Charlotte Carter - Montana Hearts

“My whole family does. I’d pay you a decent wage, plus room and board. I’d also understand if you turned tail and got out of here as fast as that puny car of yours would take you.”

Oxygen seemed to escape Sarah’s brain, leaving her dizzy, with bells ringing in her head. Bells of excitement? Or bells of warning?

Had the Lord placed her in the diner at just the right time this afternoon to meet Kurt? Was it the Lord’s plan for her to help her heart donor’s family by working as a nanny for them for the summer?

There was no way to know for sure. Unless she took a leap of faith.

She drew a shaky breath and lifted her chin. “My car is not puny and I’ve never in my life turned tail when faced with a challenge. Mr. Ryder, I accept your job offer.”

A multipublished author of more than fifty romances, cozy mysteries and inspirational titles, Charlotte Carter lives in Southern California with her husband of forty-nine years and their cat, Mittens. They have two married daughters and five grandchildren. When she’s not writing, Charlotte does a little stand-up comedy, “G-Rated Humor for Grownups,” and teaches workshops on the craft of writing.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

And now these three remain: faith, hope and love.

But the greatest of these is love.

—1 Corinthians 13:13

Special thanks to my agent, Pam Strickler, for her hard work, dedication and guidance.

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

Epilogue

Letter to Reader

Questions for Discussion

Was she on a fool’s errand?

Sarah Barkley’s stomach knotted and her chest ached on a whole raft of second thoughts. She just had driven two-and-a-half days from Seattle to reach Sweet Grass Valley, Montana.

Now, sitting at the counter of an old-fashioned diner in the small rural town, the only place she could find to eat, she wondered if she’d be smart to turn around and go back home.

Unsure what to do, she mindlessly rubbed the nine-inch scar hidden beneath her cotton blouse. Her doctor had warned her against trying to locate the family that had lost a loved one—and had generously saved Sarah’s life. “Unless they specifically request contact, organ donors and their family should remain anonymous,” the doctor had told her. “You can cause a grieving family to relive their pain and loss.”

She had written the family a letter of thanks, but that seemed like paltry appreciation for the extraordinary gift she had received.

The heart that beat steadily in Sarah’s chest had once belonged to someone’s loved one. The gratitude she felt was as big as the Montana sky. She wanted to find some way to thank the family.

But how?

There’d be no need for them to know that the heart that beat so strongly for her now had once known this town, the streets and sidewalks, very likely even this diner.

If her research had identified the right heart donor.

Sarah looked up as the waitress arrived with her order of a turkey sandwich on wheat bread, no mayonnaise, and fruit. The lunch rush had apparently passed and there were only a couple of older men lingering over their coffee in a booth by the wall.

“Here you go, hon. I’ll freshen that iced tea for you.” A brassy-blonde in her forties with short hair and a great smile, she refilled Sarah’s glass. Her name tag read Bonnie Sue. “You just passin’ through?”

“I’m not quite sure,” she admitted, adding a packet of sweetener to her tea.

“We don’t get many tourists.”

“It is a bit off the beaten path.” So far off the beaten path, she’d almost missed the turn off from Highway 2 in the northern part of the state.

“I’ll say. I’ve lived here my whole life. It’s a good place to be if you like neighbors who are good ol’ down-home folks and you aren’t interested in living high on the hog.”

“No big city lights, huh?”

Bonnie Sue laughed a hearty sound. “Hon, we don’t even have sidewalks after seven o’clock. We roll ’em up and tuck ’em away till five the next morning.”

Sarah smiled, wondering what it would be like to live in such an out-of-the-way place. Peaceful, she guessed. A far slower pace than Seattle.

The bell over the diner’s door tinkled. Sarah glanced in that direction. A long-legged cowboy wearing a sweat-stained Stetson, jeans and boots sauntered toward the counter. His shoulders were far broader than his hips, his movements a symphony of masculine grace.

“Hey, Ryder,” one of the men in the booth shouted.

“How’s it goin’ on the Rocking R?”

The newcomer gave the men a casual salute. “It’s as dry at my place as it as yours, Mason. If we don’t get rain soon, we’re going to ask the government to divert the Marias River down Main Street.”

The two men laughed, and the cowboy took a seat at the counter one down from Sarah.

She averted her eyes, but her mind was racing. Ryder. The Rocking R Ranch. Could he be—

“Hey, Kurt,” Bonnie Sue said. “Haven’t seen much of you lately.” She poured him a big mug of coffee and slid a pitcher of cream in his direction.

Sarah tensed. Kurt Ryder.

“You know how it goes. Cattle and kids can keep you pretty busy.” He poured the cream in his coffee. “Can you fix me up with a double cheeseburger and some of those good fries you make?”

Sarah winced at the number of calories he was planning to consume and couldn’t even calculate how many of those calories would be from fat. If she ate all of that, the calories would either go directly to her thighs or her arteries. In either case, they’d probably give her a heart attack.

She took a bite of her dry turkey sandwich and realized that on some rebellious level she envied the man.

The man who, impossibly, shockingly, seemed to be the Kurt Ryder who had lost his wife in a deadly car crash in Washington just over a year ago.

The man who had donated his wife’s organs to total strangers to save their lives. Including Sarah’s life, based on her research.

The turkey turned to sawdust in her mouth. Her hand trembled and tears of gratitude welled in her eyes. She put the sandwich back on her plate.

Had God sent her here, to this diner, to meet Kurt Ryder?

She didn’t know what to do. How to act. She hadn’t made specific plans when she impulsively left Seattle to come here. She didn’t know what to say.

In the mirror behind the prep service area, she saw he had taken off his hat, leaving a sweat line that darkened his saddle-brown hair.

Ruggedly good-looking, he had a broad forehead and square jaw. His firm lips were drawn in a straight line that looked as though they’d forgotten how to smile. Sun-burnished squint lines fanned out from his eyes. Even more impressive than his appearance was the way he carried himself, strong and solid, as elemental as the land where he lived.

He looked up, and for a moment their eyes met in the mirror. A shimmer of awareness, like ripples in a pond, danced down Sarah’s spine.

She fought to control her expression. To remain neutral in the face of his compelling presence and the deep sorrow she saw in his eyes, the grief that had etched lines in his deeply tanned face.

She broke the connection and studiously focused on her sandwich, although her appetite had vanished.