Her Bucking Bronc by Beth Williamson

room to find a smaller, older version of Hannah. Mrs. Blackwood was a beautiful woman in her sixties with bright, intelligent eyes. Hannah definitely took after her mother in looks. Her father must’ve been tall, since her mom was no bigger than a minute.
    “Lay her here.” Mrs. Blackwood had the covers turned down on a bed with cream sheets, a patchwork quilt and a mound of fluffy pillows.
    Dylan set Amber on the bed and Mrs. Blackwood took over, tucking her in and murmuring to the injured woman. The cat must’ve followed them because it jumped on the bed and settled beside Amber.
    He backed out of the room into the hallway. Hannah poked her head out.
    “Why don’t you go downstairs and get some coffee? I’m sure there’s a pot in the kitchen. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
    He nodded and left the women to take care of Amber. He was here in Hannah’s childhood home and the only thing he could think about was when he could escape. Families made him twitchy.
    Mothers made him want to leave town.
    Dylan forced himself to find the kitchen and the mugs in the third cabinet he opened. He hunted down milk in the fridge and the sugar bowl on the table. The smell of the cinnamon pastries Hannah had made lingered in the air hours later. His stomach rumbled at the fact he hadn’t had any food all day.
    “Can I make you some lunch?” Mrs. Blackwood’s voice made him tense like a guitar string.
    He turned to find her smiling at him. Hannah definitely had her smile. “No need to put yourself out. I’ll wait for Hannah to take her back to town.”
    “Oh, she’ll be here all day with Amber. Might as well have some food. I could hear your stomach growling like a bear.” Mrs. Blackwood opened the fridge. “A sandwich okay? I think there are some of Hannah’s pretzel rolls.”
    “I, uh, sure.” Dylan sipped at the coffee so he didn’t have to speak more. Why the hell did Hannah leave him alone with her mom?
    “What Hannah does with her life is her business, but I’ll not allow someone to fiddle with her heart.” Mrs. Blackwood gave him the mama death stare. “Don’t think I’m a feeble old lady.”
    “I’d never assume such a thing, ma’am.” He wondered if there might be an earthquake handy to open up the floor for him.
    “Good. Then that’s settled.” She set down a plate with a sandwich and a cookie along with a glass of milk. Milk! “Now eat.” Bossy like her daughter.
    “Thank you, ma’am.” He dutifully ate the meal while she puttered around in the kitchen.
    “For the first time in two years, I see happiness in her eyes. I’m not sure if you’re responsible, but if you are, then thank you.” Her words cut through the awkward silence.
    “I’m not sure if I’m the cause of anything except indigestion.”
    Mrs. Blackwood laughed. “She’s got a big mouth but an even bigger heart.”
    “Stop talking about me.” Hannah sailed into the kitchen. “Amber’s asleep, so I thought I’d grab some lunch.”
    The older woman left the kitchen after a silent communication with her daughter. Hannah glanced at Dylan’s plate. “She fed you the last pretzel roll.”
    “Do you want to share?”
    “No, I don’t want your cooties.”
    “Suit yourself. Go ahead and eat a substandard roll.” He took a big bite of the sandwich, enjoying the way she stuck out her tongue at him.
    “Your mother just warned me she would bury my body in a deep hole if I hurt you.”
    “She’ll do it too. She’s the one that taught me how to use a pistol.” Hannah put her own plate on the table and sat down.
    “Now I’m actually scared.” He drank the milk, although he didn’t remember the last time he’d even tasted it except in his coffee.
    “Blackwood women are the only females strong enough to birth Blackwood men.” She smiled. “That’s what my grandmother used to say.”
    “Your family sounds intimidating.”
    “I’ll bet yours is too.”
    He managed not to get up and walk away, but it was close.