pine table staring out the window at the imposing jagged mountains in the distance, which still had a smattering of snow on their peaks. Even if branding weekend weren’t coming up, usually at this time of the day she was busy doing something like tending to her vegetable plot.
He set the basket down. “Mom?”
She turned from the window, her face lined with weariness and surprise. “Beau. I didn’t hear you come in, honey. Is everything going okay?”
“It’s all good. Dad asked me to bring you down more wood for the stove and to collect the cake for coffee break.”
Startled, she pressed her hand to her throat. “Oh my gosh. Is that the time?”
“It’s gone three.”
“I didn’t realize it was so late. The slices and the cakes are over there.”
Two white boxes clearly marked
Shannon’s Home-Style Baking
sat on the counter. The memory of vivid sky blue eyes ringed by chocolate lashes slugged him. He pushed it aside. “Why are you buying food from town?”
Again.
“I’m not,” she said quickly. “Katrina brought the baked goods home because they hadn’t sold and, well, there’s no point wasting good food.”
His mom never wasted anything. Ranch life had taught her to be frugal, and she’d been an expert recycler long before it became mainstream. “I guess it’s kinda handy Katrina’s working there.”
Bonnie grimaced. “Seems a waste of her talents, don’t you think?”
Beau never questioned anyone their choices if they were legal. He figured, like him, they had their reasons for doing what they did. “She seems happy enough.”
“I don’t think she’s happy at all,” Bonnie said quietly.
Beau swallowed. He really didn’t want to get into a discussion about feelings. He reached for the firebox handle on the stove. “Do you want me to s-stoke the fire for supper?”
“Yes, please.” She pressed her palms against the table and stood up quickly. Her face immediately drained of color and she pressed her hand to her side.
Concern rippled through him. “You okay, Mom?”
“I’m fine. I just stood up too fast, is all.” Pressing her lips together for a moment, she steadied herself and then walked to the counter and pulled on her apron. Waving her hand at him, she said, “Go take that food to the guys. I’ve got work to do.”
His moment of unease retreated as the very capable woman he knew and loved returned. He grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”
Scooping up the boxes, and with the scent of brown sugar and chocolate assailing his nostrils, he walked to the door. The aromas took him straight back to the diner—to questioning eyes, pink lips and sun-streaked blond hair. Straight back to the fool he’d made of himself, and his ears burned hot at the memory.
He didn’t get it. For years he’d been more than content with the company of his dog, his horses, the cows, the guys he worked with and the family. It was a good life—so much better than it might have been—and there was no reason for any of it to change. Sure, there were moments of loneliness, but that happened to everyone, and now and then, when he felt the need, he had a mutual arrangement with a woman in Kalispell. She didn’t want more from him than that, and he didn’t have it to give, so it suited both of them.
Despite growing up with two female cousins, women perplexed him and at high school they’d taunted him, which was why there was absolutely no reason to suddenly be associating the scent of chocolate and brown sugar with the new diner owner. Or thinking about the touch of her hand in his. No reason at all.
He stepped out onto the back porch and whistled for his Australian cattle dog. With Scout by his side, he marched straight back to the corral, where he was surrounded by cows with big brown eyes whose gaze never once made him stutter.
—
THE bar was quiet for a Thursday night, and Katrina had washed every glass and wiped every surface. The jukebox was playing a country song about the agony of love,
He set the basket down. “Mom?”
She turned from the window, her face lined with weariness and surprise. “Beau. I didn’t hear you come in, honey. Is everything going okay?”
“It’s all good. Dad asked me to bring you down more wood for the stove and to collect the cake for coffee break.”
Startled, she pressed her hand to her throat. “Oh my gosh. Is that the time?”
“It’s gone three.”
“I didn’t realize it was so late. The slices and the cakes are over there.”
Two white boxes clearly marked
Shannon’s Home-Style Baking
sat on the counter. The memory of vivid sky blue eyes ringed by chocolate lashes slugged him. He pushed it aside. “Why are you buying food from town?”
Again.
“I’m not,” she said quickly. “Katrina brought the baked goods home because they hadn’t sold and, well, there’s no point wasting good food.”
His mom never wasted anything. Ranch life had taught her to be frugal, and she’d been an expert recycler long before it became mainstream. “I guess it’s kinda handy Katrina’s working there.”
Bonnie grimaced. “Seems a waste of her talents, don’t you think?”
Beau never questioned anyone their choices if they were legal. He figured, like him, they had their reasons for doing what they did. “She seems happy enough.”
“I don’t think she’s happy at all,” Bonnie said quietly.
Beau swallowed. He really didn’t want to get into a discussion about feelings. He reached for the firebox handle on the stove. “Do you want me to s-stoke the fire for supper?”
“Yes, please.” She pressed her palms against the table and stood up quickly. Her face immediately drained of color and she pressed her hand to her side.
Concern rippled through him. “You okay, Mom?”
“I’m fine. I just stood up too fast, is all.” Pressing her lips together for a moment, she steadied herself and then walked to the counter and pulled on her apron. Waving her hand at him, she said, “Go take that food to the guys. I’ve got work to do.”
His moment of unease retreated as the very capable woman he knew and loved returned. He grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”
Scooping up the boxes, and with the scent of brown sugar and chocolate assailing his nostrils, he walked to the door. The aromas took him straight back to the diner—to questioning eyes, pink lips and sun-streaked blond hair. Straight back to the fool he’d made of himself, and his ears burned hot at the memory.
He didn’t get it. For years he’d been more than content with the company of his dog, his horses, the cows, the guys he worked with and the family. It was a good life—so much better than it might have been—and there was no reason for any of it to change. Sure, there were moments of loneliness, but that happened to everyone, and now and then, when he felt the need, he had a mutual arrangement with a woman in Kalispell. She didn’t want more from him than that, and he didn’t have it to give, so it suited both of them.
Despite growing up with two female cousins, women perplexed him and at high school they’d taunted him, which was why there was absolutely no reason to suddenly be associating the scent of chocolate and brown sugar with the new diner owner. Or thinking about the touch of her hand in his. No reason at all.
He stepped out onto the back porch and whistled for his Australian cattle dog. With Scout by his side, he marched straight back to the corral, where he was surrounded by cows with big brown eyes whose gaze never once made him stutter.
—
THE bar was quiet for a Thursday night, and Katrina had washed every glass and wiped every surface. The jukebox was playing a country song about the agony of love,
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