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Cashton Herrera, of all people. As a skinny, dark-eyed boy six years her senior, he’d found it amusing to lock her in a utility closet when she was four years old—and that was just the beginning of his mischief at her expense. She was willing to concede that boys could be boys and grow up to be decent men. But jail time, well, that was an entirely different matter.
Up ahead through the trees she glimpsed the adjoining buildings that composed the heart of Hunter Enterprises—Hunter’s Hideaway. A family business for six generations if you included the offspring of her four siblings, Hunter’s Hideaway catered to hunters, horsemen, hikers and others who enjoyed spending time in the great outdoors.
Located not too far outside small-town Hunter Ridge, the property featured an inn, restaurant and general store. Guest cabins were scattered throughout a vast acreage that abutted National Forest Service property, and it was here that in addition to clerking, waiting tables and cleaning guest rooms, Rio managed seasonal trail and hay rides with assistance from a cousin and summer hires. But her cousin J.C., who she’d been counting on to take over for her when she headed back to college, had dashed off to chase his own rainbows.
So she was stuck here unless Cash proved capable of taking over her responsibilities. But even if he had the know-how to run the operation, how could she leave a man like him totally in charge? Hot tempers and ready fists wouldn’t mix well with horses, guests or staff. Knowing how she’d feel about the new hire, was this a ploy on Grandma’s part to keep her granddaughter from leaving?
As she stepped out from under the thick canopy of pine branches into a cloudless midmorning of the third week in May, she glimpsed a county sheriff’s department SUV off to the side of the parking lot. And gritted her teeth.
Deputy Braxton Turner leaned casually against the vehicle, shooting the breeze with her older brother Luke. Which tattletale told Brax she’d arrive home today? It wasn’t that she didn’t like him. He was a nice enough guy—the attention he focused on her not nearly as irksome as that of Jeb Greer’s son, Eliot, who’d recently returned for the summer—but she felt no sparks when in the company of either man. Nor did she, despite her best efforts, find trusting males outside the family an easy thing to do.
Besides, could neither of them see she had no intention of being trapped in a relationship that chained her to Hunter Ridge? She had a dream of helping others who, like herself, were victims of college dating violence. The last time she looked, though, tiny Hunter Ridge boasted no sprawling campus of higher learning where she could attain the needed counseling degree.
With a hasty wave in the direction of the two men, she dashed across the graveled parking lot, slowing to catch her breath when she reached the front porch entrance of the building that housed the inn and restaurant, as well as her grandmother’s apartment and office.
She smoothed her shirt, somewhat wrinkled from the California flight and a three-hour drive from Phoenix’s Sky Harbor airport. It had been an emotionally, physically and mentally exhausting retreat focused on spiritual preparation for those intending to minister in the area of dating and domestic violence. Not only had she learned more about the spiritual aspects of how to reach out to victims of dating violence, but she’d been pressed to prayerfully dig deep down inside and relive her own experiences and further confront her fears. Every minute would be worth it, though, if she could apply what she’d learned to helping others in the future, the first step being when she returned to college in the fall—keeping the vow she’d made to God in exchange for His saving her mother’s life after her cancer diagnosis.
With a silent, heartfelt prayer that she could convincingly express her concerns regarding Cash to Grandma Jo—and that she wasn’t too late—she pulled open the heavy wood door. But she was immediately forced back as a ball-capped boy of seven or eight pushed out past her.
“Joseph!” a male voice bellowed from inside. “Get back here.”
She peered into the dimly lit interior where a solidly built, broad-shouldered man rapidly approached from across the lobby. Dressed in dark jeans and a burgundy shirt, his head of jet-black hair topped by a Western hat, the grim set of his mouth clearly spelled out his exasperation.
Suddenly aware of someone holding open the door from which the child had bolted, the man paused, then touched the brim of his hat in acknowledgment. Midnight-dark eyes met hers with an unmistakable flicker of male interest, and her own betraying heart leaped in response to the approving appraisal. But his expression shuttered as he briskly nodded in the direction the escapee had taken.
“Pardon me, ma’am. I have a young’un to round up.”
He obviously didn’t recognize her after fourteen years. But she had no doubt as to his identity—and that she was too late to prevent Cashton Herrera from signing on at the Hideaway.
* * *
Cash couldn’t lose a single second in pursuing his son, but for some reason his booted feet remained glued to the floor as he looked down at the petite young woman.
She gazed up at him as if in recognition, but while he might not be in the market for a lady these days—he’d learned his lesson the hard way with a cheating ex-wife—he’d not likely have forgotten that long, sun-streaked blond hair scooped high in a cascading ponytail. Or the slightly crooked nose, sparkling blue eyes, and trim figure tucked into jeans and a light blue, fitted chambray shirt. Ear studs glimmered with silver and turquoise, a match to the Southwestern-styled watch gracing her wrist.
“So that was your boy, was it, who shot out of here like his pants were on fire?” Her voice was firm, direct. Like she knew him and was calling him out for an offense.
He’d sired Joseph Cashton Herrera when, at eighteen, he’d gotten involved with and married a pretty—and highly unpredictable—young woman. But the past forty-eight hours had been his first attempt at full-time, hands-on single parenting. As much as he’d dreamed of more time with his son, he hadn’t been given any warning that his ex would abruptly relinquish the child they shared. No time to prepare.
As a result, things weren’t going all that well.
“Yeah, Joey’s mine.” Had the youngster gotten himself into trouble and fled the scene while his beleaguered daddy was filling out employment forms that would keep a roof over their heads? Cash squinted one eye. “Why do you want to know?”
A tiny crease formed between the woman’s dark slash of brows. “No reason. Except I’m not surprised that a child of yours appears to be a handful. Kind of amusing, actually. What goes around comes around?”
He frowned. “Do we—”
“Rio! You’re back.”
Rio?
He turned to where his new employer, Josephine “Jo” Hunter, descended the staircase into the rustic inn and restaurant’s lobby, her hair swept atop her head and secured with combs as he remembered she’d always worn it. Somewhere around eighty, she nevertheless donned jeans and a collared shirt and carried herself as regally as she had during the three years Cash’s dad worked at Hunter’s Hideaway. She’d been kind to him back then. Even kinder now. At the moment, though, her challenging gaze rested on the young woman next to him.
He turned to stare at the blonde now offering what looked to be a forced smile.
This was Rio? Princess Rio? The spoiled, freckle-faced ripsnorter who’d shadowed him while he did his chores, got underfoot and dared him to try to do something about it? He’d landed in trouble more times than he cared to remember for taking desperate measures to keep her out of his hair.
She thrust out her hand. “Hey, Cash. Long time no see.”
Still stunned, he briefly took her surprisingly firm grip in his. “Guess it has been.”
He’d been thirteen the last time he’d laid eyes on her. She’d have been—what? seven?—when his dad had been booted from Hunter’s Hideaway in disgrace.
“Cash accepted an offer to fill in for J.C. this summer,” Jo informed her evenly, and from the tone of her voice he got the sneaking suspicion she expected her granddaughter might object to that decision. But why? Surely Rio didn’t hold it against him that her cousin had once talked him into locking her up. Not that it had required much persuasion.
“Then,” Jo continued, “if all goes well—which I expect it will—he’ll move into the managerial role when you leave.”
Wait, wait, wait.
Little Rio Hunter—okay, not so little now—was the manager of the Hideaway’s horse operation?
During the interview, Jo had talked in general regarding a current manager’s imminent departure—J.C., he’d assumed—and expectations for the position. Then she’d touched on the summer hires. And she’d mentioned that a potential events booking agency would soon be inspecting the family-run business, including the horse-related part of the outfit. Rio’s name hadn’t come up. He hadn’t seen her when he’d toured the facilities.
But did that mean he’d be...?
“Looks like you’ll be reporting to me, Mr. Herrera.” Deep blue eyes that a man could get lost in gazed up at him with a hint of amusement.
Reporting to the Princess? When pigs fly. He glanced at Jo, seeking confirmation that there was a misunderstanding.
“Temporarily,” the older woman assured. “Rio departs in August.”
Two and a half months. Not exactly what he had in mind when he’d decided to leave wrangling at a dude ranch in hopes of bettering his financial situation, but he could live with that, seeing as how he didn’t have much choice. Not if he wanted to give his son a home and gain legal custody.
Speaking of which...he glanced out the door Rio was still holding open. No sign or sound of Joey. He’d better get moving.
“If you don’t mind, I need to track down my boy.”
“Then let’s plan to meet at the main barn at 5:00 a.m. tomorrow.” Rio’s chin lifted slightly. “You’ll have plenty to learn in a short time about how we do things here.”
A muscle in his gut constricted. He couldn’t leave Joey by himself at that hour. When he’d applied for the job last month and then interviewed earlier this week, kid care hadn’t been part of the equation.
Jo shook her head. “Not tomorrow, Rio. Cash needs time to make childcare arrangements and get his son settled.”
“He can’t take care of that today? Saturday will be busy, and we can’t have a kid running loose around here.” Rio crossed her arms, clearly irritated and wanting to get the show on the road, even though she apparently hadn’t even known he’d been hired until a few minutes ago. “Not only does Cash have a job to do, but there are too many dangers a boy can get into if left on his own.”
She sounded as if she didn’t think he was aware of that possibility. With Joey evading him right under her nose, was his amateur parenting status obvious?
“He won’t be running loose,” Jo assured her granddaughter. “As I’ve mentioned to Cash, Luke’s Anna and a few of her high school friends want to pick up extra money this summer by babysitting the children of Hideaway guests. What’s one more?”
Childcare. That was another expense on top of child support until he could track down his ex-wife—an endeavor he didn’t look forward to—and get things legally ironed out. Sure, her new husband—the second since she’d divorced Cash—didn’t want a boy around who didn’t belong to him. But typical of Lorilee, in the blink of an eye she could change her mind about the new marriage and the hasty disposal of their son. He didn’t trust her not to rethink her decision and call the law down on him for child abduction or something equally crazy.
Like her accusations of assault when he’d told her he planned to seek legal custody of Joey.
All he had now to stake a claim to his boy was a sack of personal documents with a scribbled note from Lorilee delivered by his former mother-in-law. The woman had dumped her grandson off at his place two days ago as he was readying to leave for Hunter Ridge.
“A babysitter on the premises would be great,” he acknowledged. But except for his pickup, which he had to hang on to, he didn’t have anything to sell for ready cash. Having lost his job at a horse training facility while jailed three-and-a-half years ago, he’d sold his two horses to help cover child support during those six months. He’d dig deep and come up with the money, though. Somehow.
But first, he had to find his boy. Who knew where the kid had gotten off to while his dad stood lollygagging with a pretty woman? “Maybe we can get together tomorrow, Rio. You know, once Joey’s settled in.”
She nodded, but clearly wasn’t on board with his apparently unexpected arrival—which was confirmed when she gave her grandmother a pointed look.
“Do you have a minute when I could speak with you, Grandma? In private?”
“Come by my office after lunch.”
He could guess the topic of that conversation, but if the delay didn’t suit her, Rio hid it well.
Jo turned to him with a warm smile. “Welcome back to Hunter’s Hideaway, Cash. We’re looking forward to working with you for a good long time.”
Her gaze briefly touched on her granddaughter, then she crossed the lobby and disappeared down a hallway.
When Cash turned to Rio, he caught her eyes narrowed on him in speculation—and a hint of female interest that caught him off guard. If it wasn’t for the sudden flush on her cheeks when his eyes met hers, he’d think he imagined it. Princesses didn’t usually look at Herreras with interest.
He shifted uncomfortably as they openly sized each other up. This situation had the makings of a complicated employer-employee relationship for more reasons than one. “I’ll be in touch as soon I get the childcare arranged. But right now I need to—”
“Look, Dad! He likes me!”
* * *
To Rio’s relief, their locked gazes released as they turned to the now-giggling, black-haired boy who’d earlier made a mad dash out the door. He hopped up on the low porch, a German shepherd at his side licking him every inch of the way.
“See, Dad?”
The gleam in his dark brown eyes reminded her of the boy his father had once been. Cashton Herrera a dad. Unbelievable.
Cash joined them on the porch, crouching to playfully tug on the bill of the boy’s baseball cap before roughing up the dog’s glossy coat. The excited canine made a tongue swipe in his direction, but a laughing Cash dodged it, then stood. Rio watched the lively exchange with mixed emotions, finding it difficult to reconcile that the gentle hand on the boy and dog had once fisted in anger against an ex-wife...
Joey looked at his father with a sweetly dimpled smile, eyes bright with hope. “Can I keep him?”
“I imagine he has a home.” Cash glanced at Rio for confirmation.
“He does. His name is Rags, and he belongs to my brother Luke and his family. But you’ll be seeing him, Joey, if Luke’s daughter Anna babysits you.”
A cloud descended over the boy’s expression as he eyed Cash accusingly.
“I don’t want a babysitter. I want to hang out with you, Dad.” He looped an arm around the dog’s neck. “And Rags.”
Cash’s gaze flickered momentarily to Rio, then back to his son. “We’ll hang out together. But I’m here to work with the horses, so we can’t be together all the time.”
“But—” The anxious-eyed boy glimpsed Rio watching him and self-consciously halted, giving the dog a hearty squeeze.
Sensing his distress, she offered an encouraging smile. “Do you like horses as much as your dad does, Joey?”
She’d noticed he wore tennis shoes and shorts. A Phoenix Suns tank top. Not a miniature of Cash in that respect.
The boy shrugged, not meeting her gaze. “Dunno.”
“You don’t?” Rio cast a doubtful look at his father.
“There hasn’t been much opportunity,” Cash responded as he looked thoughtfully at his son. “But we’re going to make a horseman of you yet, aren’t we champ?”
Joey nodded, but without much enthusiasm, his grip further tightening on the dog so that it struggled to pull free. It was hard to imagine a child of Cash Herrera not being exposed to horses from the crib onward. Most kids liked horses, though, didn’t they? If not, it might make for a long summer for the little guy.
And his dad.
At that moment she sensed Cash stiffen. Curious, she glanced in the direction his attention had focused, then she stifled a groan. Braxton and Luke were still standing by the deputy’s vehicle and now looking their way.
So what did the deputy want this time? To ask her out for coffee or to the library book sale? Or was he here to pester her again to train that new horse of his? Why couldn’t he get it through his head that she wasn’t interested in him?
“Cash!” Luke called over, then said something to the deputy at his side before motioning Cash to join them.
Puzzled, she glanced at the man standing rigidly beside her. Eyes alert. Jaw tight. Pulse thrumming at the base of his throat. Then abruptly he stepped off the porch and halted on the other side of his son in an almost protective move.
What was...?
Deputy sheriff Braxton Turner’s voice rose authoritatively. “I need a few minutes with you, Mr. Herrera.”
Chapter Two (#ubaa52016-73d4-5e85-9f6a-57a7ca39502f)
Lorilee hadn’t wasted any time.
Muscles tensed, Cash stood between Joey and the two men facing him across the parking lot, his instincts at peak alert. Like the last time, would he be arrested? What would happen to Joey? Would they haul his boy off to social services or deliver him to his irresponsible mama’s doorstep—wherever that might be?
Please God, this can’t be happening. Not again.
And not here, not smack in the same place where his father’s sorry behavior had gotten the whole family kicked off the Hunter property. Cash had taken a big risk accepting a position where people would remember his dad and judge him by that long-cast shadow. But this was by far the best job offer he’d gotten. Did the deputy, not much older than Cash, come from around here and recall the legacy of Hodgson Herrera?
Heat coursing up the back of his neck, aware that Rio and his son were watching curiously, he forced himself to take a calming breath as he strode across the parking lot to where the men stood.
As he cautiously neared, a grin suddenly appeared on the red-haired deputy sheriff’s face. The man thrust out his right hand.
“I’m Braxton Turner, friend of your buddy Will Lamar.”
Cash’s gaze flicked from one man to the other. Both the deputy and Luke Hunter were smiling, with no undercurrent of anything that might threaten him or his boy. He shook the man’s hand with a firm grip that didn’t acknowledge a need to show deference to the badge.
“I was chattin’ with Will last night,” the deputy continued, “and he mentioned you’d be in my neck of the woods. That I should come on over and introduce myself.”
This was a social call?
