“Hi . I’m Allie. What’s your name?” Letter to Reader Title Page CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN EPILOGUE Copyright
“Hi . I’m Allie. What’s your name?”
The little girl popped her free thumb into her mouth. A second later her thumb shot out of her mouth and she fleetingly touched Allie’s dress. “Pretty.”
“Thank you. Your dress is pretty, too.”
The little girl lovingly patted the acres of skirt. “Daddy bought it.”
“Who is your daddy?” Allie asked.
The child looked past Allie. Her face lit up like a million candles. “He’s my daddy.” She pointed up.
“Hello, Allie.”
Allie’s heart stopped. The room went dim. Her body froze and she forgot to breathe.
What was Zane Peters doing here?
Dear Reader,
Sitting in my red-wallpapered office, I’m surrounded by family photographs. I love seeing my husband as a baby, my father as an adolescent and my daughter at age four holding her new baby brother.
For better or worse, we all have families. I didn’t plan to write about the Lassiter family, but as one character formed in my mind I realized I was dealing with all three Lassiter sisters—Cheyenne, Allie and Greeley. Then their older brother demanded his story be told, and who can say no to a sexy man like Worth Lassiter? What started out as one book had suddenly become four.
I hope you enjoy reading about the Lassiter family and the strong men—and woman!—who match them.
Love
Four weddings, one Colorado family
One Mother Wanted
Jeanne Allan
CHAPTER ONE
THE Augusta Room in the century-old, Steele-owned St. Christopher Hotel in Aspen, Colorado provided the perfect backdrop for the wedding reception of Thomas Steele and Cheyenne Lassiter. Autumn had cooled the September afternoon enough to permit fires in the carved Art Nouveau fireplaces at either end of the huge ballroom. Slender metal pillars encircled the room, while chandeliers hanging from the two-story-high vaulted ceiling bathed the room’s occupants with a soft pink glow as friends, neighbors and relatives toasted the happy couple. Curious hotel guests and tourists who’d wandered in from the street to see the historic ballroom found themselves accepting flutes of champagne and gawking at the movie stars, business tycoons, sports figures and politicians moving easily through the throng. Immense arrangements of creamy pink roses, white lilies and herbs, such as marjoram for joy and happiness, myrtle for love and passion, ivy for friendship and sage for long life, perfumed the air.
Alberta Harmony Lassiter could hardly wait to leave.
“Allie, aren’t you ready to go yet?” The boyish voice rang with desperation. “Cheyenne, I mean, Mom, said we didn’t have to stay forever.”
Allie smiled at her new nephew. Davy Steele had been an infant when his parents died in a plane crash. Cheyenne told him his mother would always be his mother, but if he wanted to call Cheyenne “Mom,” he could. Davy had eagerly embraced the idea.
Tousling the seven-year-old’s hair, Allie said, “We have to wait until they cut the cake and all that stuff.”
“Do we have to? That’ll take forever.”
“Yes, we have to. Since you’ll be staying on the ranch with Mom and Worth and Greeley, you’ll have plenty of time to ride horses while Cheyenne and Thomas are on their honeymoon.”
Honeymoon. It didn’t seem possible. It was a matter of weeks since Allie’s sister had met Davy and his Uncle Thomas. Today Cheyenne had become Mrs. Thomas Steele and Davy’s mother. Davy would undoubtedly soon call Thomas “Dad.”
Allie’s eyes grew damp. Her older sister married with a ready-made family. Cheyenne made a beautiful bride. Her sister’s beauty transcended mere physical appearance. Cheyenne’s glowing beauty came from within. The kind of beauty that came from being deeply loved.
Once Allie had thought she was loved like that. She’d been wrong.
“Oh, no, here she comes.”
The muttered words of dismay reminded Allie of the boy at her side. “Who comes?”
“Her.” He pointed toward a small girl trotting in their direction, a shy smile on her face. “I can’t get away from her.”
Despite a sense of familiarity, Allie had never seen the child before. Curly red ringlets framed a cherubic face. “She doesn’t look dangerous to me.” She looked about four years old.
Davy gave Allie a disgusted look. “She keeps bothering me.” The little girl reached for his hand and he jerked it from her grasp. “Go away. I don’t like girls.”
Giant tears welled up in the child’s eyes.
“See?” Davy appealed to Allie. “She does that every time I tell her to go away. Stop crying,” he said to the girl. “We’re going to have cake. Don’t you like cake?”
The girl nodded and reached out her hand again. With a huge sigh, Davy took it.
Giving Davy a smile in which commiseration mingled with approval, Allie crouched down so her face was level with the child’s. “Hi. I’m Allie and this is Davy. What’s your name?”
The little girl popped her free thumb into her mouth.
“She won’t talk,” Davy said. “Maybe she don’t know how.”
The child gave him an indignant look.
Allie swallowed a laugh. “Do you like weddings?”
The