So Dear To My Heart

Dear Reader,

This is a special book to me for a number of reasons, not the least of which is that it is my 50th book for Silhouette. My association with Silhouette has been a long and, I trust, mutually satisfying one, but it is my relationship with my readers that keeps me coming back to the keyboard day after day with new stories to tell. Your patronage and input are greatly appreciated. It has been the best of all possible worlds for me, so much so that I simply cannot imagine another more satisfying, and it is you, dearest reader, who makes it possible. I thank God for each and every one of you and the opportunity to continue doing what I so love to do. It is my fervent hope that you will enjoy this story of overcoming grief and disappointment by learning to live and love again. Those of us who have suffered such losses—and haven’t we all?—know that life has a way of pulling us back into the fray even when we feel too wounded to soldier on, but that it is love which makes the battle worthwhile and the victory sweet.

I wish you love, therefore, to see you through whatever dark hour may come, and faith in the joy which must surely follow. Most important, I thank you for picking up this book and thereby becoming no small part of my own ongoing delight. To the editors at Silhouette, most especially to those with whom I have worked closely, I express my deep gratitude for the many years of support and guidance.

God bless,

Dear Reader,

I’m dreaming of summer vacations—of sitting by the beach, dangling my feet in a lake, walking on a mountain or curling up in a hammock. And in each vision, I have a Silhouette Romance novel, and I’m happy. Why don’t you grab a couple and join me? And in each book take a look at our Silhouette Makes You a Star contest!

We’ve got some terrific titles in store for you this month. Longtime favorite author Cathie Linz has developed some delightful stories with U.S. Marine heroes and Stranded with the Sergeant is appealing and fun. Cara Colter has the second of her THE WEDDING LEGACY titles for you. The Heiress Takes a Husband features a rich young woman who’s struggling to prove herself—and the handsome attorney who lends a hand.

Arlene James has written over fifty titles for Silhouette Books, and her expertise shows. So Dear to My Heart is a tender, original story of a woman finding happiness again. And Karen Rose Smith—another popular veteran—brings us Doctor in Demand, about a wounded man who’s healed by the love of a woman and her child.

And two newer authors round out the list! Melissa McClone’s His Band of Gold is an emotional realization of the power of love, and Sue Swift debuts in Silhouette Romance with His Baby, Her Heart, in which a woman agrees to fulfill her late sister’s dream of children. It’s an unusual and powerful story that is part of our THE BABY’S SECRET series.

Enjoy these stories, and make time to appreciate yourselves in your hectic lives! Have a wonderful summer.

Happy reading!

Mary-Theresa Hussey

Senior Editor

So Dear to My Heart

Arlene James

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Books by Arlene James

Silhouette Romance

City Girl #141

No Easy Conquest #235

Two of a Kind #253

A Meeting of Hearts #327

An Obvious Virtue #384

Now or Never #404

Reason Enough #421

The Right Moves #446

Strange Bedfellows #471

The Private Garden #495

The Boy Next Door #518

Under a Desert Sky #559

A Delicate Balance #578

The Discerning Heart #614

Dream of a Lifetime #661

Finally Home #687

A Perfect Gentleman #705

Family Man #728

A Man of His Word #770

Tough Guy #806

Gold Digger #830

Palace City Prince #866

*The Perfect Wedding #962

*An Old-Fashioned Love #968

*A Wife Worth Waiting For #974

Mail-Order Brood #1024

*The Rogue Who Came To Stay #1061

*Most Wanted Dad #1144

Desperately Seeking Daddy #1186

*Falling for a Father of Four #1295

A Bride To Honor #1330

Mr. Right Next Door #1352

Glass Slipper Bride #1379

A Royal Masquerade #1432

In Want of a Wife #1466

The Mesmerizing Mr. Carlyle #1493

So Dear to My Heart #1535

Silhouette Special Edition

A Rumor of Love #664

Husband in the Making #776

With Baby in Mind #869

Child of Her Heart #964

The Knight, the Waitress and the Toddler #1131

Every Cowgirl’s Dream #1195

Marrying an Older Man #1235

Baby Boy Blessed #1285

Her Secret Affair #1421

Silhouette Books

Fortune’s Children

Single with Children

The Fortunes of Texas

Corporate Daddy

Maitland Maternity

The Detective’s Dilemma

ARLENE JAMES

grew up in Oklahoma and has lived all over the South. The author enjoys traveling with her husband, “the most romantic man in the world,” but writing has always been her chief pastime.

Praise for beloved author Arlene James, in recognition of her

MR. RIGHT NEXT DOOR

“Be prepared for more realism and depth than is usually found in a category romance.”

—The Romance Reader

THE PERFECT WEDDING

“Ms. James provides a powerful inspirational message for romance fans.”

—Romantic Times Magazine

DESPERATELY SEEKING DADDY

“Arlene James creates a wonderful heroine with whom readers will identify…”

—Romantic Times Magazine

MARRYING AN OLDER MAN

“I can honestly say that this book fits the gem category.”

—Desert Isle Reviews

“…Ms. James’s complex characters and unhurried pace make this a rewarding reading experience.”

—Romantic Times Magazine

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter One

Winston slowed the battered pickup truck as soon as he could read the name on the mailbox wired to a fence post at the side of the paved, two-lane road. The engine chugged as he downshifted, causing the old truck to lurch, and he glanced with mild concern across the cab at the dog hanging out the window, its white-tufted black ears flapping in the breeze. Did the animal know that it was going home? He wouldn’t have put it past the canny black-and-white dog. Perhaps that was why his son had taken such a liking to it.

For some reason the quiet eight-year-old had formed a deep affection for the odd cattle dog in the months since Dorinda Thacker had left it with them while she went for an extended visit with her sister in Texas. None of the other dogs around the Champlain ranch had ever inspired such devotion from Jamesy, but the dog belonged to the Thacker place, and since Dorinda had returned, so must the mutt. Out here on the sparsely populated Wyoming plains, a good dog was highly valued as useful for working cattle, companionship, keeping wild critters away from the home place, sounding alarms and, in the case of this particular pooch, going for help at a spoken command. Anyone living alone in these parts definitely needed a dog. It was just a shame, for Jamesy’s sake, that in Dorinda Thacker’s case it had to be this dog.

At least, Winston mused, he could get his stolen cattle back now, not that he had any intention of serving her with the restitution order immediately. After what her ex-husband Bud had put her through—the loss of her savings, the embarrassment of his thieving, the trial and conviction and, of course, the divorce—the woman deserved a chance to get her feet under her before she got hit with the loss of forty head of her cattle. It seemed unfair in a way that she should have to make the restitution, but that was how the court ordered it at the behest of the insurance company. They’d expected her back a couple months ago, in the late spring. It was full summer now, and Dorinda had notified no one, not even the Summerses who were still taking care of her horses, of the reason for her delay. Nevertheless, Win figured that he’d waited this long for his cattle; he could wait awhile yet. The dog was another matter.

With the truck sufficiently slowed, Winston turned it off the paved road onto the narrow dirt track that wound through the small hillocks and shallow rises which provided the Thacker cabin with some shelter from the elements. Win admitted to himself that he felt a little uneasy. Dorinda had often made him uncomfortable. Owing to his personal experience, Win had a little problem with married women who pursued men other than their husbands. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Dorinda. Not even all that Bud had put her through during their short marriage had dimmed her sunny disposition and happy-go-lucky attitude. Plus, she was a very attractive woman. When it came right down to it, however, he wasn’t at all sure that he could ever trust her.

As he guided the truck along the snaky path toward the cabin, he pictured her in his mind. Of medium height, with neat, graceful curves, Dorinda had big brown eyes, a heart-shaped face and a wealth of long, dark hair. She wore a touch too much makeup for his taste and, in his opinion, bought her jeans at least a size too small, but her smile was often so bright that it obscured everything else. He wished, heartily, that she had not made her interest in him so very obvious before Bud had been arrested. Perhaps all that had happened and the months away had changed her. He hoped so. Six years was a long time for a man to be alone, and lately he’d been feeling it more acutely than ever before, which was why he’d been out driving alone late last night and had spotted the light in Dorinda’s window. He’d tried to call this morning, but the phone had not been reconnected, so he’d decided to drive over instead.

The small, weather-grayed house came into view. Perched as it was halfway up the gentle rise of the shallow hill behind it, the cabin boasted very little front yard, and Dorinda’s flashy red truck took up what was there, so Win circled around and parked at the end of the narrow porch. After he killed the engine, he reached across to ruffle the ears of the black-and-white collie, which looked at him with inscrutable black eyes rimmed with a narrow, caramel brown mask resembling a pair of lopsided spectacles.

“You’re home, old son. We’ll miss you back at The Champ, but Dorinda needs you here. You take care of her now.”

The dog yawned widely, as if to say that he knew his business well and needed no reminders from some scruffy cowboy. Winston chuckled and reached into his shirt pocket for a short, splintered stick, which the dog nipped carefully from his fingertips, white-feathered black tail wagging happily. Win let himself out of the truck and waited for the dog to leap down to the ground before walking around his truck and between Dorinda’s and the porch to the narrow, sagging center steps, the dog at his heels.

As Winston drew close he could see through the screen and the open door to the kitchen beyond. Empty. The dog dropped down onto its belly on the porch and began gnawing the stick, which it held upright between its front paws. Rapping his knuckles on the door frame, Win called out, “Hello! Winston Champlain here.”

For a moment, he heard nothing in response. Then tentative footsteps came from the direction of the living area. Immediately, the dog began to growl, much to Winston’s confusion. A shadowy form appeared, accompanied by a soft, rusty female voice.

“What do you want?”

At that, the dog shot up to its feet and began barking. Perplexed and surprised by the animal’s reaction, Win commanded sharply, “Down!” The animal obeyed, but reluctantly, dropping onto its haunches and quieting to a whine. Win pulled the screen door open so they could see one another better, propping one shoulder against it. “Hey, there.”

Further comment evaporated as he stared at the woman standing before him. She was thinner than before, her long T-shirt bagging unexpectedly around her slender frame and revealing long, delectable legs. An utter lack of cosmetics revealed a pretty face more delicate and vulnerable than he remembered, but the most surprising element of her appearance was the short hair. The long, heavy fall of brown-black had been transformed into a wispy cap that seemed to enlarge her warm brown eyes and call attention to the plumpness of her dusky pink mouth and the graceful length of her neck.

Win realized that his mouth was hanging open only when he used it to exclaim, “Wow!” Her brows beetled at that, and she folded her arms. Win shook away his speechlessness and found a compliment. “I—I mean, I really like your hair, Dorinda.”

A soft gasp was his only warning before she stepped back, reached out and slammed the door, literally, in his face.

A full minute passed before he could grasp the reality of what had happened. Even then, it made no sense. Unless she meant to fight the restitution order. Suddenly, his blood boiled.

He’d been darn patient about this. Everyone from whom Bud had stolen got their cattle back but him, and he’d be skinned for a polecat before he swallowed the loss of forty producing heifers. He felt bad for her, but the law said that Dorinda, who had received the ranch and the Thacker herd in her divorce settlement, was responsible for reimbursing him. Bud couldn’t very well come up with either cattle or their cash equivalent from a prison cell, and he had testified that the proceeds of his thieving had been put back into the place he’d inherited from his uncle, so that left Dorinda on the hook.

Winston turned on his heel and stomped across the porch and down the steps. The dog followed, and Win was of no mind to discourage it. He yanked open the cab door of the truck and waited for the dog to climb up inside. Muttering under his breath about capricious women, he got in and started the engine. The dog whined as Win backed the truck away from the house. The sound had a quality about it with which Win could readily identify.

“I know what you mean, boy, but she hasn’t heard the last of us, not by a long shot.”

Danica lifted her head from the kitchen table. A dull ache bulged deep within her ears, and her eyes were swollen, a condition with which she was too often plagued since the death of her beloved sister. Even now, some two months after the fact, she couldn’t quite believe that Dorinda was gone. The entire past year and a half had been one catastrophe after another.

First Dori had met Bud and, despite Danica’s misgivings, married him after a whirlwind courtship. Then the newlyweds had moved to Wyoming, leaving Danica to struggle alone with the full rent of an apartment that had been meant for two. As if to add insult to injury, the pediatrician for whom Danica worked as a nurse had taken for a partner none other than Danica’s philandering ex-husband, Michael. Over the following months, Michael had attempted to reignite their relationship, Bud had been caught rustling cattle and was sentenced to prison, Dori had gotten a divorce and returned home to Texas to decide what to do next. And finally had come the awful accident that had cost Dorinda her life.

Danica told herself that a lesser woman would have buckled under all the strain, but she knew that she was holding on by her fingernails. Her reaction to Winston Champlain’s unexpected appearance today was proof of that. And yet, the reaction was somewhat justifiable, wasn’t it?

For weeks and weeks after returning home, Dori had alternately complained about her ex-husband and rhapsodized about their nearest neighbor, Winston Champlain. She’d waffled between returning to the entertainments and sophistication of Dallas for good and the supposed joys of actually owning her own ranch in Wyoming, however remote. Even after her normally ebullient spirits and natural penchant for fun had reasserted themselves, she had troubled Danica by measuring every man she met by the growing enticements of Champlain. Finally she had confessed to a “special relationship” with the man. Thoroughly alarmed, Dani had begged Dori to sell the ranch and stay with her in Dallas.

At length, Dorinda had agreed. Danica had arranged to take a few days off to accompany her sister back to Wyoming to settle her business affairs and put the ranch on the market. They were in the vicinity of Tucumcari, New Mexico, driving Danica’s small coupe in order to save on gasoline, when Dorinda had cut in front of a tractor-trailer rig only to find the traffic in front of them braking to avoid a garbage bag tumbling across the six-lane highway in a stiff breeze. The resulting crash had given Danica nightmares for weeks. The worst of it, however, had been waking up in the hospital with a smashing headache but hardly a scratch otherwise to find that the person dearest to her in all the world was no longer a part of it.

The weeks following had been unbearable. Danica had emerged from the initial fog of grief in a confused state of mind. She’d found it difficult to concentrate on work or much of anything, really. The well-meaning condolences and advice of friends and coworkers had been especially difficult to take, and Dani had found herself reacting with surprising anger. Just two weeks after returning to her job, she’d taken a leave of absence and retreated to the relative privacy of her apartment, only to find that her self-appointed caretakers were even more determined to pull her back into everyday life than she’d realized.

Finally, in sheer desperation, she’d packed a suitcase and headed for Wyoming in Dori’s gas-guzzling truck, ostensibly to settle whatever unfinished business remained and put the place on the market. She’d taken some ridiculous chances, she realized now, by driving straight through, and the week or more that she’d been here, she’d done little but sleep and stare out across the treeless plains, never seeing another soul until Winston Champlain, of all people, had arrived at her door.

The irony of it was not lost on Danica. Here she was right where she’d begged her sister not to go, and the first person she sees is the very one she least wants to. Now that she was over the shock of it, she was rather surprised to find that Dorinda had not exaggerated his physical appeal. Standing at least three inches over six feet, he had that kind of lean, rangy strength about him that many athletes possessed. His hair—though mostly hidden by a dusty gray felt hat with a wide, curly brim and high, domed crown—was a light, biscuit brown and fanned out in undisciplined flips from the nape of his neck. Slightly darker brows slashed straight across his face in two short dashes above light, smoke-gray eyes of startling clarity. It was a strong face, strong enough to carry a square, slightly cleft chin, prominent cheekbones and a long, slender nose that had obviously been broken at least once above a wide, spare mouth.

No wonder Dori had allowed herself to become entangled with him. How easy it must have been for him to slip beneath her defenses after the deep disappointment of her marriage to Bud, and now, clearly, he was ready to resume the affair. Obviously, she should have told him about Dorinda, but she’d been so shocked to see him standing there just as Dori had described him that she’d been tongue-tied. Then to hear her sister’s name on his lips, with a compliment, no less, had been more than Danica could bear. She’d slammed the door in his face and dissolved in tears.

How long ago that might have been, she didn’t really know, but a hollowness in her middle reminded her that she hadn’t eaten all day. She put her head in her hands and contemplated the necessity of it, dredging up the will to rise from her chair and go to the pantry. Fortunately, since the refrigerator didn’t work, the larder was well-stocked with nonperishable foodstuffs. Unfortunately, with neither microwave nor functioning cookstove, she was reduced to eating her irregular meals cold right out of the can, box or bag. At least she had electricity and, therefore, hot water, though why that had not been shut off she had no idea.

Forcing herself to her feet, she went to the pantry and selected a can at random, carried it to the counter and opened it. Corn. She hated canned corn. Fresh or even frozen was much better, in her opinion. With a sigh she picked up the spoon left on the counter after her last meal and carried it to the table along with the can. She got down three bites before a pounding at her door made her start so violently that she turned over the can, spilling the contents across the table top.

“I want to talk to you!”

Him! An uncontrollable anger seized her. How dare he intrude like this again! She balled up both fists and shouted at the door, “Go away!”

“Fat chance, lady! You can’t just brush this off!”

“Go away!” she cried again, but somewhat feebly, her energy quickly waning. She looked at the spilled corn and felt close to tears once more. Just then the door, which she had neglected to lock, opened and Winston Champlain strode through it, waving a folded, blue-backed paper.

“Look,” he said sharply, “I wanted to do this easy after all you’ve been through, but by golly, one way or another, I mean to have my cattle!” He shook the paper out and thrust it in her face, adding, “You’re served! Now what the hell are you gonna do about it?”

Served? Danica stared openmouthed at the paper held to the end of her nose, but her eyes crossed when she tried to bring the words into focus. Irritably, she pushed it away.

“You’re not welcome here, Champlain, so go away.”

“Well, that’s just fine!” he snapped. “First Bud and now you. I guess you’re as much thief as him.”

“I am not!”

“Yeah, well, what do you call it? I’m out forty producing heifers, and the court says you’re the one who has to reimburse me for them!”

Forty heifers? Holy cow, her dad had never owned so many at one time. Of course, cattle had just been a sideline with him. His cotton crop had been his main concern back then. “Where on earth would I get forty heifers?” she demanded.

“Out of your herd, presumably.”

“My herd?” Oh. Of course. She hadn’t thought of that. As her sister’s only surviving relative, the ranch and the cattle would be hers now. “I don’t even know if I have forty heifers.”

“Guess we’ll find out, won’t we?” With a sharp flick of his wrist, he swirled the paper at her. She caught it in midair, crumpling one side in her fist, and turned it right side up. It was, indeed, a restitution order from the circuit court. “Read it and weep, Dorinda,” he said snidely.

She sighed and lifted her wrist to her forehead. “I’m not Dorinda.”

He literally snorted. “Huh! You don’t expect me to believe that.”

She stared at him, suddenly fatigued again, tears filling her eyes as she searched for the words. “Dorinda is…There was a-an a-accident.” She carried the paper to the counter and carefully laid it there, one hand going to her hip, the other to her chest. “I—I didn’t know about this. I would’ve t-told someone if I had.”