been mad at Ty. She’d been furious with herself.
“You don’t need to apologize. Let’s just forget the whole thing.” She made a show of picking up a set of oven mitts, wishing the oven timer would ding so she could be doing something, anything, rather than feel pinned beneath Ty’s dark gaze. She chanced a look up and saw that his eyes had warmed.
“Did you think I was angry?” she asked bravely, suddenly wanting to know. She thought perhaps she’d prefer that to him thinking she was silly and weak.
He opened his lips to answer when the oven timer dinged—just when she wanted to hear his answer.
With a frown of consternation she opened the oven door and slid out the pan of golden-brown biscuits. She put the pan on top of the stove.
“I wondered,” he replied, “because you ran. I wondered if it was because of … you know, your past. I didn’t think about that when I … well … it wasn’t really a kiss, was it?”
She kept her back to him, closing her eyes. It was a small town and the Butterfly House project was a big deal around here. It was no secret that she came from an abusive background. Of course she was damaged goods.
“I’m not angry. It was just wedding fever or something. I blew what happened out of proportion. You have been perfectly polite and kind to me since you came home.”
“Then why won’t you look at me right now?”
Her gaze darted up to look into his face. He was too serious. When he looked at her that way it was twice as bad as when he flirted with his saucy grin. “Why did you do it?” she whispered. She didn’t need to elaborate for them both to know what “it” was.
“Why did you ask, after you made it clear you didn’t want to dance?”
She grabbed a dishcloth and began wiping off the counter. “I thought maybe I’d hurt your feelings.”
He laughed, a sharp sound of disbelief as he leaned against the island. “Hurt my feelings? Clara, I think I’m made of tougher stuff than that.”
She was getting annoyed now at being put on the spot. “Well then I’m sorry I did it. You can take your unhurt feelings and quit cluttering up my kitchen!”
But it wasn’t her kitchen, and they were both aware of it. Silence settled over them, bringing that same, damnable feeling of intimacy she could never escape when he was around.
“You felt good in my arms,” he said quietly. “And that’s not a line. It’s the only reason I have for losing my head. It’s not the sort of situation I normally find myself in. It was innocent, I swear. But I forgot what it’s like here in Cadence Creek. It probably opened you up to speculation and for that I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
His explanation—his apology—touched her, though she would rather not let it show. It was better for everyone if they really did forget that stupid dance had ever happened.
“Yes, I think that’s best.” Thank goodness he was being sensible about it all. “I’m pretty focused on what I want, Tyson. I’m not interested in distractions. And right now my job is to help your father get well.”
“I’ll stay out of your way,” he replied.
He’d been absent during the long weeks when his father was sick. He hadn’t come home even when they’d asked him to. But he was here now, and she didn’t like the idea that she might be standing in the way of him settling in. Of mending fences. Virgil had a habit of talking to himself and Clara had heard snatches of mutterings and grumblings. Virgil was not happy with his younger son. It wasn’t good for him to be stressed. He and Ty needed to sort things out.
“You need to be with your father. I know you stayed away a long time, Tyson. He needs you. As long as we’re clear, there’s no need to avoid each other, right?”
She bent to get a cooling rack out of the cupboard and started piling the biscuits on the top.
Tyson’s gaze caught on the golden-brown biscuits as the warm scent filled the air. She brushed her hands on her apron and stood back. Good God, she was pretty. The dark ringlets from the wedding were gone but now her hair fell in gentle waves to her shoulders. And her eyes … They were the same blue as a September sky over the golden prairie. Her plain apron covered the soft curves of her hips. He was shocked to realize he wanted to put his hands on them and pull her close to see if her lips tasted as sweet as they looked.
But she was sweet, and off-limits. Never mind that he had no idea how to really talk to her. The past ten minutes had been torturous, second-guessing his words and meaning. All his normal self-assurance evaporated when faced with a woman like Clara Ferguson.
He pushed the thoughts aside and nodded at the rack of biscuits. “Mind if I try one?”
“Sure. Here.” She gave him a paper napkin and one of the round golden discs. He went to the cupboard and found the carton of molasses. Moments later he’d split the biscuit open and slathered it with butter and the sticky spread.
It was like biting into a buttery cloud. Better than his mother’s, if that were possible. In four bites it was gone. Wordlessly she held out another.
“These are delicious, Clara.”
“My mother’s recipe.”
He chewed and swallowed. He had a fair amount of experience dealing with whispers and gossip, and most of the time it ran off him like water off a duck’s back. He didn’t give a good damn about what Cadence Creek thought. But he found he cared what she thought. In some ways she was right. He did need more time with Virgil. He just had no idea how to go about it without starting an argument.
“The reason I stayed away, well, it’s complicated.”
She nodded. “It usually is. Molly said you didn’t even come for his seventieth birthday a few years back. They had a big party I guess. But you wouldn’t come.”
“I couldn’t come,” he said.
“Couldn’t or wouldn’t?”
He wanted her to know why, but telling her could be a huge mistake. He’d had a good reason, but spending a few nights in lockup sounded bad no matter how he spun it. With her history he just couldn’t bring himself to say it.
“Do you think it was the right thing for me to come home now?” he asked. He shifted his gaze to look at Virgil, still sleeping in his chair. Virgil had aged so much. He was smaller now than Ty ever remembered, and looked so vulnerable. Ty hated that. Hated that he might have been part of the cause of his father aging, too, by leaving Virgil more of the ranch to handle than he should have.
“Yes,” Clara said firmly. “Yes, I do. For your brother, who needed you, and for your mom. Molly missed you and talked about you often. She felt terrible about the rift between you and your dad. And for Virgil, too, of course.”
“He criticizes everything I do. He’d be happier if I’d stayed on the circuit and never come home.” Even as he said it, he heard how childish it sounded, and he wasn’t sure it was true. Virgil had always insisted that it was Ty’s place to be at Diamondback pulling his weight. But it was always Virgil’s way or no way at all. Ty had chafed against
