blinked. “Yeah, I’ll buy you a tart. Let’s go.”
He led the way to the bakery and they ordered their pastries and coffee.
Moments later, the two of them sat at a table with coffee, a chocolate tart and a slice of cherry pie à la mode. Like many of the shops around town, the bakery featured both Thanksgiving and Christmas decorations. The shop owners in Thunder Canyon weren’t dummies. They would maximize the holiday season to get the most out of it. Cade, however, wasn’t big on Christmas since his mother and Dominique had died years ago.
Abby took a spoonful of chocolate tart into her mouth and closed her eyes in satisfaction. “Now, that is good.”
“Yeah,” Cade said, fighting a surge of arousal as he took a bite of his cherry pie.
“No, really,” she said, lifting a spoon toward Cade. “You should try this.”
Cade glanced into her brown eyes then felt his gaze dip deeper to her cleavage. When had Abby Cates gotten cleavage?
Cade cleared his throat. “I’m game,” he said and opened his mouth.
He felt her slide the spoon and decadent chocolate past his lips onto his tongue. His temperature rose. He swallowed.
“Good,” he managed.
“Of course it is,” she murmured.
Cade met her gaze and felt a wicked stirring throughout him. Something about Abby made him…hard.
She took a sip of coffee and looked at Cade from the rim of her coffee mug. “Coffee’s not really my favorite,” she said. “When it comes to hot drinks, I’d rather have hot chocolate or apple cider.”
“I’ll take coffee,” Cade said.
“But what if you had a choice?” Abby asked. “What would you choose?”
“Coffee with cream and hazelnut,” he said.
“Smells delicious,” Abby said, closing her eyes and smiling.
“But do you want to drink it?” he asked.
“Not so much,” she said. “But I would love to smell it.”
He chuckled and she opened her eyes. “What’s wrong with smelling?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he said. “Nothing at all.”
She got to the end of her tart and there was one bite left. “Bet you want it,” she said, waving the spoon in front of his mouth.
The motion was incredibly seductive, and he found himself craving what she offered. Or maybe he was craving what he wanted. He couldn’t quite tell what Abby was offering, but it was a big no-no. Or was it?
He clasped his hand over hers, the last bite of chocolate hanging between them.
“Take it,” she urged.
Her voice was too sexy to ignore. He grabbed her hand and drew it to his mouth. Cade enveloped the chocolate with his mouth and swallowed it down. The motion was both carnivorous and sexual.
Abby’s brown eyes widened in surprise.
“What did you expect?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Something more…”
“Polite?” he asked.
Her eyes darkened. “Maybe. If so, I’m glad I was wrong.”
His gut tightened. “You need to be careful. You’re asking for trouble.”
“Just from you,” she said.
His heart hammered against his rib cage. “This is a bad idea.”
“There are worse ideas,” she countered.
He felt himself begin to sweat. How could Laila’s little sister affect him this way? It wasn’t possible.
“Go away, little girl,” he said and pulled back.
“I’m not a little girl,” she said.
“You’re too young for me,” he said.
“Says who?” she challenged.
Her defiance caught him by surprise. “Says anyone with any sanity.”
Abby leaned toward him, her eyes full of everything he shouldn’t be thinking. “Haven’t you heard? Sanity’s overrated.”
“I don’t know what game you’re playing, Abby. But I’m not playing,” he told her with finality.
Chapter Three
Abby’s ego bruised again, she buried herself in her schoolwork and decided to follow up on her intention to visit Mr. Henson. She hadn’t seen his old truck in town during the past few days and decided he might enjoy some leftover chicken and dumplings Abby and her mother had made last night. She also brought along a wreath to add a little holiday cheer to his home, hoping it might lift his spirits. She drove her orange VW toward his place and slowed as she turned onto his dirt driveway. The ground was too frozen to allow the dust to kick up the way it would in the summer, she thought as she pulled in front of the old white farmhouse.
Although Mr. Henson did far more than most folks thought he should, Abby knew he’d finally given up on ranching several years ago and leased his acreage to a local rancher. The old blue truck with peeling paint was parked next to the house, which meant he should be home.
Abby picked up the container of food and got out of her car. She noticed the steps to his porch were still crusty with ice and wondered if he had any salt she could throw on them for him. Knocking on the door, she paused and listened, but there was no response. She knocked again and heard a faint reply.
“Mr. Henson, it’s Abby Cates. Are you okay?”
She heard the sound of slow footsteps and moments later, the door finally opened. Abby was surprised at the sight of him. His face was grizzly with white stubble, his hair hadn’t been combed and his clothes were rumpled.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded in a cranky voice.
“I came to see you and I brought some chicken and dumplings,” she said.
His eyes lit with faint approval. “Oh, well, that’s nice of you. Come on in,” he said and hobbled inside. “Where’s that Pritchett young man? Aren’t you two married?”
“No,” she said. “Cade Pritchett barely knows I’m alive.”
Mr. Henson glanced over his shoulder. “That’s his mistake, I’d say.”
She noticed his grimace as he took a step and her alarm buttons started to go off. “Mr. Henson, you’re limping. What’s wrong?”
He
