few. Along with kittens, puppies, squirrels, rabbits, snakes, a crow, you name it. There was even a fox once.”
Sam knew the fox hadn’t survived from the stories Annie told him.
“Wow.” Lyndsey gaped at Annie with awe.
“My guess is these little fellows are about eight or nine weeks old. And they would be walking if they weren’t so weak. The mother might have had trouble finding food since the fire and wandered too far. If you’re going to save them, you’d better get them to Doc Murry’s right away. Anyone in town can direct you to his office.”
“Lyndsey.” Sam hated letting his daughter down, but he had to be realistic. “We’re leaving in a month. Those raccoons won’t be old enough to live on their own by then.”
“Will you take care of them after that?” Lyndsey ignored Sam in favor of Annie.
“That’s a lot to ask of Ms. Hennessy—”
“I’ll figure something out,” Annie assured Lindsey with a tender smile.
“You don’t have to,” Sam said.
“There’s the wildlife refuge outside of Lake Tahoe. We’re on a first-name basis. But you’re going to have to save them first.” She brushed Lyndsey’s tousled hair from her face. “Better hurry. Keep them as quiet as possible during the ride.”
“Come on, Daddy.” Lyndsey started for the truck, wrapping an arm protectively around her precious cargo.
“Where are you staying?” Annie asked Sam.
“At the Mountainside Motel.” The only one in Sweetheart open for business after the fire. “But we check out tomorrow. I have some furniture arriving. A few basics. Enough for Lyndsey and me to stay at the ranch.”
“I’ll try and stop by after work if I don’t have to stay late. Just to check on the raccoons,” she clarified when he raised his brows.
“Of course.” He studied her closed-off expression. “Thank you.”
“I didn’t do it for you.” She walked away then.
Sam watched her go. Same proud, stubborn Annie.
“Daddy! Hurry.”
“Coming.”
As they traveled the winding drive to the main road, a smile spread across his face. Annie might refuse his assistance at every step, but together they were going to rebuild her inn.
He owed her that much at least.
Chapter Two
Sam Wyler was back!
Annie still hadn’t come to grips with that fact twenty minutes later when she pulled into the parking space beside the Hennessy half of the duplex they rented in town.
She’d kept one eye glued to her rearview mirror during the entire drive from the Gold Nugget, hoping he hadn’t followed her. The last thing she wanted was for him to see where she lived.
Not 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.”