assumed it would be as feminine as she looked and as flighty as she talked.
“Michael Moreno.”
“Have you met my brother, Travis?” she asked.
“No, ma’am, I haven’t had the opportunity.”
She laughed, a cheerful tinkle. Tinkle? Where had that ridiculous word come from?
“Ma’am makes me sound ancient.” Her smile knocked him off-kilter. “It’s Samantha, or Sammy, whichever you prefer.”
What he would prefer was that the distraction, the sheer breathtaking magnificence of her, not be in his home, and that surprised him. He wasn’t easily swayed.
He kept his wide size-eleven feet firmly planted on the ground. Big feet for a man only five ten, but then all of him was wide—shoulders, chest, hands. Not to mention, a good head on his shoulders.
His unusual coffee table caught her eye. “Is that a door?”
“Yes, ma’am. Solid oak. My daddy found it on the side of the road where someone was renovating a house. Folks didn’t know what they were throwing away.” He was proud of his father’s ingenuity. “He scraped off about ten coats of paint. Sanded for hours. Did the whole thing by hand. Gave it to me as a wedding present.”
“Hmmm, interesting,” was her only response.
Obviously his furniture didn’t meet her high standards any more than his wall decorations did.
He’d held his rage in check throughout Lillian’s struggle with cancer and her subsequent death two years ago. He’d held back his anger that his children would grow up motherless. He’d survived hell, and now this woman waltzed into his home and dared to disapprove.
He lashed out. “What were you doing on the road in this kind of weather? A rational person would get to the nearest motel and hunker down for the duration. You like putting your kids at risk?”
For a few moments, she stared at him with those big blue eyes. For a moment, he was afraid she’d cry.
Her expression changed, hardening, and she slowly put her hands on her hips. Her full lips thinned.
“I do everything in my power to keep my children safe.”
He took satisfaction in her anger. If he had to be uncomfortable because of anger and disapproval, why shouldn’t she?
She had a perfect face and a perfect body; she had probably also led the perfect life. They’d come from San Francisco. She should have stayed in sunny California if she didn’t know how to handle Montana weather.
“Safe? Including driving them into a blizzard in a vehicle that wasn’t trustworthy?”
She gasped. “It is trustworthy. It’s brand-new! I don’t know why it stopped. Maybe it’s a lemon.”
“Those kids,” he said, pointing in the direction of the back of the house, “depend on you to—”
“Dad?” Mick said behind him, cutting him off. “Are you okay?”
Michael stilled at his son’s anxious tone. All four children crowded the entrance to the living room. Mick and Lily stared at him. No wonder. He didn’t yell. He didn’t fight, especially not with strangers.
He’d done a stellar job of holding in his emotions since Lillian’s death, but here this woman—Samantha—was breaking through his barriers just by being beautiful.
He wasn’t even attracted to her, not really, but he knew she was attractive. A fine distinction, yeah, but he was hanging on to it with both hands.
Since when did looks ever matter to him? Especially enough to anger him?
Since his life had been turned upside down when he was barely fifteen. Ancient history. So why was it rearing its ugly head now?
Whatever the cause, he shouldn’t have let the children hear him criticize her.
He cracked his knuckles. “Sorry,” he murmured, knowing it was inadequate. He didn’t have much more to offer.
He glanced at the kids and realized only Mick was watching him. Lily was gaping at Samantha with openmouthed amazement.
And why not?
They didn’t often have visitors and rarely women, except for Karen, who was nothing like this woman with her skinny pants and pleather jacket.
Lily still stared. At only four years old, Lily barely remembered her mother. He kept a photograph of Lillian beside his daughter’s bed to remind her.
He guessed Lily would miss her mother’s touch most and, as much as he held and cuddled Lily all the time to try to fill that void, he could never be Lillian.
The walls crowded in on him. His breathing became shallow enough to concern him. He wasn’t up to this fathering and mothering of them, of being both parents to them 24/7.
Samantha Read made him feel every single deficiency he tried to ignore.
He wished to holy hell she hadn’t shown up on his doorstep.
Samantha watched Michael come to grips with his emotions. She had to do the same with her own.
He didn’t talk much, but when he did, he packed a punch.
Her hands shook. How dare he? How dare he criticize the way she raised her children?
Since the day Jason had been born nine years ago, her life had been all about him. Then another gift, Colt, had come along five years ago and she’d doubled her efforts.
This man didn’t want them here.
Probably because of her talking. She knew she talked too much, but couldn’t control herself when she was nervous.
And she had been so nervous when they’d been caught in the storm.
Maybe that’s why his disdain hit hard.
Had she put her sons at risk? She didn’t know about snowstorms. She had little experience with this kind of weather.
“I didn’t know the storm was going to be so bad.” She glanced out the window, baffled by the savagery on the other side of the glass. “I’ve never been in a snowstorm before. I had no idea what to expect.”
Compelled to be honest, she added, “I should have stopped sooner, but we were so close to Rodeo. I thought we could make it to Travis’s house. I didn’t really know where else to stop once the storm started. I didn’t see a motel.”
“It got bad really fast, mister,” Jason said.
Jason. Her defender. She wished he didn’t have to take on that role. She’d told him many times not to, but still he looked out for her.
“It was just a few flakes of snow and we liked it.” Jason looked nervous taking on the big stern man, but he swallowed and continued. “Colt’s never seen snow in his whole entire life. Then, all of sudden, we couldn’t see anything except too much snow.”
“I was scared,” Colt piped up.
The man’s expression softened. He unbent enough to tell Jason and Colt, “I bet you were. I would have been, too.”
Ever the peacemaker, Jason said, “Don’t blame my mom. It came out of nowhere. She was brave.”
The man straightened and looked at her with a trace of chagrin.
Good. He should be ashamed. He was lucky she wasn’t one to hold a grudge.
Maybe she shouldn’t let him off the hook too quickly. She had the suspicion he felt worse that her children had heard him than he did about criticizing her in the first place.
He could