let her have as normal a childhood as possible.
“Let’s get you inside so you can rest,” Karen urged.
Scott reached out his hand to Melanie. “Thank you, Mrs. McAllister. I owe you.”
Melanie hesitated before shaking his hand. Her fingers felt chilled and delicate against his.
“You don’t owe me a thing,” she said.
Scott watched her return to the truck, sliding in beside her sleeping daughter. Injured and alone on the mountain without a horse, he could have died. He had Melanie to thank for his life. Right then, he decided he would do everything in his power to return the favor.
As Karen led him up the front steps to his house, he stared at the front door. Thinking about the big, empty rooms, he wished he didn’t have to go inside. If only he had someone to come home to each night besides Shelley. Someone who loved and cared for him as much as he cared for her.
Chapter Three
“Why do we have to come here, Dad? I wanna go home.” Shelley crinkled her nose with repugnance as Scott rapped his knuckles on the front door of the red-brick house.
White trim surrounded each sparkling window. The front porch circled the house, with white paint peeling along the slim columns supporting the second floor. The front gate stood ajar, sagging on its hinges. Cracked cement along the foundation showed a lack of care. Several boards hung loose on the toolshed at the back edge of the lawn. Everything looked tidy, but repair jobs had been ignored. It occurred to him that Melanie McAllister might need his help as much as he needed hers.
“Shell, I’ve already explained to you three times,” he told his daughter. “The people living here saved my life. The least we can do is thank them.”
The girl released an exaggerated sigh. “All right.”
Opal Ranch. Jim had told Scott that the ranch had been named for the white and gold mountains surrounding the valley. Poplars lined the long gravel driveway. Scott remembered Melanie talking about the beautiful sunsets and he could understand why she loved it here. As the summer breeze blew through the treetops, he envied the beauty and solitude of this place.
Shelley peered at the open fields of hay and alfalfa. Boredom crinkled her brow. She stood beside him wearing a short white skirt and sandals, her long, blond hair pulled back with a pink ribbon. Delicate and pretty as a picture.
She held a paper plate of homemade chocolate chip cookies covered with tin foil. Thinking it might be quality time together, he’d insisted that she help him make the cookies after he took two aspirin for his pounding headache. She’d sat on a kitchen stool and munched chocolate chips while he mixed the dough. No amount of cajoling could get her to help measure out the flour and eggs.
“Why couldn’t you just call to say thank you?” the girl complained.
“You wanted something to do. We’re doing something right now.” He forced a smile, her grumbling getting on his nerves. In addition to her pretty looks, she’d inherited her mother’s penchant for whining. He hoped to change that someday soon.
“Maybe no one’s home.” A hopeful lilt filled her voice.
“Maybe they’re working out back.” Scott peered at the rusty old truck sitting in the driveway. He let go of the screen door and it clapped closed. His booted heels pounded the wood as he walked the length of the porch. He ducked his head so he wouldn’t hit the hanging baskets of white petunias and blue lobelia. Several large clay pots filled with white, fragrant alyssum sat along the edge of the porch and he breathed in deeply. Having a background in botany, he was probably one of the few regular men in the world who knew these names.
He glanced around with interest. The green lawn showed impeccable grooming, with flower beds of tall hollyhocks. A vegetable garden of peas, lettuce and beets filled the backyard, guarded by a white picket fence. No tomato or pepper plants. Scott knew they wouldn’t grow well at this cooler elevation.
It seemed Melanie had a green thumb and he liked that for some odd reason.
Shelley followed him, hanging back as a black-and-white border collie with droopy ears trotted out of the barn. The animal gave one bark, then greeted them by sniffing their legs.
“Will he bite?” Shelley circled her dad, seeking protection.
“I don’t think so.” Scott leaned forward and put out his hand, letting the animal sniff him. Considering they were strangers, the dog seemed composed and gentle. Most likely one of Melanie’s sheepdogs, trained to be calm and not bark a lot.
“Hi there, fella. Where’s your master?” Scott scratched the dog’s ears.
“Probably in the barn,” Shelley said.
“Hello! Anyone here?” Scott stood at the back of the McAllisters’ house and shouted. He gazed at the variety of green fields, lean-to’s for working in the hot sun, barns, sheds and corrals filled with sheep. Low fences with tight rails and netting kept the sheep from squeezing through. A tractor, four-wheelers and other equipment sat parked neatly at the side of the garage. Melanie could be anywhere, even up on the mountain. He figured that since they’d been up all night at the hospital, she would have had a late start, like him, and stayed home to work today.
“Dad! Look at the babies,” Shelley exclaimed, pointing at a corral where approximately thirty small lambs scampered around, bawling for their mothers.
“Come on.” Scott stepped off the porch and headed across the road leading to the barn. The dog trotted beside them, its tongue lolling out of its mouth as it panted. The stench of animals filled the air.
“Yuck! It stinks here.” Shelley pinched her nose.
“Breathe through your mouth instead of your nose. You’ll get used to it,” Scott advised.
The girl gave him a look of incredulity, which he ignored. It had been tempting to leave Shelley with Karen today, but he knew they’d never become close that way. The sooner Shelley got used to living in Snyderville, the happier she’d be. Which would make him happy. He hoped.
At the corrals, Shelley stood on the bottom rail of the fence, holding the plate of cookies as she leaned over the top rail to peer at the little, fluffy lambs. He hoped she didn’t drop the plate.
“Oh, they’re so cute. Can we play with them?”
Scott chuckled. “I thought you didn’t want to come along. You thought this would be boring.”
She showed a grin of slightly crooked teeth. “That was before I knew we were gonna see sweet little babies.”
Victory! He’d finally found something she liked.
“Come on. Let’s see if anyone’s here. Maybe you can play with the lambs.” He inclined his head toward the barn.
The wide double doors stood open, the bright sunlight filtering inside. As Scott stepped into the shadows, he caught the pungent aroma of straw and animals. Dust motes floated in the air. Stalls lined one wall of the barn with a small tractor, shovels and other tools hanging neatly on hooks along the other wall. He heard voices coming from the opposite end of the barn.
“You think she’s too tender to ride?”
“Nah, she’ll be all right. Won’t you, girl?”
Scott followed the voices, hearing several muted clapping sounds, as if someone were patting a horse.
Conscious of Shelley hovering at his heels, he peered into a stall at the far end of the barn. An older man wearing a beat-up Stetson and a white, scruffy beard stood bent over a mare’s right front leg. The man held the animal’s hoof between his knees. Wearing baggy, faded blue jeans and old cowboy boots, he used a metal pick to clean dirt away from the sole of the horse’s hoof. He grunted as he fought to reach over his own rotund belly.
Melanie stood leaning against the stall, one