The Single Dad's Redemption

And with them came an onslaught of bitter memories.

Chris and Dan had been the hardworking sons, the ones who’d managed to get along with Dad, while Connor had been the rebel who’d bucked authority and refused to bend.

His teen years had been pure misery...except for competing in high-school rodeo. That had been the ticket to send Connor off on the college circuit...then into the pros after graduation.

Dad had been furious, but rodeo was Connor’s life. All he’d ever wanted to do, and he’d never looked back.

Dad’s disgust when Connor had called home to tell him about the baby and his sudden marriage had sealed the deal. There’d been no more phone calls from anyone at the ranch after that. Josh had never even met his uncles and grandfather.

What kind of man showed no interest in his grandson? He hadn’t even bothered to show up at Connor’s murder trial a few states away, either. As far as Connor knew, no one at the ranch had ever checked on the outcome...and Connor had been too proud to write.

Even as his old anger and hurt started to simmer, that same inner voice told Connor exactly what he didn’t want to hear.

It’s not only Dad’s fault. A bigger man would go back and apologize for the pain he’d caused.

Connor turned his cell phone over in his hand, wondering what he’d hear if he called the ranch after all these years.

Probably just the old man slamming the receiver down once more.

Why give him that chance?

Connor shoved his cell into the back pocket of his jeans and headed for the camp shower building...though his inner voice refused to stay quiet.

But what about Josh—doesn’t he deserve to know his grandpa? His uncles? If you wait too long, someday it will be too late.

* * *

A mile out of town Keeley turned off the highway onto the long gravel road leading to the Aspen Creek Campgrounds. She pulled to a stop by the concrete-block picnic pavilion overlooking the creek and surveyed the nearly deserted campsites.

Two pop-up camping trailers were barely visible through the trees. A 1970s motor home stood parked at the far end of the central clearing with no sign of any inhabitants. There were no tents, and no wonder, with the heavy storms that had been sweeping through the county since last night. Even now, raindrops were pattering on the roof of her car and a distant flash of lightning pierced the dense forest to the west.

This was a lovely campground—typical for this part of Wisconsin—but anyone with common sense would opt out of tent camping during weather like this.

She drummed her fingertips on the steering wheel. Had Connor chosen a more isolated spot somewhere else in the heavily wooded, hundred-acre park? If so, the possibility of finding him was almost nil now that ominous clouds hid the early evening sun, turning the landscape to deepening shades of gray.

Shifting her car into Drive, she started forward. Then slammed on the brakes.

She felt a little shiver of awareness even before Connor rounded the back of the building wearing a long, cowboy-style oilskin raincoat, a towel flung over his shoulder and a shaving kit dangling from his fingertips. The overhead security lights gave her a good glimpse of his face before he turned and sauntered toward the campsites along the creek. He didn’t glance in her direction.

Her heart gave an extra thud—yet again—and she inhaled a shaky breath. Oh, my.

Now he was clean-shaven, his wet hair slicked back. But it wasn’t just that he looked like some broad-shouldered, hard-edged heartthrob—she’d learned her lesson long ago about how little a handsome face mattered over the long haul. It was something far deeper that drew her.

The pain and sorrow she’d seen in his eyes.

His stubborn honesty about his past.

And the way he’d come to her rescue like some cowboy in an old Western movie, by circling her waist with his strong, capable hands and helping her off the roof...then breaking the awkward moment afterward with a disarming flash of humor.

She saw him moving at a faster clip toward the pines along the creek bank, and if she didn’t gather her thoughts, she was going to lose him.

She rolled down her window. “Hey, cowboy!”

He turned in surprise and waited as she drove up beside him.

“Nice night for camping,” she said with a smile.

“As long as the wind stays down.” A corner of his mouth kicked up as he glanced toward the black, roiling clouds rapidly building over the treetops to the west. “What brings you way out here?”

“I think you know,” she said dryly.

He studied her for a long moment then sighed. “You checked out my story.”

She nodded, feeling her cheeks warm. “I have an old friend at the sheriff’s office, and he got right on it.”

Connor stilled. “And?”

“I really do need help now. When the college kids come back for summer break, I can probably hire one of them for the tourist season, but—”

“All right.”

“Though that’s six weeks away and by then you’ll be long gone anyway, so—” She faltered to a stop and stared at him. “Wait a minute. You’ll do it?”

“You were right. I could use the cash, so if you need help, I’m game.” He gave the sky another glance. “If this weather keeps up, I might need to pay for a place to stay that actually has a roof.”

Relief washed through her. “I open at ten on Saturdays, so can you come in tomorrow—say, nine o’clock? I could pick you up.”

“No need.” The soft rain intensified and he pulled up the hood of his coat. “I just hope you don’t come to regret this. You might if folks find out about who you just hired.”

Chapter Four (#ulink_57ac03c6-3d8e-5991-8fc9-c53195a911c7)

“So as you can see, this cash register is really easy.” Keeley gave the drawer a firm shove to close it. “Any questions?”

“Nope.” But the store, with its thousands of frilly, sparkly, dangly things everywhere and the multitude of stained-glass lamps hanging from the ceiling, made him want to go rope a steer. Bale hay. Anything that would be outside and far from town, where a man could drag in a deep breath and not inhale the scents of soaps and fancy creams and a forest of dried flower arrangements.

Why anyone would want a bunch of dead flowers instead of fresh ones, he couldn’t even begin to fathom. He rubbed the back of his neck.

“I can tell you’re really loving this,” she said dryly. “So let’s get on with the tour, okay?”

He nodded and followed her into the storeroom, where deep shelving lined each wall from floor to ceiling. A worktable held a coffeemaker, gift wrap and a pile of shipping supplies. “I don’t suppose you’ve done much gift wrapping and shipping.”

“Nope.” He thought back over the difficult four years of his marriage. He’d hung in there, trying to make his son’s life normal and happy, but there hadn’t been much to celebrate with a wife who’d often met her girlfriends in bars, drank too much and didn’t always come home.

“Wrapping is easy.” She collected two gift boxes from the shelf over the table and pulled two lengths of bright pink paper from one of the rollers, then handed him a tape dispenser and scissors. “Just copy what I do, step by step.”

She led him through the process three times before she was satisfied, then showed him how to affix a Keeley’s Antiques & Gifts sticker and a bow on the top. “Easy, right?”

Bows and sparkly pink wrapping paper. What would his brothers think of him now? He thought longingly about stacking hay. Cleaning horse stalls. Wrestling calves for branding. “Uh...right.”