Free 1420135090 (R) by Janet Dailey Page A

it to you.”
    By the time the men finished eating, Hunter had gone to check the clothes in the attic, and Amy had been sent upstairs to make her bed and straighten her room. Kylie had shooed Muriel out of the kitchen and was busy cleaning up. Shane’s eyes followed the sure movements of her small, neat hands and admired the sway of her hips as she carried the dishes to the sink. Bad idea, he scolded himself. There was no denying he was intrigued. But she’d barely met his gaze or spoken more than a couple of words to him this morning. The message was clear. If he was looking for signals, she wasn’t sending any.
    When Henry had finished eating, Shane followed him along the shoveled path to the machine shed. He averted his eyes from his smashed motorcycle, which was propped against one wall. He would have to deal with the bike later. For now, he had more urgent concerns.
    Henry led him to the back corner of the shed, where a canvas tarp covered a bulky object. “Almost forgot I had this,” he said. “Fellow who came down from Wyoming gave it to me in trade for some work, when he couldn’t pay. I never figured I’d have any use for the blasted thing—till now.”
    He pulled off the tarp. Shane swore in surprise. “I’ll be damned! It’s a snowmobile! Does it work?”
    “The man said it did, but I never tried it out. No reason to till today. But I checked to make sure the fluids were drained. What d’you say we fill ’er up and try ’er out?”
    Shane helped the old man put gas, oil, and antifreeze in the tanks. The vehicle, with skis in front and a set of tracks in back, would be a great solution to getting around in the snow—if they could get it working.
    Together they pushed the machine outside, clear of the shed. The key was in the ignition. When Henry tried it, the engine sputtered, then caught with a roar that startled a cloud of blackbirds out of a nearby cottonwood.
    Conversation was impossible with the engine running. Henry switched it off. “So far, so good. Ever drive one of these things?”
    “No, but it can’t be much different from a motorcycle. Let me try it.” Shane climbed aboard. By the time he’d started it up and made two circles in the yard, he was already feeling comfortable with the machine. Stopping by the shed, he turned off the engine. “Not bad,” he said. “You’re a lifesaver, Henry. Guess I’ll be heading back to my ranch for a bit. Give my thanks to Muriel.”
    “Wow!” Hunter had come out onto the back porch. Dressed in an old plaid mackinaw, wool mittens, rubber boots, and a cap that covered his ears and tied under the chin, he looked like a relic from the 1940s, but at least he was warm. “That looks like fun!”
    “Fun, but cold,” Shane said. “Behave yourself and maybe I’ll give you a ride on it later.”
    “How about now?” The boy paused, as if remembering his manners. “Please.”
    “Later, maybe. I was about to run over to my ranch and do the chores.”
    “I could come with you and help. With all the snow, you’ll need an extra pair of hands.” He looked so desperately eager that Shane’s heart began to soften. The boy needed something to do besides text and play games on his phone. And Kylie needed a break from mothering her bored, discontented teenage son.
    “Ask your mother,” he said. “If it’s okay with her . . .”
    Before he could finish the sentence, Hunter had already disappeared into the house. Moments later he was back, his face lit by a happy grin. “She said yes! Let’s go!”
    “Fine. Hop on behind me.” Shane was used to supervising the high-school boys who worked summers on his ranch haying and tending cattle. Kylie’s son wouldn’t be much different, he told himself. Just a little younger.
    The snowmobile had a seat for a passenger behind the driver. Shane waited while Hunter climbed into place. “Hold on tight. Here we go.” The engine roared to life again. Shane put the vehicle in gear and opened the throttle.