“Your mom teach you to do that?”
Reed nodded through the familiar hitch in his chest. Even after all these years, he couldn’t help but react whenever he talked about his mother. Which wasn’t often. “She did.”
Katrina’s voice lowered. “How old were you when it happened?”
He pretended to misunderstand the question. “When she taught me to cook pancakes?”
“When she died,” Katrina clarified.
He kept his voice even. “Seventeen.”
There was a silent pause.
“I remember she was beautiful,” said Katrina.
“She was,” he agreed. And she’d been kind and gentle, and far too delicate to be toiling in the wilds of Colorado ranch country. Not unlike Katrina.
“You mind talking about her?”
Reed bought himself a moment by flipping the pancake. “I don’t mind,” he lied.
“It must have been hard.”
“It was.”
“And then Caleb left.”
“What are you trying to ask me?” Reed would rather get to the point and get out of this conversation.
She shrugged. “I’m not sure. How it impacted you, losing such a big part of your family all at once. If you were lonely.”
“Were you lonely?” he asked her, instead of answering.
“Huh?”
“You left your family.”
She nodded but didn’t elaborate. A few seconds later, she wrapped both hands around the handle of the frying pan and dumped the next pancake onto the plate.
“You want to try?” he offered, relieved to move on to something more mundane.
“Sure.” She accepted the spoon, doled out the batter and tipped the pan.
“Well done.” He smiled.
“I was lonely,” she admitted, setting the pan back down on the heat.
He clenched his jaw. So much for letting the maudlin stuff go.
“I was only ten years old,” Katrina continued, eyes taking on a faraway expression. “For a while there, I really wanted to come home. But Auntie Coco talked me out of it. She was a pistol. No matter how much the other kids teased me, no matter how hard the studies or the dancing, no matter how much I missed my mom, she’d tell me to keep my chin up, my head clear and try just a little bit harder.”
Reed found himself engaging. “What was the most difficult part?”
Katrina turned to face him, and it hit him just how close together they were standing. “What was the most difficult part for you?”
He gazed into her eyes, debating whether to lie. For so many years now, whenever he was asked about his father, he’d glossed over Wilton’s cruelty. It was an ingrained reflex. But he found he didn’t want to lie to Katrina.
“That my father was junkyard-dog mean.”
Her delicate brows went up.
“He was dictatorial, demanding and ruthless. He yelled at me every day of my life, hit me and nearly worked me to death for ten long years.” Reed reached around her and flipped the next pancake.
“Are you serious?” Katrina’s voice was a horrified whisper.
“I am.”
“But why didn’t you leave? Caleb left. Couldn’t you have-”
“And let Wilton win?”
Katrina paused. “So, you were taking a stand?”
“I was.”
She seemed to ponder his words.
“You think I was nuts.” He’d sure heard enough of that reaction from Caleb.
But Katrina gave her head a slow shake. “I’m envious.” Moving in what seemed like slow motion, she reached up to brush her fingertips along his bicep.
His muscle contracted under her touch, and it was all he could do to hold himself still.
She tipped her chin and met his gaze. “I admire you. There are days when I wish I could tell the world to go to hell and back it up with brute strength.”
The urge to haul her into his arms was so powerful, that he had either to move away or give in. He used retrieving the next pancake as an excuse. “Hungry?”
Her hesitation lasted only a split second. “Starving.”
“Bring the plates,” he instructed. “And some forks.” He transferred the pancakes and the bottle of maple syrup to the small table near the center of the room. He moved the oil lamp to make room for the dishes, and its light bounced off the scars that had been gouged into the wooden tabletop over many long years of use.
She joined him, taking one of the two chairs that weren’t being used as clothing racks.
He sat down and pulled in his chair. “It’s not exactly the Ritz.”
She gave an exaggerated pout. “You mean no caviar and champagne?”
Using his fork, he transferred two of the pancakes to her plate, then he pushed the bottle of syrup her way. “And the wine pairings leave something to be desired.”
She blinked at him over the soft yellow lamplight. “You surprise me when you do that.”
“Do what?” Deciding it didn’t make sense to use up another plate, he moved his clean one back to the counter and shifted the serving platter with the remaining two pancakes in front of him.
She watched his movements until he sat down. “When you talk about wine pairings and Dior.”
“You are such a snob.”
“I’m not,” she protested, hand resting on her fork, showing no signs of getting started on the meal.
Since she wasn’t using the syrup, he poured some of it on his own pancakes then pushed it back to her.
“You’ve spent your entire life on a ranch in Colorado,” she elaborated.
He cut into the tender pancake. “Do you honestly think you’re making it better?”
“Okay. How do you know about wine pairings?”
He reached across the table and drizzled the syrup on her pancakes. No sense in letting the things get cold. “How do
“Fine restaurants, parties, I read a little.”
He gave a chuckle. “Me, too.”
“But-”
“I’ve been to Denver and Seattle, even as far as L.A. I once toured a vineyard in the Napa Valley. Get over it and eat your pancakes.”
She ignored his instruction. “Really? You toured a vineyard?”
“Surprised they let me in?” He took a bite. He wasn’t about to sit here and starve waiting for her.
“You’re twisting my words.”
“I don’t need to twist them to make you sound like a snob, princess. You’re doing that all by yourself.”
“You surprised me.” To her credit, she did sound contrite.
“Apparently,” he allowed.
She glanced down at her plate then inhaled deeply. “These really do smell great.”
“Taste them. They’re pretty good.”
She cut tentatively into one with her fork. “It’s been years since I’ve had maple syrup.”
“Welcome to the wild side.”
“I probably don’t need two.”
“You probably do.”
She lifted her fork to her mouth. “Here we go.”
He couldn’t believe she was making such a production out of it. But finally, she took a bite, chewed and swallowed.
