The Rancher's Homecoming. Cathy Mcdavid

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СКАЧАТЬ that the two-bedroom apartment was exactly trashy. Just small and modest and nothing compared with the lovely and charming suite of rooms she’d occupied at the inn. The rooms Sam had seen when they’d sneak off to be alone and make love.

      She’d assumed those nights spent together would last forever. Then, he’d left, returned, left again and married—because the daughter of the rancher who hired him was carrying his child—and become a father.

      Annie stayed behind in Sweetheart, hoping for the same future every couple who eloped here did. Only that happy ending had eluded her.

      Mostly. As Sam had pointed out, she did have her beautiful little girl. For now, at least.

      Her ex-husband had recently started hinting that he and his new wife could provide a better environment for Nessa than an eight-hundred-and-fifty-square-foot apartment shared by four individuals. What next? Would he go so far as to sue Annie for primary custody? She didn’t think so, but everyone and everything had changed of late.

      It was true, now that the inn had burned, that Gary could provide better for their daughter. And, marital differences aside, he’d always been a good father.

      That made no difference to Annie. If he tried to obtain primary custody of their daughter, he and his new wife—Annie would lay odds Linda Lee was behind this—were in for the fight of their lives.

      If only Sam hadn’t suddenly reappeared, knocking Annie for an emotional loop. She didn’t need anything distracting her from what mattered the most: rebuilding the inn and safeguarding her family.

      She swung open the apartment door and stepped inside.

      “Mommy! You’re home.” Nessa ran at her from across the living room like a miniature missile, her face smeared with some unidentifiable food remains and a Barbie doll with chopped-off hair clutched in her hand.

      Annie scooped up her daughter and let herself feel truly good for the first time since leaving the apartment that morning.

      “Hey, sweetums. How was your day?”

      “Good. Grandma and I made biscuits. I ate two whole ones by myself. With jelly.”

      That explained the smeared food on Nessa’s face. She tickled the girl’s tummy. “How on earth did you put that much in there?”

      “I’m big now.”

      “Yes, you are.”

      “You wanna play Barbies with me?”

      “Maybe later. Mommy’s a little tired.”

      “You’re always tired,” Nessa complained. “Ever since the fire. Grandma, too. And Great-granny Orla.”

      From the mouths of babes.

      “I feel much better now that I’m home.” She set Nessa down and kissed the tip of her nose, which was the only clean spot on her entire face.

      “You want a biscuit and jelly? I can fix it for you.”

      “That’d be wonderful.”

      Annie sat on the couch and slowly removed her heavy hiking boots. By the end of the day, they felt as if they were lined with cement. She sighed when the first boot hit the floor, almost cried with relief when the second one followed.

      Leaning back, she closed her eyes and relaxed for just a minute, listening to her mother patiently caution Nessa to be careful and not spill any jelly, in much the same way she’d cautioned Annie when she was growing up.

      No one knew their way around the kitchen better than Fiona Hennessy. For almost her entire life, she’d overseen meals and housekeeping for the inn’s twenty or thirty guests. Her small, compact stature belied the iron fist with which she’d ruled her domain.

      These past six weeks, Fiona had continued the tradition of spending most of her time in the kitchen. Only now she was hiding from the world and desperately missing all that had been taken from her.

      No more lion’s claw bathtubs in the upstairs bedrooms, large enough to hold two. No more handmade, valentine-patterned quilts on which were strewn dried rose petals for arriving honeymooners. Or carved wooden trays that had held champagne breakfasts, discreetly delivered with a soft knock on the door. No more do-not-disturb signs, often hanging on doorknobs all the day long.

      Annie hoped her mother’s depression was temporary. More than that, she hoped her ex-husband, Gary, didn’t notice Fiona’s detachment when he picked up Nessa for “his days.” That would only strengthen his argument that the apartment wasn’t a good place to raise their daughter.

      She would never wish him harm but often caught herself wondering why fate had chosen the inn to burn and left Gary’s house and place of business intact.

      “Here you go, Mommy.”

      Opening her eyes, Annie was greeted by Nessa holding a paper plate with two jelly-laden biscuit halves.

      “That looks good.” Annie pushed tiredly to her feet. “Maybe I should eat it in the kitchen.” She took the plate from Nessa, amazed the biscuit halves hadn’t already landed on the carpet. “What else is for dinner?”

      “Nothing,” Nessa singsonged. “Just biscuits.”

      Uh-oh. Annie walked to the kitchen, her steps slow and her stomach sinking. Nessa danced in circles beside her. Fiona stood at the sink, staring vacantly out the window. Definitely not good.

      Her mother watched Nessa during the day while Annie worked for the NDF. Her paycheck and Granny Orla’s social security, which she’d started collecting just this month, were their only sources of income. Without them, they wouldn’t be able to afford even this lowly apartment.

      Lately, Annie had begun to question if her mother was up to the task of caring for an active child. More and more often, Fiona would disappear into her own world. For minutes on end. Five, ten, twenty. Long enough for an unsupervised Nessa to find trouble.

      What Fiona should be doing while Nessa played was dealing with the insurance company, finalizing their settlement and obtaining quotes from contractors for rebuilding the inn. That was their agreement.

      Hard to do when she could barely drag herself out of bed in the mornings.

      “Where’s Granny Orla?” Annie asked Nessa, hoping her question would rouse her mother. “Taking a nap?”

      “I dunno.”

      “At the Rutherfords,” Fiona answered without looking away from the window. “They called.”

      “How long has she been there?”

      “Most of the afternoon, I guess.”

      The Rutherfords and the Hennessys’ other neighbors were a godsend. Annie’s grandmother, sharp as a tack until the fire, had started taking walkabouts during the day, easily escaping Fiona’s less-than-diligent guard. She mostly wound up on some neighbor’s doorstep—one whose house hadn’t been lost to the fire. The neighbor would invite her inside until Annie came by later to fetch her.

      Last week, Annie had found СКАЧАТЬ