deep voice shooting up an octave in seemingly honest amazement. “I do believe I’ve missed your pretty face, little darling.”
Then, to Kit’s utter dismay, Simon Gilmore bent his head and kissed her smack on the mouth as if they were long lost lovers blissfully meeting again. And so shocked was she that for just the merest instant her eyes closed instinctively and she almost, almost, kissed him back.
Only Winifred Averill’s delighted cackle saved Kit from demeaning herself that completely. Going rigid, she jerked her head back at the same time she put her hands on Simon’s chest and shoved him forcefully away.
“Don’t,” she said, her voice low, making no attempt at all to hide her anger. “Just don’t do that, okay?”
“Hey, I’m sorry,” he hastened to say, the look on his face now one of confusion as he tucked his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. “I didn’t mean any harm. It’s just so good to see you again, Kit. I guess I got a little carried away.”
“No harm done,” she replied in a calmer, slightly conciliatory tone as she took another step away from him. Not quite able to meet his gaze, she added, “You just caught me off guard.”
She didn’t want to cause any more of a scene in front of Winifred Averill and the other locals than she already had. Nor did she want to behave toward Simon in an overtly hostile manner. She couldn’t afford to make an enemy of him until she knew exactly why he’d returned to Belle.
“I apologize,” he said meekly enough, though his smile was wholly unrepentant. “It’s just so good to see you again. Are you helping out at the diner for the summer, or just making a quick visit home?”
Doing her best to ignore the obvious appreciation in his bright blue eyes as he looked her up and down, not to mention her own womanly response to him, Kit considered instead the question he’d asked. Hadn’t Simon heard about her mother’s death? And if he didn’t know about Dolores’s death, was it possible he didn’t know about Lucy’s death, either?
It was, Kit realized. His parents traveled a lot, especially during the winter months. In fact, she couldn’t remember seeing them around town much after the holidays. Although she had run into Mitchell Gilmore at the hardware store about a week ago, and she’d had Nathan with her then.
Never one to believe in coincidence, Kit had to fight the urge to look over at the playpen sitting in a corner near the counter. Instead she directed her gaze Simon’s way, trying not to seem either completely welcoming or unwelcoming toward him.
“I’m here for the summer,” she said, then gestured to an empty table, hoping to ward off any more questions. He could catch up on the latest news when he got to the Double Bar S. “Why don’t you have a seat and take a look at the menu while I bring you some coffee?”
“I’d rather sit at the counter if you don’t mind.”
“Suit yourself.”
Kit shrugged and turned away, but not before she saw Simon’s smile fade, and a puzzled look replace the admiration that had brightened his brilliant blue eyes.
As he slouched onto one of the stools, Kit moved behind the counter. She still didn’t dare to risk a glance in Nathan’s direction for fear she would direct Simon’s interest that way, as well. She couldn’t hide the little boy from him forever, but there was no sense doing anything to stir the pot any sooner than absolutely necessary.
“What can I get for you?” she asked, adopting a matter-of-fact tone.
“Coffee, please,” he requested, then added with the barest hint of sarcasm, “but only if it isn’t too much trouble.”
“No trouble at all,” Kit replied.
Taking the coffeepot from the warmer, Kit remembered guiltily that she’d said the same thing to Winifred Averill and had yet to refill the elderly woman’s cup. But then, Mrs. Averill had probably been so entertained by Kit’s exchange with Simon that she hadn’t even noticed.
“Do you want to order breakfast, too?”
Trying to sound a little friendlier, she set a sturdy white china mug on the counter. She wanted Simon out of the diner as soon as possible, but she was afraid that she’d rouse his suspicion if she acted too much out of character.
“No, thanks. Just coffee will do. I’m expected at the ranch before noon, but I couldn’t drive through town without stopping here first.” He paused a moment and looked around the diner, a thoughtful expression on his face. “This place sure does bring back a lot of good memories.”
“I’m sure it does,” Kit agreed, unable to avoid injecting a note of sarcasm into her tone.
Turning away, she grabbed the handle of a freshly brewed pot of coffee and a couple of packets of creamer. She tossed the packets on the counter and tipped the pot to fill Simon’s mug.
At the same instant, Nathan let out a mighty squall of discontent, signaling that he’d had just about as much time in the playpen as he could handle. Startled, Kit splashed hot coffee on the counter, barely missing Simon’s hand. A moment of silence settled over the diner, followed by a ripple of laughter among the customers still left there, most of whom were used to Nathan’s occasional and understandable demands for attention.
“Sorry,” Kit murmured, taking a damp cloth from under the counter.
As she mopped up the mess she’d made, she watched Simon surreptitiously from under her lowered lashes. He had been as startled as she by the child’s cry, and quite naturally he had looked over at the playpen, seeming to notice it for the first time since he’d sat at the counter.
Initially, the expression on his face was one of curiosity. But then his features shifted, reflecting surprise, and then genuine confusion.
It was one thing to see a little boy standing in a playpen, in a place where you’d never seen one in the past, waving a teddy bear at you. It was something else altogether to see a little boy with silky black curls and brilliant blue eyes—a little boy who was, obviously and undeniably, a much smaller, much younger image of your very own self.
Kit clutched the coffee-soaked cloth in both hands, now staring openly at Simon as the color drained from his face. He made a sound, low in his throat and unintelligible to her ears. Finally he shifted his gaze to her once again. Still seemingly bewildered, he stared at her wordlessly for several interminable seconds.
To Kit, the resemblance between father and son was impossible to miss. Yet Simon didn’t seem to get the connection. Or maybe he just didn’t want to get it, she thought with a hot flash of anger.
“So, Kit, you’ve had a new addition to your family?” he asked at last, an odd croak in his voice as he gestured in Nathan’s general direction.
“In a way, yes,” Kit replied, barely managing to hide her annoyance.
He had to be in deep denial to think Nathan was her biological child. That kiss on the lips he’d given her a few minutes ago was the closest she had ever gotten to having sex with him. How could he possibly think she’d produced a child who looked just like him?
“The little boy in the playpen is your son, then,” he said, visibly relaxing as he sat back on his stool.
“He
