“Well, I promise not to humiliate my animals with clothing. They can romp through the mesquite without having to worry if they tear their tutu, and they can sprawl out on the porch in the summertime strip stark naked. And you can bet your cowboy butt that I’m not having a real or fake mink time-out chair for them.”
“Somehow I can’t see Noel in a mink bed.” He chuckled.
Sage put the last kitten back in the basket and scooted across the floor to Noel’s blanket. The giggles had subsided and she didn’t have the hiccups that time. “My girl is happy with her frayed blanket, aren’t you?”
Noel wagged her tail and slurped her tongue across Sage’s cheek like it was a snow cone.
“Snow ice cream,” Sage said.
“A dog’s slobbers reminded you of snow ice cream?”
“No, I just remembered that we’ve got to make it. The snow is clean right now, but in a day or two it’ll all be nasty. We’ve got to bring in a bowl of good clean snow and make ice cream.”
“Oh, yeah!” Creed agreed. “Just tell me when and I’ll go get the snow for you. Do you have a special recipe? My momma uses whipping cream, milk and eggs, and vanilla. Do we have all that stuff here?”
“I thought you were cold.”
“I am, but I don’t mind stepping out the back door and getting some snow. I’m just glad you weren’t talking about building a snow cone stand for our snow family. I’m dishing it up, so come and get it while it’s hot. I’m talking about this stew, not snow ice cream.”
“My snow family would probably appreciate a snow cone stand. They do need something to keep them occupied other than kissing under the mistletoe all the time. And yes, I do have a special recipe. It’s an old family one that we never share, so don’t even ask. You might talk Grand into selling the ranch, cowboy, but my ice cream recipe isn’t up for sale.”
She left Noel, washed her hands at the kitchen sink, and sat down at the table. “This smells even better reheated.”
He sat down across from her, pulled his chair up, and their knees bumped together. “Soup, stew, and beans all get better toward the end of the pot. Maybe we’ll make a pot of beans and ham tomorrow. And fried potatoes.”
She nodded because all the words in her head were suddenly gone. Only two layers of denim separated her knees from Creed’s. The steaming bowl of soup in front of her was actually cold compared to the heat generated between them.
Then he shifted his chair and it was gone.
She moved her knee a little, couldn’t hook up with his, and was searching under the table for his leg when she realized what she was doing. She jerked her hand back faster than if she’d touched a hot iron, and high color blazed in her cheeks.
Whoa, hoss! You’ve got to slow this buggy down. Four days, Sage Presley, and have you forgotten this is the man who’s going to buy the ranch? You are supposed to hate him and discourage him from wanting to live in the canyon.
She blew on a spoonful of soup. But maybe he could work for Lawton and I could still see him. There are other small ranches in the canyon that he could buy.
She realized she wanted to have her cake sitting all pretty on the table and eat a big chunk of it too. Life didn’t work that way. Either preserve the past and keep the cake, or get a knife and slice into it.
“Hey, what are you thinking about? It looks like you’ve got a war going on in your head,” Creed said from across the table.
“Whether to buy Noel a pink or red sweater. Since it is Christmas and she does have a holiday name, I was thinking red. What do you think?” she joked to keep from spitting out what she’d really been thinking about.
“Ask her. She’s the one who’ll have to wear it,” Creed said.
“How old are you?” Sage asked bluntly.
“I might ask you the same thing, but a gentleman never asks a woman about her age or weight.”
“I was twenty-six in September. I went to college for two years, came home, and started painting full time, sold a few, and then got a fantastic break when my professor dropped my name to a gallery owner in Denver. What I weigh is between me and the bathroom scales, and if they ever start talking, I will take the hammer to them. Your turn.”
Creed laid his spoon down. “I was twenty-eight on the first day of October. I have a bachelor’s degree in agricultural business. All I’ve ever known is ranching and farming. Like you already know, I was engaged once, and I’ve sworn off permanent relationships. What about your love life, Sage?”
“I love painting. Seems that men have this crazy notion that I’ve got commitment issues.”
“Imagine that.”
Sage didn’t want to talk about the big, dark C word, so she changed the subject. “Don’t eat too much. You’ll want to save room for ice cream, and besides, Noel looks like she’s still hungry.”
“That’s the first step toward a mink-lined bed in the corner. Feeding the dog,” he quoted the last word with two fingers on each hand in the air, “the good stew and going hungry yourself.”
“The bathroom scales would argue with you that I’m not about to waste away to nothing,” she said.
“I think you are just right, Sage. Matter-of-fact, my Grandpa Riley had a way of describing a woman like you.”
Sage didn’t know if she wanted to hear what his grandpa would say about a woman who was too tall and who was too hippie and whose smile looked like a dental chart (compliments of a remark made by Triston Jones in the fourth grade).
“Well,
