Cinderella's Big Sky Groom

  Stories of family and romance beneath the Big Sky!

  Jennifer McCallum: Whitehorn’s little darling has started kindergarten—just like every five-year-old. Except Jennifer isn’t just any school-age tot—she’s an heiress with a trust fund that might prove tempting to folks with bad intentions….

  Ross Garrison: As a lawyer, he’s got to protect little Jennifer’s interests. But as a man, Ross knows getting close to the girl’s sweet teacher could lead to consequences a confirmed bachelor isn’t ready for!

  Lynn Taylor: It isn’t every day a plain Jane like Lynn is swept off her feet by a prince. Now the rumors are flying that prim Miss Lynn is about to compromise her virtue for a certain irresistible lawyer….

  CHRISTINE RIMMER

  Cinderella’s Big Sky Groom

  CHRISTINE RIMMER

  came to her profession the long way around. Before settling down to write about the magic of romance, she’d been everything from an actress to a salesclerk to a waitress. Now that she’s finally found work that suits her perfectly, she insists she never had a problem keeping a job—she was merely gaining “life experience” for her future as a novelist. Christine is grateful not only for the joy she finds in writing, but for what waits when the day’s work is through: a man she loves, who loves her right back, and the privilege of watching their children grow and change day to day. She lives with her family in Oklahoma. Visit Christine at www.christinerimmer.com.

  For Betty Lowe, a dear friend and dedicated reader.

  This one’s just for you, Betty.

  Contents

  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 One

  Lynn Taylor set down her pencil. “Sara?”

  The child, the only one of Lynn’s kindergartners who hadn’t left for the day, lifted her shining blond head from the picture she’d been working on.

  “What time is it?” Lynn asked.

  Sara turned to look at the clock on the wall above the chalkboard. “Little hand on the twelve. Big hand on the two….” Her expression turned grave as she processed that information. After a moment she ventured cautiously, “Ten minutes after twelve?”

  “That’s right.”

  A sunny smile burst forth. “That means my mommy’s coming real soon to take you for your birthday surprise.”

  “Yes, she is. And I think you’d better—”

  “It’s a big surprise, Miss Taylor.”

  “I know. Your mother told me. And so did you. Several times.”

  “And I can’t tell you anything more.”

  “You told me that, too.”

  “Because Mommy said you have to wait. That’s what it means, when you get a surprise. You wait and wait.”

  “Yes, and I think you’d better—”

  “It’s like at Christmas, when you have a big present and it’s under the tree and your mommy won’t let you even tear off just a little bit of the pretty paper to see what’s in there. And every morning you get up and you look at it and you know you can’t open it till Christmas. And that kind of makes you a little bit mad, because you want to know what it is so bad. But you are etcited, too, because you know it’s something real special in there, maybe a great big doll or…everything for a puppy that would grow up to be just like Jenny’s dog, Sugar.”

  “Sara—”

  “You know, I mean, your mommy couldn’t put a puppy in a box for all that time, so it would just be the puppy bed and some puppy food and bones for him to chew on. And your mommy would be keeping the puppy someplace safe so that, when Christmas morning came, you could—”

  “Sara.”

  The child caught herself—finally. “Uh. Yes, Miss Taylor?”

  Lynn mimed pulling a zipper across her lips.

  “Oh. Okay.”

  “I think it’s time you put your picture away and got ready to go.”

  “Yes, Miss Taylor…but you know what?”

  “What?”

  “I really hope I get a puppy someday.”

  “And maybe you will. But right now—”

  “I know.” She giggled. “Zipper my lip.”

  “That’s right.”

  Holding her drawing in one hand, Sara flipped up her desktop with the other—then peeked around the top at Lynn. “And put my coat on.”

  “Yes.” Lynn closed her lesson plan book and stuck it in her top desk drawer as Sara tucked her drawing away, shut her desk and pushed her chair back.

  Right then, there were three strong taps on the door that led to the outside hall. Sara chirped out, “I’ll get it! It’s probably Mommy….” She shoved her chair into place under the desk and darted for the door, grasping the steel knob and giving it a hearty push.

  The door swung outward on its hydraulic hinge and a chilly gust of October wind blew in, ruffling the loose papers on Lynn’s desk. Lynn saw them start to fly. With a low laugh, she put her hand over the stack. “Come on in and close that—”

  “It’s not my mommy,” said Sara. “It’s a man.”

  Lynn looked up—and right into a pair of dark, uncompromising eyes.

  Her gaze moved down, over strong cheekbones and a well-shaped nose. Along a square jaw and a chin possessed of an absolutely perfect masculine cleft. His clothing—a chocolate-brown sport coat, dark slacks and tooled boots—spoke quietly of money. Lynn knew who he was. Ross Garrison. Whitehorn’s new lawyer. Lynn had never actually met him, but she’d seen him around town. And her younger stepsister, Trish, was his secretary. Since Trish lived with Lynn, Lynn had heard all about him, in gushing, adoring detail.

  Another gust of wind blew in. Lynn shivered. And found her voice. “Mr. Garrison, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, please. Come in. And let Sara close the door.”

  He stepped into the classroom. Sara pulled the door shut. Lynn took her hand off the stack of papers and stood. Resisting the urge to smooth out her plain wool skirt, she moved around from behind the desk.

  “I’m looking for Lynn Taylor,” the lawyer announced. “The woman at the office said—”

  “You have the right room. I’m Lynn.”

  He extended a large, tanned, beautifully shaped hand. At first she thought he wanted to shake. But no. He was holding a business card. She took it.

  As the card changed hands, his gaze ran over her in a cursory fashion—and then went straight on by.

  Lynn glanced down at the card. It was cream colored, of thick, linenlike stock, rich and rough textured under the pad of her thumb. His name was in gold ink: Ross Garrison, Attorney-at-Law. In smaller black print, in the lower left-hand corner, she saw the address and phone number of his law office on Center Street.

  She looked up at him once more. He was still gazing past her—and scanning her classroom, as if inspecting it for flaws. Those dark, knowing eyes took in the chalkboards and the wall displays of alphabets and brightly colored numbers.

  “An attractive setup,” he said.

  “Thank you.” She waited for him to say why he’d come.

  But he didn’t. Instead, he began prowling her room, scrutinizing the October calendar, with its border of black cats, witches’ hats and autumn leaves. He paused at the student storyboard, where the little book
lets her students had made with such care and bound with bright yarn dangled from pushpins. Finally he stopped by the far wall, opposite her, and stared out over the study-group arrangement of the desks.

  “Yes,” he said, rather officiously. “This is very good.”

  Lynn turned to Sara, who was standing—silent for once, and rather wide-eyed—by the door. “Go on into the coat nook, honey, and put on that jacket. Get your pack, too. Make sure you’ve got your snack box and your art supplies. Your mom should be here any minute.”

  Obediently, Sara trotted off toward the small anteroom, where the children hung up their coats and stored their personal belongings in individual cubbies.

  Once Sara was gone, Lynn asked cautiously, “Is this…something about Trish?”

  The lawyer left off examining her room and deigned to look at her again. There was nothing in his eyes. Not even a glimmer of interest at the mention of her sister’s name. This was somewhat bothersome to Lynn, as she knew that Trish had big plans for the man. Plans that included a white gown, a veil with a long train and a walk down the aisle of the Whitehorn Community Church.

  “No,” he said. “This has nothing to do with my secretary. She’s your stepsister, isn’t she?”

  Lynn gave him a tight, careful smile. “I can see you’ve done your homework.”

  He shrugged. “Your sister likes to talk. I’ve heard all about you.” More, she guessed from his tone, than he’d wanted to know. “I’ve also heard a lot about your other stepsister, Arlene, and Arlene’s husband and their children. And about your stepmother. I believe her name is Jewel.” He looked weary. Trish’s prospects for marriage with this man looked dimmer by the second.

  In fact, judging by his tone and his expression, Lynn couldn’t help wondering how long her sister would have her job. Trish wasn’t much of a typist. And if she talked about her personal life when she should have been working, her future with Ross Garrison, Attorney-at-Law, did not look especially secure.

  Lynn suppressed a sigh. “Well, if you’re not here about my sister, then why are you here?”

  He moved a few steps, until he was standing beside her desk. He looked down at the desk blotter, at the stack of In boxes in the corner, at the pen stand, which was shaped like a shiny red apple.

  Feeling a need to protect her own space from his prying eyes, Lynn moved to the other side of the desk and confronted him across it. “Mr. Garrison?”

  He looked up again. “Hmm? Oh.” And the corners of his mouth lifted. It was a stunning smile. Easy and casual. Charming and a little rueful. “Sorry. Lawyer’s habit. Observation.”

  Lynn did not smile back. She considered herself a patient, forgiving soul as a rule, but she’d had about enough of this man looking over her room as if he owned it, and not answering her when she asked what he wanted. “Why are you here?”

  He cleared his throat. “I’ve come about Jennifer McCallum.”

  Jenny, Lynn thought, feeling more wary—and more protective—by the second. Jenny had been through more trouble and tragedy in her five short years than some endured in a lifetime. Lynn had a definite soft spot for the child, as did almost everyone in Whitehorn.

  “I’m the new attorney for the girl’s estate,” Ross Garrison said. “And I’ve also been named a trustee.”

  “You’re taking Wendell Hargrove’s place?” She allowed her disapproval to come through in her tone.

  One dark eyebrow inched upward. “I intend to do a better job than Hargrove did, I promise you.”

  “I should hope so.” Wendell Hargrove had once been greatly respected in Whitehorn. For a number of years he’d represented the Kincaid estate, to which little Jenny was now the primary heir. In the end, though, he’d stolen from the clients he was supposed to be representing, including Jenny. He was serving time in prison now.

  Ross Garrison glanced down. The stack of In boxes was right by his hand. Idly, he ran a finger along the rim of the top box. His watch caught the overhead light and gleamed dully. Silver? No. Platinum. The man actually owned a platinum watch.

  Whitehorn, Montana, wasn’t exactly the sleepy cow town it had once been. But platinum watches were still few and far between in those parts.

  The lawyer looked up again and into Lynn’s eyes. “I’m just doing my job, Miss Taylor. Working up Jennifer McCallum’s file. With an estate of this size, it’s important that I cover all the bases, get a firm grip on what I’m dealing with here, for the good of my client. In future, decisions will have to be made concerning investments. And also concerning possible changes in the terms of the trust. I want to be sure I approach those decisions with my eyes open. I want, sincerely, to do the best I can by Jennifer. I’ve interviewed her doctor and her adoptive parents in depth and—”

  “Now it’s time to talk to her teacher.”

  “Exactly.”

  They regarded each other across the width of the desk. It was the strangest moment. Perhaps because there seemed to be so much unexplainable tension in it. Or maybe because, for the first time, Lynn felt he was actually looking at her. Closely. Probingly…

  “Jenny? You want to know about Jenny?”

  Lynn turned at the sound of Sara’s voice. The child stood in the entrance to the coat nook. She had on her red jacket, and clutched her dark blue pack, partially unzipped and hanging open. Inside, Lynn spotted the edge of a hot-pink art supply box—which she knew belonged to Jenny McCallum. Those two were forever trading things. Lynn would bet a gross of number-two pencils that Sara’s neon-yellow art box had gone home in Jenny’s pack.

  “That’s right, Sara,” Ross Garrison said. Lynn had to give him credit. She’d said Sara’s name only once—Let Sara close the door—and he had remembered it. “I’m here to learn all I can about Jenny McCallum.” He smiled that too-charming smile of his.

  His smile and the sound of her name were all the encouragement Sara needed.

  “Jenny is my best friend in the whole, wide world,” she announced. “She’s smart and she has blue eyes and blond hair, just like me. We look like sisters. Everybody says so. And we really like that, because we both wish we had a sister—or even a brother. But we don’t. But Jenny does have a dog. Her name is Sugar. And I want a dog. I really do. A puppy all for my own. And tomorrow night I’m going to Jenny’s house to have a sleepover. Her mom said we might even go out to the ranch—the Kincaid ranch. We might get to pet the barn cats and feed the horses some apples and—”

  “Sara.” Lynn pantomimed zipping up her mouth.

  Sara got the message. She pressed her cute pink lips together—but then the outside door swung open again and she crowed, “There you are, Mommy!”

  Danielle Mitchell slid inside and shut the door. Grinning, she sketched a bow at Lynn. “Your fairy godmother has arrived…and what’s this? Legal troubles?”

  “Mrs. Mitchell, how are you?”

  “Just fine. And didn’t I tell you to call me Danielle?”

  “Yes, you certainly did.”

  Lynn glanced from her friend to the lawyer. She hadn’t realized they knew each other. But then again, this was Whitehorn. Everybody knew everybody. It had always been that way.

  “So what’s up?” Danielle demanded of Lynn.

  Garrison answered for her. “Just gathering information. I’ve been hired to represent the Kincaid estate, and that means Jennifer McCallum is now one of my clients.”

  “You’re here to interview Lynn about Jenny?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And there’s not much to say,” Lynn put in firmly. “Jennifer is doing just fine. She is happy, intelligent, outgoing and unstintingly adored by one and all.”

  Garrison gave her the raised eyebrow again. “Unstintingly?”

  Lynn felt…irritated, that was it. Irritated by this too-good-looking big-city lawyer, who had waltzed into her classroom, looked around as if he owned the place, acted bored to death at the mention of her sister—who might be a bit flighty, but nonetheless had stars in her eyes when it cam
e to him—and then began giving her the third degree about Jenny. “Yes. That’s what I said. Jenny is unstintingly adored by everyone.”

  “My, my,” Danielle muttered under her breath. “Feeling feisty today, aren’t we?”

  Lynn shot her friend a quelling glance, then turned on Garrison again. “She’s a lovely child. And one of my two best students—Sara here is the other one.” She glanced at Sara, who granted her a big, proud smile.

  Ross Garrison was not smiling. “Miss Taylor. We both know that Jennifer’s been through considerable trauma.”

  “Yes. She has. And in my opinion, none of her troubles have damaged her in the least.”

  Garrison did not look convinced, but he did allow, “Fine. If you say so.”

  “I do.”

  “All right.”

  “Good.”

  Those dark eyes stared into hers again, taking her measure. Lynn stared right back at him. Finally he said, “Listen, I really would like to talk with you in a little more depth about this.”

  Danielle chuckled then. “You’ll have to wait your turn, Ross. Lynn’s going to be busy for a while. But you could meet her at the Whitehorn Beauty Salon—say, about five?”

  Lynn blinked and whirled on her friend. “The Whitehorn Salon? Wait a minute. You didn’t say anything about taking me there.”

  Danielle looked way too pleased with herself. “It was a surprise, remember?”

  “But…” Lynn couldn’t help sputtering. “But…the beauty shop? For five hours?”

  Danielle waved a hand. “Four and a half, actually. Your appointment’s at twelve-thirty.” She glanced at the clock. “And we’d better get going or we’ll be late.”

  “But Danielle—”

  The other woman cut her off by speaking to Garrison. “Like I said. Whitehorn Salon. Five o’clock. She’ll be there.”

  Lynn sputtered some more. “No. No, wait, I—”

  “Five o’clock, then,” said Ross Garrison. And before Lynn could finish objecting, he strode to the door, pushed it open and left in a swirl of brisk autumn air.