The Present: The Malloy Family, Book 8.5 Read online

  One night can change everything.

  The Malloy Family, Book 8.5

  Ethan Malloy has distanced himself from the world after his wife’s death. Two years have passed in self-imposed loneliness. During a fateful snowstorm, he finds a stranger in his house when he returns. Ethan’s life will never be the same.

  Fiona Carmichael didn’t intend to get lost in a snowstorm or end up spending the night in a house with a man she barely knew. He made her yearn for what she’d never found—a home, a man to love and be loved by.

  Circumstances threw them together, but will they take the life fate offers them?

  Warning: Recipe for love, Old West style: a lonely widower, a feisty redhead, a dose of spirit and a dash of unexpected marriage. Shake well and sip to savor.

  The Present

  Beth Williamson

  Dedication

  To my sister from a different mother, Valerie Cozart, and the incredible force of nature, Kim Rocha. Becoming friends with you two reminded me of how important connections are in life. I can’t imagine who I would be without your friendship. Love you always, ladies!

  Chapter One

  March 1895

  Cheshire, Wyoming

  The first snowflakes fell silently all around him as he knelt at Bonita’s grave. Ethan Malloy would have done anything to bring her back, to have her beside him again. Yet he knew no matter how he wished or whether he sold his soul, she was gone for good. It had been two years since she’d been taken from him, and he still felt so alone in the world.

  Most folks would call him plumb loco to feel so alone. The Malloys were a normal-sized family of five children, and all the siblings, except Ethan, had children. They were a formidable force that invoked annoyance, joy, frustration and love.

  Yet Ethan felt utterly alone.

  A chill snaked through his body, sending a shiver from his head to his toes. He glanced down and realized the snow was falling heavily. In fact, it was already four inches deep.

  How long had he been lost in thought at his wife’s grave? Ethan stood and gasped at the pain in his legs. Pins and needles danced across his skin. He had been there too long again. Not surprisingly, the day had turned to night with the onset of the wicked storm.

  It was only two in the afternoon, but it felt more like ten at night, considering how dark it had become. He brushed the snow from his trousers as another chill hit him. He was supposed to have left for his parents’ house hours earlier, but he’d put it off to spend time with Bonita.

  Or perhaps he had been avoiding his family. They were overwhelming at times, especially after he became a widower. While no one was shoving women in his path, they constantly fussed over his single state and his empty ranch house. Ethan had had enough fussing and had started skipping family gatherings. Then, of course, he felt guilty, another dark emotion churning around in his gut.

  As he made his way home, the wind began to howl around him. Storms could whip across the Wyoming prairie and make a man snow-blind. Hell, he could get lost on a familiar path he walked every day.

  His face grew stiff from the cold and his nose began to run. Shit. He might not make it to his house, much less to his parents’ house. He should have tied a rope that ran between the small clearing with Bonita’s grave to the house or the barn. But it was a little late to think of that.

  Ethan could be in trouble.

  Fiona Carmichael cursed heartily as the horse simply stopped.

  “Dammit, you old nag, what are you doing?” She flicked the reins, but the hellish beast wouldn’t move. She counted to ten and tried again, but the horse stood still.

  She glanced around at the snow as it blanketed the countryside. No doubt this was a typical Wyoming storm, but to a displaced Southern belle, it was formidable. She could hardly see a thing through the swirling white flakes. It had come upon her in a blink. She’d barely had time to realize it was snowing before she was covered in it.

  The man at the livery had told her it was a short hour-long ride to the Petersens’ ranch, where she’d been hired as their new housekeeper. Now that she’d reached the age of thirty, a comfortable bed, a steady job and the security of a home were what she craved.

  Too bad the cursed horse didn’t want to help her achieve that particular dream.

  Fiona sighed heavily, then climbed down from the carriage. With the last of her funds she’d purchased sturdy boots, which didn’t look especially handsome with her wool traveling outfit, but they were warm. The moment her feet touched the ground, the horse nearly flew into motion and left her standing there.

  Her mouth fell open in disbelief as her belongings—and her safe passage to the Petersens’—disappeared into the white, swirling mass.

  Although not familiar enough with snow to be an expert, she was smart enough to know if she was on foot, there was the very real possibility she would die out on the prairie. That wasn’t a very palatable future for a scrapper like Fiona.

  “Hey, come back here. I didn’t mean the old nag comment!” She hitched up her skirt and ran after the carriage.

  Ethan lost track of how long it took him to reach the corral in front of the barn. His feet were numb—the only reason he knew they were still there was he was still walking. The snow had already reached a depth of eight inches, but it wasn’t just the snow.

  The wind whipped the snow crystals into his face like stinging bullets. His ears rang from the constant assault by the howling storm. An angel must’ve been riding on his shoulder, because in the midst of the hell around him, he saw a light.

  Relief flooded him when he recognized it was a lantern—then he was puzzled. If it was his house, and no one was home, how was a lantern even burning? He certainly would never leave the house with one burning—only an idiot would do that.

  If he were honest, it didn’t matter why it was burning, just that it was. For Ethan it was a beacon in the storm that led him home safely.

  When his boots touched the front porch, he breathed a sigh of relief even as the cold kept its talons firmly embedded in him. He finally gripped the knob and stumbled through the door. His boots slipped on the caked snow stuck on them, and he slid across the floor. Then he hit the rag rug Bonita had made and landed flat on his back. The breath was knocked completely out of him.

  As the snowflakes blew in through the open door onto his face, a woman with carrot-red hair appeared above him. Her eyes were the blue of a deep winter sky and her nose was splattered with freckles. She had a wide mouth with plump lips, which were currently smiling at him.

  “Well, heavenly saints, look at my present.” She reached behind him and closed the door. “You must be freezing.”

  He wanted to ask her who the hell she was and why she was trespassing, but he still couldn’t catch his breath. Judging by her accent, she wasn’t a native of Wyoming. One of the Southern states was more like it. And her hair was so…red.

  She knelt down beside him and frowned. “You own this place?”

  Ethan managed a grunt and pointed a shaking finger at her.

  “Fiona Carmichael.” She shook his hand with a surprising firmness. “I was on my way to the Petersen ranch. I’m the new housekeeper. The stupid horse decided to go off for a stroll in the storm. Old nag is probably safe at a livery by now.”

  He vaguely remembered Rick Petersen mentioning hiring a housekeeper a month ago when he’d run into him in town. However, this woman wasn’t exactly what he expected. Most housekeepers were motherly types with overly large breasts and short, rotund shapes. Fiona Carmichael didn’t fit that description.

  Her red hair practically glowed in the lantern light. Then there was the matter of her clothes. S
he was wearing britches and a shirt that was far too big for her, and her hair was in an unfashionable tangle, not unlike his sister Nicky’s locks. It was Fiona’s hands, however, that told him the real story. They were callused and much too strong for a simple housekeeper.

  Her bright blue eyes narrowed as he continued to stare at her. “I reckon you can speak and not just stare, right?”

  Ethan wondered if Fiona ever held on to a thought she didn’t put into words. She appeared to let everything roll off her tongue. He managed to suck in a much-needed breath and pushed himself up on his elbows.

  She watched him, her head cocked to one side as if assessing him. “You’re one of those Malloys, aren’t you?”

  It was his turn to frown. “I’m Ethan Malloy and this is my house. You, Fiona Carmichael, are trespassing.”

  She raised one brow. “I thought about simply cowering on your front porch, but then I thought you might trip over my carcass.”

  Fiona was for certain cursed, or blessed, with a sassy mouth and quick wit.

  “How did you find my house anyway? It must’ve been nearly impossible to see.” His back ached right along with his head from the fall. Not to mention the fact his cheeks and ears burned from the warmth in the house.

  “I don’t know, to be honest.” She started unbuttoning his coat and picking the crusted snow from the wool as she spoke. Ethan didn’t know what to make of her behavior. “I was chasing the blasted horse for a spell, then I saw a light burning and followed it. It turned out to be your house. I did knock, but no one answered. There was a fire burning, and well, I couldn’t resist saving my hide.”

  Ethan sat up and stared at her. There had been no fire burning and no light when he’d left the house hours earlier. No one had been home except for this woman’s imagination. “I don’t mind that you took shelter in my house from the storm, but telling lies about how you got here isn’t helping either of us.”

  She moved to his feet and tugged on his boot. Ethan allowed her to help him, although only God knew why. Undressing him was an intimate act, yet he let it happen with this stranger who had invaded his isolated sanctuary.

  “I did no such thing, Mr. Malloy. You aren’t the grumpy one, are you? I heard he was married, but it appears there hasn’t been a woman in this house in quite a spell.” She got one boot off, then wiped her hands on the britches she wore.

  Ethan snorted. She was referring to his brother Ray, obviously, and he hadn’t been as irritable since he’d gotten married to Lily. He even smiled now and then. “I’m not the grumpy one. You should be careful about judging people, you know.”

  She stopped and glared. “You should take your own advice.”

  His heart beat a steady tattoo in his chest as he realized it was the first time since Bonita’s death that he had experienced a flicker of interest in a female. This little carrot-topped woman had prompted him into feeling, albeit annoyance.

  He held up his hands in surrender. “You’re right. I think we both got off on the wrong foot.”

  She dropped his boots beneath the coat hooks. “Darn tootin’. Now, I’ve got some coffee on, and I hope you don’t mind, but I made some biscuits too.”

  Ethan was astonished. She had made herself at home, hadn’t she? Fiona stood, then held out her hand to help him up. He was much larger than her, yet when he took her hand, he was on his feet in seconds.

  “Who are you?”

  “I told you. I’m Fiona Carmichael. That fall must’ve rattled your noggin something good. Why don’t you take a seat and I’ll get some vittles for you?” She walked into the kitchen, leaving him standing there like an idiot.

  That’s when he recognized the britches and shirt she wore. They were his.

  “Hey, those are my clothes!”

  She looked back at him, hair swinging. “Yes, and thank you for letting me wear them. My wool suit was soaked through.”

  Ethan glanced at the fireplace and noticed a green woolen ladies’ traveling suit, along with ruffly underthings, hanging on a rope strung on the mantle. Jesus, was she nude beneath his clothes?

  Something aside from annoyance coursed through him. Holy hell.

  Chapter Two

  Fiona couldn’t believe her luck. First the goddamn horse ran off and left her stranded. Then she found this little house like Goldilocks in the fairy tale.

  And of course, the bear had arrived.

  Ethan Malloy was exceptionally handsome. With deep green eyes and wavy, reddish-brown hair, the big man was sensuality personified. However, he was also grumpy and growly like a bear. Helping him with his boots and coat seemed the right thing to do, particularly since she’d invited herself into his house.

  When he accused her of lying, it was all she could do not to shout at him. Fiona might be many things, but a liar was not one of them. She prided herself on being honest no matter what. There had been a lantern in the snow, leading her to his house. She had expected someone to be home, considering a light was burning, as was the blaze in the fireplace.

  It felt cozy and homey, even welcoming. Until the bear arrived.

  Any normal human being would have been kind enough to realize she’d had no choice. Considering the amount of ice and snow caked on her clothes, she was lucky to be alive. No doubt within thirty minutes, she would have been dead.

  He walked into the kitchen like an old man, with a hand pressed to the small of his back. Fiona felt bad, but it wasn’t her fault that he’d fallen on his ass. She followed him, careful to keep a good distance away lest he decide she was the nefarious trespasser he accused her of being.

  “The biscuits smell good.” He sounded moderately displeased by that fact.

  “I was hired as a cook and housekeeper for a reason, Mr. Malloy.” She went around him to the stove and pulled out the biscuits.

  The simple chore allowed her to focus on what she was doing. Truth was, she was trapped in a stranger’s house for God only knew how long, with no means of protection other than her intelligence and her sharp tongue. Ethan Malloy was in for a surprise if he tried to take advantage of her.

  With a mighty groan, he sat at the small table and watched her. She could feel his gaze on her and it made her jumpy. Dratted man was too suspicious.

  “I’m not a thieving, crazy woman.” She popped some biscuits onto a tin plate she found on a shelf above the wooden sink.

  “I never said you were.”

  Fiona let loose a very unladylike snort. “Well, you could’ve fooled me. I thought for certain you wanted to throw me back out in the snow.”

  “I would never do that.”

  She didn’t respond again. Mr. Malloy could say anything he wanted. Fiona was no fool—she’d been on her own too long not to distrust people she didn’t know. Some people out West were friendly, but others were downright mean.

  She didn’t know which this Malloy brother was yet.

  “My mother taught me to be a gentleman and to help those in need.” He sounded almost resentful of the fact. “Our—I mean, my house is always open to folks.”

  “Except stranded women in snowstorms.”

  As she set the plate in front of him, he took hold of her wrist. Fiona twisted and immediately got free, her heart pounding. He looked up at her with genuine surprise on his face.

  “I understand you’re upset I came into your house without your say-so, but I needed to stay alive. But if you plan on hurting me or worse, I’ll take my chances outside.” She wasn’t about to let anyone take advantage of her. After all, Fiona hadn’t gotten by without using her brain and her instincts.

  Ethan dropped his head into his hands and sighed deeply. “I’m sorry, Miss Carmichael. I don’t have any excuse for how I treated you.” He paused. “Lo siento.”

  Fiona plopped down in the seat across from him and watched him carefully. She considered herself a good judge of character, and Ethan was slowly convincing her of his. “You speak Spanish?”

  He peeked at her through his fingers. “I’m sorry. S
ometimes I speak Spanish without thinking about it. My wife was part Mexican, part Indian. She taught me…a lot.”

  She was surprised to hear he’d been married, considering the barrenness of the house. Although she knew she shouldn’t ask, she did anyway. “What happened to her?”

  Ethan sucked in a breath and uncovered his face. “Did you really ask me that?”

  She shrugged. “Why not? After today you’ll never see me again. I’ll tell you my story if you tell me yours.”

  Ethan didn’t know what to make of the outspoken woman who’d appeared in his house. She’d lied to him, used his kitchen as if it were her own, made him feel guilty, then asked him about Bonita.

  Did the woman have no shame?

  Yet at the same time, he was feeling. Annoyance, interest, even a bit of amusement at her witty responses. The afternoon was becoming surreal, and he had his own little angel, or perhaps demon, to keep him company.

  “Fine, you start.” He sat back and picked up the biscuit. As he brought it to his mouth with a bit of trepidation, she tsked at him.

  “I’m a good cook, Mr. Malloy.”

  The first bite told him she was telling the truth. The biscuit nearly melted on his tongue, hot and salty with a touch of honey. He couldn’t stop the groan from escaping.

  “I’m guessing that’s not a groan of poisonous dismay.”

  He swallowed the chuckle that threatened. “Yes, it was. Your biscuits have spoiled me for life.”

  Fiona simply stared at him with her mouth slightly open. Her plump lips were a light shade of pink, her teeth straight and white.

  He shook himself as a wave of pure arousal snaked through him. It had been so damn long since he’d been with a woman. Bonita had been unable to be intimate the last years of her life. And if he were honest with himself, he’d had no desire to be with anyone since she died.

  Until Fiona Carmichael invited herself into his house.

  Damn.

  “Did you just compliment me?” She glanced at the biscuit, then back at his face. “And here I didn’t think I’d get a gift for my birthday this year.”