LITMIR.BIZ

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not fair!”

      Cimarron didn’t like the heaviness that had settled in his midsection. He hadn’t anticipated this stumbling block when he bought the old house, but he was pretty sure Sarah James couldn’t buy the place back at his price and he wasn’t about to lose money on the deal. “It’s life. And I won’t lose.”

      “We’ll see about that,” she retorted and stalked over to the door. She turned back in the entryway. “You and your son can leave now. I’m locking the door.”

      “Fine,” Cimarron said and motioned to Wyatt, who came to heel like a puppy and followed him outside. He didn’t mention the fact that Bobby had given him a set of keys to the house. No need to provoke her more.

      At the truck, Wyatt slid into the backseat and Cimarron moved behind the wheel, then sat for a while with the door open, a boot propped on the dashboard, pondering his options. He’d never get any money back from Bobby. Sarah might risk everything she had to regain the house and Cimarron would have to add that guilt to the bundle that already weighed him down. Yet he couldn’t just throw his money to the wind. He’d intended to start work on this place right away, while he figured out what to do about Wyatt.

      He thought about Sarah working so hard in the café that morning and recalled that her griddle was broken. They would never work things out as enemies. If he had to make a conciliatory move, so be it. He was a businessman and every day of lost work meant lost money.

      Busy printing a lunch and dinner menu on the large chalkboard behind the counter, Sarah purposefully ignored Cimarron when he came into the café again. Without help and with only one side of her griddle working, she would be hardpressed to handle more than a few simple items today.

      To her advantage, Saturdays in Little Lobo were usually slow. Working people took off to Livingston or Bozeman to shop and restock groceries. Ranchers and farmers had to catch up while they could. Usually, after breakfast no more than a dozen folks stopped by the café on a given Saturday. She planned to serve cold sandwiches and a big pot of soup. Even without Aaron, she could manage that.

      Cimarron waited in silence for her to finish.

      She laid her colored chalk in the tray at the bottom of the board and turned to face him. “What do you want?”

      “Is your griddle working now?”

      “No.”

      “I could probably fix it for you.”

      “Jack-of-all-trades,” she said with an edge of sarcasm that could have sliced beef. “I didn’t ask for your help.”

      “I’m offering.”

      “No, thanks.”

      His jaw hardened and a fist clenched, but he maintained his stony composure. “I didn’t intend to mess up your plans when I came here.”

      “You could have fooled me.”

      “It’s not me you should be mad with. Your brother’s the one who misled us both.”

      “Oh, trust me, I’m mad with him. I just can’t get my hands on him right this minute.”

      “That doesn’t bode well for me.” He shot her a disarming grin that revealed beautiful white teeth and warmed his eyes.

      His charm almost worked. Almost. Sarah wasn’t going to be sucked in by a handsome face. “No, it doesn’t. So why don’t you leave?”

      “We’re never going to come to an agreement if we can’t even talk.”

      “There won’t be an agreement. You and Bobby cheated me, and I’m going to rectify that.”

      “I didn’t cheat you. Long story short, I can’t afford to lose my money and you can’t afford to pay me back, so we’re going to have to work something out. In the meantime, let me look at your griddle before you open for lunch.”

      “I don’t need it for lunch, but…” Grudgingly she gave a curt nod.

      She moved out of his way as he came around the counter. At least that would be one thing she wouldn’t have to worry about. He fiddled with the griddle controls, then inched the heavy unit away from the wall.

      “Where’s your little boy?”

      “Wyatt?” He glanced at his knee. “You mean he’s not attached to my leg?”

      She looked around for the child, noticing a small foot sticking out of one of the booths. The child was lying on his stomach on the bench, his head resting on his arm.

      “Do you want something to drink?” she asked him.

      “He’ll be fine,” Cimarron said as Wyatt lifted his head to look at her. He put his head back down and said nothing.

      Sarah frowned. “I don’t mind giving him—”

      “Do you have any tools in here. If not, I’ve got mine in the truck.”

      None of my business. She pulled a worn leather tool pouch from under the counter. Cimarron chose a screwdriver and took the back off the unit.

      “Here’s the problem,” he said. “One of your burners is shot.”

      “So you can’t fix it?”

      “Not without a new part. Any appliance-repair places around here?”

      “Bozeman,” she said glumly.

      “Okay. I’ll drive into Bozeman and try to find a replacement.”

      “That’s too much trouble.”

      “Do you have any other options?”

      Sarah gave that some serious thought. Seemed she was fresh out of options on all sides.

      “Not at the moment. I called around and the local repairman is out of town for several days. Of course, nobody from Bozeman will come this far out without adding a surcharge—and never on a weekend.”

      “Then I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

      “I…I’d rather you didn’t. I don’t want to owe you any favors.”

      “The only thing I ask in return is that you quit skewering me for something your brother did. Let’s see how things look in the morning. Can you just do that?”

      Still in shock, and with two more meals to serve before she could rest, Sarah was in no mood to capitulate. But if this stranger wanted to fix her griddle, let him.

      “I’ll pay you to fix it, but your stealing my house still won’t look any different to me tomorrow.”

       CHAPTER FOUR

      THE AIR WAS COOL and clear at the top of Bozeman Pass and the unrelenting wind whipped through Cimarron’s open truck windows as he enjoyed the panorama spread before him. This part of Montana called to his heart, even more than his native Idaho.

      Why return to a place that triggered unhappy memories of the medicinal smells, sickbeds, and the depression and hopelessness of watching one parent die while the other spiraled into a void of alcohol and irresponsibility? Where roots no longer existed, except in the lonely country graveyard where his brother was now buried next to their mother. His only remaining family—that he was willing to claim, anyway—was firmly planted in the backseat of the pickup as they barreled along.

      Cimarron hadn’t expected the determined challenge from Sarah James, but he stood a good chance of wearing her down—especially since he suspected she didn’t have the money to put up a convincing fight. He’d just have to hang around until everything was resolved.

      That had a definite upside. Cimarron arched an eyebrow and smiled. Even at her maddest, she was cute as a freckled puppy, with her shining red hair, flaming cheeks and eyes the color of an endless sky.

      Maybe

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