out his hand. “Give me your jacket, Casey. I know your boss, Charley. We’re good friends. I know he won’t care if you have a cup of coffee or two with me and Meggie.”
Hesitantly, Casey slid out of her warm brown nylon jacket and handed it to him. She saw Megan watching her, her eyes shining as much as they had in class five days earlier. “I’ve brought the photos of Megan holding Susie,” she offered. Dressed in her ranger uniform—a tan long-sleeved blouse and dark green trousers—Casey felt very unfeminine. She watched Sinclaire move. He possessed a cougar’s grace, bred from being an athlete. Casey knew firefighters lifted weights and jogged daily to stay in tip-top shape for the demands of their dangerous job. Still, she had to tear her gaze from his powerful back and narrow hips as he hung her coat up on a wooden peg next to the door. She gulped, and her mouth went dry. What kind of reaction was she having around this stranger?
“Come on in,” Matt invited her warmly, reaching down to take his daughter’s small hand that was swallowed up in his.
Quickly looking around, Casey saw a huge wood-stove in one corner with flames dancing behind the glass window. The red-and-yellow cedar floor was waxed and gleaming. There were Navajo rugs here and there. The room was painted a pale yellow; the drapes at the main window were brown with red flowers and green vines woven into the fabric. To her, this was a man’s home. There were no photos or pictures up on the walls. There were no green, living plants anywhere, either. It felt like a shell to Casey, not exactly alive or nurturing. She wondered if their home had exuded more of a woman’s touch when Bev was alive.
Following father and daughter into the kitchen, Casey saw Megan sit in a chair with Elmo in her lap. Her father had given her a glass of orange juice. “I feel badly for interrupting your breakfast,” Casey murmured, standing uncertainly in the doorway. The kitchen was white with blue curtains over the window. The smell of frying bacon filled the air.
“Don’t worry about it,” Matt murmured. “Just take a seat opposite Meggie here at the kitchen table. Have you eaten breakfast yet?”
“No…I don’t eat breakfast.” Not anymore, at least. Casey saw him frown and then saw the question in his eyes. She hoped he wouldn’t ask it. Gripping the wooden chair, Casey pulled it out and sat down. “But if you have a cup of black coffee, that would be fine,” she added.
Matt opened his mouth to say something, but shut it. He saw sudden fear come to Casey’s huge, very readable gray eyes. “Sure,” he murmured, going to the counter and pulling down a mug. The last thing he’d expected was a beautiful woman in a ranger’s uniform to be at his door this morning. Oh, Matt knew Charley was sending someone down who had attended Megan’s class last Monday, but he’d had no idea Casey was so stunning. Out of habit, he looked at her left hand. She had long, beautiful fingers, her fingernails blunt-cut and without polish. No ring on her left hand. Of course, nowadays, there usually wasn’t any surefire way to tell if a woman was hitched or not.
Pouring the coffee, Matt found his body responding fiercely to her as a woman. What was this all about? He’d felt numbed from the inside out since Bev’s murder. In fact, he had plenty of opportunity to meet the women of Jackson Hole on a regular basis, but none of them had stirred him. Until Casey Cantrell had shown up at his door just now. He took the mug and set it down in front of her. She had soft sable bangs across her broad brow, her hair shot through with reddish and gold strands beneath the kitchen light. Although she had straight hair, it was softly curled around her proud shoulders. “There you go,” he murmured. Turning, he had to pay attention to the bacon frying in a skillet on the gas stove.
“Thank you,” Casey murmured. She smiled across the pine table. “How are you this morning, Megan?”
Megan shrugged shyly, smiled and gripped Elmo tightly to her chest. She took a sip of her orange juice.
Matt twisted a look over his shoulder. “Did Mrs. Harrington fill you in on my daughter?” he asked, trepidation in his voice. It was always painful to speak about Megan in the third person. Guilt wound through Matt as it always did when a stranger came into their lives. He would have to tell the story of Megan’s muteness all over again, and he dreaded it.
“Yes, she did.” Seeing the anxiety in Matt’s face, Casey also read guilt in his narrowing green eyes. Trying to put herself in his shoes was impossible but she saw he loved his daughter with a fierce protectiveness that made her heart open to him even more. This man was clearly a modern-day warrior. Oh, he might not wear chain mail, carry a sword on his hip or have a war horse nearby, but Casey clearly felt his protectiveness toward his daughter.
Casey added, “She told me everything,” as a hint to Matt to relax. He wouldn’t have to say anything in front of Megan. Relief instantly came to his features.
“Oh…good…good.” Matt turned back to finish frying the bacon. Clearing his throat, he said, “Charley said you’d just been assigned to the Teton’s station. Where were you before that?”
Suddenly, Casey felt as though she was on a hot plate. “Uh…I just graduated. This is my first assignment.”
“Oh? Where did you graduate from?”
“I received a degree in wildlife biology from Colorado State University.” She felt like running. Casey wanted no one to know of her horrific past. She gripped the mug of coffee in both hands and tried to sound as if she didn’t want to speak on the topic anymore.
“I see,” Matt murmured. He lifted the bacon out of the skillet and transferred it to a plate covered in paper towel to soak up the extra grease. “I graduated from there, too,” he said, walking over to the table to put the bacon near his plate. “I took my firefighting courses there.” He looked into her eyes. They were fraught with fear. Why fear? Was she afraid of him? Matt figured because she was new to the forest service, Casey was probably worried she might say the wrong thing. Turning, he went back to the counter and cracked four eggs into the skillet.
“Are you from Colorado?” Casey asked. She’d seen the curiosity in his eyes and didn’t want to answer any more of his questions. The best defense was a good offense. If Casey wanted her past to remain buried and unavailable to anyone, she needed to ask the questions instead.
“No,” Matt murmured, adding salt and pepper to the eggs now frying in the skillet. “I was born here in Jackson Hole. I went there for my training.”
“Did you always want to be a firefighter?”
Nodding, Matt said, “Yes, my father was one. He was the fire chief here for twenty years before he had a heart attack and died at a fire scene.”
Grimacing, Casey murmured, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to pry….”
“You didn’t,” Matt soothed. He turned and gave her a slight smile meant to reassure her. “You’re new to Jackson Hole. We’re a pretty interesting town. If you haven’t been over to Quilter’s Haven and talked with Gwen Garner, then you probably don’t know all the stuff there is to know about all of us.” He chuckled.
“I met Gwen,” Casey admitted softly. She couldn’t stop looking at the firefighter. He was tall, sinewy, the muscles thick and hard in his upper arms. There was dark hair sprinkled across his lower arms. And she’d seen that hair peeking out above the T-shirt he wore, too. His hair was cut military-short and there was no wasted motion about Matt Sinclaire.
Laughing a little, Matt said, “Then you’ll know all the stories about the residents. Do you sew or quilt?” He lifted the eggs out and put them on a plate. Turning off the gas stove, he removed the skillet and set it aside.
