Home to Crossroads Ranch. Линда Гуднайт

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      Rainy frantically tossed toys into a basket in an effort to clear up some of the mess. She never let things get like this. Of all the days to have a stranger come into her home. A young, nice-looking stranger at that.

      Pausing with a stuffed bear against her cheek, she chuckled. The poor man looked as bewildered as if he’d walked into the Twilight Zone.

      She’d had to call upon the Handyman Ministry before but her friendly rescuers had been older fatherly types, not a lanky young cowboy in starched jeans and boots with stubble on his chin and a dangerous set of dimples that split his cheeks like long parentheses. Killer dimples.

      She tossed the bear into the basket and went for a sponge to soak up the coffee-table mess.

      With dimples like that, Nate Del Rio was probably like every other guy she’d noticed in the last two years—married.

      She heaved a heavy sigh and dabbed at the spilled milk. For years, she’d prayed for a godly husband, but the Lord didn’t appear interested in her single, lonely status or in the fact that she wanted kids. Lots of kids. The dates she’d had never filled the bill and after a while, she’d given up the dating game entirely. It was too stressful anyway.

      If she couldn’t have a husband and kids, she’d settle for kids only.

      But she wasn’t dead, and Nate Del Rio was an attractive man.

      She clicked off the blasting television and then handed each of the babies in the playpen a rattle. Precious little lambs. They looked so bewildered by this new, unfamiliar environment. As soon as she had a minute, she needed to hold and rock them, give them the comfort they craved and deserved.

      With the TV off, the room had grown a little too quiet. She glanced into the bedroom to find Katie sprawled on the floor, coloring. Good. Maybe her stomachache was gone. Now, where were the others?

      With another quick, reassuring glance at the babies, she headed for the laundry room. The sibling trio was naturally nosy, but they also hungered for attention from any obliging adult.

      Sure enough, Joshua and Will were squatting in an inch of water, peppering Nate with questions. Seven-year-old Emma, the blond charmer, hung over the man’s back, her slender arms looped around his neck like a small, friendly boa constrictor.

      “Emma,” Rainy said gently. “It’s hard for Nate to work with you hanging on him. Why don’t you and the boys come out of here and leave him alone?”

      “But, Miss Rainy, he’s teaching me how to change a hose so I can do it next time.” Will’s eyes were dead serious behind his glasses. That was the trouble with Will. He was too serious. He seldom laughed, didn’t play like a normal kid and considered his younger siblings to be his responsibility. Even after six months of consistent, loving care, he hadn’t loosened up. The boy needed a strong man in his life, one of the reasons Rainy worried about adopting him and his siblings, though she longed to do so. She could love and nurture, but she could never be a male role model. She could, however, expose him to good ones and pray that would be enough.

      The cowboy handyman twisted his head in her direction. “He’s a quick learner.”

      Rainy beamed as if the compliment was for her. She saw the flush of pleasure on Will’s cheeks and decided she liked Nate Del Rio. “He is. Thanks.”

      She bent to unwind Emma from the man’s neck. “This one is a charmer, but also a pest at times.” With a counselor and lots of prayers, they were working on Emma’s weak personal boundaries. “Come on, Emma. I need help with the babies.”

      Emma came, but gazed longingly at the cowboy’s back. “He’s nice.”

      Rainy stood in the doorway for a minute, watching and listening to Nate’s low voice explaining the great mysteries of washing machines to the two rapt boys. His patience with them solidified her conclusion that he had kids of his own.

      She chided herself for being disappointed. She did not covet another woman’s husband. She simply wanted one of her own.

      “Is there anything you need before I go on about my business?” she asked.

      Without turning, he shook his head. “Got all the help I need right now. Thanks.”

      She wasn’t sure how he meant that, but she let it go and headed back to the disaster area that had once been her home.

      By the time she’d set things to right, fed both babies and put them down for a nap, Katie had thrown up again. Wearily, she cleaned up the mess, took the child’s temperature and debated calling the doctor. The last thing any of them needed was a virus spreading through the house.

      Going to her bedroom to change the now disgusting sweat suit, she happened to glance in the mirror. The Wicked Witch of the West stared back.

      Bags the size of carry-on luggage puffed beneath her eyes. Her hair shot out in every direction. She slapped at it. Had she combed it at all this morning?

      With a growing sense of chagrin, she knew she hadn’t. She had shoved the shoulder-length mass into a scrunchie in the wee hours of the morning when the social worker arrived with the babies. After that she never made it back to bed because Katie had started throwing up. Then the washer had sprung a leak and she’d been too busy to care about how she looked.

      Horrid. She looked horrid. Horror-movie horrid.

      No wonder the kids were crying. She was tempted to do the same.

      Quickly yanking away the scrunchie along with a few hairs, Rainy ran a brush over her head and put the ponytail up again. Better.

      She leaned into the mirror and grimaced. Makeup. Fast.

      She dabbed a little concealer under each eye, mostly to no avail, stroked some mascara on thick lashes and added a hint of pink lip gloss. She was no beauty, but she normally tried to accent her best features, thick lashes and a tilted, full mouth. Today she’d settle for not frightening small children.

      “Miss Rainy!”

      This would have to do. Without a backward glance, she rushed toward the sound of Katie’s voice.

      The child lay on the couch where Rainy had left her, a pink Hello Kitty blanket up to her chin.

      “What is it, punkin? Are you feeling sick again?”

      “I want a Pop-Tart.”

      “Are you sure that’s such a good idea? How СКАЧАТЬ