For the next twenty minutes, they worked with Bandit on the trick. Huck proved to be a natural trainer, his young voice carrying the perfect tone of authority mixed with affection. What a great kid. He hadn’t been lying to Sierra.
“I think he’s getting it!” Huck exclaimed as Bandit successfully sat long enough for the biscuit to balance.
“You’re a good teacher. You understand animals.”
“Thanks. Mom says I get that from my dad.” Huck beamed with pride.
The kid mentioned his dad a lot, it seemed. Maybe because Sierra did? “Does your mom talk about your dad often?”
“Sometimes. When I ask questions.” Huck shrugged, tossing another biscuit for Bandit. “Mostly she just says he was a good man who would’ve loved me very much.”
“I’m sure he would have.”
They headed back toward the house as the sun began to sink toward the mountains, painting the sky in shades of orange and gold. The security lights Rowan had installed flickered on automatically, casting pools of brightness across the yard.
“Those are so wicked,” Huck said. “It’s like having robot guards.”
“Something like that.” Rowan chuckled. “Though hopefully we won’t need them.”
“Do you think the bad guys will come back?”
The question was asked with such innocent curiosity that Rowan’s chest tightened. How did you explain to a kid that some people were willing to hurt others for money or power?
“I think they might try,” he said. “But if they do, we’ll be ready.”
“Good,” Huck said. “Mom’s been worried. She tries to hide it, but I can tell.”
Oh, and that just made his heart hurt.
As they approached the porch, the screen door opened and Sierra stepped out wearing an apron over her jeans. The sight of her—hair escaping from its ponytail, flour dusting her hands, domestic and beautiful in the golden evening light—hit Rowan harder than it should have.
“Perfect timing,” she called. “Dinner’s almost ready.”
“It smells incredible,” Rowan said, breathing in the rich aroma of pot roast and herbs wafting from the kitchen.
“Mom makes the best pot roast in Colorado,” Huck declared.
Bandit picked right then to dart off the porch, barking.
Huck lit out after him.
“Where are Saxon and Mack?”
“They headed back to town,” Rowan said. “Saxon is probably heading in for more of Dolly’s pie.”
Sierra laughed. “Saxon’s going to be the talk of the diner if he keeps that up. Dolly’s got the best information network I know.”
“Maybe he’ll find out everything we need to know.”
“Maybe he will.” Sierra’s smile was warm, and Rowan just about reached out, touched his hand to her face, the urge to curl his hand around the back of her neck, maybe pull her close sweeping over him.
And right then, he didn’t care if she’d loved another man. He was the man here, in front of her.
And he wanted her back.
Huck bounded up the porch steps and paused to remove his cowboy hat, running his fingers through hair that stuck up at odd angles. As he turned his head to address his mother, the evening light caught his profile, and Rowan’s breath stopped.
There, just visible above the curve of Huck’s ear, was a small bump in the cartilage structure—the same distinctive hitch that Rowan saw in the mirror every morning.
