Which was impossible, because one didn’t fall in love willy-nilly with a stranger bending over one’s bed. One would screech and scratch until he ran away.
“You always sleep with a pig, Bo Peep?”
Suddenly, her senses snapped back into place.
“I never sleep with—” The weight of the bed shifted near her belly. “Lulu!”
She pushed at Lulu’s rump. Hopping off the bed with a grunt, she hit the floor in a puff of flour.
Holly Jane sat up, grabbed her robe from the spindle of the headboard then yanked her arms though the sleeves. She stood up.
Being a good head taller than she was, the man stared down at her. He was trouble for sure, with a gaze that threatened devilment even more than the dimples did.
What was he doing here? And the pair of elderly women with him? He couldn’t be... Oh, please don’t let him be—
She shivered, but only because the floorboards were cold under her bare feet.
“Come along, sister,” a woman said. This was Grannie Rose, she recalled from yesterday afternoon’s disaster. “Let’s let the lovebirds get acquainted.”
“They aren’t lovebirds, Rose.” The tall, slender woman led the shorter, rounder woman by the elbow. “By the looks of the house she’s not well pleased to have any of us here.”
And who would be pleased to be awoken from a sweet and spicy dream by trespassers...or so she desperately hoped.
“I’m sure that’s not true, sister.” Rose glanced back at her with a smile. “Miss Munroe is nearly kin.”
The ladies walked out of the room.
The man stood too close, looking down with his dimples flaring and his lips... Well, she had to look away from them. Even though he remained silent, the creases at the corners of his eyes crinkled with laughter.
The chill in her toes shot goose bumps up her legs.
“Pleasure to meet you, Holly Jane.”
The man, who she had by now decided could only be Mr. Colt Wesson Travers, tipped his head then backed out of the bedroom, clearly enjoying the fact that he had come upon her vulnerable and in her bed, wearing her nightgown—and sleeping with a pig to go with it.
Without warning, he winked, spun about on his boot heel and followed his elderly relatives down the stairs.
She had not by any means fallen instantly in love with this stranger! Just the opposite, she disliked him with a righteous intensity. He was arrogant...cocky...and much too handsome for anyone’s good.
And he owned the ranch that should have been hers!
* * *
Half an hour later, Holly Jane stood at the top of the stairs, yanking the bow of her apron and listening to the murmur of voices drifting up the stairs.
The scent of fried potatoes drifted up as well, but she did her best to ignore it. One would think that the aroma would make her want to retch, being that a stranger was using her kitchen, but it only made her stomach growl.
With a sigh, she straightened her spine, the one in her back and the one in her soul. She descended the stairs determined to present the new owners with a smile. She would pass through the kitchen as quickly as possible on her way to her own circle of property, where she would make herself a cozy place to live.
No doubt that’s what Granddaddy would have expected of her...a smile and a friendly greeting.
Blame it, her cheeks blushed like flames when she stepped into the kitchen and saw the three of them gathered about the dining table.
She’d like to blame the darn pig for it all, but it hadn’t been Lulu’s idea to ruin the house.
“Good morning,” she said, and since they hadn’t really been introduced and she could be anyone, she added. “I’m Holly Jane Munroe. Welcome home.”
“Good morning, dear,” the shorter woman said, her smile as agreeable as sunrise after a cold night. “I’m Grannie Rose, and this is my sister, Aunt Tillie. Our young man is my grandson, Colt Wesson.”
“A pleasure,” she said, nodding at each of the people sitting at the table because it was the polite thing to do and she was a polite person. “I’ll be out of your way in a heartbeat.”
“But we’ve saved you a chair,” Grannie Rose said, sliding it away from the table for her to sit down.
“And a plate of food.” Aunt Tillie pushed it toward the place they had saved for her.
“You must be hungry,” Colt Travers said with a wink. “Working late...making the place ready.”
“Colt Wesson, mind your manners.” Aunt Tillie shot her nephew a frown.
“Please do eat with us, dear.” Grannie Rose patted the chair seat. “You did a remarkable job on the house. I couldn’t have sabotaged it better myself.”
With her humiliation complete, Holly Jane felt her jaw drop open. It only took a second or two to recall her dignity, though. She straightened her shoulders and dug deep for the sunny smile she was noted for.
“Ordinarily, it’s a lovely home,” she said, then glanced about one more time, holding on to the vision of the curtains hanging at the kitchen window. Grandma had crocheted them only a month before the arthritis in her fingers became debilitating. She gazed at the table that Granddaddy had built with his own hands. If only she could sit at it one more time.
Since she just couldn’t, she said the only thing to be said. “I hope you find joy here. I’ll have my belongings out by noon.”
Tears burned her eyes. She dashed out the kitchen door before anyone might notice them.
Daylight, warm and fresh with autumn, greeted her, but she would have to wait to savor it. As it was, she would barely make it to the carousel before she bawled her heart out.
Lulu, roused from her morning nap, waddled out from under the porch and followed on short pink legs.
Halfway to the carousel, she heard the chickens raising a fuss in the barn.
Blame it. She was late feeding them. Changing direction, she strode toward the barn, wiping her eyes with her apron.
She stopped and went suddenly still. The chickens were no longer hers. It wasn’t her responsibility to feed them. If Mr. Colt Travers wanted his livestock fed he should have been here at dawn to do it.
Had the hens been merely livestock, she would have turned and gone back, left him to do his chore.
She probably shouldn’t have, but over the years she had given every hen and rooster a name. She could hear Henrietta cackling with pride at the egg she must have just laid. And her sister Matilda was brooding a batch of eggs. The chicks were due to hatch in a week.
Holly Jane continued toward the barn. Once she knew that Colt Travers was competent in caring for the flock, she would allow him to take care of them.
All at once a sickening thought hit her like a blow to the belly. She stared at the house, watching through the window while three distant figures ate their breakfast.
What if the Travers family was partial to chicken and dumplings? What if their favorite Sunday dinner was fried chicken?
Today was Sunday!
She hurried to the barn trying to decide what to do. Feed the chickens, yes, but what then? Set them free to become prey to hawks? Keep them in their safe little yard where Colt Travers might make dinner of them?
For now she’d watch to see what the man had in mind. He would have to pass through her land to get to the barn, or take a very