The Renegade Cowboy Returns

Good thing, too. Or he’d be tempted to go back for another helping of “just friends.”

Now that he knew how soft she was, he was going to have to put the brakes on temptation. Hard.

Chapter Five

Chelsea went inside to help her mother with dinner, completely stunned that Gage had kissed her. Sure, it was a non-kiss, really, as kisses went—but yesterday they hadn’t even been on shaking-hands terms.

Of course, it hadn’t been anything more than Gage expressing his gratitude. New-overwhelmed-dad gratitude.

He appreciated her and her mom being nice to his daughter. That was all the brief peck had meant.

It had “just friends” written on it. Quick and fast and…like it hadn’t meant anything except thanks.

She was amazed to see Moira and Cat busy chopping vegetables. “What can I do to help, Mum?”

“Nothing at the moment. The cake is made, dinner is almost finished. We’re just finishing up a big salad for Gage. And a sweet potato casserole.”

Cat glanced up at her. “We get a baked chicken. Dad gets portobello mushroom skewers.”

“You go write, dear,” her mother said.

“You should,” Cat agreed. Chelsea wondered if that was her subtle way of trying to keep Moira to herself. “I read what was on your laptop—by accident. I went into your room to find you, but you weren’t there.”

Chelsea raised a brow. “And you just happened to make yourself at home on my laptop?”

“I didn’t touch anything. You left the screen up.” Cat shrugged. “Anyway, it’s going to get read if it ever gets published.”

“It is getting published, and I don’t allow anyone to read my work until I say it’s all right to.” This was something they were going to have to straighten out pronto. Cat would have to understand that her room was off-limits.

“Anyway,” the teen said, “I just thought you should know that Tempest is a real flesh-and-blood person. I can actually see her.” Cat took a bite of carrot, considering her thoughts. “Bronwyn, not so much. She seems kind of wishy-washy. Cardboard.”

Chelsea and Moira stared at Cat. Chelsea wasn’t certain what to think about the critique—although she had a funny feeling it was dead-on. “Please don’t read my work anymore, Cat, unless I give you permission.”

She nodded. “I won’t. Miss Moira says she’s going to take me to the library and get me some books by great authors. Great texts, is what she calls them. Suitable for my advanced level.” She beamed, pretty proud of that praise.

Chelsea shook her head, recognizing the teacher at work. She sank onto a bar stool and looked at Gage’s daughter. “Permission aside, that was a pretty confident critique.”

“I know.” Cat nodded. “My teacher says I should consider journalism. Maybe even poli-sci.”

The front door opened, interrupting the conversation.

“Cat!” Gage called from the front door.

“Yes, Dad?”

“I thought you were going to catch up with me?”

“I am.” She put down the carrot she’d been chopping. “I’m sorry, Miss Moira. I have to go help my dad.”

“You go, love,” she replied, amused.

“Will you finish helping her?” Cat asked Chelsea. “There’s a lot left to do.” She went out of the kitchen, and the front door closed a moment later.

“Goodness.” Moira laughed. “She’s a bit of an old soul, isn’t she?”

“Yes.” Chelsea took over the chopping. “I’m not too happy with her critique, either.”

“Oh, don’t be angry with the lamb,” her mother said. “You know our rules may be different from what she has at home. I don’t sense that she gets a lot of supervision. Now that you’ve explained the boundaries, I’m sure she’ll respect them.”

Gage would insist on his daughter respecting boundaries. That much she could tell about Gage—he tried to keep distance where it needed to be.

Except when he’d kissed her.

And she hadn’t even smacked him, as she’d promised herself she would if he ever stepped over her lines.

Like Cat, he’d crossed her limit so nicely. In such an ordinary way. It had barely been a kiss—and yet it had felt strangely as if there’d been deeper meaning behind it.

Boundaries.

Like father, like daughter.

“Boundaries are good,” she told her mom. “We’ll work on them.”

* * *

DINNER WAS SET ON THE PATIO, and Gage and Cat gathered around, looking hungry, and in Cat’s case, tired and a tiny bit red in the face from exertion and late-afternoon sun. They washed up and then sank down gratefully to join Moira and Chelsea.

“This is great,” Gage said. “I can’t remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal.”

Cat looked at her dad. “That’s probably because you’re itin—”

“I know,” he said, ruefully interrupting. “But going from job to job is how I make money, kitten.”

“Mom does say you’re always right on time with the child support.” Cat grinned at her father. “It’s the one nice thing she says about you.”

“What did you two do all afternoon?” Chelsea asked, wanting to put Gage at ease.

“We went and talked to a man about knocking down the barn. Dad wants an estimate for that,” Cat said importantly. “Although I think his boss will be angry if he does it.” She looked at her father, not certain if knocking over buildings was really in his job description.

“And look who’s going to join us for dinner,” Moira said. “Just in time to say grace for us.”

Chelsea looked up, surprised to see Jonas Callahan pulling in with a horse trailer. “I’ll set another place.” She went to grab a plate and silverware, coming back out in time to see Jonas slap Gage on the back.

“Didn’t I tell you you’d like it here?” Jonas asked, glancing around at the wonderful spread on the table. “That smells good. I love roast chicken and portobello mushrooms.” He leaned over to kiss Moira on the cheek, tipped his hat to Chelsea, and said, “Who’s this beautiful girl?” to Cat, who blushed, to Chelsea’s delight.

“My daughter, Cat,” Gage supplied. “Sit down, Jonas.”

“I will.” He sat down easily, filling his glass from the tea pitcher. “Hi, Cat. You like it here?”