“I wish I had long nice hair like you.”
Amanda glanced toward the voice. A little red-haired girl, three or four years old, with a chin-length bob, was staring at her from her seat at the big table in Tender Years Daycare, surrounded by kids practicing writing lower-case letters on wide-lined paper. Amanda was standing by the rows of cubbies, full of hoodies and lunchboxes, waiting for the daycare owner for their 10:00 a.m. marketing meeting.
“I love your hair,” Amanda said.
The girl’s face brightened. “Really? Mine was long like yours but my little sister put gum in it and my mommy had to cut it.”
Aww. “Really and truly. And sorry about the gum. That happened to me once. I’ll bet by the holidays your hair will be much longer.”
“Really?” the girl asked. “By Christmas?”
Amanda did the math in her head. It was now early August. The girl had a good five months to go, and at half an inch a month, her hair would be down to her shoulders by Christmas for sure. “Yup.”
“Yay,” the adorable redhead said, and finished coloring her picture of a cat.
Lucinda Banks, the owner of the daycare, gestured for Amanda to come back to her office. As she walked past the precious bunch of children working on their names, she took in their little faces, so full of concentration and wonder, their brightly colored sneakers and T-shirts, and her heart almost burst.
As she followed Lucinda to her office, she was grateful for the meeting this morning. Otherwise, she’d be working at home as usual and would be taking too many thinking-about-Holt breaks. She’d woken up with him on her mind. She’d had a quick breakfast in the kitchen with Brittany, who’d told her to keep an open mind about the sexy rancher. But she didn’t want to. When you had your heart broken into pieces by someone, how you could trust them again? How could you let yourself be that vulnerable? Amanda had finished her coffee and made a firm decision to close her mind concerning Holt Dalton.
Inside Lucinda’s office, one wall devoted to children’s artwork, Amanda spent the next forty-five minutes sharing her PowerPoint presentation. Lucinda approved her campaign ideas for both radio and local newspaper advertising and social media outreach to target ideal customers. Amanda had one more meeting with Bronco Bank and Trust and then a few hours of work to do at home. Finally she’d drive over to Dalton’s Grange for her first tutoring session with Robby.
When she got home, she’d spend some solid time going over materials she had from the school district and some online sites for approaches to help struggling readers. She already had a good background, but with some focused prep for Robby’s particular needs—luckily she’d already gotten a sense of that when he’d read to Bentley and Oliver yesterday—she’d feel even more armored to get Robby Dalton out of that “worst group.”
She was all too aware that she was looking forward to that part of her day the most. To help Robby—and to see Holt again. The man she not an hour ago had firmly decided to keep at double arm’s length. Somehow, she would.
As she was heading out of Lucinda’s office, she noticed the group of preschoolers were now in circle time around a big colorful rug in the center of the room. Amanda paused by the front door as the teacher addressed the group.
“Boys and girls, in a little while we’ll be drawing pictures of something that makes us feel happy,” the teacher said. “Let’s go around the circle and say one thing that makes you feel happy. Everyone will have a turn.”
Being with Holt and Robby, Amanda thought unbidden—and was unnerved by her immediate response.
The teacher held up a yellow happy face on a stick. “I’ll go first. My students make me happy—all of you!” She smiled and passed the stick to a student with a long brown braid who said that chocolate chip cookies for dessert made her feel happy. The girl then passed the happy face to the boy next to her.
“Recess time!” the boy with curly blond hair said.
“When my aunt Maya visits cuz she always brings me a present and she’s coming today!” the next girl said.
“Coloring.”
“Chicken nuggets but no yucky sauce.”
“When my mommy picks me up from here and we go home.”
Aww. Amanda felt her heart grow bigger and bigger as each little kid squeezed inside it. Now it was the redhead’s turn, the one whose little sister put gum in her hair.
The girl tilted her head and thought for a second. “My little sister makes me happy because she’s my little sister.”
Double triple awww. I want a child, she thought. I want to be a mother. Maybe she should look into adoption—an older child. But as she pictured a little hand in hers, there was a man beside her holding the child’s other little hand.
This wasn’t matching up with Amanda’s plans to avoid love and romance. And now because of the call she’d gotten just five minutes ago from Holt as she’d pulled into the parking area of the daycare, she’d be seeing Holt and Robby later—and likely twice a week for the next three weeks while she worked with the little Dalton on reading. Holt’s description of Robby’s worried wake up in the middle of the night had had her agreeing to help ASAP, which meant starting today. She and Holt had discussed setting up a regular schedule then too.
A regular schedule of being in Holt’s house. With him there.
Suddenly, the little hand she imagined in hers was Robby Dalton’s. The man beside her holding the other little hand: Holt Dalton. Oh boy. She could clearly see their faces now. Robby with Bentley on a leash beside him, Oliver hitching a ride on Bentley’s back, which made no sense, but neither did thinking of Robby as hers in the first place. And on the other side of the boy was Holt, tall, sexy, strong Holt.
She was falling for him all over again. And she was in even bigger trouble this time around because his seven-year-old son had managed to steal her heart in record time. Her roommate’s words came back to her yet again, about having an open mind. Could she? Despite everything that had happened? Everything she knew would happen?
And she did know. Holt would break her heart—again. Never in a million years would she have thought that summer ten years ago that Holt would have left her, dumped her flat on her face, without a backward glance. How did a person go from acting like he was in love, showing that love, to just walking away and cutting all ties?
Tyler had done the same thing.
So how could Amanda think of giving Holt a second chance? Come on. You can’t be your own worst enemy in life, girl, she told herself. Be your own best friend. Be your own Brittany! Do not let that man past Go. Or even close to Go.
Then again, Holt hadn’t exactly said anything about a second chance. In fact, when she’d broken up that amazing kissing session on his deck, he’d said he shouldn’t be getting involved with anyone either, that he had a lot on his plate.
He told you this time. Said straight out that he wasn’t looking for a relationship. And what had been her grandpop’s motto? When someone tells you who they are, believe them.
If she let herself fall head over heels in love with Holt Dalton again, she’d only have herself to blame, not Holt, who’d been honest.
So. Do. Not. Let. Him. Pass. Go.
With that firm in her head, Amanda pushed open the door to leave Tender Years just as someone pulled it open to enter. She almost crashed right into none other than Neal Dalton, Holt’s dad. He wore a dark brown Stetson, a western shirt under a jacket and jeans.
What on earth could he be doing here?
“Mr. Dalton,” she said. “How nice to see you again. It was so thoughtful of your wife to invite me to the house for dinner last night.”
He tilted his head at her, as if trying to remember her name. “Ah yes, Amanda, Holt’s friend—from way back at that summer camp he had to attend.”
Had to attend. Where had Neal Dalton been ten years ago when that one little word would have clued her in that Holt wasn’t telling her everything? She couldn’t help but think if he had told her everything, he wouldn’t have felt the need to break up with her. He’d have known that she wouldn’t have judged him—especially not after getting to know him and loving him. But of course, that wasn’t what happened.
“Call me Neal,” he said with nod. “Sorry you saw me get so upset during dessert at Holt’s. But that’s exactly why I’m here. Do you work at the daycare?”
Uh, why was he here?
“No, I do marketing outreach and social media for Tender Years. I just had a meeting with Lucinda, the owner. But, Neal,” she dared to press, “what do you mean that’s why you’re here?” Perhaps he wanted to volunteer at the daycare to learn more about how kids operated, that they made mistakes, they made noise, and to watch the teachers for tips on how to handle issues that arise.
“I want to find out if there’s an opening for Robby for the rest of the month so that Holt can concentrate on the ranch,” Neal explained. “With the day camp not willing to take him anymore, Holt’s out of options. He already went through about five sitters who all quit and said Robby was just too much.”
Amanda frowned. Granted, she hadn’t spent a ton of time with Robby, but certainly enough to know the boy was just very energetic and curious and easily distracted. Robby had a good heart and understood right and wrong. He just needed to be around adults who knew how to channel that energy and curiosity. Tender Years was an excellent daycare with warm and experienced teachers; Robby would fit in well here from what Amanda had seen over the past year. “I didn’t realize Holt was looking for a slot here for Robby. I can introduce you to Lucinda—”
“Oh, I haven’t talked to Holt yet,” Neal said. “I figured I’d find out if there was an opening and offer to pay the monthly cost to sway Holt to enroll Robby.”
Amanda was sure her face registered her surprise—and alarm. “You mean you’re here because you want Robby in daycare?”
“That’s right. Full time till school starts up at the end of the month. Robby’s a great kid, but he needs more structured activity and direction. Right now, with camps no longer an option, Deborah is watching Robby while Holt works, and granted, his uncles also help out, but wouldn’t the boy be happier with scheduled activities and kids his own age? I thought I’d just see if there’s an opening and then talk to Holt about it.”
Amanda doubted Holt would want to put his son in daycare. She knew how much he valued the boy being around family for the rest of the summer.
“Anyway,” Neal continued. “As I said, I’m just seeing if there’s an opening. No harm in that.”
But there was. And would be.
“May I help you, sir?”
Amanda turned and there was Lucinda, extending her hand toward Neal.
“Ah, Mr. Dalton, right? I believe I met you and your wife at a fund-raising dinner for the ranchers’ association a couple months ago. You own Dalton’s Grange, right? What a grand and gorgeous property. And you have all those handsome sons.”
Neal took off his Stetson and shook her hand. “That’s right. And a very energetic grandson who could use a place here, if there’s an opening.”
“I have an opening for a full-time or two part-time attendees,” Lucinda said. “Come to my office and we’ll discuss.”
Neal put his hat back on, then tipped it at Amanda. “Nice seeing you again.”
Amanda managed a smile and swallowed.
This was not going to end well.
Holt spent most of the morning herding cattle—one of his favorite jobs on the ranch—into a farther pasture, then helped his brother Morgan go over inventory, and now, fortified by two strong cups of coffee, it was time to find his dad and have that talk. He’d been looking for Neal Dalton all morning but hadn’t seen him anywhere. He tried the main barn again, and there his dad was with his usual clipboard, flipping pages of his to-do list in one hand, his travel mug of coffee in the other.
Holt took a deep breath and cleared his throat. “Glad I found you, Dad. I’ve been looking for you all morning.”
Neal took a long sip of his coffee. “Well, you found me.” He looked up at Holt as if bracing himself. His dad clearly knew Holt wouldn’t let go of what happened last night with Robby.
But before Holt could launch into the sort of speech he’d prepared in his head but had already gotten jumbled, his dad spoke.
“So is this Amanda your girlfriend?” Neal asked.
I wish, Holt thought, the words coming quicker than he could deny them to himself.
Luckily, Holt didn’t have to respond because his father quickly added, “I ran into her this morning. I was walking in, she was walking out. Small world.”
He ran into Amanda? “Walking out of where?” he asked, figuring his dad was at the coffee shop.
“Tender Years Daycare,” Neal said. “She does marketing work for the place.”
Holt stared at his father, feeling his eyes narrow. “Why were you there?”
Neal took another swig of coffee. “Well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Turns out the daycare has a full-time slot open. Robby could start tomorrow and stay until school starts. The boy could use some structure the next few weeks.”
Whoa. Overstepping much? “Between his grandmother and his uncles, he has plenty of structure. His relatives enjoy spending time with him.” He emphasized the word relatives, feeling his eyes narrow on his father even more.
Neal Dalton lifted his chin. “I know they do. I do too. I love Robby, Holt. But he’s a whirlwind. Just think about the idea of the daycare—that’s all I’m asking.”
“I won’t think about it,” Holt said. “I have a good arrangement the next few weeks with Mom and my brothers watching Robby when I can’t. We all planned it that way together, so they’d get to spend some real time with him this summer. I can hire a sitter now and again.”
“The last few refused to come back,” Neal reminded him.
“So I’ll find someone else. I’m going to do what feels right to me, Dad. End of story.”
“You were always unnecessarily stubborn,” Neal said. “Amazing that that lovely young woman still likes you from when you knew her ten years ago.” He tried to add a smile to show he was kidding, but Holt knew his dad wasn’t joking in the slightest.
Holt crossed his arms over his chest. “Why wouldn’t she?”
“Come on, Holt. Getting into trouble. Arrested twice for stupid stuff you shouldn’t have been doing.”
“That was a long time ago,” he said, turning away.
“Look, Holt, I don’t want trouble between us. That’s the last thing I want. It means the world to me that you’re here at Dalton’s Grange with Robby. You know that. I’m just saying that my grandson—and I love that boy like mad—is a lot like you were at his age. Rein in him now and save yourself problems down the road.”
A hot flash of anger burned red in Holt’s gut. “Oh, so now Robby’s a juvenile delinquent in the making?”
“He needs structure, Holt. Plain and simple. More than baking cookies with Gram or mucking out the calf stalls for twenty minutes with your uncles.”
“I think I know what my son needs, Dad.”
“Why don’t you ask that nice Amanda her opinion,” Neal said. “She knows you from back when you used to be a troublemaker headed down the wrong path. That’s why she’s so understanding about Robby. She clearly sees you in him.” Neal Dalton nodded as if doubly agreeing with himself, flipped through his clipboard a couple times, then glanced at Holt. “She’ll tell you structure is a good thing for a rowdy child. I was too lenient with you and I regret it. That’s what this is all about.”
Holt felt like a character from the animated TV show his son loved, about a bull with a temper who always had locomotive steam coming out of his ears.
“What Robby needs,” Holt said through gritted teeth, “is love and guidance and supportive people around him. You are way too hard on him. He’s seven years old. He’s a good kid, but yes, he makes mistakes. Yes, he talks too much and too loud, he runs when he should walk, he’s impulsive. But the way you bark at him doesn’t change his behavior.”
Neal frowned. “I don’t mean to bark. But sometimes I can’t help it.”
“Well guess what? Neither can Robby. He needs to be around his family right now—that’s what I believe. I like the arrangement as it is, with me, his mom and his uncles watching him the rest of the month. I’m not sending him to Tender Years, wonderful as the place may be. End of discussion.”
Holt was more than done with this conversation.
“Hey, Neal,” a deep voice said from outside. “Got a sec to talk about where you want the shipment of hay bales coming in at noon?”
Holt glanced out the barn doors. Brody Colter, one of the ranch hands, was standing there, looking at Neal expectantly.
“Sure thing,” Neal said to the guy. “Stubborn,” he tossed at Holt, shaking his head as he walked out with his clipboard and his thermos.
Like father, like son, he wanted to call after him.