No Strings Attached (Last Hope Ranch Book 1) by Amanda McIntyre Page B

finally received a smile.
    “Goodnight all. I’ll see you later in the week at Betty’s,” Liberty called as Rein ushered her out the door.
    “Rebecca, let me help with the dishes,” Sally offered.
    Michael and Wyatt stood to help.
    “I’ll get this. You all go relax. Tell Aimee to put her feet up.” She hadn’t the nerve to look at Clay, though a few times during the evening, she’d sensed him looking at her.
    “Well, early day tomorrow. Think I’ll turn in.” Clay stood. “Thank you, Rebecca. As always, your meals are amazing.” He smiled and waved at the small group beginning to settle in front of the fire. It was then that he tossed Sally a quick nod. “Miss Andersen.” He grabbed his ball cap from the deer antler hat rack in the foyer and was gone.
    Sally collected the leftover food and carried it to the kitchen. Starting the search for containers to put them in. Lost in the task, she looked up and met Rebecca’s gaze across the kitchen table.
    Emilee, who’d finished with bringing in the plates for her grandmother, giggled as she trotted out of the room to play with Sadie.
    “Do I look odd?” Sally asked the woman whom she’d known as a second mother most of her young life.
    Rebecca went about the work of loading the dishwasher. “No, why do you ask?” She glanced over her shoulder with a motherly smile.
    “Maybe because you and your grand-daughter keep looking at me like you’re seeing something I don’t.” Sally snapped the lid on the container and tucked it in the refrigerator. Secured with flower-shaped magnets to the front door of the appliance were pictures taken over the past year—Wyatt riding with Aimee his new bride into the sunset, a photo of the Kinnisons around a massive Christmas tree, a tradition that had been absent far too many years in the house until Aimee came along. There was a picture of Dalton, Rein, Hank, and Clay at the old hunting cabin on a fall weekend fishing trip. Her gaze lingered on Clay, grinning with a fishing pole in one hand, a beer in the other. “Anything you care to share with me?” Sally asked turning to Rebecca. “Anything I should know?” She crossed her arms over her chest and waited.
    The older woman was the picture of aging with grace. She’d always possessed an air of wisdom. Her dark eyes shone even now with it. “Seers aren’t astrologists, Sally. Sometimes things remain shadowed until they are meant to be seen.”
    Sally had seen both Rebecca and her granddaughter’s skills at work in other people’s lives, but they’d never before been directed toward her. While she had great respect for the gift and for the vessels, she wasn’t sure yet that she believed—or even wanted to, now that the cosmic light seemed to be shining down on her.
    “Well, you let me know if something becomes clear.” Sally crooked her fingers for emphasis. This had been the single strangest week of her adult life, and what had happened tonight in the barn was icing on that crazy cake. “I’m going to scoot on down to my cabin, if you don’t need me up here for anything. Thank you and please, I’d love to get your pot roast recipe from you sometime.”
    “All you really need is a good slow-cooker,” Rebecca smiled as she resumed her task.
    “All right, then. Good night.” Sally got as far as the kitchen door.
    “Sally?”
    She looked over her shoulder.
    “He’s not like the others.” Rebecca regarded her for a moment, then went back to her dishes.
    And with that, Sally headed to her cabin and a sleepless night of trying to decipher between that kiss and what Rebecca’s insight meant.
    ***
    It’d taken him a few minutes to compose himself before he could show up at dinner after that kiss. Not just from the painful tightening in his jeans, but emotionally. And that night—thinking about it maybe a hundred or so times, in conjunction with a lusty fantasy of what might have happened had they found a dark corner on a soft bed of clean straw—well,