Laney slept later than she had in years. When she woke, the bed beneath her felt foreign, and she sat straight up, wondering why her alarm hadn’t gone off or why Bailey hadn’t gotten her up to go feed the horses.

The glass to her left rattled, and she glanced in that direction. The storm beyond it still howled, and everything rushed back at her. The blizzard. The power going out. The dinner, the hand-holding, the conversation at the lodge.

She lay back against the pillows again, a slow smile touching her lips. Could it be that Graham truly liked her?

“He asked you to dinner,” Laney reminded herself, as if she hadn’t repeated the question to herself a dozen times last time as she tried to fall asleep. And then her dreams had featured the two of them as they danced and dined, laughed and lunched. Heck, she’d even imagined a coffee date with him in the morning, which was absolutely ridiculous as she never had time in the morning to simply sit around and sip coffee.

Except for today, as apparently she wasn’t going to be doing any chores. She felt the weight she normally carried drift off her shoulders, and it was warm and wonderful to just have nothing to do, nothing to stress about, nothing to divide her attention.

She grabbed her phone from the nightstand and checked the clock. Almost eight-thirty. She flung the blankets off though she wanted to stay in bed for a while longer, and pulled her hoodie over her pajamas.

“Bailey?” She opened her door and found the one across from her ajar as well. Great, her daughter was up and who-knows-where. Trepidation tugged through her and she moved down the hall to the banister so she could see into the foyer. The scent of cinnamon and yeast met her nose and made her stomach growl. But she couldn’t hear anything.

“The dogs,” she muttered, wondering where they’d gotten to. Hopefully Bailey had fed them, and hopefully Graham didn’t mind that Laney had taken the liberty to shirk pretty much all of her duties. She hoped he didn’t think this was how she always acted.

She hustled down the steps, around the massive Christmas tree that seemed a bit ominous without any lights or ornaments or decoration of any kind, and through the archway that led into the kitchen and dining room.

There, she found Annie showing Bailey how to cut cinnamon rolls with a piece of dental floss that Laney hoped was unwaxed and unscented. They both wore aprons, and Bailey’s hair had been plaited into two braids that ran down the sides of her head.

Laney stared, wondering how on earth Annie had done the braids. Laney was hopeless with things like that, and Bailey wore her hair in a ponytail most days.

Bailey caught sight of her and said, “Mom.” She danced over to her and took her hand. “Come see what we’re making.”

Laney’s feet felt like someone had filled them with lead, but she managed to move over to the stretch of counter where Annie worked. “I'm so sorry,” she said. “I overslept.”

“It’s no problem.” Annie flashed her a smile. “We’ve been up for what?” She grinned at Bailey. “Maybe forty-five minutes.”

“Look at my hair, Mom.” Bailey’s whole face had come alive, and Laney couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her daughter so flushed, so happy, so engaged. She usually watched TV or played on her tablet so Laney could cook dinner, or work on the ranch. Sometimes when she played with the barn dogs in the summer, she looked like she was enjoying herself.

It had never occurred to Laney to involve Bailey in the cooking, but the girl watched with rapt attention as Laney drew the floss through the dough. Bailey picked up the slice and put it on the sheet tray with the others.

“And we’re making cinnamon rolls. Annie says it’s her mother’s recipe.”

Then it would be good. Susannah Pruitt had won the town picnic baking contest several times. Maybe not with cinnamon rolls, but with honey wheat bread, lemon zucchini bread, and Laney’s personal favorite—oatmeal raisin cookies.

“Your hair is beautiful.” Laney touched one loop of the braid, still not sure how Annie had done it. “And I love cinnamon rolls.”

“I fed the dogs,” Bailey said, picking up another slice after Annie cut it. “And Graham said to let you sleep as long as you want.”

A dose of heat filled her, and she hoped she didn’t blush too furiously. “Where is he?” she asked, knowing Bailey wouldn’t hear anything in her voice but suspecting that Annie would.

“Probably the office,” Annie said. “That’s where he always is when I come.”

“How often do you clean?” Laney asked.

“Twice a week,” she said. “Sometimes three times if Graham’s having a…messy week.” She paused in the cutting of the dough and glanced over Bailey’s head to Laney. “He’s not the neatest person on the planet. So if it’s rainy weather or something like that, I come more often.”

Laney gave her a smile and she went back to pulling the floss. So Graham wasn’t very clean. Neither was Laney, if the piles of paper around her house were any indication.

“Do you think he would mind if I went to say good morning?”

That got Annie to come to a full stop, mid-slice even. “At your peril,” she said, her eyes wide. “He doesn’t allow anyone in the office.”

“I’ll just lean in the doorway.” Laney put her arm around Bailey and gave her a side hug. “Love you, bug.”

“Love you too, Momma.”

With that, Laney left the two of them in the kitchen and went through the length of the kitchen to find a mudroom on her right, where the dog food bowls waited and at least a dozen jackets, sweatshirts, and coats hung on pegs. Three pairs of work boots sat on the floor, none of them clean, along with an assortment of sneakers and hiking shoes.

To her left, and through another arch, she went down a hall with several doors leading from it. She assumed a couple to be closets, but she saw a bathroom before she came to a door almost all the way closed.

The scent of something sweet met her nose, but she wasn’t sure if she wanted to know the source of it. “Knock, knock,” she said at the same time she rapped on the wood. Everything in the lodge had been done with the finest materials, and though she’d barely touched it, the door swung in a little.

Laney stepped to the other side of the doorway and looked inside. “Graham?”

Music filled the air now and she found his silhouette way across the office, standing with his back to her as he gazed out the window. She didn’t recognize the song playing, but that wasn’t unusual. She had little time for pop culture and rarely listened to music.

Graham knew it though, and well enough to sign along with the lyrics. His voice, a beautiful rich tenor, lifted into the air and sent chills down her spine and across her shoulders. She wasn’t even sure what he said, because the richness of his singing was so stunning.

The song ended, and Laney couldn’t help clapping her hands. When someone sang like that, they deserved a standing ovation.

Graham spun from the window, his face a mask of anger. “What are you doing?” He took long strides across the office, his frown so deep Laney thought she’d fall into it and never get out.

“I just came to say good morning.” Laney fell back a step, sure Graham would plow right into her, bodily removing her from his office though she hadn’t stepped a single toe inside yet.

He froze as if someone had encased his feet in liquid nitrogen. His fury smoothed away, and he glanced around the office and back to her, his face holding a bit of a flush it hadn’t a few moments ago.

“Laney,” he said as if he’d just remembered her name.

“Graham.” She smiled and stepped forward again—still not entering the office. “I didn’t mean to surprise you. I heard you singing. It was beautiful.”

He ducked his head though he wore no cowboy hat on that morning. She liked him with it and without it, his dark hair falling across his forehead. She had the strongest urge to reach up and brush it back, but she kept her hands resolutely at her sides.

She glanced around the office, and it indeed could use a housekeeper. “You’re a stacker.”

“Hmm?” He lifted his eyes to hers, and she indicated the office.

“A stacker. A piler. I make all sorts of piles. My ex—” Her voice cut off for a moment, but she forced herself to go on. “Mike used to poke fun at me about it all the time.” She lifted her chin. “But I knew where everything was. And if I didn’t, I knew it was in one of my piles.”

“Is that right?” Graham softened when he smiled, and Laney’s heart melted.

“I didn’t mean to oversleep today,” she said.

“And I didn’t mean to come stomping across the office.”

“I could help you tidy it up.”

He frowned again. “It’s fine. I’m wondering, though, if you’d help me assign rooms to all the guests.”

Laney’s eyebrows went up. “Isn’t it just your brothers coming in?”

“I wish.” Graham ran his hand through his hair. “My mother is coming to stay for a few days, even though she lives in town. Same with Beau. And yes, Andrew and Eli are coming. But Andrew’s bringing his assistant—a woman—and she needs her own room. Or somewhere to share with someone. And Eli’s bringing a couple of friends who didn’t have anywhere else to go for the holidays, along with his nanny and his five-year-old son.”

“I didn’t know Eli had a son.”

“Yeah.” Graham exhaled and ran his hands through his hair. “His wife died a couple of years ago in an accident. Eli does…well, Eli’s doing the best he can, just like all of us.”

“Where is he living?”

“He’s in Bora Bora right now. Runs a big resort and spa down there.”

“Oh, he’s going to love the snow, then.” Laney laughed, glad when Graham softened enough to chuckle too.

“All right. So the guests.” Laney mentally counted. Four brothers. A mother. Five others. “That’s only ten people,” she said. “You’ve got what? At least that many bedrooms here?” She’d been downstairs last night, but she hadn’t gotten a grand tour or anything.

“Twelve,” he said, waving his hand toward the far wall. “Plus mine.”

“So plenty of room.”

“Celia’s coming tonight to cook for the rest of the holidays,” he said.

“Really?” Laney took a chance and stepped into the office. “Can she get through the storm?”

“It’s supposed to let up for a few hours this afternoon.” Graham turned away from her and drifted further into the office, leaving Laney to follow him if she so chose.

She did, and she wanted to hold his hand again, so she took slow, careful steps after him and slipped her hand into his, hoping whatever was troubling him would ease with the human contact.

He dipped his chin and looked at their joined hands, then looked at her. She gazed back, not afraid to let him know she was interested.

“Take me on a tour,” she said. “I’ll help you make room assignments. Bailey will probably make nameplates if you wanted her to.” She smiled, glad when some of his melancholy evaporated right then and there.

“Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah. She loves to color. Of course, you’re going to have to tear her from the cinnamon rolls they’re baking, but I bet she has time.” She giggled, and when he added his chuckle to the sound, it made the most beautiful harmony.

“All right.” He swept his lips along her temple, leaving behind a trail of fire, and added, “Let’s go take a tour.”