A Cowboy In Shepherd's Crossing

“I’ll come anyway. I like being involved in every step of the process—it gives me the feel for the end product.”

“Nine thirty and ten thirty. Then a third one in two days, if needed.”

“Got it.” She jotted it into her online calendar and stood. “Food. Then your place.”

Did she think bossy was cute? It wasn’t. But when he let her walk in front of him toward the kitchen, he realized she wasn’t just cute...she was beautiful. And curvy. And smelled great.

Doomed.

Except he couldn’t allow that to happen, so he focused on the delicious food as Melonie put a bit of the melted provolone onto the bread. “This is to die for, isn’t it?”

It was but when she had a second helping, he was perplexed. “How can you eat all that?”

She gazed down at the soup, then up at him. “I honestly don’t know. Trucker’s appetite. And I don’t sit around worrying about being a size zero because I like food. And exercise. And last I knew, women were supposed to have curves.”

What was he supposed to say to that? “My sister was on a too-skinny kick for a while. It got better, then we lost Mom after Dad died and she slipped downhill again. I hate that she’s over in Seattle, where I can’t boss her around. Make her eat doughnuts.”

“Weight and eating disorders are tough.” She sipped water, and frowned. “We humans are hard to figure out at times, aren’t we?”

After what he’d found out yesterday? “Can’t argue that.”

“How hard do you think that was for her?” She stood up to clear her dishes, and he appreciated the effort. Some folks thought Cookie was part maid and housekeeper. He wasn’t, but it was nice that she didn’t have to be schooled on ranch manners. “Your grandmother, I mean. To come here like that and tell you everything?”

“Not as hard as it was on me hearing it.” He didn’t soften the bitter edge of his voice. He stood, too, then raised his hands. “Sorry. This isn’t your fight, and twenty-four hours isn’t enough time for me to be waving the peace flag.”

“I wonder when it will be time?” she said softly, and when she walked toward the kitchen, he realized she might not be talking about him. “Cookie, that was the best. Thank you so much for making it. I wouldn’t have thought hot soup would taste so good on a beautiful summer’s day.”

“You’re welcome. Jace said you two are heading to his place to figure things out. You might want to grab a few of those.” He indicated the cookies with a glance. “His cupboards are pretty bare. He makes sure the horses have food. He doesn’t worry so much about himself.”

“The few times I eat at home don’t require a lot of groceries.” Jace grabbed his cowboy hat from the wall of hooks just inside the back door. “Although if I’m up at Hardaway’s place and raising two little girls, I’ll have to change that up pretty quick.”

“Truth.” Cookie liked to wear an old-style fishing cap in the house. He said it was to keep hair out of the food, but Jace figured the older man just liked wearing a hat. The cook raised one finger to the hat as they were leaving. “See you at supper.”

Melonie grabbed her two bags. He held the screen door open for her and tried to ignore the sweet scent that came back to him as she went by.

“You have horses?” she asked once they were settled in the truck.

“Two,” he answered. “Sometimes I keep them at Pine Ridge. We used to take the sheep into the hills for browsing but we had to stop doing that.”

She arched one really well-groomed eyebrow in silent question.

“Government changed up the rules and took away grazing rights.”

“Lizzie said something about that but we didn’t have time to go into detail. So now the sheep are pretty much being raised in the valley?”

“With more hay, less exercise so less muscle mass.”

“Oh, of course. That makes sense.”

Now he was the questioner. “You get that?”

“We had fresh-raised turkeys in Kentucky. It was a Fitzgerald thing. We only raised enough for family and friends or esteemed business acquaintances of my grandfather. It was a mark of acceptance to be given a Fitzgerald turkey in November.”

“And this relates to sheep...how?”

She laughed. “Good point. When you eat a store-bought turkey, the consistency is different. It’s been tenderized. The home-raised turkeys had a much firmer feel.”

“That’s it exactly.” He sent her an approving look. “The sheep will be the same weight and look the same, but the ratio of fat to lean will be slightly different and the texture will vary. Here we are,” he said as he pulled into the driveway. “That’s Bonnie Lass over there.” He pointed to a dark sorrel mare on the far side of the split-rail paddock. “And the black-and-white is Bubba. My dad’s horse. Would you like to go see them?”

“No.”

He’d started that way. He stopped, surprised.

She took a step back and shook her head. “I can admire them from afar, thanks. Lizzie and Char are the horsewomen in the family. I’m better inside a house than inside a barn.”

How did someone with an aversion to animals just become quarter owner of a multimillion-dollar ranching operation? “Good to know.” He moved back and led the way to the front of the house. He unlocked the door and waited for her to follow.

She didn’t.

She stepped back and snapped several pictures of the exterior.

“The outside doesn’t need fixing.”

She jotted something into the tablet and shrugged. “I want to envision the whole package, if that’s okay? Just like with Gilda’s place.”

She followed him inside.

He expected criticism because the real estate agent had given him a hefty list of changes—a list he tore up as soon as she was gone.

Melonie surprised him instantly when she grabbed hold of his arm. “Jace, this is charming.”

“Is it?” He ran a hand over the stubble along his jaw.

“Well, it needs a little spruce-up, some painting and some crown molding, but look at these built-ins.” She motioned to the floor-to-ceiling bookcases flanking the fireplace. “You put a wood-burning insert in here.”

“The Realtor told me I should pull it out and redo the fireplace. She said it adds eye appeal to the buyer.”

“And then they freeze all winter?” When she rounded her eyes in disbelief, a wave of relief washed over him. “Cold winds, slashing rains, heavy snow? Who wouldn’t want a cozy wood-burning stove to come home to?”

“Exactly. It takes the pressure off the heating bill and gave me some extra money to help Justine get through college.”

“Jace, what a good brother you are.” She’d been jotting quick notes as she moved through the downstairs rooms. Now she turned. Met his gaze. And then she didn’t stop meeting his gaze. She brought one hand up, her free one, and touched her throat.

Oh, man.

He wanted to step forward. Smile at her. Maybe flirt, just a little.

He stepped back instead. “There are two bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs.”