Caleb dropped the spoon and stared down at the mess.
“Face it, Ransom. You can’t cook. You’ll be eating canned and frozen for the rest of your life, or worse, army surplus MREs,” he said. Even the Meals Ready to Eat he’d hated the most had tasted better than this.
He looked across the kitchen to where his dog, Bertie, a mystery mix of breeds, lay sleeping. As if the animal could read his thoughts, he raised his head and gave Caleb a look that clearly said, “Don’t even think about it.”
“You’re not interested, either, huh?”
Before Caleb could give any more thought about what to do, Bertie lumbered to his feet and emitted a low woof to indicate someone was coming. His duty done, he collapsed back onto his rug and closed his eyes.
Caleb’s chair scraped on the linoleum as he stood and went to the window. It couldn’t be Don; he never showed up this late in the day. Through the uncurtained window, he saw a well-traveled Jeep pull up. After a few seconds his new neighbor and her son stepped out.
The little boy looked around, spied a stick on the ground and picked it up. He waved it around for a few seconds, then tossed it in the air with a whoop of laughter and watched it land near the porch.
“No,” Caleb grumbled. His gut roiled. Hadn’t he been clear that he didn’t want company? What kind of woman came back for more? And brought her child. A desperate one? A crazy one?
Or, the most unthinkable prospect, one who wanted to rescue him?
“Oh, man,” he said, running his hand through his hair and looking around. He couldn’t pretend he wasn’t home. The light was on and his truck was out front. If she looked in the kitchen window, she’d see him standing there, gaping at her.
He watched as she opened a back door of her Jeep and carefully took something off the seat. When she straightened and slammed the door with a swing of her hip, he saw that it was a cake. A chocolate one.
His traitorous stomach growled in anticipation.
He walked to the front door and opened it. Sam bounced up the steps and greeted him with a big grin.
“See, Mr. Ramson?” the boy said. “I told you I’d see you later. Mom says this is later, but it’s not tomorrow yet. ’Cause I checked.”
Flummoxed, Caleb looked down at the eager little boy. He’d cleaned up since their encounter in the pasture. He carried his cowboy hat and he wore a pair of blue shorts and a bright red T-shirt with a bronc-riding cowboy on the front. In place of the boots, he wore sandals and his thick hair had been inexpertly slicked down and combed. No doubt, he’d done it himself.
He looked so happy, healthy...whole, that a huge lump formed in Caleb’s throat. Well, he’d shoved away the memory earlier that afternoon and he wasn’t going to let it surface now. He glanced away from the boy and into the half-apologetic face of his mother.
She had changed clothes, too. Instead of the jeans and T-shirt she’d worn to chase her son across the pasture, she wore a simple, sleeveless blue dress that buttoned up the front and fell in a swirl of skirt to below her knees.
Laney gave an ironic little twist of her lips. “Before you say anything, yes, you made it clear that you don’t want company or trespassers, and I’m not ignoring what you said, but I came to thank you again for keeping Sam from getting hurt.”
Caleb looked at the sincerity in her eyes and the gentle curve of her lips. Her face looked ready to break into a smile with the tiniest encouragement from him. He glanced down at Sam, who returned his regard with a big, innocent grin. The scent of chocolate nearly sent him to his knees.
Caleb wanted to take the cake from Laney and shut the door.
“I know seeing him in danger of being attacked by your mare probably scared you. Whenever he scares the life out of me, I feel snappy, too.” Her smile widened, lighting her eyes, inviting him to share her rueful humor at her son’s actions.
This woman was willing to credit him with an excuse for his rudeness.
Behind him, he could hear Bertie’s nails clicking on the linoleum. “A dog!” Sam shrieked, scooting past Caleb and into the living room, even as his mother tried to call him back. Laney hurried after him, trying to make a grab for her son, but was hampered by the cake she still carried. Focused on the little boy, she shoved the cake at Caleb, who had no choice but to take it.
Before Laney could pull Sam away, her son fell on Bertie like a long-lost best friend. He threw his arms around the animal’s neck and gave him a hug.
Bertie turned his head and gave the boy a lick on the side of the face that sealed their bond. Laughing, Sam wiped his cheek. “He likes me. I want a dog,” he told Caleb with a sigh. “But my mom says I’m not ponsible.”
Puzzled, Caleb looked at Laney, whose cheeks had reddened. “Responsible,” she answered his unspoken question.
“What’s his name?” Sam asked. He sat back on his heels to admire what he certainly considered to be the most beautiful animal on earth.
“Bertie.”
Sam buried his face in the canine’s neck. “I love you, Bertie.”
“I’m sorry about this,” Laney said. “Come on, Sam. We need to go and leave Mr. Ransom alone.” She indicated his big rancher’s hands. “I hope you like chocolate cake.”
He looked down at the thick swirls of frosting. All he wanted was to be left alone, to stop her and her son from trespassing.
If he took this cake, he’d be taking a step forward he wasn’t ready to take.
For the second time that day.
“WE WOULD LOVE to join you,” Laney told him with a warm smile. All right, so he hadn’t exactly invited them in to join him, but he hadn’t kicked them out, either. She was thrilled. This was going much better than she had anticipated given their earlier encounter.
He stood there, staring at her openmouthed for a moment. Then, abruptly, he turned toward the kitchen.
Laney’s gaze followed him. This was the first time she’d seen him walk a few steps and she noticed that he did it with a pronounced limp that favored his right leg. She wondered if he’d had this since birth or if he’d been in an accident. Somehow, the stiffness with which he walked told her he was still getting used to this change in his body and she wondered if it was a fairly recent injury. But she knew she couldn’t ask.
Earlier, she’d been too frantic about her son to really notice the man, and then she’d been furious with him and his rudeness.
Now, as she watched him, she saw that he was a few inches taller than she was, putting him at maybe six feet. His face looked tough, she would even say hard, but she hadn’t really been able to get a good look at him earlier because the sun had been in her eyes and his face had been shaded by his hat. She had thought his eyes were filled with shadows, but maybe she’d been attempting to give him characteristics that would account for his prickly attitude.
Glancing
