From the back, she thought it could be him. His usual cowboy hat was missing, but the long, lean frame, dark hair, faded jeans, and scuffed boots with bits of mud clinging to them easily fit her memory. Typical Chase Tanner. But there was something—no, two things—making it very unlikely. Namely, a little girl with blonde curls peeking over his left shoulder and a second fair-haired cutie clinging to his leg who appeared to be mere moments away from a full-fledged meltdown. Twins, barely old enough to walk.

No way would the fella she grew up with have allowed himself to be found in a situation like this. He was not the marrying kind, much less a family man. Whoever this guy was, buried in domestic responsibility, he could not be the man she remembered. Besides, why would a fourth-generation Montana rancher be standing in the middle of the local employment agency on a freezing January morning when there must be cattle, horses, and a million other things to tend to back at the homestead?