“Avery, time for dinner,” I sing to my obstinate child from the kitchen as I stare out the large window, watching the cattle attempt to graze in the pasture. It started snowing this morning, and now sleet and ice cover the ground.

Paradise Valley Ranch covers over a thousand acres and houses an efficient and productive cattle operation. With a varied landscape of timbered ridges, irrigated pastures, and rolling hillsides, the sub-alpine setting of the ranch is private. Although we are in the middle of nowhere, the ranch still has the modern sophistications of a state of the art, custom-designed residence. I fell in love with the snow-capped peaks of the mountains, which provide a magnificent backdrop to drink a warm cup of tea to.

The problem is, it’s huge—more than I can handle alone, and I’m thinking of selling.

Prying my eyes away from the outdoors, I turn to the child sitting on the floor. “I no eat,” she says, continuing to play with her blocks.

The twos were definitely terrible, and these threes are unmistakably trying.

I can’t wait to see what the fours bring me.

“C’mon, sweetheart. You love macaroni.” She continues stacking the square, wooden boxes. It’s like she can’t hear me—she’s in her own little world where I don’t exist. “Avery, I will put you in time out if you don’t listen to me.”

“No!” She takes a block and wings it across the room. “I no eat now.”

Placing my hands on either side of my nose, I squeeze the bridge and breathe deep.

In and out.

Slow and steady.

Between trying to keep this place running and taking care of Avery, I’m exhausted. Only a couple more days until she starts preschool, and then I’ll have a little time to myself.

“Avery, you need to—” A knock at the door startles me, and I jump. I’m not expecting anyone, and the ranch isn’t the kind of place where people just randomly stop by. You have to go out of our way to make it up the long, winding driveway.

The ranch was a gift from Richard, Danny’s father, when Danny and I first got married, and he decided to relocate us from Colorado to Montana. I didn’t want to go. I never lived away from my parents. We fought about it for months, and I should have known right then our marriage wasn’t going to work. After some time, I started to enjoy being here. I made some friends, and so did Avery…

Now, I’m lonely.

I scoop up Avery off the floor and shuffle to the door. She squirms in my arms as I peer out the window. “Momma, down,” she squeals, pushing away from me. I hold her tight as I examine the man standing on my porch. He’s tall and handsome, and wearing a light jacket—way too light for this time of year. I’ve never seen him before. This town is pretty small. I would have heard if a good-looking man recently took up residence here.

Placing Avery at my feet, I call out, “Who is it?”

“My name’s Ryan, ma’am. I was hired by your father to help you out with the ranch.”

My father.

Why am I not surprised?

“Just one minute,” I answer, stepping back. Avery walks back to her blocks, ignoring everything around her. Reaching into my back pocket, I take out my cell phone and dial the person who can confirm his story.

“Hello.”

“Dad, why is there a strange man standing at my doorway?” I peek out the window again, trying to get a better look.

“Oh, yeah. I guess I forgot to tell you about that,” he admits.

“Forgot to tell me what?” I challenge, watching the man pace around the porch. He’s not wearing cowboy boots—another sign he’s not from around here.

“I hired someone to help you around the ranch. You know, since you’re there by yourself.”

“Dad!” I huff.

“I have a friend who knows those Brotherhood Protectors ex-military guys. He’s one of them.”

“You have got to be kidding me.” It was more of a rhetorical statement, but my father answers me anyway.

“You needed help, so I got you help. The other alternative is you and Avery come home and leave that sorry excuse of an ex behind.”

I sigh, continuing to watch the stranger’s uncomfortable canter. His haircut does have that military feel to it, but it’s hard to see his physique through the jacket. “You know I can’t do that, Dad.”

I should, but Avery has friends here.

I have friends here.

“Just a suggestion,” he adds.

“I’ve gotta go,” I mutter, then press end. Side-stepping over a block Avery left in the middle of the floor, I move toward the door. As I open it, his head spins around to my direction. He’s facing the driveway, like he was about to leave. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting anyone and needed to confirm your story. Please, come in.” My face heats with embarrassment.

He pauses for a moment, then turns back toward me. “Thanks,” he answers with a nod. The chill of the outside hits me, and I wrap my arms tight around myself, pulling my sweater closed.

His body shivers as he enters the house. “I’m Ryan Kane.”

Closing the door behind him, I turn and find his hand extended toward me. “Abigail Montana,” I answer, taking his hand in mine. His grip is soft yet firm, and his hand is warm even though it’s freezing outside. “But you can call me Abby.”

“Oh, I already have a nickname for you.” He looks me over and nods. “Yep, will fit perfect.”

“That’s a little presumptuous of you, isn’t it?” I ask, and a grin spreads across his lips.

“Sorry. I’m an ex-Navy SEAL. We all have nicknames,” he says, slight embarrassment in his tone. I cross my arms and wait for an explanation. “Mine’s Irish. Boys weren’t too original with that one.”

My face breaks into a smile. “Irish. I like that.” I begin to relax and move toward the kitchen. Avery’s been quiet, and that usually means trouble. “So, Mr. Ex-Navy SEAL, what’s mine?” Looking over the kitchen island, I spot Avery on the floor quietly playing with her blocks.

Nothing’s broken.

I’ll take that as a win.

“Montana.”

“That’s original,” I quip.

“I thought it was interesting a girl with the last name Montana lives in Montana,” he chuckles. “Any relation to Joe Montana?”

“Who?” I ask, confused as I take a seat on a barstool.

“Never mind.”

“Momma, I hungry,” Avery whines from her spot on the floor.

Ryan takes a seat next to me and glances at my demon child on the floor. “This must be Avery.”

She looks up at the strange man sitting next to me for a second, then continues building her empire of blocks. “I want chicken,” she says, her focus on keeping the squares stacked.

“I told you it was ready before,” I answer, “but I didn’t make chicken. It’s macaroni. Remember?”

“No macaroni. I want chicken,” she yells, knocking her blocks over.

“Let me give it a go,” Ryan says as he stands.

“Sure. Knock yourself out.”