spikes his hair now.”
“Cowboys don’t spike their hair.”
“I’m not looking at hair anymore. I’ve moved on. Speaking of which …” Iris glanced toward the open door. “Hey, Grandpa, is it okay if I change the posters?”
“That’s up to you and your mom.” Mike braced his forearm against the door frame. “We’ve got some supper out here, girls. Care to join us?”
“Dad, you don’t have to—”
“Mostly cold cuts and leftovers,” he said.
“Us, Mom,” Iris whispered to her mother, flashing a smile. “He said us. There’s a guest.”
“Just Jack and me. Room for two more.” He dropped his arm to his side. He looked uneasy, as though he were the visitor. “I cleared off the dining room table and set four places.”
“I’m totally famished,” Iris said, all breathless teenager.
“Famished,” Lily echoed quietly, slipping her daughter a skeptical glance.
Iris answered her mother with a perfunctory smile. “Totally.”
The table wasn’t quite clear, but it was long enough to accommodate stacks of magazines and paperwork at the far end and still give them plenty of room to eat. Lily recognized the red vinyl place mats with the bandanna pattern, and the plates with the apples on them hadn’t changed, either. She doubted he put them out every day. The little table in the kitchen was only big enough for two, but that was the one she and her father had always used after her mother left. That and the plastic plates and whatever utensils happened to be in the drainer.
“Cold drinks in the fridge. Everything else is …” Mike gestured toward the kitchen. “Pop and iced tea. Pretty much all we carry this time of day. But I can make coffee.”
“So can I, Dad. Iced tea sounds good.”
“Jack’s getting cleaned up.” He waved his hand toward the table. “Have a seat and dig in.”
“Oh, no, we’ll wait for Jack,” Iris said, even as she followed the first half of the invitation.
Lily offered her daughter a smile, props for minding her manners. Her father had always been a stickler for good manners.
Tense silence took over, disrupted only by the sounds of Mike drinking. Water. He gulped it down—always had—three thunderous gulps, just so you knew he was there at the head of the table. Lily adjusted the position of the fork her dad had placed beside her plate as she glanced furtively across at Iris, who was fooling with something beneath the edge of the table. No toys at the table. Who would say it first?
The sound of booted footsteps brought three heads up in unison.
Jack stopped short of the table, swept off his cowboy hat and bowed his head. And yes, he was a hottie. Black hair—watered down a bit, if Lily wasn’t mistaken—square chin, full lips, broad shoulders, working man’s hands gripping the brim of what some women might say was the best kind of hat a man could wear.
Mike laughed. “Hell, man, take a seat.”
Jack glanced over at Lily. Hard to tell, but she was pretty sure he was blushing. Iris had been so right. The man was easy on the eyes.
And the innocent look in his eyes right now was utterly charming. “Thought I was interrupting a prayer or something.”
“More like you answered it,” Mike said. “Nobody wants to start without you.”
“I thought you said cowboys didn’t spike their hair, Mom.” Iris, Iris, Iris. She slipped her phone—what else could it be?—into the pocket of her jeans. “What do you use? Gel or spray?”
“Water. It’s called hat hair, and I was trying to …” Jack raked his hand through his thick wet hair. He glanced at Lily and smiled. “Should I go out and come in again?”
“Oh, no,” she said. “We’re glad you’re here.”
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