“I do, but there aren’t many chances when you’re on the road all year. Steak, salmon and thick pork chops are the extent of my skills.”
She took another bite and grinned. “I don’t think anyone would complain if you did steaks like this every single day. I feel like I’m at a super-expensive restaurant. So what’s it like, traveling all the time? Do you have a house or apartment somewhere?”
“No. But once I start working as a rodeo contractor that will need to change. I’ll need a ranch for the bucking stock. I’ll need to have plenty of space, so I can rotate the bulls and broncs that go out on the rodeo circuits.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Yeah. Folks might think it’s a hard life for the livestock. But good feed and veterinary care for eight seconds of work every couple months isn’t too bad. Those animals are an investment, so they get treated right.”
“Do you miss that life?”
“It’s all I’ve known since graduating from college, really. It’s where my good friends are. I like the adrenaline rush as a contestant. The cheers, the bright lights, and those few seconds of competition that can make or break a guy’s year-end championship standings.” His voice roughened and his expression grew somber. “But it’s dangerous, and any one of those seconds could mean an ambulance. Or could be your last.”
He fell silent.
“Were you ever hurt badly?”
A corner of his mouth kicked up in a brief, self-deprecating smile. “A time or two.”
He didn’t elaborate and she respected that, but when he pushed away his unfinished steak, she sensed that he was troubled about something far deeper than just a few broken bones. “A friend?” she guessed.
He ran a fingertip along the surface of his tea glass, lost in his thoughts and memories. Then he finally nodded. “The best. Jace was a devout Christian, yet all the prayers in the world didn’t save him. I was with him when he died.”
She hesitated, then reached across the table to lay her hand on his. “I’m so sorry.”
“He left behind two little boys and a wife he loved to pieces. The irony is that he was going to quit rodeo the next month. He just about had the down payment for a nice little place in Texas where they wanted to raise their kids.”
A long silence stretched between them. She wished she knew what to say that wasn’t trite or condescending. Finally, she gave his hand a gentle squeeze and withdrew her own. “What a sad and terrible loss.”
Tate tipped his head in silent acknowledgment. “He was a believer. He would talk to anyone about his faith in Jesus and how important it was to him. So I understand that he has eternal life in heaven and that we’ll see him again someday. I just wish he was still here. His family needed him.”
“And his friends.”
“That too.”
Tate stood and began gathering the plates, so she joined him and helped clean up the kitchen.
“Coffee?”
When she nodded, he brewed a pot of coffee and set a plastic-wrap-covered plate of chocolate-chip cookies on the table. “Grandma Betty made these. She sends a lot of food my way because she must think I’m starving on my own.”
Sara poured coffee for them both, then settled back at the table. Hoping to lighten his mood, she smiled. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but are ‘buckle bunny’ groupies still a thing on the rodeo circuit?”
“Far as I know.” He rolled his eyes. “Tight clothes, Western boots, a lot of makeup.”
“Have any of them stolen your heart?” she teased.
“No. Maybe they’re hoping for love, but it seems like they’re advertising one thing and longing for something else.”
“Do you think they ever find it?”
“That I wouldn’t know.” He reached for his spiral notebook and pulled out a pen. “So, what did you think after walking through the house last night?”
She took a long sip of her coffee. “There’s so much potential here. In all the years Warren and Millie lived here they kept up the basic maintenance but never made any substantial improvements. You are limited only by your vision and your checkbook.”
He uncapped the pen. “So if it were up to you, where would you start?”
“Obviously, the structural elements, but I’m sure you know that. The old roof leaks. The wiring and plumbing are probably outdated. But before you do anything, you’d want to imagine the overall design. Like, how you could update and expand the bathroom upstairs. And you’d also want to decide on any new dormers or even an addition on the back, before you invest in a new roof.”
“The bedroom next to the bathroom is huge, but the bath is the size of a postage stamp. I can see expanding it into the oversize bedroom next to it.”
She nodded in approval. “Exactly. With a walk-in shower, in addition to that claw-foot tub. A long granite countertop with double sinks. New lighting. And a new, heated floor with a toe-kick switch that also triggers when you walk through the door.”
“Sounds like a fancy hotel.”
“It wouldn’t need to be expensive, necessarily. Especially if you do it yourself.”
“And the main floor?”
“Millie always said she wanted to put in a main-floor powder room under the stairs. She also dreamed of building an addition off the back of the house for a family room, plus a master with an en suite bathroom and a walk-in closet. She figured it would be easier for them to age in place when they got older, so they wouldn’t have to move.”
“Makes sense.”
Sara reached for the notebook and started sketching. “The living room is a good size. But if you opened up the kitchen and dining room by taking out a wall, you could also make that space flow into the new family room.”
“I suppose the lovely linoleum will need to go.”
She laughed. “If I were you, I would make that a definite yes.”
They sat at the table, sipping coffee and talking about the house, until the pot of coffee was empty, the cookies were gone and they finally drifted into a companionable silence.
“This has been a really nice evening,” she said at last. “But I need to tell you something that I should have said long ago. I still feel bad about what happened in high school. I was horrible to you, and I’m sorry.”
He gave her a wry grin. “We never did quite get it together.”
“But it was my fault, and I never apologized. At the end—when you said you really cared about me, I panicked and ran. With parents like mine, just the thought of commitment at any level scared me to death. It still does.”
“I can’t say my parental example was any better. But you and I were both really young, so it was all for the best.”
“I suppose we just avoided greater heartbreak later, but I’m still sorry.” She stood and pulled on her jacket. “We talked about spending a couple evenings discussing your renovation. I usually don’t work all day on Saturdays, and tomorrow I should be done at four. Will that work?”
“Perfectly. I’d like your thoughts on some of the specifics. The sooner I get my plans nailed down, the sooner I can get to work.”
She paused at the door. “You know, as a little girl I used to dream about happily-ever-afters. But my dad was a cheat, my last boyfriend ran off with my best friend and the one before him walked out without a word. I’m a failure, and I am done with that kind of relationship. I’m so thankful that you and I can just be friends.”
But on the long drive home in the darkness, she felt a small, aching place in her heart and a faint whisper through her thoughts. Don’t you want more? Isn’t love possible...if you dare?
No. There was no point. Tate would leave town in a few months. Simple friendship was safe. And imagining a glorious romance was foolish. She’d already seen where those fantasies ended up. Besides, her aunt and uncle would be deeply wounded if she took up with a Lang
ford, and she didn’t want to hurt them after they’d suffered enough loss already.
And this was a much safer choice.
* * *
Just friends.
It was ironic, really, coming face-to-face with someone who believed the same theory he did. Friendship was good. But beyond that, a mask of casual indifference and a “life’s a party—don’t take anything seriously” attitude had always been the safest bet.
In theory, it was a great plan. Exactly what he wanted.
Traveling the rodeo circuits made relationships a liability. Almost impossible. And he had no intention of starting any commitments that could tie him down to the state he’d always wanted to escape.
Added to that, the thought of being responsible for someone flat terrified him.
Yet watching Sara walking toward the house the next evening with a grocery sack in her arms made Tate imagine—just for a second—that she was coming home. To him. And that she did so every evening, to share a companionable meal and conversation late into the night...or perhaps a trail ride under the star-strewn sky.
He caught himself up short. That was all romantic hogwash, and that train of thought was probably Jess’s fault, for ever bringing it up.
Sara knocked once and let herself inside. “I’m here,” she called out. “And dinner’s on me. I hope you like salmon, asparagus topped with parmesan and baby red potatoes.”
Hooking his tape measure onto his tool belt, he met her at the door and carried her groceries inside. “Sounds great.”
“Do you prefer the salmon broiled with herbed butter sauce or poached with dill sauce?” She emptied the contents of the grocery sack onto the kitchen counter. “Though I suppose I should first ask if you have any pots and pans.”
“Grandma Betty had Jess bring boxes of kitchen supplies up here, first day I moved in. Pots, pans, spices—she claimed she had duplicates of everything and was glad to see it go.”
Sara pulled her long blond hair into a high ponytail, did some sort of magical twisty motion with her hands and suddenly it was all up in a knot on her head held by what looked like a chopstick.
He studied it for a moment, waiting for the whole contraption to fall down as she bustled around the kitchen checking the cabinets.
She pulled a broiler pan from a bottom cupboard, then found a big pot and filled it with salted water before putting it on a burner. “I figure we can eat in a half hour. Can you peel just a strip around the center of these potatoes? Leave most of the red part.”
While he took care of the potatoes, she started a salad. “So, tell me about your day. Any revelations about the house?”
He finished a potato and dropped it in the pot of water. “It won’t be hard to open up the kitchen and the dining room, because I discovered that’s not a load-bearing wall. I figure I’ll start on it after I do chores and ride colts tomorrow.”
“Good news!” She tipped her head toward a corner by the refrigerator. “You’ll be losing some cabinet space, but that would be a perfect place for a double set of pantry cupboards with slide-out shelves. I was looking online today, and saw some that were each seventy-two inches tall by thirty-six wide by thirty deep. You could order two of them at the lumberyard or build the new cabinets yourself.”
“Good idea.” He studied the corner and realized she was right. “I’ve been looking at the windows in the living room and dining room, and I want to preserve them. The wood frames are solid, and the multipane glass with the intricate leaded glass at the top is beautiful.” He dropped the last potato into the boiling water. “Some of the windows need to be reglazed, though, as do the storm windows.”
“What about the floors?”
He leaned against the counter on one hip and watched her drizzle lemon butter over the salmon, then sprinkle herbs and seasonings on top, charmed by the way she concentrated on the task.
“I’ve checked under the carpet in every room, and there’s hardwood flooring throughout—except for the bathroom, where there’s water-damaged plywood.”
She shuddered. “I’m not surprised after seeing that hideous avocado shag carpeting is still in there after all these years.”
“It’s a wonder the fixtures haven’t come right through the floor.”
She waited until the potatoes were nearly done, then slid the salmon under the broiler, and added a pan of asparagus sprinkled with parmesan on the rack beneath it. Then she drained the potatoes, and smashed them with butter, salt, pepper, garlic and parsley.
“Almost ready to eat,” she announced. “So what can I help you with tonight?”
The rich, buttery, herbal aroma of the broiled salmon wafted through the kitchen as she pulled out the pan and set it on a trivet, then retrieved the asparagus a few minutes later. His mind went blank as he breathed in every nuance of the food she’d prepared.
She grinned up at him, her hands on her hips. “Grab some plates, and let’s eat. Then I’ll help you pull up and roll carpets since that’s easiest with an extra set of hands. I bought some disposable face masks in town, because I can only imagine the mold and dust underneath.”
He tried and failed to stifle a grin.
“What’s wrong?” She lifted a hand to touch her cheek. “Do I have something on my face?”
“I was just thinking that I couldn’t have ever been so wrong about someone if I’d tried.”
Her gaze narrowed on his. “You’ve got a complaint?”
He couldn’t help himself this time. Laughing, he slid an arm around her waist for a quick hug, then he released her and went after the plates. “It’s just that in high school I’d always figured you were an entitled rich girl, who’d always had only the finest and expected nothing less. Even while we dated for a while I was always a little intimidated.”
“I can’t imagine why.” She frowned, though there was a twinkle in her eye. “And now what—you think I’m some kind of hillbilly?”
“No, I think you’re amazing.”
“Because I offered to help rip out that awful carpet?”
“Because—” Because of too many things to count, and they just keep adding up. “You just are.”
She groaned and rolled her eyes. “Let’s eat.”
He didn’t blame her. He’d never said anything that lame to a woman in his life. But he was starting to see trouble ahead, and he wasn’t sure how to fix it.
She was delighted about being just friends, while every time they were together he saw more about her that charmed him. Surprised him. Intrigued him, and made him want to get to know her even better.
Which was so ironic.
On the rodeo circuit he was always the one fending off advances by the pretty young things. But he never took any of them seriously. Never made commitments. And he made sure he never, ever fell in love. In his younger days it had only led to awkward situations and unfortunate marital expectations that he wasn’t prepared to meet.
But if he wasn’t careful, this time it would be him who was falling too hard for someone—which made no sense at all. Because he already knew there’d be no happy endings with a woman who only wanted to be friends.
And for the first time in his life, he might be the one who wanted more.
Chapter Eleven
At midnight Sara kneeled on the last roll of upstairs carpeting to keep it tight as Tate secured both ends with twine.
In this final bedroom, as with the other two, the thin carpet padding underneath had disintegrated into chunks and crumbles of foam and dust that could only be shoveled into black trash bags. The bloodied scratches on her hands and knees bore testament to the wicked-sharp tack strips rimming the perimeter of each room.
But beneath it all lay the promise of nearly pristine oak hardwood flooring marred only by the occasional water stain.
She helped him carry all three carpet rolls down the stairs to the entryway an
d out to the covered porch, then she ripped off her face mask, dusted her hands and placed them at the small of her back. She drew in a long breath, savoring the cold bite of the wind and the clean, pine-scented air.
“I’m not sure when I have ever felt so utterly filthy.” She looked down and swept a hand over her T-shirt. “I’ll bet there were buckets of dust mites in that carpet.”
Tate cocked his head and studied her, then reached out to brush something from her cheek. “And more than a few cobwebs.”
He looked as dusty and dirty as she felt, but he still could’ve stopped traffic with that grin. She found herself grinning right back. “You’ve been staying here how long?”
He shrugged a shoulder. “About four weeks.”
“I shudder to think of you breathing that air upstairs. If you had asthma you’d probably be dead.”
“Cheery thought.”
“Do you have a Shop-Vac in the barn? We can go back upstairs and clean up those floors, then mop.” She stepped inside the kitchen and reached for her jacket. “You won’t believe how much better you feel after—”
He laughed as he gently caught her arm to stop her. “Whoa. Not tonight.”
She twisted away. “But it won’t take long—”
This time he rested his hands on her shoulders to steady her. “Thanks for everything you’ve done, Sara. But it’s late and you must be exhausted. By the time you get home it’ll be one o’clock.”
For just a moment she imagined sagging against his broad chest to savor his warmth. The thud of his heartbeat against her own. She wanted to feel his muscled arms around her, just as she had so many years ago—
Alarm bells clanged in her head and she stepped back, feeling a warm flush rocket up into her cheekbones. “You’re right. Of course you are. Did I ever mention that I’m totally Type A about completing tasks? I’ll just—”
“No worries. I’ll finish up tomorrow after church,” he said gently as he walked her out to her truck. “It won’t take long at all. And I’ll feed your animals in the morning in case you want to sleep late. Just promise you’ll text me when you get home, so I know you made it. If you don’t, I’ll come looking.”
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