Cheryl St.John - The Magnificent Seven

Stories of family and romance beneath the Big Sky!

What had just happened to her?

More than once, Heather had found herself looking at Mitch Fielding with preposterously sexy thoughts. She’d never mused in that feverish manner before.

Remembering the way Mitch’s simple touch set her skin tingling, she closed her eyes and relished the memories. The strength of her reactions frightened her. Looking at him, smelling him…Heather’s heart fluttered.

She was the almost-thirty-year-old mother of three children. She’d been married. And she’d never had these overpowering feelings toward a man before.

Her body remembered his touch. His kiss. The intoxicating loss of control and the frantic desire to possess, be possessed. The lack of restraint terrified her.

And thrilled her.

The question was, how much courage did she really possess?

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A peacemaker, a romantic, an idealist and a discouraged perfectionist—these are the words that Cheryl uses to describe herself. The award-winning author of both historical and contemporary novels says she’s been told that she is painfully honest.

Cheryl admits to being an avid collector, displaying everything from dolls to depression glass as well as white ironstone, teapots, cups and saucers, old photographs and—most especially—books. When not doing a home improvement project, she and her husband love to browse antiques shops. In her spare time, she’s an amateur photographer and a pretty good baker.

She says that knowing her stories bring hope and pleasure to readers is one of the best parts of being a writer. The other wonderful part is being able to set her own schedule and have time to work around her growing family. Cheryl loves to hear from readers! E-mail her at SaintJohn@aol.com.

In memory of Carol Backus, aka Suzanne Barclay.

This book is lovingly dedicated to the newest darling in our family: Elijah.

I praise God that he is fearfully and wonderfully made.

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

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

M itch Fielding led his twin six-year-olds, Taylor and Ashley, through the lunch crowd at the Hip Hop Café as though he were guiding them through a minefield. Taylor narrowly missed knocking over a gray-haired gent’s cane that was leaning against a table edge, and Mitch clamped his hand firmly over Ashley’s mouth as soon as he noticed an overweight woman shoveling chocolate-cream pie between her lips.

He got them settled into a booth and released his breath. “There.” He picked up the plastic-coated menu and scanned for something nourishing the twins would eat without pitching a fit. “They have hamburgers and chicken fingers.”

“Yuck. I want a chocolate malt and a pickle,” Ashley pronounced.

“I want skettios,” Taylor said.

“They don’t have skettios,” he replied to one daughter, then turned to the other. “And you can have a chocolate malt if you eat a hamburger.”

“Gross. I don’t want a hamburger.” She folded her arms over the front of her Teletubbie T-shirt. “I want a pickle.”

“You can have a pickle with your hamburger. Taylor, they have spaghetti.”

“Don’t like spaghetti.”

“Of course you do. It’s the same stuff that comes out of the cans, only real.”

“Uh-uh-uh,” she said in a singsongy voice with a shake of her head. “It doesn’t taste the same.”

He resisted the urge to argue or bargain in public, which always made him feel as if his daughters were getting the upper hand anyway. How long could a child survive on pickles, malts and canned spaghetti? It was his job as a parent to see that they were well nourished, but how did he go about it? Some nights he dropped into bed mentally exhausted, feeling lucky to have gotten several bites of anything into them.

A waitress appeared at his elbow, and Mitch glanced up to see the slim blonde in a blue T-shirt proclaiming Breakfast Served All Day give him a curious once-over. Everyone in Whitehorn, Montana, seemed to know each other, and he obviously stuck out as a newcomer. A quick scan confirmed that a dozen eyes had zeroed in on him and his daughters.

“Afternoon,” she said pleasantly. “I’m Janie Austin. Which one of Garrett Kincaid’s grandsons are you?”

“Mitch Fielding,” he replied self-consciously. “How did you know?”

She cast him a friendly smile. “In Whitehorn everybody knows everybody else’s business. Anticipating each grandson’s arrival has been the hot topic for quite a while.”

He didn’t know how well he liked being the subject of gossip, but this young woman seemed friendly and accepting enough. Apparently everyone already knew he was one of six illegitimate grandsons the old man had summoned to his ranch. Garrett was still searching for a seventh.

She touched his shoulder in a brief gesture of greeting that put him at ease. “Nice to meet you, Mitch.”

He returned her neighborly smile. “These are my daughters, Taylor and Ashley.”

“Look at that pretty blond hair. What’ll you have, girls?”

He gave her their orders, amid objections from his daughters. Taylor waved her arm to get his attention and knocked the ketchup bottle into the salt and pepper shakers. Pepper spilled on the laminate tabletop, and she promptly blew it into her sister’s face.

Ashley sneezed and her eyes watered. She grabbed for the rolled paper napkin that held her silverware and sent the metal utensils flying across the table and onto the floor.

Mitch picked up the utensils, handed them to the astonished waitress and admonished the girls to sit on their behinds.

By the time their food arrived, everyone in the room knew Taylor had to go to the bathroom. He took them to the women’s room, standing outside until their food was cold. Finally he rapped on the door.

Thank God it was a one-seater, because he had to go in to dry their hands and pull them out. So that the next person wouldn’t slip and break her neck, he mentioned to the waitress that the rest room floor was flooded.

“My spaghetti’s cold,” Taylor complained loudly.

“So’s everything else.” With a sigh, Mitch picked up his cold burger and took a bite, just as Ashley knocked over her malt.