The Way to a Cowboy's Heart

“I’m not mad. Not exactly.” She sighed. “He’s crying out for just a little of your time.”

“And I don’t have any to give. Why can’t you understand that? This is a working ranch, not a boys’ camp. If I don’t work, all of us go under.”

Odd, he thought, that she’d figured out that Steve was begging for his time. He had understood that right away and wondered how she had known. But it didn’t matter what he understood or why, he wouldn’t get involved. Not with the kids or anyone else. He had nothing to give.

He looked into P.J.’s dark, troubled eyes. He wanted to erase the concern he saw in her face. Funny, he’d never cared before what anyone thought about him. But it was different with her. She’d only been there a short time and her good opinion mattered to him. That was a real bad sign.

Then again, why should he lose any sleep over it? He was running on empty and he had been for a long time.

P.J.’s anger evaporated as she watched the play of emotions over his rugged face. There were lines of fatigue around his mouth and circles beneath his eyes. She understood that running his ranch was a big job. She realized that squeezing in time for the kids was hard, and he had freely admitted the summer program was something he didn’t want to do.

She wasn’t mad at him as much as she was disappointed and confused. She watched Cade watch her until she couldn’t stand it any longer. She walked to the refrigerator and pulled out a bowl of cut-up potatoes immersed in water to keep them from turning brown.

She needed something to occupy her hands, hold her nerves in check. The man unsettled her in so many ways she’d stopped counting. Why was he so reluctant to get involved with the boys? On top of that, he seemed to know what she was thinking almost before she did. He read her as easily as a digital thermometer. She sure wasn’t used to anyone paying that much attention.

He moved behind her, close enough for her to absorb the heat of his body and smell the combined scents of hay, horses and cologne that she was beginning to associate with him. Her heart fluttered, and her knees felt about as solid as her cookie dough.

This was the worst, the most disturbing thing of all. The way she responded to his blatant masculinity was nothing short of humiliating. She’d sworn after Dave, she would never fall for a good-looking, emotionally unavailable man. She’d meant it too. But Cade McKendrick was different, and she wasn’t even sure how. A minute ago, she had been mad at him for brushing Steve off. Now, she held her breath, alternately wanting him to touch her and praying that he wouldn’t.

“I know you have work to do,” she said. As she talked, she pulled potatoes from the bowl and dried them so the oil wouldn’t splatter when she cooked. “But your father must have known what it takes to run a ranch. He set the program in motion and apparently felt that he would have time for all of it.”

“Yeah. Strange, too, considering he never had time for me.”

She turned around and looked at him. The expression on his face reminded her of Steve. He quickly shuttered his feelings, but not before she made a guess. “You’re ticked off because your father had time for strangers, and not for you, his own son.”

His eyes narrowed. “You teach psychology too?”

“No. But it doesn’t take Freud to figure out what’s going on.”

“Maybe it does, because frankly, lady, you’re not even in the corral on this one.”

“No?”

“No.” Blue eyes narrowed on her as he glared.

She was about to call him on that when her peripheral vision registered a bright flash. Her heart leaped as she realized that the pot of oil had ignited. “Uh-oh. Fire.”

He whirled around. “Damn it! Where’s the fire extinguisher?” Frantically, he started opening cupboards, looking for it.

Calmly, P.J. picked up the lid for the pot and carefully dropped it over the flames. Determining it was safe, she took potholders and lifted the kettle to a cool burner. When the smoke dissipated, she cautiously lifted the cover to make sure the fire was out. Satisfied that the cut-off-the-oxygen method of fire knockdown had been effective, she breathed a sigh of relief. Cade was still haphazardly searching above the refrigerator.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

He glanced at her. “Fire extinguisher. There’s got to be one.”

“It’s called a lid.”

“What?”

“The fire extinguisher. I just put the cover on the pot. The fire’s out.”

He glanced from her to the Dutch oven, and back again. As his body slowly relaxed from the nearcrisis, he shook his head and grinned. “I don’t believe it.”

“What?”

“The way you did that.”

“Not flashy, but effective.” She wasn’t sure if she was being insulted or not. “What did you expect?”

“A little more hysteria for starters. Then I wouldn’t feel like such a jerk.”

She smiled back. A compliment. “How often do you cook in here?”

He shrugged and said, “Almost never. I’ve only been back a few months.”

“Then you’d have no reason to know the extinguisher is in the cupboard closest to the stove.” She opened the door and pointed it out.

If she sidetracked him, maybe he wouldn’t realize why she’d forgotten to watch the stove. He was far too good-looking for her peace of mind, and that dash of vulnerability she’d glimpsed had tugged at her heart, nearly pushing her over the edge. The crisis was her fault for not watching what she was doing. Thankfully it was nothing more serious that a ruined batch of oil.

With her unsettled feelings too close to the surface, P.J. couldn’t look at him. She busied herself turning off the heating element on the stove. “Grease fires are the most common in the kitchen. The easiest way to smother them is with the pan lid.”

“You sound like you know what you’re talking about.”

“I took a class.”

“That’s not on your résumé too, is it?” he asked, sounding annoyed with himself.

“No,” she said, glancing up. She laughed at the look on his face. “You’re off the hook on that. If you haven’t read it by now, I don’t hold out much hope that you ever will. Besides, if you’re not happy with my work, at this point you’d just fire me.”

“Haven’t we had enough of that for one day?”

She chuckled, then stared at him. “You actually have a sense of humor.”

“You sound surprised.”

“I am,” she agreed

And wary too. Western-movie-hero looks and a sense of humor to boot. A lethal combination. This was the first time she’d ever spelled trouble c-o-w-b-o-y.

Chapter Three

“Where’s my mom?”

“Shopping for groceries.” Cade looked down at the little girl beside him on the porch swing. She’d insisted on sitting there to wait for her mother. After the fire the previous night, P.J. had said there were things she needed from the store. Her exact words were, “The idea of three ravenous teenage boys is too ugly to contemplate.”

“Why’d she go without me?”

He sighed. He’d already answered this one. “She was going to get you, but you were busy playing with the new kittens. I told her to go on, that I’d watch out for you.”