play along and hope like hell an answer came to him soon.
He stepped up the wooden stairs, his boots thudding. He rapped his knuckles on the door, not wanting to wake Nina’s son. He heard her footsteps approach, pause, then walk again until there was no question that she stood just on the other side of the door. But it didn’t open.
Definitely skittish.
Finally she opened the door, angling outside and making it clear he wasn’t coming in. She wore the same jeans and boots from earlier but had changed into a formfitting T-shirt with “hello” in multiple languages. Her hair was free from the ponytail, flowing around her shoulders in loose red curls.
God, he could lose himself for hours running his hands through her hair, feeling it brush along his skin. “Cobbler’s warm and the ice cream’s still cold. Shall we sit?”
“Yes, thank you.” She gestured to the rockers, studying him with a wary smile. “You didn’t have to do this.”
He stopped. “Do you want me to leave?”
She glanced back over her shoulder, her hair swishing, enticing. “You’re already here and I wouldn’t want to deny you your dessert. Have a seat.” She gestured to the table between them. “I set out some iced tea.”
He thought of his talk with his grandmother earlier, the shared tea, so few moments like that left with her. “Sweet tea?”
“The kind that was waiting for me in the fridge, compliments of your staff.”
“Sweet tea is Southern ambrosia.” He placed the containers on the end table between the rockers.
“One of my favorite things about moving down South.” She cradled the glass in her hands, those long slim fingers drawing his eyes to her.
He cleared his throat. “What brought you to Texas?”
“How do you know I’m not from another Southern state?” She set her drink aside and took the container with her dessert, spooning ice cream on top.
“I saw your application.” He could confess that much at least.
Her delicate eyebrows shot up. “Is that ethical?”
“It’s not illegal, and I can’t deny I wanted to know more about you. I still do.”
“I guess I’ll forgive you. This time.” She ate a bite of cobbler, a sensual hmm vibrating from her as she closed her eyes.
Her pleasure sent hot lava through his veins.
“For what it’s worth, I didn’t read much of your application.” But only because he’d been interrupted. “Just enough to make sure I got the right cabin so I can learn the rest on my own, asking you, getting to know you better while you’re here. Are your rooms comfortable?”
“The place is perfect. Hardly roughing it.” Smiling, she dug into her dessert with gusto.
“Hidden Gem works hard to keep authenticity to the experience while providing comfort. It may be a hobby ranch, but it’s not a resort.” He joined her in eating even though he’d had some earlier. Sharing the food with her here in the dark night was...intimate.
“I can see the special charm of the Hidden Gem. And hear it.”
“What do you mean?” He glanced at her, surprised.
“I can’t believe how peaceful this place is. That’s important for my son, keeping the stimuli manageable,” she said matter-of-factly.
“For his autism?” he asked carefully.
“Yes, it’s moderate.” She nodded. “I’m sure you’ve noticed his verbal impairment. He’s advanced academically, especially in areas of interest like art and reading. He’s only four, but he can lose himself in a book. Reading soothes him, actually...I didn’t mean to ramble.”
“I want to know more. I apologize if I’m being too nosy.”
“Not at all. I would rather people ask than harbor misconceptions, or worse yet, pass judgment without any knowledge.” She sagged back in her chair, dessert container resting on her lap. “I knew something wasn’t right from the start, but my ex-husband and his family insisted he was just colicky. Then his verbal skills lagged and he couldn’t initiate even the most basic social interaction with other children... We had to face facts. I had get help for him even if that caused a rift with my husband.”
Her maternal instincts, that mama bear ferocity, spoke to him. He admired the hell out of that, even as he realized his grandmother might well have underestimated how hard it would be to get this woman to part with those stocks unless she was 100 percent certain her son got the best end of the deal. “I’m sorry you didn’t get the support you should have from Cody’s father.”
“Thank you.” Her green eyes shadowed with pain mixed with determination. “Early intervention is so crucial. I had to be his advocate, even if the rest of the family wasn’t ready to accept the truth.”
He found himself asking, “And Cody’s father?”
“My ex-husband sent child support payments.” She set aside the foam container as if she’d lost her appetite. “But he didn’t want to have anything to do with Cody.”
“Sent?”
“He died in a motorcycle crash shortly after our divorce.” Silence settled like a humid dark blanket of a summer night.
“I’m sorry.” Such inadequate words for the mix of losses she’d suffered, not just through the death of her ex, but in how the man had let her down.
“I like to think with time he could have accepted his son and been a part of Cody’s life.” Her head fell back against the rocker, her red hair shifting and shimmering in the porch light. “Now we’ll never have that chance.”
Time, a word that was his enemy these days, with his grandmother’s cancer. “Regrets are tough to live with.”
And he would always regret it if he didn’t help ease his grandmother’s last days.
Nina shook her head quickly as if clearing her thoughts and picked up her dessert again. “Enough about me. I don’t mean to sound like my life is some maudlin pity party. I have a beautiful son who I love very much. I have a great, flexible job and no financial worries. Moving on.” She scooped up some berries. “Tell me about you? How did you end up working at the Hidden Gem Ranch?”
“My family has always lived here.” He couldn’t imagine living anywhere else, especially after spending so much of his childhood and teenage years being dragged around the country by his parents to participate in rodeos. “I guess you could say I appreciate the quiet.”
“So you’re a professional cowboy? Rodeos and all?”
He’d lived a whole career by eighteen thanks to his mother’s obsession with trotting her kids out into competitive circles—him with rodeos and his twin sister, Amie, with pageants. “My rodeo days are long past.”
“Because?”
He
