Page 104 of The Cowboy and the Stray

“He’s the kind of man who didn’t trust anyone.”

Buck kicked the shovel clean, then started up the path to the road back to the house.

Ash followed, talking Buck’s ear off. Yes, this meant she was one of us now for better or worse. Gray and Reid fell in behind, both silent, both staring at the sky.

I stayed back. I heard her before I saw her. Tess, standing at the edge of the pasture, arms folded, hair stuck to her forehead. She looked tired, but steady.

I walked to her, not fast, not slow. Just steady.

She didn’t say a word. She just leaned into me, letting her head rest against my chest.

I wrapped both arms around her and held on.

We stood like that until Ash pulled up in the truck.

I didn’t have to tell her it was over. She already knew.

48. CALDER

TWO MONTHS LATER

Midge had her own way of running a kitchen. She barked orders like a platoon sergeant and insulted the vegetables as she cut them, but she never raised her hand to slap anyone out of the way. That was how you knew she liked you. If she let you near the stove, you were in the circle. Tess was in.

Tonight, Tess wasn’t just helping. She’d taken over a third of the counter, and her station was organized in a way that almost made Midge weep with pride. She cut root vegetables into equal pieces, parsnips, carrots, a few stubborn turnips, and coated them with salt, pepper, and a measured handful of something green. I was so proud of her.

Midge stood over her, arms folded, squinting. “You using rosemary or just trying to make the kitchen smell like a damn pine tree?”

Tess didn’t even blink. “Both, apparently.” She smirked, shook the bowl, and dumped the lot onto a battered baking sheet. “You want the oven at 450 or 500?”

Midge harrumphed. “Four-fifty. Any higher and you’re cleaning the oven yourself.”

“Deal.”

I kept my post at the butcher block, dicing beef for the stew. Tess slid by me, close enough to bump elbows, and shot me a look over her shoulder. “You got too much salt in there?”

I grunted. “If you want it blander, go eat at the hospital.”

Midge howled at that, then pretended to choke on her cigar. “Listen to you two. Like an old married couple.”

Tess flashed a grin. “You saying we’re old?”

Midge waggled the cigar. “Older than you think, Twitchy.”

The room was hot, loud, and smelled like every good memory I had left. Ash wandered through, grabbed a carrot off the baking sheet, and nearly lost a finger to Tess’s spatula. Buck showed up with a six-pack and vanished after one look at the kitchen, wise enough to avoid the crossfire. In the den, the TV blared the evening news, but the kitchen was louder.

I loaded the beef into the Dutch oven and gave it a stir. “You want to make the salad, or you want me to do it?”

Tess wrinkled her nose. “I got it.”

“Wise,” Midge muttered.

I leaned against the counter and watched Tess work. It was mesmerizing, watching her move. Her arms were stronger now after months of mending fences and wrangling calves. We’d put real muscle on her. She looked like she belonged, because she did.

A door slammed at the front of the house, and the noise level doubled. Sloane’s voice carried down the hallway, clipped and quick. Noah was right behind, talking a mile a minute about a book he’d read in the car. Eli trailed down the stairs a second later, shirtless, boots in hand, hair still wet from the shower.

Noah was the first into the kitchen. He didn’t break stride, just barreled straight for Tess and wrapped both arms around her waist. “Hi, Tess,” he said, voice muffled against her shirt.

She ruffled his hair with a flour-dusted hand. “Hey, squirt. You wash your hands yet?”