The silence hung so long, he wished that he could take the words back. How stupid could he be?
“I don’t remember them very well. I guess, not at all really. I mostly remember the memory but not the people.”
He continued to massage her tired muscles. Even though he’d loosened most of the knots, for some reason he wasn’t ready to lose this connection.
“I was five when my parents were killed in a car accident. The babysitter took care of me for a short time while authorities tried to find any relatives, but they couldn’t. My first home lasted almost four years. Mrs. Winston was really nice. At least I remember her that way, but then she got very sick. Her son explained that she couldn’t care for any of us anymore.”
“Any of you?”
“There were three of us. Susie was a year older than me and Nancy a year younger. It was nice to have sort of sisters. For a little while.” She heaved a deep sigh. “It actually felt like a home, like life was…normal. I had thought that was going to be my forever home. Next house wasn’t too bad, but then my friend Penny got moved, or maybe she went back with her parents, not really sure, but I think that’s when I learned not to get too attached to anyone or anything.”
His mind wandered back to the lack of knick-knacks or personal belongings in her apartment—not a single memento worth bringing with her. Things were making more sense. His chest tightened and his heart pinched. Now he was going to do the same thing to her again. Give her a family for a year, thentake it away from her. In his entire life, had he ever felt like such a heel?
Chapter Ten
The rhythmic thwack of an axe splitting wood was the only sound in the crisp Saturday morning air. Kade set another log on the block, swung, and felt a satisfying jolt as the wood split cleanly in two. He’d been at it since dawn, working through the restlessness that had settled in his bones since last night. Rubbing salve on Cassidy’s back had been a mistake. Not the act itself—he could tell by the way she moved this morning that it had helped. The mistake had been the easy intimacy of it, the quiet murmur of her voice as she told him about her past, and the gut-wrenching realization that this temporary arrangement was setting her up for another loss. He set another piece of firewood in place.
“You’re going to chop through the whole wood pile before breakfast if you keep that up.”
He turned. Cassidy stood a few feet away, two steaming mugs in her hands, a small, knowing smile on her face. She was dressed in jeans and one of his old, worn flannel shirts, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. On her, it looked better than it ever had on him.
“Figured you could use this.” She held a mug out to him.
Setting the axe aside, he accepted the proffered mug, the ceramic warm against his calloused hands.Coffee. Elixir of the gods. “Thanks.” He took a long, grateful sip.
“You were thinking pretty loud out here.” Her gaze swept over the growing pile of split wood.
Not trusting himself to speak, he merely grunted in response.
She leaned against the railing of the back porch, sipping her tea, scanning the distance. Her gaze darted to his between sips. “What’s eating you?”
“Nothing.”
She shook her head from left to right. “Not buying it.”
“Why not?”
“We’ve been back a week and this is the first time I’ve seen you chopping wood. Should I mention we’re nowhere near winter? Besides, when something’s bothering you that little muscle on the right side of your jaw flexes.”
The woman had powers of observation that could put the Hubble telescope to shame, but was it actually possible that in only a week she had learned to read him so easily? He’d dated women for months who didn’t have a clue what he was thinking or when something had set his nerves on edge—especially when they were the ones tugging on his last nerve.
Taking another sip, he considered his options. Tell her that he was battering his own body as early punishment for the end of the year when he took another home away from her. Maybe tell her that when she hurt, he hurt.
“I’ve been thinking,” she spoke softly over the rim of her cup. “I asked Jillian after supper last night why she carries a gun.”
Well, that was interesting.
“She shrugged as if it were the most natural thing in the world, then added, ‘if something serious, crazy, or deadly goes down, I don’t want to become the helpless victim.’”
He bobbed his head. Defending hearth, home, and yourself was pretty much the Texas mantra.
“Maybe I should learn to shoot.” Determination shone in her eyes. “Could you teach me?”
“Why?”
She took another sip of her tea, staring down at the warm brew a moment. “I want to be able to defend the ranch, and your family, if someone…something,” she corrected, “came along.”
Interesting choice of words. “You’re thinking about what Preston said at dinner last night about finding one of the lines ransacked.”
