LITMIR.BIZ

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if the answer should be obvious. “Motor homes.”

      “All of them?”

      “Unless they got family close by.”

      “I see,” Travis murmured. He hadn’t considered that there wouldn’t be a motel—but then that was one of his problems, according to Valerie. He didn’t think ahead.

      “If you’d like, I could write you out directions to the Pattersons’ B and B.”

      “Please.” Famished, Travis dug into his meal, devouring it in minutes. He’d no sooner finished when the waiter returned with a hand-drawn map listing streets and landmarks. Apparently the one and only bed and breakfast was off the beaten path.

      Thunder cracked in the sky, followed by flashes of lightning. No one seemed to pay much heed to the storm until the lights flickered. Everyone in the restaurant paused and waited, then sighed with relief when the lights stayed on.

      The storm was bad, but he’d seen worse off the New England coastline five years before. Holed up in a rented cottage in order to meet a deadline, Travis had watched storms rage as he fought his own battles. It’d been shortly after the divorce.

      He thought of that sassy ranch woman who’d spoken to him today and wondered what she’d say if she knew he’d stood on a rocky bluff overlooking the sea, with the wind and rain pounding against him, and openly defied nature.

      Remembering the way she’d leaped out of her truck, eyes flashing with outrage, brought a rare smile to his lips.

      She’d been an attractive woman. Practically as tall as he was and full-sized, not some pencil-thin model. A spitfire, too. Definitely one of a kind. Briefly he wondered if he’d get a chance to see her again and rather hoped he would, just so he could tell her he’d managed to survive the storm.

      Following the directions given him by the waiter at the Mexican Lindo, Travis drove to Pattersons’ Bed and Breakfast, which turned out to be a large older home. He rang the doorbell.

      Almost immediately a tall gray-haired lanky man opened the door and invited him inside. “Welcome to Promise.” The man extended his hand and introduced himself as Phil Patterson.

      “Travis Grant. Do you have a room for a few nights?” he asked, getting directly to the point.

      “Sorry,” Phil told him. “We’re booked solid.”

      Travis had left New York early that morning and didn’t relish the thought of traveling another hundred miles through a storm to find a bed for the night. “I’m tired and not difficult to please. Isn’t there any place that could put me up for a few nights?”

      Phil frowned. “The rodeo’s coming to town.”

      “So I understand.”

      “I doubt there’s a room available in Brewster, either.”

      Travis muttered a curse under his breath.

      “Phil.” A woman’s voice called out from the kitchen. “You might try Nell.”

      “Nell?”

      “Nell Bishop.”

      Phil sighed. “I know who Nell is.”

      “She’s opening her dude ranch in a couple of months, so she’s probably got rooms to rent.”

      Phil’s face relaxed. “Of course, that’s a great idea.”

      Travis’s spirits lifted.

      “I’ll give her a call.” Phil reached for the phone, punched in the number and waited. After a minute or two he covered the receiver. “Nell’s busy, but her mother-in-law’s there and she said you’d be welcome to drive out, but she feels obliged to warn you there’s no electricity at the moment.”

      “They have a bed and clean sheets?”

      “Sure thing, and Ruth—that’s her name—said she’d throw in breakfast, as well.”

      He named a price that sounded more than reasonable to Travis. “Sold.”

      Phil relayed the information, drew him a map, and soon Travis was back on the road.

      Patterson had told him that the ranch was a fair distance out of town; still, by the time Travis pulled off the highway and onto the gravel drive that led to Twin Canyons Ranch, he suspected he was closer to Brewster than Promise. Approaching the front door, he felt as though his butt was dragging as low to the ground as his suitcase.

      A kid who looked to be about twelve answered his knock and stared blankly at him while Travis stood in the rain.

      “Hello,” Travis finally said.

      “Hello,” the boy answered. A girl two or three years younger joined him. Good-looking children, but apparently not all that bright.

      “Most people come to the back door unless they’re selling something, and if you are, we’re not buying.”

      Despite feeling tired and cranky, Travis grinned. “I’m here about a room.”

      The two kids exchanged glances.

      “Who is it?” He heard an older woman’s voice in the background; a moment later, she appeared at the door. “For the love of heaven, young man, come out of the rain.” She nudged the children aside and held open the door.

      He stood in the hallway, which was all gloom and shadows except for the light flickering from a cluster of candles. Travis glanced around, but it was impossible to see much.

      “Mom’s in the barn,” the boy said.

      “I know that,” the older woman told him. She put the candle close to Travis’s face. “You look decent enough.”

      “I haven’t eaten any children in at least a week,” he teased, eyeing the two kids. The little girl moved a step closer to her brother.

      “I’m Travis Grant,” he said, turning his attention to the woman.

      “Ruth Bishop, and these two youngsters are my grandchildren, Jeremy and Emma.”

      “Pleased to meet you.” He shifted the suitcase in his hand, hoping Ruth would take the hint and escort him to his room. She didn’t. “About the room...” he said pointedly.

      “You’ll need to meet Nell first.”

      “All right.” He was eager to get the introductions over with so he could fall into bed and sleep for the next twelve hours straight.

      “This way.” She led him through the house to the back porch, where she pulled on a hooded jacket. Then she walked down the back steps and into the rain, holding her hand over the candle to shield the small flame.

      Travis wasn’t enthusiastic about clumping through the storm yet again, but didn’t have much choice.

      “Ruth?” a new voice called into the night. A low pleasant voice.

      “Coming,” the grandmother answered.

      They met halfway across the yard in the pouring rain. “I got us our first paying guest,” Ruth announced, beaming proudly. “Travis Grant, meet my daughter-in-law, Nell Bishop.”

      It took Travis no more than a second to recognize Nell as the woman who’d called him an idiot.

      He liked her already.

      Two

      Nell located an old-fashioned lantern for Travis Grant. It had probably been in the family for fifty years and was nothing if not authentic. Next she gathered together fresh sun-dried sheets, a couple of blankets and a pillow. She tucked everything inside a plastic bag and raced through the storm, holding the lit lantern with one hand. When she arrived at the bunkhouse, Nell discovered Travis sitting on the end of a bed, looking tired and out of sorts.

      The initial

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