like that.”
When she moved close to Cabot and smelled the spicy scent of the aftershave still clinging to his skin, the sport of baseball slipped right out of her mind. Everything about him was sexy, from the broad shoulders to his muscled legs covered in worn denim. She liked his white, cotton, long-sleeved snap-front shirt and decided he wore the cowboy uniform really well.
She took the seen-better-days leather glove he held out and put her fingers inside, finding it still warm from his hand. It seemed intimate somehow and tingles tiptoed up her arm, put a hitch in her breathing.
“Ready, Kate?” Tyler called.
“Yes.” She dragged her gaze from the man and turned it on his son. “Go easy on me.”
“I will. Don’t worry. Just keep your eye on the ball.” Obviously Ty had heard that advice before.
She did as he suggested, but as it came at her, she didn’t know whether to hold the glove out like a bucket or lift it and close her hand around the ball. In the end she jumped out of the way and let it fall.
“That’s okay,” Ty called. “Good try.”
Probably he’d heard that from his father, too. Children were a reflection of their environment, and she had to conclude that Cabot Dixon was providing a very positive one. The revelation made her like him a lot.
She picked up the ball, then straightened to meet Cabot’s gaze. Amusement glittered there and his silence said what her mother had always told her three children—if you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.
She put the ball in the glove, testing the feel of it. After several moments, she prepared to throw it back. “Get ready, Ty. I can’t guarantee where this is going.”
The boy set his sneaker-clad feet shoulder-width apart and held up his glove as a target. “Right here.”
The body movement to make it go there was so different from sighting a moving clay pigeon. She was also pretty good with a bow and arrow. During Olympic training, she’d made friends with one of the female archers who had given her pointers in their downtime. Right now she had to command her arm to throw this ball at just the right velocity and close to the vicinity of the kid’s glove.
She threw and it went way to the side, out of his reach, forcing Ty to chase after it again. “I’m sorry.”
“I like to run,” he called out cheerfully.
“Hmm” was all Cabot said.
She wasn’t sure whether she was just a little embarrassed or totally humiliated for being proved a fraud. When Ty returned, he moved closer and tossed the ball underhand, like his father had. She turned her hand up but misjudged and it fell at her feet.
“Hey, kiddo, I’m really sorry. This isn’t my best sport. Playing this with me isn’t much fun for you, is it?”
“It’s okay.” He shrugged. “You’ll get better with practice.”
They kept at it for a while, and Kate figured Tyler had also learned patience from his father in addition to encouragement and liberal praise. She actually caught a few and was getting the hang of throwing more accurately. Finally shadows started creeping in and Tyler announced he was getting hungry.
“It’s about that time,” Cabot said. “Ty, you go on in and wash up for supper.”
“Okay, Dad. See you later, Kate.”
“’Bye.” She watched the boy run up the steps and into the house, then handed the glove back to Cabot. When he started to turn away, she said, “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“Sure.” He folded his arms over his chest. “What’s on your mind?”
“I want to do something to earn my keep until the kids arrive for camp.” Because that sounded a little like a come-on, she felt it necessary to put a finer point on the statement. “Chores. Like housekeeping maybe. Cleaning. Doing dishes. Cooking.”
“You know your way around a stove?”
“I’m not the best, but I’m definitely competent in the kitchen.”
“I already have a housekeeper.” He looked as if he’d rather be kicked in the head by a horse than let her into his house. “Although I do my own cooking. You’ll earn your keep soon enough. Making dinner for us isn’t necessary.”
“It is to me. I don’t take something for nothing. Cooking a meal would be a way for me to give back.”
She was still processing the fact that he had a housekeeper, which made her pretty positive that he was a bachelor. That along with the fact that she hadn’t seen a woman at the house or another vehicle besides his truck.
Surely the women around here would be interested in a man as attractive and sexy as Cabot Dixon. The fact that he was single didn’t speak well of Blackwater Lake females. Although, by definition, a relationship required two interested parties, which could mean he was unreceptive to being part of a couple. Could be he’d learned the hard way, just like she had.
If Kate had paid attention to her instincts, she wouldn’t have gotten herself in this mess. But when she took in the beauty of his land, as messes went, this was an awesome place to be in one.
Something wouldn’t let her drop the offer and she was pretty sure the determination was driven by her need to prove she had other skills. That he shouldn’t be sorry he’d hired her.
“Do you love cooking?” she asked.
“Not really.”
“Wouldn’t you like a break from it? Hang out with Ty for a change? Maybe play a game with him?”
“He’s used to hanging out on his own.” But his mouth pulled tight at the words.
“Sometimes it’s good to shake up the routine when you can.” She’d certainly done that, and only time would tell whether or not it was a good thing.
“Look, Kate, I really appreciate the offer—”
Before he could say “but,” she interrupted and started past him toward the front steps. “Okay, then. Lead the way to the kitchen and I’ll get started.”
Kate half expected him to stop her either with words or physically. Instead he mumbled something, and she didn’t try very hard to understand what he’d said. Then she heard footsteps behind her.
She took that as a yes and walked into his house.
* * *
It was weird to see a woman in his kitchen.
Cabot remembered the last time a female, other than his housekeeper, had stood in front of the granite-topped island. His wife, Jen, had said she was leaving him and her infant son. She’d hated the ranch and right that second Cabot had hated it, too.
Now Katrina Scott was here and he hated to admit that she was stirring up more than fried chicken and macaroni and cheese. She was scraping off a patch on the ache in
