see her again.
Between now and then, he was going to have to get a grip on his senses and remember he was a widower. It wasn’t meant for him to have a woman or a family. Not now. Not ever.
When Marcella reappeared in the kitchen, Denver had already filled two mugs with coffee and placed them, along with a sugar bowl and container of powdered creamer, on the table.
“The boys are watching a sci-fi movie,” she said cheerfully. “Between space monsters and Orin’s ghost stories, they’ll probably wake up with nightmares.”
“Well, that’s what Halloween is all about—getting spooked by imaginary creatures.” He gestured toward the mugs. “The coffee is ready. I’ll let you fix your own.”
“Mmm. It smells heavenly.” She stepped over to the table and began to spoon creamer and sugar into the steaming liquid. “This is very nice of you. And I’m feeling very awful about intruding into your home. Believe me, if Peter hadn’t been with me, I wouldn’t have minded waiting in the cold.”
She stepped away from the table and Denver moved close enough to collect his mug.
“You say he has asthma. Is that something he developed recently?”
She shook her head, then after a careful sip of coffee said, “No. He’s had the condition since he was very small. About two years old from what I can gather. I first met Peter when he was admitted to the hospital with asthma. He was—”
Her words broke off and Denver suddenly spotted a shimmer of tears in her eyes. She was a woman who felt deeply about others, he realized. Maybe that was the nurse in her, or simply her maternal feelings showing, but no matter the reason, it touched him in a way that he hadn’t expected.
“Sorry,” she said huskily, then forced a smile to her face. “I get emotional when I think back to the first time I saw Peter lying there struggling to breathe. He was...so frail and sick. You see, Peter’s biological parents had abandoned him. A very old grandfather was trying to care for him, but he was too poor and decrepit to take care of himself, much less a child. But that’s all in the past, thank God. He’s mine now.”
Denver didn’t know what to say. He was too busy trying to imagine this dainty little woman opening her heart and her home to a lost child. Not just for a day or two. Or even a week or a month. She’d welcomed him into her family for a lifetime. He wasn’t even sure his late wife could’ve shown that much compassion and devotion.
Swallowing away the tightness in his throat, he said, “Peter’s a lucky little boy.”
She laughed lightly. “He doesn’t think he’s all that lucky whenever I have him and Harry washing dishes or pushing the vacuum cleaner.”
Relieved that she was lightening the moment, he gestured to the dirty dishes stacked in the sink. “It’s pretty obvious that guys don’t much care for cleaning chores.”
She chuckled, then an idea appeared to suddenly strike her. “I’d be happy to do the dishes for you,” she offered. “It’s the least I can do for all your help.”
She was already making the place feel too homey, Denver thought. He didn’t want to imagine how he’d feel to see her standing at the kitchen sink washing his dirty dishes. As though she belonged there.
“Thanks. But I’ll take care of this mess later. Let’s take our coffee out to the living room,” he suggested.
* * *
Moments later, Marcella joined the boys on the couch and Denver took a seat in a big armchair that was angled to her left. At this time of the evening, she suspected he normally stretched out in the recliner across the room, but he must have decided that making himself that comfortable in front of his guests would show bad manners.
The idea made Marcella feel even more like an intruder, but then, he’d given her little choice in the matter. Damn, damn, if her battery was going to die, why couldn’t it have done it back at the big ranch house? At least there she would have felt comfortable and welcome.
The rueful thought brought her up short and she mentally shamed herself. She and the boys were complete strangers to Denver Yates, yet he’d opened his home to them. She needed to be thinking grateful thoughts toward the man instead of wishing she was anywhere else but here.
It wasn’t his fault that his big, masculine presence was making her feel hot and bothered. Or that looking at his rugged face was sending very unladylike images through her head. And why would she be thinking about kissing a man, anyway? Men were nothing but trouble, and for the past ten years she’d made it just fine without one.
Sipping her coffee, she glanced at Harry and Peter. Both her sons’ attention was glued to the television screen. Since the music was building to a frantic crescendo and the last monster was about to meet his doom, the movie was clearly reaching the end.
She glanced over to Denver and was jolted by the fact that he was looking at her.
“Uh—do you watch much television?” She realized the question probably sounded inane to him, but this whole situation had knocked her off-kilter. No doubt tomorrow she’d look back on it and groan with embarrassment.
He said, “Not much. News. Weather. The farm and ranch report. Things like that.” His lips twisted to a wry slant. “I’m not big on entertainment. Guess my job gives me more than enough to think about.”
She smiled. “I’m sure you’ve heard the old adage about all work and no play.”
“Yeah. It makes a dull boy,” he said with a faint grin. “Sorry. I guess I am pretty boring.”
She clutched her coffee cup even tighter as she tried to keep from laughing. He was the furthest thing from boring that she could imagine. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d encountered a man who’d interested her as much as this big rancher.
“I wouldn’t say that. You’re not boring me.” Oh my, she sounded like a teenager instead of a thirty-three-year-old mother, she thought. Clearing her throat, she added, “I’m sure you and Rafe have plenty of exciting stories to tell. Were you with him and Bowie when the stallion got loose and ran off into the mountains?”
Surprise arched one of his brows. “You know about that?”
She nodded. “Lilly and Ava told me all about it. Rafe was black-and-blue from the spill he took when his horse fell.”
“I was helping with the hunt,” he said. “But I wasn’t riding in the area where Rafe fell. We were fortunate that only Rafe got hurt that night. The weather turned really nasty with snow and ice.”
“I don’t understand you ranchers. You’re always wanting lots of snow to put moisture and nitrates into the ground, but doesn’t that make terrible conditions for the cattle?”
“If the snow gets too deep it causes problems. Or if we have blizzard conditions. The worst case is when calves are being born in that sort of weather. We try to see that all of them make it. Unfortunately, we lose a few. Those are the times when the ranch hands might get an hour or two of sleep each night.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think I could bear seeing a baby animal of any kind struggle.”
He looked straight at her, and Marcella found her gaze traveling over his chiseled features. Once they’d come into the house, he’d removed the black cowboy hat from his head. Now as the dim glow of a shaded lamp cast an orb of light over him, she noticed the thick wave falling over his forehead was the color of dark chocolate. The kind that was supposed to be good for your health, she thought wryly. She figured Denver would be just as tasty as a piece of dark chocolate. But good for her health? No, in her opinion, he looked like a massive heartache.
“I’m sure you see people struggling in the