael had taken in three extra people who would need to be fed. It would behoove her to keep a generous heart and an open mind.

      Mick stepped out of the bedroom where the children played. “Sorry, Dad, I guess I didn’t hook it properly when I came in this morning.”

      Michael rubbed his son’s hair. “It’s all right. No harm done.”

      When he returned to the kitchen, Samantha said, “Thank you.”

      He pulled up short and looked behind him. Maybe he thought she was talking about closing the back door?

      “I mean for taking us in,” she clarified. “For letting us stay here when you don’t want us here.”

      When he opened his mouth to protest, she said, “It’s okay. I understand. We’re strangers. We’re an unexpected burden. When this is all over, I’ll make it up to you.”

      She didn’t have a clue how. What on earth did she have to offer a man who seemed to have everything while she would spend the next few years fighting for control of her own life?

Chapter Three

      Michael felt a distinct unease wash through him, a sense of shame that she knew he didn’t want her here.

      He’d been raised to be hospitable, to share whatever he could. Had he become such a loner that he no longer knew how to extend a helping hand to someone in need?

      Well, if he had, so what?

      The naked truth was that he didn’t like strangers in his home.

      He needed his solitude and his isolation. He didn’t want this violation of the safe distance he’d established between himself and everyone else.

      He wasn’t mean-spirited or stingy. He was just hurting and his pain was nobody else’s business.

      He couldn’t say that, though, could he?

      Even as rusty as he was with etiquette, he knew he couldn’t just come right out and say, “I wish your car had never broken down near my home.”

      He would do whatever he had to do to make them comfortable for the night, and then he would wish them well and go back to his quiet, unadorned life.

      The lights he’d turned on earlier to dispel the gloom flickered.

      The woman—Samantha—glanced around nervously. He’d rather just think of her as the woman. Giving her a name was too dangerous in the forced intimacy of the storm.

      He would think of her as Samantha because he had to, but never the more familiar Sammy she’d offered.

      “Does the power go out when it storms like this?” she asked.

      “Usually. I’ve got systems in place. I have a generator that’ll kick in if we lose power, but I’ll use it conservatively.”

      She tilted her head. “Why?”

      “It runs on diesel, and we’ve been put on rations because of the last two storms. Gas stations were overwhelmed yesterday with everyone getting ready for this one to hit today.”

      “There isn’t enough diesel around?”

      “The county’s been cleaned out this winter. It’s been a bad one. Hence, the rationing.”

      Samantha looked nervous. “What happens when it runs out completely? What if your generator stops working?”

      “We go back to the way things used to be done. I have firewood. If the furnace cuts out, the house will stay warm for a while. Once it cools down, we can all bunk in the living room on air mattresses with quilts. We can cook with camping equipment. We’re good.”

      He didn’t usually talk so much—he’d just made a speech, for God’s sake—but she seemed to need reassurance.

      She relaxed fractionally. “Would you mind if I use your phone? Mine stopped working a while ago. Travis thinks we’re arriving tomorrow. I was pushing hard to get here today to surprise him. I need to let him know we’re close but safe.”

      “Sure.” He pointed into the living room. “At the far end of the couch.”

      He left the room while she made her call.

      * * *

      SAMANTHA DIALED TRAVIS’S NUMBER. When he answered, an out-of-proportion rush of relief left her dizzy. She hadn’t realized how much she needed to see her brother.

      “Sammy!” he said, and his voice was so familiar and so dear her eyes filled with tears. After all, they had only each other. Their parents were gone and they didn’t have anyone else, not even the usual aunts, uncles and cousins.

      “Where are you?” Travis asked. He sounded concerned.

      “I made a mistake and missed the turnoff for Rodeo.”

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