Whitney liked Calypso, a small town with businesses strung like a double row of colorful beads along either side of a two-lane main street. A mix of old and new, the buildings were mostly well kept, the sidewalks outside dotted with crepe myrtles and potted flowers. A few had awnings jutting out to create shade and shelter. A white-railed balcony extended from a slender two-story shop painted barn red, the calligraphied window proclaiming Knits and Pearls.

Traffic today consisted of a few cars and trucks slowing for the four way stop sign. If there was a stoplight in town, she’d yet to see it.

“We are definitely not in St. Louis anymore,” she mumbled to the twins.

For the second time in three days, she drove to Hammond’s Feed Store and parked outside. The last time she’d come here, she’d taken a quick walk around the store and, overwhelmed at the sheer unfamiliarity of absolutely everything, she’d rushed out before anyone could say a word to her.

Today, she’d do something productive. She had to. The feed left behind by whoever had been looking after the farm was about to run out. When she’d called him for instructions, Lawyer Leach said the rest was up to her. She had to prove herself worthy.

She hadn’t been worthy of anything for a long time. But thank goodness, Sally had left money for supplies and to keep the farm going for a year if, according to the lawyer, Whitney budgeted properly. The trouble was, she didn’t know what to expect in the way of budgeting, what kind of feed and supplies to buy, or even how much she’d need. Google might be useful if she had internet. Which she didn’t. Was there even a library in this town?

She didn’t know anything about country life.

Today she’d ask the feed store owner for advice. If Sally bought supplies for her ranch here, it stood to reason the store would have a record. She’d order whatever Sally had.

With a decided sniff, she straightened her shoulders, took the babies by the hands, and headed inside. Her olfactory glands reacted immediately. The place smelled like a barn mixed with some kind of chemical. Not unpleasant, really, just unfamiliar.

The handsome blond man she’d noticed from the parking lot during her first and completely unsuccessful visit was nowhere to be seen.

As had happened in the Dollar Saver grocery store, the twins attracted immediate attention and an older man in navy work pants hurried around the counter to squat beside them.

“Well, looky here. Twins, are they?” The man, his ball cap displaying ears that would catch wind, grinned up at Whitney.

“Yes.” She was wary of strangers in St. Louis, but everyone seemed so friendly in Calypso, and she didn’t want to start off on the wrong foot. She was going to make a life in this town. Friendly was important. “Olivia has the red ribbons, and Sophia wears the pink.”

“Well, ain’t that handy?” He chucked Olivia under the chin. The toddler frowned at him. “Now, what can I do for you, ma’am? I don’t think I got your name.”

“Whitney Brookes. I inherited Sally Rogers’s ranch.” She squinted at the rusting metal sign on the back wall. “Are you Mr. Hammond?”

“Sure am. Me and my son run this establishment. So you’re the one Sally left her babies to.” He grinned when he said babies. “She always called them that. She sure doted on those animals.”

“Yes, that would be me.”

“I’ll be dogged.” He rounded the counter and hollered in the direction of what appeared to be a warehouse. “Matt! Get in here. Got a new customer, and she sure is pretty.”

Whitney smiled. If everyone in Calypso treated her this well, she’d be a local in no time. Welcomed. Accepted. Two things she hadn’t been in so long, she’d forgotten what they felt like.

A young man, handsome as a Nordic god, entered from the back room, scraping his Feed and Seed ball cap from his head when he saw her. He was a big, blond jock type, had likely played football in high school and now worked out at the gym to stay in shape. Or maybe he got that body from tossing around fifty-pound feed sacks. Nate probably did that too.

The thought of her reluctant neighbor brought her up short. She’d wrestled over his refusal all evening, but when morning had dawned after a miraculous night when both girls slept without waking, she’d put yesterday behind her and with it, Nate Caldwell.

She didn’t need him. Oklahoma was farm and ranch land. There were plenty of cowboys and farm workers around. All she had to do was advertise, and she’d have a temporary employee in no time.

She smiled at the newcomer. “I’m Whitney Brookes.”

“Yes, ma’am. Didn’t you stop by the other day?”

Oh, lovely. He’d witnessed her near panic attack. “Briefly. I’d like to hire a temporary ranch hand. Someone to teach me the basics of running Sally’s ranch. My ranch. Can you recommend someone?”

Matt looked uncomfortable. “Well, let’s see. I guess you could post a notice on our bulletin board.”

He gestured toward a four-by-four cork board inside the entrance, a board covered haphazardly in business cards, scribbled notes, and posters selling chickens, horses, and puppies.

Good. She could put an ad there. “I don’t have a phone, but I guess applicants can apply in person.”

She said applicants as if there would be plenty. She’d be thrilled with even one.

“Yes, ma’am. Everyone around here knows about Sally’s little creatures.”

“Great.” She sucked in a breath, feeling accomplished, and outlined her need for feed. “Whatever Sally used.”

Matt tapped the desk computer and clicked the mouse a few times. “Here we go. Her account is still in our system.”

He rattled off several different feeds, vitamins, and other ranch-sounding items.

“Who gets what?”

He looked at her with a puzzled expression. “You don’t know?”

She shook her head, miserable again. “Nothing. And I don’t want to kill the poor creatures by feeding them the wrong thing.”

“You do need a hired hand, don’t you?”

“I do.” Though the expense would cut deeply into Sally’s nest egg.

“Tell you what.” The clerk tapped a few more computer keys. “I’ll fix up an order similar to the last one. That should hold you for a while.”

“Are the directions on the bags?”

He looked as if he wanted to roll his eyes but was too polite to do so. “Some might be. Most won’t be. But don’t overfeed. That’s a real problem, especially in those little bitty equines.”

“How much is too much?” She sure hoped she hadn’t been overfeeding.

Matt gazed at her another moment as if wondering what kind of ignorant city girl tried to run a ranch. Finally, he grabbed a pad and pen and scribbled a few notes.

“Here.” He pushed the piece of paper across the counter. “This is a general guideline to get you started.”

Whitney beamed and stuck the folded paper in her jeans pocket. “Thank you so much. This is really helpful.”

“Want me to deliver that to your ranch, or are you taking it with you?”

Her ranch. Maybe she’d even change the name. Once she knew what she was doing. “You can deliver?”

“Yes, ma’am. Be happy to do that for you.”

“That would be wonderful.” The situation was looking up. She had guidelines and delivery and a brawny man to stack the heavy sacks in the barn.

“We’ll get the order out today, if that works for you.”

“Perfect.”

As she turned to leave, twins in tow, Matt Hammond’s voice followed. “Good luck with finding a ranch hand. I think you’re going to need one.”

Whitney stared first at the pile of bags and miscellaneous items stacked inside the red barn, then at the note the feed store clerk had given her. Clearly, he’d believed she knew more about animals than she did. She wanted to cry in abject frustration and helplessness. Break down right here on the barn floor, dirt, hay, manure and all, and give up.

But give up was no longer in her vocabulary. Not since she’d had the twins.

“Two pounds per hundred weight. Mostly forage,” she muttered. “What does that mean?”

She scanned the rest of the barely decipherable note before sticking it back in her pocket. She needed a helper who knew what he or she was doing.

While she pondered her next move, Olivia and Sophia toddled after the furry chickens pecking the ground inside the barn. The flock of fowl apparently knew what to eat without any help. And except for Clive, captive in the barn, the horses, donkeys, goats, sheep, and cows seemed content munching the newly green grass. Was that what Matt meant by forage?

Asking meant another drive into town, but what choice did she have? Wearily, she herded the twins toward the house, but they were fascinated with the world this year in a way they hadn’t been last year. They stopped every few feet to explore something. Sophia discovered a smattering of dandelion blossoms and squatted to investigate. Her wonder at the bright yellow flowers touched Whitney, and she crouched beside her daughter. The girls grew so fast, and Whitney had missed too much during those early days of distress and disruption.

“Pretty flower, Sophia.” The dandelions had appeared overnight, a bit of golden magic, a splash of beauty.

The baby stroked the bloom with her index finger. “Fower.”

Olivia, not to be ignored, plopped her diapered behind onto the grass. She ran her chubby hands through the barely-green blades, giggled, and flopped backwards, arms spread to either side. Sophia followed suit.

With a love so big she wondered how she could hold it, Whitney tickled each girl and relished their gurgling laughter. This was worth all she’d been through. Her babies, her girls, the loves of her life.

Stretching full length on the grass, she lifted each child in turn overhead and wiggled her until laughter rang out like music over the ranch.

A big truck rumbled into her driveway, stirring dust. Sitting up, a child on each thigh, Whitney watched Nate Caldwell’s pickup stop near the barn.

A funny kerthump banged in her chest. She batted down the sudden thrill and focused on her goal. A home for the girls. A ranch hand for her.

Had Nate changed his mind? Would he teach her the basics of animal care? Hope, that pesky emotion, sprang up as fast the dandelions.

The sturdy cowboy, muscles and all, leaped down from the truck and circled the hood to open the passenger door. A small, middle-aged woman slid with lithe ease to the ground and reached back inside. Nate wasn’t married, and he and his companion weren’t of the same generation, so who was this lady?

After standing each baby on her feet, Whitney got up from the grass and herded them out to meet the visitors.

Nate, all cowboy hat and boots and rugged good looks, toted a covered casserole dish while the woman carried a grocery bag.

“Howdy neighbor.” Whitney hoped she sounded neighborly enough. “Change your mind?”

Nate scowled. “No.”

She’d expected his response, but she was still disappointed.

The other woman extended her unfettered hand. “I am Consuelo Galindo. Call me Connie. I am the cook on the Triple C.”

Nate made a growly noise. “She’s a lot more than that.”

Connie flashed him an affectionate, motherly look. “We have brought welcome gifts. You like peach cobbler? Sí?”

Whitney couldn’t stop the huge grin that split her face. “Peach cobbler? For real? I haven’t tasted homemade cobbler in…a long time.”

Years, actually. Since before she’d run away to find a better life and met reality instead.

“Sí,” Connie said, a smile flashing on her dark face, “Pie and ice cream. These babies can eat ice cream, no?”

“Oh, yes. They love ice cream.” Whitney gestured toward the house. “Come inside, please.”

Delighted at the chance to meet neighbors, especially one as pleasant as Connie, and hopeful that she could sneak in a few questions to Nate about the feed issue, she lifted Sophia onto her hip.

Before she could reach down for Olivia, Nate had the toddler scooped into the crook of his elbow.

“Lead the way. I’ve got this one.”

Something moved beneath her ribcage. Gratitude. Appreciation of the man. When had anyone helped her with the twins? “Thank you.”

Once inside, she led her guests to the sunny country kitchen and found enough bowls to go around. They didn’t match, but they were all she had.

As Connie chattered away about Calypso and the local evangelical congregation she and Nate attended, her brown hands dipped cobbler and ice cream into bowls.

“You and the babies come to church on Sunday. You meet Emily and all the others. They have good teachers for the nursery. The girls, they gonna love it. God is good.”

At Connie’s friendly jumble of words, Whitney smiled. “I’ve wondered about church. I haven’t been a Christian long, but my faith is important.”

“Good. Good. Nate will pick you up at nine sharp.”

Nate glanced up as surprised as Whitney, but he didn’t argue. Connie, apparently, reigned supreme at the Triple C.

“I can drive myself if you’ll tell me where it is.”

Connie stuck a bowl of cobbler in her hand and waved an ice cream scoop. “You come to Sunday dinner after. I cook a big meal. Nate will bring you.”

“Oh, I couldn’t impose.”

Connie looked at her as if she was from another planet. “What is this impose?”

Nate took his bowl of cobbler and sat down at the table. Olivia, taken with the big man, lifted both arms in the universal sign for pick me up. He did, balancing her on one knee with a muscled forearm around her small waist.

Something went mushy in Whitney’s insides when he shared a bite of his ice cream. Big man. Little child.

“Impose means Whitney thinks she’ll be in the way.” The cowboy wiped Olivia’s face as if he fed ice cream to toddlers every day. “She thinks coming over for Sunday dinner would be too much trouble for us. For you.”

Connie laughed a big hearty laugh that didn’t fit her small, wiry form. “Sweet girl. This is what neighbors do. Emily and I need another woman to talk to. All these men. All over the ranch, I have men, men, men and only one girl who is seldom home. Come, you do me a big favor!”

Unexpected emotion clogged Whitney’s throat. The woman was showing more kindness than she could possibly know. “Then, I accept. Thank you.”

“Everybody has to eat, and I love to talk.” Connie set a bowl of ice cream on the table and lifted Sophia onto her lap. “Too long since I fed a baby. My Caldwell boys, they no make babies. Maybe soon, though. I pray for good wives to come.”

Nate cleared his throat and darted a quick glance at his housekeeper. She paid him no attention.

Whitney didn’t know what to say, either, and focused on the dessert. “This is delicious, Connie. Did you make it yourself?”

“Sí. I teach you if you like.”

“That would be wonderful.”

A frown creased Connie’s brow. “You no cook?”

“Enough to get by, but not like this. Pies and cobblers are kitchen magic.”

“I teach you. Maybe you marry one of my boys. They eat a lot.”

“Connie.” Nate groaned. “For the love of Pete, Whitney just moved in. Don’t start playing matchmaker. Remember your last disaster.”

Whitney didn’t know about the last one, but any romance for her was a disaster.

“That was nothing. Water under the bridge.” Connie touched her nose to Sophia’s and crossed her eyes, making the baby giggle.

Nate met Whitney’s gaze, and they both smiled. A pleasant little butterfly took flight somewhere beneath her rib cage when he mouthed, “Sorry.”

“No problem.” Actually, it was a problem. She was thinking flirty thoughts about the cowboy, and that simply wouldn’t do.

Connie slid ice cream into Sophia’s bird mouth, dodged a grabby little hand, and kept talking. “You like flowers?”

“Love them. But I don’t think Sally has any flower beds.”

“She didn’t. I try to give her some bulbs and seeds, but she say it’s not her thing.”

“It is mine.” Or it used to be.

“That’s why she has grass in her hair.” Nate’s comment was wry as he stared pointedly at the side of her head.

“Oh.” Whitney batted at her mussed hair. “The girls found a dandelion, and we plopped down and...”

“Here. I’ll get it.” Nate leaned around Olivia and plucked out a few blades. He was close enough that his outdoorsy scent swirled around her.

Heat crawled up her neck and spread across her cheeks. Her interior butterfly flapped its wings. Hard.

What in the world?

Flustered, she blurted the first thing that came into her head. “How much feed should I be giving the animals?”

Nate blinked slowly as if he thought she might have a loose board in the attic. She did. Why else would she be in this situation?

“Which ones?”

She heaved a sigh of misery. “All of them.”

Connie waved an empty spoon. “Go show her, Nate. I’ll watch the niñas.”

“You really don’t know how to feed a few little cows and horses?” Nate asked.

“Or goats and chickens.” She wagged her head from side to side. “I asked the man at the feed store and he gave me this.” She dug in her pocket and handed Nate the scribbled note.

After a brief perusal, he got up from the table. “I don’t know a lot about minis, but I’ll have a look.”

Thank you, Jesus!

Relief running like a fresh stream, Whitney followed the cowboy to the barn where she showed him the feed room. He ducked inside to study the sacks, the funny colored salt blocks, and the other supplies.

“You don’t need much of this now. They’ll mostly forage on pasture during the summer if you rotate the lots on a regular basis.”

Forage meant pasture. Got it. “So I don’t have to buy feed every month?”

“No. They mostly graze and do their own thing until winter when we supplement feed and good hay. Otherwise, minerals are important, and you need to keep the equine feet clean and trimmed. Worm them every couple of months.”

More undecipherable language. “How do I do that…that foot and worm thing?”

He removed his hat and studied the brim, pensive for a few beats. “Taking care of a herd, no matter their size, requires knowledge, Whitney.”

Thanks a lot, cowboy. Tell her something she didn’t know.

“That’s why I’m trying to hire someone to teach me,” she said as patiently as she could manage. “If these animals die or I don’t manage the ranch according to Sally’s will, I lose everything. Hanging in here for the first year is crucial.”

His nostrils flared in distaste. “I’m not for hire.”

“I know. I know.” In frustration, she ran a hand over her forehead, pushing hair away from her face.

“Your hair’s real pretty.” He shifted on his boots as if he didn’t recognize his own words. “The color, I mean.”

“Oh.” Self-conscious, she touched the lock hanging over one shoulder. “Thank you. I like your-uh-boots.” And your face and the creases at the corners of your mouth and the way you walk and talk.

He laughed, spun on those good-looking boots, and headed out to the corrals.