hurt again. And his hackles had gone up when Annette had gently suggested Cheyenne needed counseling last year.
But she’d been right. He’d watched his little girl slowly come out of her shell over the last few months. Annette had been good for Dad. Good for all of them. Colson had sympathized when he’d learned her first husband had cheated on her, left her for another woman. She’d been just as wounded as Dad, so Colson had gotten to know her. Trust her even, which was rare for him.
“I better do something about supper.” Annette stood.
“You don’t have to slave over us.” Colson finished the prince’s hair. “I’ll make us sandwiches or something.”
“Nonsense. Cheyenne needs more than deli meat to grow on.” She headed for the kitchen.
This hiccup would be rough on all of them. New surroundings for Cheyenne. Her biological family—still in the dark—within a stone’s throw. Dad and Annette uprooting their lives, sharing a house with Colson.
If his dad only knew the pickle Colson was in. But he’d let Dad down so much in the past. And Dad had never asked much of him. The least he could do was keep the McCall ranch running well during their absence. He’d just have to ignore Resa.
The doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it. But it feels funny answering the McCalls’ door.” Dad hurried to the front of the house.
Colson could hear a feminine voice. He couldn’t make out the words, but he knew it was definitely Resa, making herself hard to ignore. Two sets of footfalls sounded as they made their way back to the great room.
Colson stiffened. No, Dad, keep her away from Cheyenne.
Maybe he should have told him the truth. But he knew his dad would want him to tell Resa. And he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t risk losing Cheyenne.
Colson looked up, shifted his position as his old rodeo injury flared heat through his shoulder.
“Isn’t this nice.” Dad held a large red pot with hot pads. “Resa brought us chicken and dumplings. And perfect timing, since Annette was just about to rustle us up a meal. I better go head her off.” He continued toward the kitchen.
“I love to color.” Resa shoved her hands in her pockets. Awkward, but her eyes softened as she watched Cheyenne. There was no judgment or teasing toward him, even though he currently held a crayon labeled cornflower blue.
Cheyenne’s gaze never left her work; her crayon never stopped moving.
“We didn’t get to meet this morning. I’m Resa.” She strolled over, then settled across from Cheyenne.
She glanced up at Resa, her eyes widening because of this new adult invading her space, then focused once again on her picture.
“I really like the princess’s hair pink.” Resa smiled.
Seeing Cheyenne’s pale blue eyes didn’t seem to bring any new awareness to Resa.
Colson relaxed a bit.
“My teacher always wanted me to make it yellow, or brown, or black,” his daughter murmured. “But I told her pink is for girls.”
How had Resa gotten her talking? Usually Cheyenne clammed up around anyone she didn’t know.
“I like the way you think.”
Cheyenne glanced up at her again.
“I always wished I had purple hair.” Resa tentatively reached over, twirled a strand of Cheyenne’s hair around her finger.
“Really?” Cheyenne’s crayon broke. “Uh-oh.” She reached for another pink one. “But pink would be better.”
“I agree. Maybe we can color together sometime.”
“Maybe.” Cheyenne’s voice rose an octave. Interested? Or nervous?
Resa stood. “I’ll let myself out.”
The right thing to say battled in Colson’s throat. “Sure you don’t wanna stay for supper, since you cooked it?”
“I appreciate the offer. But I’m good.”
“Thanks for the dumplings.” Relief ebbed through his stiff muscles. “My favorite.”
“Yeah, I remember.” She shrugged. “And most kids like them. I didn’t know what Mom left in the fridge or if Annette had a chance to go shopping. So I thought I’d help y’all get settled in.” She scurried for the door. “See you tomorrow.”
And the next day. And the one after that. He rolled over on his back.
“Daddy, you’re not finished.”
“I know, princess. Just resting my shoulder.” She wiggled over to him, buried her head in his chest.
He’d passed the test. Resa had seen Cheyenne up close and personal. And hadn’t figured out that Emmett was his daughter’s true father.
Christmas lights bordered the entire storefront, casting a glow on Jed. Rustick’s former furniture crafter had his head bent, intent on his work.
“Morning, Jed.” Resa neared the church pew that had sat outside her family’s store for as long as she could remember. The grizzled man seated there was as much of a fixture as the pew. Wood chips and curls surrounded his feet as he dug his knife into the stock of the cane, forming an intricate pattern.
He looked up from his work, gave her a wink. “Morning.”
“Got that cane about finished? I may have it sold.” She adjusted the blueprint tube under her arm.
“I’m working as fast as these hands will let me.” They were gnarled and twisted with arthritis, but that didn’t stop him.
“It’s starting to get cold. You know you’re always welcome in the workroom.”
“It’s still pleasant enough so far. Your folks’ ceremony sure was nice. How’s the cruise?”
“I’m worrying they may decide to never come home. They’ve been sending me pictures from the ship. I can’t believe this is only the second day they’ve been gone.”
“Heard about Juan.” Jed nodded, never looking up from his task. “And the Kincaid boy.”
“You probably remember Colson when he trained with Dad and Mac here. Before we expanded to San Antonio.” Her heart did a painful thud. Why was it still hard to say his name? “I better get inside. I’m meeting with a client.”
She entered the store. There was a massive tree by the door covered in rustic wooden star, cross and dove ornaments—each intricately carved by Jed long ago. Christmas lights surrounded cedar mirrors, barnwood-framed paintings and even an ash dining
