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Sheltered in His Arms
Tara Taylor Quinn
Sam Montford left Shelter Valley ten years ago. He's a direct descendant of the town's founder, the first Samuel Montford, and for him, Shelter Valley's expectations had become oppressive. Home had become smothering instead of sheltering.Sam returns to the town–and to his ex-wife, Cassie Tate–with a seven-year-old child. This is a complete shock to Cassie. When Sam left, he hadn't known she was pregnant. Or that she had lost their baby.Sam's back in Shelter Valley now, back to stay. But he refuses to become the man people expected him to be ten years ago. Can he be the man Cassie needs now?
Dear Reader,
Welcome home! Even if you’ve never been to Shelter Valley before, you’ll soon realize you’ve got a home here. Anyone with a big heart is welcome in this Arizona town, where folks look out for each other, sometimes struggle with each other, always share each other’s pains and triumphs.
It’s an especially exciting time here because Shelter Valley’s own prodigal son, Sam Montford IV, heir to the town’s founding family, is finally returning home after ten years of silence. And he’s not alone. He has a seven-year-old daughter with him. His ex-wife, whom he still loves and who still loves him, is single and living in Shelter Valley again. Could be the makings of a happily-ever-after…
What I hope will really make you feel at home is the fact that all is not perfect in Shelter Valley. Just like anywhere in the world. We all have faults. And sometimes finding them in others is comforting, makes them more like us, allowing us to relate to them more easily. Sam Montford made a substantial mistake. But he’s ready to atone for that mistake and to share with Shelter Valley the good things he’s created in his life. He asks only to be forgiven.
And in Shelter Valley he has a chance of finding that forgiveness. This is the gift I wish for you—a true home, a sheltering home. A home where love is unconditional, acceptance a promise kept and forgiveness a reality.
Sweet dreams,
Tara Taylor Quinn
Tara Taylor Quinn is a popular writer for Harlequin’s Superromance series; she is known for her deeply emotional and psychologically astute novels. Sheltered in His Arms is connected to her successful Superromance trilogy, “Shelter Valley Stories” (but of course can be read on its own).
Tara was first published in 1993 and has been a finalist for the prestigious RITA Award. She lives in Arizona with her husband and daughter. Besides being a full-time writer, Tara is a board member of Romance Writers of America.
You can reach Tara at P.O. Box 15065, Scottsdale, Arizona 85267-5065 or online at http://members.home.net.ttquinn.
Sheltered in His Arms
Tara Taylor Quinn
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Shelter Valley is about friendships, the kind that go beyond the ordinary. It’s about friends who become a family all their own. I lovingly dedicate this book to the three such friends I’ve been blessed with in my life:
Jeanine Lynn Clayton (1960-2000).
My childhoood soul mate. An integral part of my life that transcends the tragedy this temporal existence handed us. Your life was and always will be a part of me. With me. Sitting on my shoulder.
Kevin Scott Reames.
My partner, my champion, my lover. You helped me find the me I was meant to become and loved the person who emerged. Together, forever. That’s me and you.
Patricia Anne Meredith.
My own private angel. You continue to teach me to believe in things that matter, to hope, to find good in the world around me. Just as you do. My eternal soul mate.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
EPILOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
HER HIGH-HEELED evening sandals hadn’t been made for sprinting across gravel. And the Montfords’ desert landscaping was full of it. The darkness made things even worse.
But she had to get away—get out. She had to handle this news alone.
There was an old gnarled pepper tree in the corner of the yard and she hurried toward it. One branch had grown sideways, forming a natural bench with the other branches hanging down around it. Because of the balmy late-March weather they’d been enjoying in Shelter Valley, the tree was thickly covered with leaves. She could safely hide there.
For the moment. Until someone decided to turn on the outside lights.
“Ouch!” Cassie Tate’s headlong rush from the house halted abruptly.
Damn!
She bent to pull a cactus needle from her shin. One quick jerk—a sting—and it was gone. When had her ex-in-laws gotten that cholla plant? It hadn’t been there a few months ago, when she’d been over for a Christmas drink and gift exchange with them.
Unmindful of her new silk dress, Cassie slid onto the rough bark of the branch, its horizontal shape familiar to her. The first time Sam had ever kissed her had been right here…
Cassie looked around, her hands poised on the trunk as though she were ready to push off. Maybe it had been a mistake to come out here.
But where else could she go? The backyard was enclosed with an eight-foot-high stucco wall. She couldn’t get out front—and to her car—without walking through the house.
Breathe, she reminded herself. She filled her lungs as much as her tight chest muscles would allow.
She had to be calm. To assimilate what she’d just heard. And what she was going to do about it.
One thing was for certain. She wasn’t going to cry. She’d cried enough tears for Samuel Montford.
Glancing through the leaves surrounding her, toward the house where strains of piano music wafted from the living room, Cassie could see the lights of the party twinkling merrily. As though everything was normal.
And maybe for all those people in there, things were just fine.
Maybe all of them could welcome Sam home after his ten-year desertion. Maybe they could forgive. Forget.
Maybe she could, too. If she had a million years to try.
Sitting out here, on their tree, her mind wandered back to the boy she’d known and loved with all her heart. She thought of the passionate dreams he’d poured out to her beneath these branches. He’d wanted to save the world back in those days. Get rid of poverty, pain, injustice.
He’d promised to love her forever.
“Oh, God, Sam. Why?”
Her words sounded shockingly loud in the night. Cassie took a long, shuddering breath. How many times had she asked the same question over the past ten years?
“Can’t you at least just leave me in peace?” she whispered, tears pooling in her eyes.
She used to dream of great things. Of love and family and children. Of happiness and warmth. Now all she hoped for was peace. It was the only option left.
“Cassie? You out here?”
It was Zack. Her partner. Her friend. He’d know how she was feeling. Without her saying a word, he’d know.
His footsteps were getting closer. Cassie pulled herself in, hardly daring to breathe as she waited for him to pass. She couldn’t face him yet. Couldn’t face anyone.
Not until she was sure she wouldn’t fall apart. She’d done that once, back then, suffered a debilitating breakdown, and emotional collapse.
She’d done it after Sam had left her, after her baby girl had died, after she’d been told she’d probably never be able to conceive again.
But those dark days had helped her find the strength and awareness she needed. She’d gone on to finish college, to become a nationally renowned doctor of veterinary science. She was successful. She wasn’t going to fall apart again just because her adulterous ex-husband had decided to return to town.
Though she couldn’t help wondering why he was coming back. The way she remembered it, he hadn’t been able to leave fast enough. And he hadn’t been in touch with any of them since—other than infrequent calls to his parents to let them know he was okay. And to make certain that they were.
What had he been doing all these years? And with whom?
These were questions Cassie had tried so hard never to ask.
What had the years done to him? Another question she’d shied away from. But one that was apparently to be answered soon.
Were his eyes still that deep green? Did they still have that penetrating directness? Her stomach tightened just thinking about them. About what a look from him used to do to her.
One time, she’d been looking for him in the high-school cafeteria. Her class right before lunch had gotten out late and she hadn’t seen him in line. She’d gone through, anyway. Bought a salad and a soda, and was standing there with her tray, wondering what to do when she’d seen him come in through the door at the back of the room. He’d been frowning—until he saw her. And then his eyes had lighted with such familiar, knowing warmth that her belly had fluttered, her knees had fluttered—and she’d dropped her tray.
Sam had always been a looker. Was he still?
Was his dark hair still as soft as the finest silk, still as thick?
Did he have any of the wrinkles she’d been noticing around her own eyes lately? Had he gained any weight?
Sniffling, Cassie wiped the tears from her cheeks. God, she missed him.
Missed the boy she’d loved since she was twelve years old. The man she’d married—and lost—more than a decade ago.
She missed the dreams. And the dreaming.
“Damn you, Sam Montford,” she whispered, sniffling again. “Damn you for what you did. And for coming back now…”
The man might return to Shelter Valley, but as far as Cassie was concerned, he’d lost the right to call this town home.
MARIAH WAS STILL ASLEEP. Sam’s heart swelled with love—and worry—as he glanced over at the child on the reclining passenger seat beside him. He should have sold the truck, bought a car. Something she could get into without climbing up on hands and knees.
Something that felt more like it belonged to a family than a roaming man.
Mariah might not know it, might not believe him when he told her, but they were almost home. At last.
In all the years he’d lived in Shelter Valley, the place had never felt as much like home as it did now. This journey back was so important. So life-changing. So right.
And so damn scary.
But he was ready.
The little girl stirred, her skinny legs stiffening as she stretched. Their boniness, visible beneath her new denim shorts, scared him. She’d been wearing pants all winter, and her loss of weight hadn’t been as noticeable. Or maybe he’d just been too afraid to acknowledge that she was wasting away.
He had to get her to eat more. To eat, period. He wasn’t going to let her die. He wasn’t going to lose her, too.
“Good afternoon, sleepyhead,” Sam said cheerfully, smiling at the little girl who’d stolen his heart in the delivery room seven years before. Her parents, his closest friends in the world, had insisted he be there with them. “How’s my girl?”
Mariah looked at him.
That was all. Just looked. It was all she ever did anymore.
Heart heavy, Sam continued with cheerful chatter. Keep talking to her, the doctors had told him. Surround her with love. She’ll never forget the tragedy, but she can recover.
He’d been talking for six months.
And Mariah had yet to say a word.
“You just wait until you meet your new grandparents,” Sam told the child. “I was an only child, too, just like you. And my mom and dad were the greatest. You’ll love them, but they’ll love you more. Not that you need to let that worry you. That’s just the way they are.”
The landscape was painfully, blissfully familiar. Yet different.
