Winnie Griggs - The Hand-Me-Down Family

Her intentions and determination were admirable, but Jack didn’t believe she understood what she was up against. Such a sheltered city girl would have a hard time adjusting to life in a place like this.

Had her life back in Ohio been so terrible that even with what happened to his brother, she—

Jack gave his head a shake. He’d let her get under his skin. He had to remember that her personal problems were no concern of his. She wanted to challenge his claim to his nieces and nephew, and that made her his opponent.

Family mattered. That was something only he could offer his nieces and nephew.

But still…he’d never met a woman like her. Callie was…he hadn’t quite figured out what she was, besides being a thorn in his side. And just plain wrong about her rights in regard to Annabeth and Simon and Emma.

On the other hand, could he really say the kids would be better off with a wandering bachelor than with his brother’s widow?

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is a city girl born and raised in southeast Louisiana’s Cajun Country who grew up to marry a country boy from the hills of northwest Louisiana. Though her Prince Charming is more comfortable riding a tractor than a white steed, the two of them have been living their own happily-ever-after for thirty-plus years. During that time they raised four children and an assortment of dogs, cats, fish, hamsters, turtles and 4-H sheep.

In addition to her day job at a utility company and her writing career, Winnie serves on committees within her church and several writing organizations, and is active in local civic organizations—she truly believes the adage that you reap in proportion to what you sow.

In addition to writing and reading, Winnie enjoys spending time with her family, cooking and exploring flea markets. Readers can contact Winnie at P.O. Box 398, Plain Dealing, LA 71064, or e-mail her at winnie@winniegriggs.com.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things He planned for us long ago.

—Ephesians 2:10

To each of the following, my most sincere

gratitude:

My agent, Michelle Grajkowski, who has always been upbeat about my work and has never allowed me to give up or get discouraged.

To the members of the “I Told You So Club,” Cathy, Laura, Margaret and Lenora, who gave me some not-so-gentle nudges toward taking this leap-of-faith path for my writing. Thank you, ladies, and I hereby admit publicly that you were oh-so-right.

To my “first readers,” Joanne, Cathy and Renee—your feedback was invaluable.

I am truly blessed to have each of you in my life.

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

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Epilogue

Questions for Discussion

California, May 1888

“Hey, Jack!”

Jack bit back an oath at the hail, then turned in a slow, controlled movement. He pinned the foreman’s errand boy with a cold stare, holding his peace for three long heartbeats, just enough time to set the unthinking messenger to fidgeting in his saddle.

Finally, Jack pulled the sliver of twig from his mouth. “You got a death wish, Dobbins? Or didn’t you see those yellow flags marking off this area?”

The young man’s expression faltered. “Yes, but you’re still—”

Jack snapped the twig and tossed it away. “I’m inside the perimeter because I’m setting charges. Which means I’m working with enough explosives right now to blow you, me and most of this pile of rock to smithereens.”

Dobbins’s Adam’s apple bobbed, but he stuck out his chin and pulled a paper from his pocket. “A telegram came for you. Mr. Gordon wanted—”

Jack’s jaw muscle twitched. Fool kid. “I don’t care if it’s a set of executive orders from President Grover Cleveland himself. When I’m in the middle of a job, you don’t cross the perimeter unless it’s life or death.” He narrowed his eyes. “Because it just might turn into that.”

A quick nod signaled understanding.

Jack wiped his brow with his sleeve, already regretting his harsh tone. The heat and the hours were starting to wear on him. He waved the intruder forward. “Well, now that you’re here, you might as well give me the thing.”

Dobbins nudged his horse forward and handed the folded paper to Jack. His eyes rounded when he saw Jack slide it into his pocket without so much as a glance. “Aren’t you gonna read it?”

“Not ’til I’m done here. I don’t need any more distractions right now.” He raised a brow. “Anything else?”

Dobbins got the message. “Guess not.” With another nod, he jerked on the reins, turned his horse, and headed back in the direction of the base camp.

Jack frowned as he watched the messenger gallop off.

A telegram. Now who would—

He was doing it already, he realized.

He shoved the telegram out of his mind. Right now he needed to focus on the work at hand. Like he’d just told Dobbins, he couldn’t afford distractions while he was on the job.

Twenty minutes later Jack stood and tilted his hat up. He stepped back far enough to take in the remainder of what just a week ago had been a steep, rocky hillside. He drew his elbows back behind him, stretching the kinks out of cramped muscles.

Then he mentally reviewed the placement of all four charges one more time. You just couldn’t be too careful.

Satisfied everything was in order, he headed back toward the stand of scrub he’d designated as the meeting spot for his two-man team. Hopefully they were already waiting for him. He was more than ready to wrap up this job.

As he crossed the uneven ground, Jack fingered the folded sheet of paper tucked in his pocket. The only people who’d be likely to send him a telegram would be his sister or brother.

He’d just gotten a letter from Nell a few weeks ago. She hadn’t had anything new to say—just updates on what was going on back home and sisterly admonitions to visit soon, coupled with a bribe to bake up one of his favorite apple pecan pies.

No, he couldn’t picture either Nell or Lanny sending a telegram. At least not to deliver good news.

The back of his neck prickled and his step slowed.

Putting off reading the thing was becoming more of a distraction than whatever news the telegram contained could possibly be.