“I’ll get my things and get dressed.” She pushed back her chair and headed out of the kitchen.
His robe only came to her knees, and her hips curved out from her small waist where she’d roped the belt tightly. She whipped the towel from her hair, and just looking at her long legs, her bare feet, and all that tangled, damp hair made his heart throw in an extra beat. He’d love to untie that robe, watch it fall into a puddle at her feet, and then scoop her up in his arms and carry her to his bed.
If he was lucky, maybe that would happen someday.
She carried her clothes straight to the bathroom and emerged five minutes later, fully dressed except for shoes. Her long hair had been brushed and drawn up into a still damp ponytail. She reminded him of one of those Greek goddesses that had stepped forward in time to the twenty-first century. He might not be able to untie the belt or slip the robe off her shoulders at the moment, but the muddy yard gave him every excuse to carry her to the truck.
The rain had finally stopped. They stepped out onto the porch, and without asking permission, he took a step forward, picked her up like a new bride, and said, “No need for you to get your feet muddy.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever been…” She gasped.
“Then, darlin’, you’ve must have been dating the wrong guys.”
Chapter 6
On Tuesday Becca hit the ground running and didn’t stop until it was almost dark. She was dragging by the time she made it back home. She plopped down on the sofa the minute she got into the living room. Both kittens climbed the arm of the sofa like it was a tree and walked across the back until they reached her. Then they used her ponytail for a batting toy.
“Did you see Dalton today?” Greta asked.
“Nope,” she answered. “He’s been in the hayfield all day. They got a second cutting on one of the big pastures. He texted me a few times. Grammie, I like him a lot, but…”
“Honey, you listen to your heart. If it tells you to walk away, then do it. If your heart tells you to stick with it, then do that. Ain’t a one of us old ladies or any of your young friends can give you solid advice on love. I like the cowboy. He’s got a helluva bad reputation when it comes to lovin’ and leavin’, but…” Greta shrugged.
“But what?” Becca pushed for more.
“But he looks at you like my Seamus looked at me. It might sound crazy to you, but it means something to me. Now, get on in there and dip you up a plate full of corned beef and cabbage. You look like you’re on your last leg. A little nourishment will be good for you.” Greta pointed toward the kitchen.
“Yes, ma’am.” Both kittens had already climbed to Becca’s shoulder and were curling up to take a nap. She set them on the floor and headed toward the kitchen. “Hey, did I tell you that Dalton can cook, and that he makes great cookies?”
“My Seamus liked to help me in the kitchen. His meat pies were the best in the world. I never have been able to make pie crust as good as his.” Greta raised her voice.
Becca dipped up a bowl full of food and carried it to the living room. “We’re making cookies on Thursday night.”
“That’s a good thing,” Greta said. “You need to spend time with him, so your old heart knows what to tell you to do. How would it know whether this is a real thing or just a passin’ fancy if you avoid him like you’ve done since you got here?”
“I needed time to figure out whether I was going to go back to Nashville to give it one more year,” she answered. “Besides, I’d heard that all he was interested in was a good time.”
“You still yearnin’ after that dream of singin’?” Greta asked.
“No, I’m pretty content now where I am,” Becca said. “Why? Are you wantin’ me to get out of your house so you can flirt with some old guy?”
“Bloody hell, no!” Greta gasped. “I love havin’ you here, and I gave my Seamus my whole heart. Ain’t nothin’ left to give another man.”
Becca wanted that kind of thing for her own—someday. She wasn’t in a hurry to find it by any means, but she didn’t intend to settle down to a permanent relationship with anything less than what Grammie had had with her Seamus.
* * *
Wednesday crawled by like a snail in a foot of snow on the way to a funeral. Every time Dalton looked at the clock, only thirty seconds had passed. Thursday was even worse. He helped the hired hands repair fence all day, and yet time seemed to stand still.
Finally, the day ground to an end. He rushed home, took a quick shower, shaved, and then got into his truck and drove into town to pick up Becca. Without a doubt, he’d just spent the longest three days of his life, and if he could avoid it, he’d never go that long without seeing Becca again. He’d proven that out of sight, out of mind was a crock of bullshit.
She was sitting on the porch when he arrived. She was wearing a cute little dress with strings for straps, and a pair of sandals. Strands of her hair had escaped the messy knot on top of her head. Just looking at her made his mouth go as dry as if he’d just bitten down on a green persimmon. She picked up her purse and a paper bag and started toward the truck. He jumped out of the truck and rushed around to open the door for her. A whiff of her perfume—something with a hint of vanilla—sent his senses reeling.
“You sure are
