Harley made a big snow ball, ducked behind one of the pine trees and waited until Molly was whizzing snow balls at Mack and then dropped her snow ball right on top of Molly’s head.
But instead of laughing, Molly fell apart and stormed off, marching into the house.
Harley felt bad when Molly left. “I shouldn’t have done that,” she said, brushing snow from her gloves.
“You were just playing.”
“She didn’t like it.”
“Molly likes to make the rules and be in charge. If she’s not, she has a hissy fit.”
Harley shot him a quick side glance. “Does that bother you?”
“Most of the time, no. Every now and then, yeah. She doesn’t realize that she wins because I let her win. I just don’t care enough to always fight.”
“That’s very mature of you.”
He shrugged. “It’s just a survival thing. Uncle Troy always said you got to pick your fights or you’ll be like Uncle Trey, serving time for fighting the wrong folks.” Mack saw her shocked expression and grimaced. “Yeah. I know. It’s bad.”
“This is your dad’s brother?”
“Yeah, and Uncle Trey was our favorite uncle, too. He used to live in Marietta so we’d see him a lot. But he’s been in jail a long time now.” Mack added a note of warning. “But don’t mention it to my dad. It makes him really upset. Uncle Trey was like Dad’s best friend.”
The wind swept through the trees, blowing snow from the limbs as they started walking back to the house.
Mack peeled off his gloves wet and tugged off his hat. “I get mad at Molly sometimes,” he said, “but she is my best friend.”
Harley smiled. “You’re lucky you have each other.”
He nodded. “Yeah. But it’s going to be weird in January.”
Harley glanced at the boy. “Weird, why?”
“Because I don’t know what’s going to happen with the Academy.” They’d reached the back porch and took turns scraping snow off the soles of their boots. “I don’t want to go back, not without her.”
“But Molly’s going back—” Harley broke off, seeing Mack’s brow furrow and his eyes darken. “Isn’t she?”
“They kicked her out.” Mack’s lips compressed. “Permanently, this time.”
“What did she do?”
He sighed. “Everything.”
Harley shivered inside her coat. “She’s been in trouble before?”
“Yes. They warned her that next time they’d expel her, but that’s what Molly wanted. She doesn’t like being away from Dad. She thinks Dad needs us here, home, so she... acts out. Does stupid stuff.” His dark head lifted, his hair shaggy and thick like his father, his dark eyes his father’s too. “She’s not bad, though. She just gets so homesick.” His shoulders twisted. “I do, too.”
Harley heard the dogs bark in the distance. Brock must be heading toward the house. “Your dad doesn’t know, does he?” she asked.
“No.”
“He needs to know.”
“Yeah. But I don’t know how to tell him. He’ll just get mad.” Mack sighed, expression troubled. “Seems like he’s always so mad.”
“I think your dad doesn’t know how to handle the fact that you and Molly are growing up. I also think he’s worried that he’s going to make a mistake as a dad, and do the wrong thing.”
“The mistake was sending us to the Academy.”
“It won’t get any easier by not telling him. Better to break the news and get it over with. You’ll feel better when you tell him.”
He grimaced. “I don’t think so.”
She laughed and ruffled his hair which was icy cold. “He loves you, both you and Molly, so much. You have to believe that. You have to give him a chance. Now let’s go in and get into dry clothes, then you find Molly, make sure she’s okay, and I’ll start making some hot cocoa. Sound like a plan?”
She was at the stove, monitoring the milk in the saucepan when footsteps sounded on the back porch and Brock entered the kitchen.
“I’m making the kids hot chocolate,” she said, skin prickling as Brock approached the stove, glanced down into the pan. “Would you like some?”
“Hot chocolate?” he repeated.
“Yes, with marshmallows and whipped cream and chocolate shavings.” She smiled at him, feeling nervous and shy. She’d shared an awful lot this morning and now she wished she hadn’t. Only thing to do now was keep it professional. “Or I can keep it simple. Just cocoa if you prefer.”
“I’ll take some whipped cream,” he said, adding a log to the fire before dropping onto one of the stools at the counter. “If it’s not too much trouble.”
She felt her cheeks warm. “It’s not too much trouble.” She checked the milk to make sure it hadn’t started to boil and then retrieved another mug. After burning the pies yesterday she didn’t want to scald the milk today. But it would be a lot easier to concentrate if Brock were somewhere else.
“Want to call the kids?” she asked, staring down at the simmering milk, gauging the tiny bubbles.
“No.”
She glanced at him over her shoulder. He practically filled the island, his big arms resting on the counter, his shoulders squared. “The cocoa is going to be ready soon.”
“But it’s not ready yet,” he said mildly.
“It will be soon.”
“Soon, but not yet.”
She glared at him. “You’re being difficult.”
“According to my kids I’m always difficult. And mean. And determined to make them unhappy for the rest of their lives.”
She hadn’t meant to laugh. She hadn’t even known she was going to laugh but the gurgle of laughter slipped from her and she clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle the sound.
“It’s not funny,” he said, and yet his eyes were smiling at her.
“No, it’s not.” Her lips twitched as she took in his big strong body, his black gleaming hair and his dark eyes in that ruggedly handsome face. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t sound sorry at all.”
Her lips twitched again. “I’m trying to sound sympathetic.”
“You’re not trying very hard.”
“I’m also trying not to tell you I told-you-so.”
“Again, not trying very hard.”
She bit down into her lip to check her smile, and yet he was smiling a little, a small sexy smile that made her heart turn over and her insides melt.
He was too good-looking when he smiled. Much, much too good-looking.
“Don’t do that,” she said, trying to sound severe.
“Do what?”
“Be all friendly and sexy—”
“Sexy?” he pounced on the word, black eyebrows rising.
“Because from now on we are keeping things professional.”
“Professional,” he repeated.
Her tummy flipped and her pulse quickened. “Platonic.”
He said nothing just looked at her from beneath his dark lashes, his expression lazy, sultry, knowing.
He remembered how she’d kissed him last night. He remembered how she responded.
Harley flushed. “I’m here to do a job and that’s the only reason I’m here—”
“Harley—”
“I’m serious. I’m the housekeeper and cook—”
He was up off the stool and at her side, yanking the sauce pan with the boiling milk from the hot burner even as the milk bubbled up and over the edge of the pan all over the stove.
“Damn,” Harley cried. She could tell from the scorched smell that she hadn’t just wasted the milk, she’d burned the pan. She looked up at Brock and jabbed a finger in his chest as he was standing far too close. “This is your fault. None of this would have happened if you’d just gotten the kids like I told you.”
Brock stared down into Harley’s bright green eyes, seeing the sparkle of anger that made her eyes light up and her cheeks flush. He liked this side of her, feisty and fierce, her finger pressed to his chest as she took him to task.
He’d always admired intelligent women, and Amy had been one of the smartest girls at Marietta High School, testing off the charts, and earning several full-ride scholarships to prestigious universities. But Amy hadn’t wanted to leave Montana. She loved Montana and Brock too much to leave either, so Brock and Amy both attended school in Bozeman, earning degrees together, graduating together and settling down on their new ranch, with Brock to work the ranch and Amy to work in Marietta in the commercial banking division for Copper Mountain Savings & Loan. She’d been on her way to work when her car was broadsided.