“I did meet the right one,” she said. “And our marriage was short, but I’m ready to just be alone.”
“I’m the one guy who can understand that.”
Yes, he was, wasn’t he? They might have different views of the value of marriage, but they both agreed on their desire to avoid it.
They exchanged a look, and Jane laughed softly. “I’ll make a deal with you, Colt Hardin. We’ll never try to set each other up, and if there are any big family gatherings, we’ll sit together so we have someone to talk to without any pressure.”
“I just avoid the big family gatherings, but your idea isn’t bad,” he said with a chuckle.
“We might end up friends yet, Colt,” she said, pulling a long-handled spoon from a drawer and giving the pot a stir.
Colt didn’t answer, but when she looked over her shoulder, she saw him tossing an apple into a lunch bag, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He glanced up, met her gaze and she saw the sparkle of humor in his dark eyes.
“Turn up the heat, or that pot will take a year to boil,” he said.
Yes, they might end up friends yet. She’d been longing for a family, and she couldn’t exactly be choosy. These were her daughter’s relatives, and she’d make the best of it.
Colt could feel her eyes on him as he turned back to packing the last of the bag lunches. She made him feel uncomfortably aware of her presence in the kitchen—the soft tink of the spoon against the side of the pot as she dipped it in for a quick stir, the softness of her pale hand as she tucked away a stray tendril of dark hair. Even in that ridiculous hair net she looked beautiful. Was it okay to notice that if they were both agreed on their unwillingness to get into a relationship?
It was a relief to know that she wasn’t looking for marriage, either. It took the pressure off. He was so used to fending off the advances of single women in Creekside that it was oddly liberating to be standing in the kitchen with a woman he didn’t have to disappoint.
He folded the last lunch bag and lined them up in a tray. He should go—she could take care of the rest. That was why she was here in this kitchen, after all, to free him up to do his own work.
“Okay, I should—” he started.
“Oh! It’s boiling!” Jane interjected. “I need a longer spoon than this. Is there one?”
“Yeah, hold on,” Colt said.
Colt crossed the kitchen and pulled open a drawer that had ladles and serving spoons, but not what he was looking for.
“Hold this,” Jane said, handing him her current spoon and pulling open the drawer next to the one he’d been looking in. She was right—that’s where they were.
“Is this bigger?” She held one up. “Nope.”
Back into the drawer she went, and Colt stood there watching her. He wasn’t supposed to be hanging out in the kitchen with this beautiful interloper.
“Here we go,” she said, and she held up a wooden spoon with a longer handle. “This will work. Sorry, you probably didn’t need to hold that.”
Colt laughed softly and dropped it into the sink. “You sure you’ll be okay here?”
“I’ll sort it out,” she replied with a shrug.
Outside the kitchen window, it was still dark. He couldn’t make out any details, since most of what he could see was the kitchen reflected back at him. But across the gravel parking area he could see a couple more lights come on in the bunk house, piercing through his own reflection.
“If you need anything, you can call me on my cell,” he said. “The guys are nothing to worry about. They’ll eat up and go.”
“Okay.” She glanced over, smiled.
“Okay,” he repeated, then cleared his throat. “I’ll...um...see you later, then.”
“Yep. See you.”
Colt headed back over to the tray of packed lunches and picked it up. It wasn’t heavy so much as awkward, and he balanced it with both hands as he headed out the swinging door to the side table where those bagged lunches always waited. He set down the tray and glanced over his shoulder once more toward that kitchen door that was still swinging its way back to a resting position. It would be easier to dismiss her if she weren’t quite so attractive. And he didn’t mean that in a strictly physical sense, either. Because she was definitely pretty, but she was the kind of woman who made him want to hang around and hold spoons if that was what it took to spend a few more minutes with her. He’d have to practice a whole lot more self-control than this.
Work was waiting. He’d leave her to her job and get to his.
The day was a busy one, and by noon, Colt had three responses to his online posting for a cook. That was a quick turnaround, and he was grateful for it. Two of the applicants had only minor cooking experience, but the third had all the qualifications he was looking for. Colt gave him a call and asked him in for an interview at three.
Paul Vich was an older guy, dressed neatly with a bristly gray mustache. He came up the drive in an old Ford ten minutes early. Colt drove him down to the canteen for the interview in his ranch truck, leaving Paul’s truck parked up by the house. The dining room was empty, and when he glanced into the kitchen, Jane was
