No, not her husband, but his worst enemy, she realized, sinking back against the pillows and drawing the covers up. The gesture was partly because it was cold, but also a halfhearted attempt to hide, to pretend that just outside her door nothing was different. Burrowing under the covers had been her way of trying to escape notice since childhood, when she hadn’t wanted to leave the warmth and safety of home to go to school.
Of course, that had all changed once she had had the Calamity Janes in her life. From then on there had been no hiding. She had been anxious to get to school each morning to see what adventure Cassie had dreamed up overnight, or what treat Gina had baked in her ongoing experiments with recipes.
But that was then. Things were a whole lot more complicated in her life now. She had plenty of reasons to hide, and the most disturbing one was currently in her kitchen.
She snuggled under the quilt her mother had made for her as a wedding present and tried to imagine what it must be like outside this morning. The sun was already up, its brilliance pouring through the windows, casting fingers of warmth and light across the room. The wind had died down. In fact, it was perfectly still, as if the snow were absorbing sound.
When the scent of coffee was joined by that of bacon sizzling, Karen could no longer resist. She couldn’t think of the last time someone had had breakfast on the table for her. That had always been her task, while Caleb was out tending to the animals. This time of year she had made oatmeal with raisins and warm milk to go along with the eggs and bacon Caleb had insisted on.
She pulled on thermal underwear and jeans, then deliberately chose another of Caleb’s flannel shirts.
After she’d brushed her teeth, washed her face and combed her hair, she caught sight of a seldom-used bottle of perfume on the counter. What harm could there be in a little spritz? It wasn’t vanity, she assured herself. Or an attempt to be alluring for Grady. It was just a little scent of lilacs to remind her of spring.
She added heavy socks, then did a haphazard job of making her bed before bracing herself and heading downstairs to find her boots…and whatever else awaited.
As she approached the kitchen, she felt amazingly ill at ease, as uncertain as if the night had been far more intimate and this was the uncomfortable morning after. In some ways it was worse, because the desire had been there, shimmering between them, but they had carefully ignored it.
Hovering just outside the kitchen door, her boots in hand, she watched Grady at work at the stove, his movements efficient and confident. It was a revelation to her after a father and a husband who’d never shared in household chores. Seeing Grady deftly flip a pancake only added to his masculinity. It certainly didn’t diminish it as her father and Caleb believed it might if they lowered themselves to help in the kitchen.
“You might as well come on in,” Grady said without turning around, amusement threading through his voice.
“Do you have eyes in the back of your head?” she grumbled, stepping into the kitchen, dropping her boots onto the floor and reaching for a mug. “I know you didn’t hear me. The floor didn’t creak once.”
“Nope. I smelled the scent of lilacs. Given the time of year and the weather, it had to be you.”
He turned, coffeepot in hand, to fill her cup. His warm gaze rested on her in a way that left her feeling oddly breathless. He was so at home in her kitchen, so at ease, for an instant she almost felt as if this were his house and she was the guest.
“Did you sleep well?” he asked.
Karen smiled at the question.
“You find that amusing?”
She nodded. “I was just thinking that you look as if you’ve made yourself at home. Now you’re inquiring about my night as a good host would.”
He grinned. “I notice you’re not inquiring about mine, so I’ll tell you. I slept very well. Had some fascinating dreams, too.”
Her breath snagged. “Oh?”
“Shall I tell you about them?” he inquired, a wicked twinkle in his eyes.
“Why don’t we leave them to my imagination,” she said.
He shrugged. “It’s up to you, but they certainly kept me warm.”
“Grady!”
He chuckled. “Okay, I won’t tease. How many pancakes can you eat?”
She eyed the size of them. They were twice as big around as the ones she made. “Two,” she decided.
“Bacon?”
She glanced at the plate and saw that he’d fried half a dozen strips. “Two strips.”
He studied her. “Two eggs also?”
“Nope. Only one.”
“Good. I was worried you were getting into a rut.”
“I probably am,” she admitted, thinking about the sameness of her life the last ten years. “But food’s the least of it.”
Grady fixed his own plate and sat down opposite her. “Can I ask you a question?”
She feigned shock. “You’re asking permission? It must be a doozy.”
“It is personal,” he conceded. “And you may not want to talk about it, not to me, anyway.”
Now he’d stirred her curiosity. “Ask,” she said.
“Do you regret marrying Caleb?” When she started to react with indignation, he held up his hand. “No, wait. I don’t mean Caleb specifically, I guess. I know you loved him. I mean do you regret sacrificing all those things you’d hoped to do by marrying a rancher?”
There was less to offend in the way he’d rephrased the question. She took a sip of her coffee and considered it thoughtfully.
“You’re right. I did give up a lot,” she conceded eventually. “I had so many ambitious dreams.”
“About traveling?”
“Travel, adventure, education. Not education as in school, but the kind of learning that comes with seeing places and meeting people. I wanted to feel history by standing in the middle of Westminster Abbey or Trafalgar Square, or standing on the
