She laughed as she opened the oven door. “Two of them are for us. The other four will go to the community center. Sara Cramer’s going to pick them up later. They’re serving dinner there for anyone who won’t have food on the table for Thanksgiving.”
As she placed one pie and then the other on cooling racks on the table, Eli said, “That could have been me if it weren’t for Ty. But I would have been too proud to go.”
“Even if your stomach was empty?” she asked. “I know what that’s like, too, Mr. Conroy. My mom and I had some rough times. But she always did what was best for me. She was a proud woman, but she often accepted handouts so I wouldn’t go hungry. I respected her for that.”
“Sometimes women do that better than men,” Eli admitted. Then he said, “If you’re going to live here, you can’t keep calling me Mr. Conroy. How about trying out Eli?”
“I can do that, Eli,” she said easily, happy that he’d asked her to.
Eli had placed his foot on the bottom rung of Jordan’s saucer to keep him from walking and spinning his wheels. But now Jordan started to jump up and down and move side to side. He wanted to go.
Eli laughed. “I’d forgotten what it was like to have a young’un around.”
“Not too much noise?” she asked.
“Nah. I didn’t hear him at all last night. But then my rooms are pretty far from his. Did he sleep okay?”
“He has his own crib to sleep in, and his Humpty Dumpty night-light. He seems satisfied.”
“Ty put him to bed last night, didn’t he?” Eli sounded kind of proud when he said it.
“Yes, he did. Jordan likes the sound of his voice. I heard Ty telling him about the clowns at the rodeo before he went to sleep.”
“So you think this is going to work out?” Eli asked her bluntly.
She answered just as bluntly. “It’s too soon to tell.”
Eli was thinking that over when they heard a truck rumble down the lane and park. It was Ty’s truck. Marissa already knew the sound of the engine.
Moments later, Ty was coming up the steps in the back and into the kitchen. But when Marissa saw him, he looked worn-out, and he was leaning heavily on his cane. She turned back to the pies and rearranged them on the table, figuring he wouldn’t want her glimpsing his pain.
Obviously Eli wasn’t keeping quiet. “How was PT?”
Without a word, Ty went to the freezer and took out an ice pack. “PT came and it went,” he said, then he disappeared into the living room.
Eli exchanged a glance with Marissa. “I’ll watch the baby if you want to check on him.”
Eli’s concern was obvious, and Marissa was concerned about Ty, too. Did he always come back from a physical therapy session looking as if he’d ridden in three rodeos?
“Thanks,” she said to Eli. She ruffled Jordan’s hair as she passed him.
She found Ty seated in a corduroy armchair, staring out the window. He had his leg propped up on the large hassock, the ice pack balanced there.
She sat on the space beside his foot and waited until he looked at her.
“What?” he asked in a low voice that said he didn’t want to talk about anything.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Rough physical therapy session?”
“I worked the muscles too hard and I strained one of them.”
“Aw, Ty.”
“I don’t need your pity.”
He shifted in the chair as if he were going to stand, but she moved closer so he couldn’t and he stayed seated.
But he scowled. “I don’t need a pep talk, either.”
“You’re impatient about recovery,” she guessed.
“You’re right—I am. It’s been almost five gosh-darn months. Yeah, I’m back on a horse, but I’m using a mounting block. And a special saddle that’s easier on the knee. Cripes,” he muttered.
She didn’t know how to help him. “You’re too impatient. Your body will find its own pace. You’re young and strong, Ty. You’ll recover but it’s going to take time. You’re putting the effort in, but recovery takes more than effort.”
“How do you know so much?”
“I work with Jase. He talks about what he went through after he got shot in Kenya and came back home to recuperate. It wasn’t easy for him, either. Maybe you should talk to him about it.”
“I read about that online. He was shot by a gang of bandits when he was photographing children in a refugee camp, right?”
“Yep. Something he couldn’t have foreseen, either. He didn’t want to come back to his father’s winery, but now he can’t imagine being anywhere else.”
“I suppose there’s a message in that.”
“Maybe.”
Ty had leaned forward as they were talking, and her knee was practically brushing his thigh. Serious conversation had revved up emotion between them, and they could both feel it. Their kiss yesterday practically flashed like a movie streaming in front of their eyes.
Marissa licked suddenly dry lips.
Ty groaned and leaned forward a little more. “You are the most tempting woman—”
The sound of Ty’s cell phone buzzing broke the electric current sizzling between them. With a sigh and a quick sly smile, Ty reached in his pocket for his phone. “Saved by the proverbial bell,” he remarked.
She moved back on the hassock to put a little distance between them.
“Hi, Clint,” he said into his phone. “It’s good to hear from you.”
Marissa would have gotten up to leave, but Ty held up a finger. He wanted her to stay. What now?
“Sure, that’s great that you’ll be here tomorrow. Hold on a minute.” He put the phone on Mute and looked up at Marissa.
“Clint said he’ll be getting in in the early hours of the morning. He’ll be staying in the bunkhouse. But I wanted to check with you before I invited him for Thanksgiving dinner. Would that be okay?”
“We have more than enough food,” she said with a smile, remembering Ty had said Clint was an old friend.
Ty turned his attention back to the phone and asked Clint, “You will have Thanksgiving dinner with us tomorrow, won’t you?”
Marissa wondered how one of Ty’s rodeo friends was going to enter into the mix. Would this Clint bring back memories of rodeo escapades Ty couldn’t shake? Or would he be a buffer between her and Ty and actually make things easier between them?
Maybe a holiday dinner would reveal a bit of the future. Or maybe it would remind Ty of the past that he’d like to have back.
Chapter Six
On Thanksgiving Day, Marissa had thought she had everything under control. But now she was mashing the potatoes, the green beans were finished and had to be removed from the heat, and the turkey had to be carved.
Suddenly, there Ty was at her elbow, watching her mash the potatoes.
“Jordan’s in good hands,” he said. “Clint and Eli are playing peekaboo with him. Do you need help out here?”
“Yes, I do,” she said with some relief. “Can you drain the beans and add butter? Then we’ll cover them. And if you could take the turkey out—”
He laid a hand on her shoulder. “Whoa. We’ll get it all done.”
When she glanced up at him, she felt a thrill that had no place in her stomach while she was mashing potatoes. Her hunger should be for this Thanksgiving Day meal, nothing else. Yet when Ty looked at her like that...
“Since kissing you again right now would interrupt meal preparations,” he said in a low voice, “I’ll find dishes for the green beans and stuffing, then I’ll get to that turkey.”
Taking a deep breath and swallowing hard, she concentrated on making sure the potatoes were seasoned just right.
An eruption of laughter emanated from the living room.
After Ty took the turkey from the oven, he asked Marissa, “What do you think of Clint?”
She’d only talked to him briefly when Ty had introduced her this morning. Clint Detwiler was tall, lanky and about forty-five. He was a rugged-looking guy with a scar on his face and a tattoo on his arm.
“I don’t know yet,” she said honestly, her voice lowered. “Did he settle in at the bunkhouse all right?”
“He’s used to bunkhouses and sleeping in a room with a couple of other guys.”
“Are you hiring on anyone else?”
“Another hand is starting on Monday morning. I made a good deal with him for room and board.”
“So everything’s coming together,” Marissa said.
“Yes, it is. All we need now are tourists lining up at our door come the new year.”
Marissa was totally aware of Ty as he worked beside her. She pulled a salad from the refrigerator and garnished it with cherry tomatoes. Ty reached around her for the hand towel on the counter and she held her breath and kept herself from leaning into him. But as he pulled the towel from the counter, she thought she felt him release a long breath.
The atmosphere between them was heavy with desire and expectation as she finished putting Thanksgiving dinner on the table. Eli stood to say grace, and even Jordan seemed to grasp the importance of the moment because he stayed quiet.
With his head bowed, Eli said gruffly, “Never expected this group gathered around this table today. But I give thanks for it—for my nephew, my great-nephew, Jordan’s mom and somebody to help us with all the work here. Thanks too for the food. Amen.”
Ty was seated next to Marissa. He asked, “What’s Jordan having?”
“I’ll smash up bits of turkey and beans in with the mashed potatoes. He’s going to make a mess, but he’ll like it.”
Clint glanced at Marissa then back at Ty as if he didn’t know what to make of the whole situation. “Are you going to teach the little one to ride?” he asked Ty with a smile.
“He started out by touching Goldie’s nose. I might set him in a saddle to see what he thinks about it one of these days.”
At Marissa’s surprised look, Ty said, “I would keep my hands on him good and strong, of course.”
Again Clint looked from one to the other. “Do you remember that day Ted Barstow brought his five-year-old to the barrel racing competition? That little boy wanted to get on a horse in the worst way.”
That memory sparked others, and soon the conversation was about rodeo shenanigans and the riders they’d known.
At a lull, Marissa asked Clint, “Are you really retiring from the circuit?”
Clint nodded. “Too many aches and pains to ride right. I don’t want to give it up any more than Ty wants to, but there comes a time. Watching what happened to him made me realize you never know what will happen next. Being on a ranch, taking people on trail rides, showing them this beautiful country seems like a good way to spend my life now.”
She nodded, liking the sincerity in his voice.
“What are you going to do about grub for the guests?” Clint asked Ty.
“I found an out-of-work cook in town. He’ll be ready to start for us when I need him. I’m just hoping we have guests for him to feed.”
The talk after that was about the marketing plans for the Cozy C. Over pie and coffee, Marissa started thinking up ideas of her own to promote the ranch. She’d share them with Ty when she got the chance.
She put Jordan in his play saucer while she cleared the table. The men paid him some attention while she stowed away the food.
She was at the refrigerator, hunkered down trying to fit everything in, when she heard Clint ask Ty in a low voice, “Have you heard from Darla?”
“Nope,” Ty answered tersely, as if that was the end of the conversation.
Apparently it was, because nothing else was said on the subject.
But it was all Marissa could think of. Who was Darla?
* * *
Marissa didn’t have a chance all day to ask Ty about the woman. Finally, when she put a sleeping Jordan down for the night, she hoped she’d have an opportunity. She was restless and didn’t want to just go to her room. It was too early to sleep, and she wasn’t in the mood to read. She heard sounds in the kitchen downstairs—a dish clattered and the silverware drawer jingled open. Ty hadn’t turned in or couldn’t sleep, either. Maybe she could find out if this Darla had been important in his life.
When she entered the kitchen, she saw that Ty had changed from a snap-button shirt and almost-new jeans to a black T-shirt and worn denims.
“I couldn’t resist another piece of that pie,” he said with a smile. “Clint took one along to the bunkhouse, too.”
Before she’d put Jordan to bed, Clint had thanked her for making a great Thanksgiving dinner. She liked him, and what he’d had to say about settling down.
“I think he’ll be good with your guests,” she said honestly. “He’s down-to-earth, friendly and if he knows his way around horses, what more could you want?”
“He’s always been a good friend,” Ty offered, slipping the piece of pie onto a plate and taking it to the table.
She followed him, but didn’t give him a chance to sit down and make small talk. She wanted to get to the heart of the matter right now.
“Who’s Darla?” she asked in an even tone, hoping nothing else escaped with the question except minor interest.
“Darla’s not important,” Ty said with a shrug.
“Apparently she was important enough for Clint to mention her.”
Ty rolled his eyes. “I thought you were deep in the refrigerator and didn’t hear.”
“I heard.”
“I told you, there wasn’t anything to say. She was just another case of love-gone-wrong.”
Marissa studied him and his closed expression. Ty didn’t express emotion easily, but she was going to get to the bottom of this.
“You mean love gone wrong? Or do you mean sex gone wrong? Did you expect sex and she expected more?”
“I don’t discuss what happened in private,” he answered crisply. Then he turned the tables on her. “When we had sex, was that sex-gone-wrong?”
After trying to see into his heart and being unable to do it, she decided to give him the simple truth. “Right or wrong, having sex with you changed my life.” She turned to go. “I’ll see you in the morning. Bacon and eggs for breakfast?”
“Whatever you make will be just fine,” he said.
That was the end of their discussion for now. But eventually she’d find out who Darla was and what she’d meant to Ty.
If he still had a romantic connection to someone—
Marissa didn’t like that idea at all.
* * *
Before the bacon and eggs, before Jordan roused, Marissa decided to talk to Ty about something else, and that subject wasn’t Darla—though the woman was still on her to-be-discussed list. She waited until she heard Ty leave the bathroom, then she opened her door. Ty’s jeans rode low, he was shirtless, and she caught the scent of shaving lotion. Oh, sure, she could have a discussion when he looked and smelled like that.
Keeping her voice low, she pointed to his bedroom this time. She didn’t want to wake Jordan.
He nodded and they both stepped inside the door.
Ty’s bedroom was Spartan. The bed was an antique, for sure. It was a beautiful oak that had changed color and become a rich russet with age. There were cannonballs on the footboard and two on the headboard. The sheets were rumpled, and she could see the bed had been covered with a simple cotton navy spread. There were no blinds at the windows or curtains. Who needed them out here? Ty had a view of trees and pastures and the fence line.
His dresser was empty save for his wallet and keys and
a bit of change. The chest of drawers held no adornment. A belt and a pair of jeans lay over a straight-backed chair with a cane seat. She didn’t know what was worse, staring at the bed or staring at Ty’s broad chest with those wisps of hair that were so enticing.
“Why are you up so early?” Ty asked. “Did Jordan have you up?”
“No, he slept through the night. I wanted to talk to you.”
He frowned and she wondered if he was expecting another question about Darla. That could wait. What she had in mind couldn’t.
“Remember we talked about me helping out around here?”
“I remember,” he said warily.
“Eli told me you intend to stain that trim work on the cabinets today. I’m going to take Jordan to Mommy Club day care and then I want to help.”
“Marissa—”
“The cabins have decks that need to be stained, too. If you don’t want me on the finish work, I can stain the deck while you and Clint do the rest. How hard can that be? There’s nothing for me to mess up.”
“You don’t want to just hang around with Jordan today?”
“I always want to hang around with Jordan. But there’s work to be done here, and if you want to be ready by January, you have a lot to accomplish. I imagine Clint would rather work with the horses, and you want to round up guests. Lets get the rest done and you can do that.”
After a few beats of silence, he asked, “How about if I make you a deal.”
Now she was the one who was wary. “What kind of deal?”
“I’ll let you help today if you let me handle Jordan for an afternoon on my own.”
She felt her throat tighten.
He suddenly had his hands on her shoulders, looking straight into her eyes. “Don’t look so afraid, Marissa. It’s not like I’m going to run away with him. I just want to prove to you that he and I can spend some guy time together without you watching over us. You watch every move I make with him. I need to have a little bit of freedom with my son.”
There was just a bit of emphasis on the words my son.
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