The Cowboy's Valentine. DONNA ALWARD

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СКАЧАТЬ still had the perfect life, and the joy he felt coming home to a scene much like this one. There was the sound of something opening and closing, and the rattle of bake ware. The aroma of fresh-baked cookies reached him and his stomach growled in response.

      After hanging up his coat, he wandered to the kitchen to get his lunch out of the fridge. He’d just go eat in the office, out of Lacey’s way. It was a lonely-sounding proposition but he realized that if he stayed in her little sphere of existence, they’d probably end up arguing. They always did.

      “Don’t mind me. I’m just here to get my lunch.”

      He forgot that she had music on. That she probably hadn’t heard him come inside. But he remembered now as she squeaked and jumped with alarm, jerking the spatula which held a perfectly round, warm, chocolate chip cookie. The cookie went flying and landed with a soft splat in the middle of the kitchen floor.

      “Cripes, Quinn!” Her brows pulled together in annoyance. “Do you have to creep up on a person like that?”

      She looked so indignant he had the strangest urge to laugh. “I wasn’t trying to be quiet. I came in like I always do. I guess you didn’t hear me because of the music.”

      “Whatever.” She bent to pick up the cookie, which broke into pieces as she lifted it off the floor. She put the remnants on the counter and then went for a piece of paper towel to wipe the little dots of melted chocolate from the tile.

      Quinn went to the fridge and took out his lunch bag. “Well, if it’s any consolation, they smell great.”

      He turned around and headed back towards the hall.

      “Where are you going?”

      He paused and looked over his shoulder. “I was going to eat in the office.”

      “Is that where you normally eat?”

      He didn’t know how to answer. He usually grabbed his lunch, made himself a coffee, used the microwave if he had leftovers to heat. Today he had leftover spaghetti, which he’d planned to eat cold.

      “I assume your lack of a fast reply means no. You normally use the kitchen, don’t you?”

      He sighed. “Sometimes.”

      “Truly, Quinn, I don’t want you to alter your routine for me. Pretend I’m not here.”

      It was pretty hard to pretend because she was there, with her burnished curls caught up in a ponytail, her blue eyes snapping at him. He noticed, not for the first time, that she had the faintest dusting of freckles over the bridge of her nose. Duke was thirty, so that had to make her, what, twenty-eight or so?

      Twenty-eight, with a career job behind her, married, divorced. Quinn was thirty-three, and he knew exactly how life could age a person so that numbers were insignificant. He tried to remember that Lacey had faced her share of troubles. Duke had made it plain that the family wasn’t too impressed that her ex had walked out on her.

      He went back and put his lunch bag on the island, unzipped it and took out the plastic container holding his lunch. “Do you mind if I use the microwave?”

      She rolled her eyes. “What did I just say?”

      Saucy. At least she was consistent.

      He popped the container in the microwave and started it up, then stood awkwardly waiting for it to beep. Meanwhile, Lacey finished removing the cookies from the pan and began dropping batter by the spoonful on the parchment.

      His stomach growled again.

      When his meal was hot, he took it to the kitchen table—no laptop in sight now—and got out his knife and fork. The pasta didn’t look as appetizing as it might have. He was an adequate cook only, but he was getting better. Trying new things now and again. The trouble was that by the time he got Amber from day care, he had to cook stuff that was relatively fast if they hoped to eat before her bath time.

      He was nearly through when Lacey put a small plate beside him and a glass of milk.

      “Uh, thanks,” he said, looking up. She was smiling down at him, and for the first time there was no attitude in her expression.

      “I’d be pretty heartless if I didn’t offer you fresh cookies,” she said. “Besides, I don’t dare eat them all myself. I’m counting on you and Duke to eat the lion’s share.”

      She went back to the sink and ran soapy water to wash the dishes.

      Quinn bit into a cookie and sighed in appreciation. God, the woman knew how to cook. He’d realized that at Thanksgiving and then again at Christmas when she’d bustled in with all her bossiness. He and Amber had both enjoyed the home-cooked meals they’d shared here at the ranch. It had actually stung his pride a little when Amber asked if they could go back to “Uncle Duke’s” because Lacey was there and doing a lot of the family cooking along with their mother, Helen.

      “They turn out okay?” Lacey called from the sink, her hands immersed in the water. “I didn’t have my recipe with me and went from memory.”

      He bit back a sarcastic comment. Why did she push his buttons so? Instead he reminded himself that she’d gone out of her way to be nice. To be accommodating. “They’re delicious,” he replied honestly. “Maybe the best chocolate chip cookie I’ve ever had.”

      She dried her hands on a dish towel, then grabbed a cookie and her coffee cup and joined him at the table. “Can I tell you a secret, Quinn?”

      They were sharing confidences now?

      “Um, sure. I guess.”

      She bit into the cookie, chewed thoughtfully and swallowed. “I bake when I’m stressed. I think it’s a combination of things, from focusing on something other than what’s going on, to the process of making something and maybe even the aromas. They’re comforting smells, you know?”

      He did know. He missed them around his place, and the absence of them sometimes made his chest ache.

      “You’re stressed?”

      She broke off another piece of cookie. “Of course I am. Know what they said when I packed up my desk at the office? ‘Oh, no, who’s going to bring us treats all the time?’ I mean, it’s been better up until a few months ago, but when Carter first left...”

      Right. Carter. That was the bastard’s name.

      “When Carter left it was weird, being all alone. We’d planned to be together forever, you know?”

      His last bite of cookie swelled in his throat as a heavy silence fell over the table.

      “Oh, God,” she whispered, and to his surprise she put her hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry. That was so thoughtless of me. Of course you know.”

      He forced the cookie down and looked up at her. Her eyes were soft with sympathy and understanding and her hand was still on his wrist. Something passed between them, something that, for a flash, felt like shared grief. It was gone in the blink of an eye, but it had been there. He got the feeling that she understood more than he realized. Still, could divorce be as bad as a spouse dying? As bad as a child without a mother?

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