It was probably best not to argue with a potential employer, but mountainside storms and mutant dogs didn’t strike him as auspicious omens.
“Hope you’re hungry. I love to cook. Before I came here, I was a pastry chef.”
“Big change.”
“True, but I’d been studying ranches for years. Running this place was always the plan. Besides, I couldn’t have stayed at my last job much longer.” She scowled. “My boss—never mind. We should be eating,” she chirped.
He was reluctantly fascinated by her total about-face. It was as though she’d flipped a switch. One moment, she’d clearly been remembering something unpleasant, anger seeping into her tone, then, boom, she was back to beaming like a lottery winner.
Maybe she was schizophrenic.
Aware that he was on the verge of staring, he looked away. In appearance, Hannah’s kitchen wasn’t much fancier than the bunkhouse. Chairs at the oblong table were mismatched, and the countertops bore stains and scratches. Faded wallpaper covered the spaces between appliances but had been scraped off the main wall, which was bare. However, the bounty on the island more than compensated for the modest surroundings. Crisp bacon; eggs scrambled with cheese, peppers and sausage; a bowl of fruit salad; piping-hot coffee; and a cake so moist it looked like the cover photo of some food magazine. His mind darted back to the Hansel and Gretel story and the witch who fattened up her prey.
He slanted Hannah an assessing look. “You got any ulterior motives I should know about?”
“Wh-what? You mean, like the old saw about the way to a man’s heart being through his stomach? Because I am not interested in you! Not like that.”
She sounded so vehement that he experienced a jolt of surprise. Maybe he was a few weeks—months?—overdue for a haircut, but he wasn’t repulsive.
“I just wanted to make a good impression,” she said. “I don’t cook like this every morning, of course. Too many chores to be done. Although, we do splurge once a week, for Sunday breakfasts.”
We? So far, he hadn’t seen evidence of another person on this ranch.
Handing him a plate edged in feminine purple flowers, she nodded toward the food. “Dig in while the eggs are still warm. I’d love to discuss your references. Then after breakfast, I can give you a tour—”
She was cut off by Scarlett’s frantic barking. The house rattled as the front door swung open with gale force. Hannah turned, an automatic smile blossoming as a child’s voice hollered, “Mommy!” Then a little boy with a curly mop of hair nearly as dark as Hannah’s skidded around the corner, launching himself at her in an exuberant hug.
Colin’s heart clenched. The same delicious aromas that had been making his mouth water now turned his stomach. Nausea and memories boiled up inside him. Physically, the dark-eyed little boy didn’t bear any resemblance to Danny, but he looked about the same age Danny would have—
“I have to get out of here.” Addressing his words to no one in particular, he dropped his plate on the counter and strode toward the living room.
Colin’s nerves had held steady while working with numerous wild-eyed horses too scared to realize he was trying to help; hell, he’d kept his cool during a stampede. But there were limits to his bravery. He couldn’t be around kids.
He’d never taken a job where young children lived, and the Silver Linings Ranch would be no exception.
* * *
WHAT JUST HAPPENED? Hannah was so stunned by Colin’s announcement that it took her a moment to process his abrupt exit. This wasn’t the first time someone had turned down her job offer, but none of the other candidates had actually bolted. She’d hit a new low in the interview process. “Wait!”
Gently disentangling herself from her son’s sticky hug—was that jam on his fingers?—Hannah sprinted after Colin. And drew up short to avoid smacking into him. He, in turn, had apparently halted to avoid running over a startled Annette.
The blonde’s mouth had fallen open in a perfect O, making her look like a comic strip character. “Um, hi?” Her eyes darted to Hannah. “Sorry, I...forgot you had a breakfast meeting.”
Fat chance. Given the concern Annette had expressed over a stranger spending the night, Hannah wasn’t surprised her friend had come over first thing to check on her. At least Annette hadn’t dragged her husband, Todd, along. No doubt Annette had plenty of questions about why the man who should be sitting comfortably at the table listing his credentials had almost mowed her over.
Hannah stepped forward to make introductions—which just so happened to strategically place her between Colin and the front door. “Colin, meet Annette. She’s here to drop off Evan and pick up some cupcakes. They’re really good, if I do say so myself.” Deep down, she hoped that if she kept talking, he couldn’t leave. He might be gruff, but surely he wasn’t brusque enough to walk out midconversation? “Annette, this is Colin Cade. We were about to eat and discuss Colin’s previous ranch experience.”
“No, we weren’t,” he said firmly. He gave a curt nod in Annette’s direction. “Ma’am.”
Annette raised a pale eyebrow. “Don’t let me interrupt.”
He shook his head, already moving toward the door again. Something in his demeanor suggested he would pick up Hannah and remove her bodily from his path if necessary. “Nothing to interrupt. I was on my way out.” He opened the screen door, letting it clatter shut behind him.
Gesturing toward the kitchen in an all-purpose indication that Annette should help herself to the food and please keep an eye on Evan, Hannah followed. Was it her son’s appearance that had sent Colin fleeing, or had she been too manic in her perky approach? One of her favorite high school teachers had always said that enthusiasm was contagious, but that didn’t seem to be the case with Colin. Maybe she should dial it back a notch.
His much longer legs gave him the advantage. He was already down in the yard, but she wasn’t too proud to jog down the porch steps.
“Wait, Colin, I—” Crack.
The board under her gave way, and Hannah gasped as her foot went through the fissure at a wrong angle. Suddenly, he was at her side, his hands warm on her hips as he lifted her. For a big man, he moved surprisingly fast.
“You’re hurt.” Putting his arms around her, he lifted her vertically so she wouldn’t have to navigate the steps and lowered her onto the porch. Tingles of awareness erupted like goose bumps across her skin. It had been eternities since she’d been that close to a man.
“Twisted my ankle,” she said breathlessly, “but it’s nothing ice and ibuprofen won’t fix.”
He glowered, those blue eyes stormy. “You seem to have some strange ideas about what’s fixable. Your truck’s a pile of scrap metal, and you live in a house that’s rotting out from under you.”
“It is not.” Annoyed, she shoved away from him, not even caring that she had to hobble to do so. “I’ll admit the steps need replacing—all the rain hasn’t helped. Maybe some of the railing is a little loose, too. But I made sure the main house was structurally sound before I moved my son here.”
At the mention
