Falling for the Rancher Father

Allie beamed her approval.

Mercy handed him a cup of coffee although she didn’t join him and the children at the table.

He studied her out of the corner of his eyes. Was she uncomfortable around him? He had no one but himself to blame if she was. Nor could she find this any more awkward than did he.

He downed his coffee and ate two cookies—one each child had made—pronounced them delicious, then hurried back outside to deal with the load of firewood.

A couple of hours later, he returned to the cabin. When he stepped inside, he blinked at the transformation. The flour and dough had been cleaned up and the vegetable soup Allie craved simmered on the stove. The table had been set for three. No reason he should be disappointed, he told himself. Mercy had to get going if she planned to get back while she could see the trail.

She grabbed her jacket and he followed her out the door.

“Keep alert. I don’t like to think what a man is doing out in the woods.”

She chuckled. “I’ll keep my gun and rope ready and, if need be, use them both.”

He didn’t ask how she’d use them both but, no doubt, she could.

She swung into the saddle and sat there. “I don’t know if you were aware that there are church services at the ranch every Sunday. There’s a service tomorrow, in the cookhouse. Everyone is welcome. If you’re interested.”

“I’d love to come. I want the children to realize that Sunday means church. What time?”

“We meet right after breakfast.” She gave the time. “See you then.”