Colton Cowboy Protector. Beth Cornelison

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СКАЧАТЬ you can sit by me!” Seth said, patting the seat of the chair where Jack usually sat. His son blinked up at him. “Is that okay, Daddy?”

      Jack paused, his hand on the back of the chair. “Oh...uh, sure.” He pulled the seat out for her and helped her push up to the table before taking the only spot left, across the table from his son.

      After Maria brought out their dinner, the family bowed their heads to say grace. When the prayer ended, Jack glanced across the table, and his gaze met Tracy’s and held for a few lingering seconds. A pink flush filled her cheeks, and he felt his own body temperature rise.

      Clearly, his libido recognized that Tracy McCain was an attractive woman. But his head wasn’t ready to trust her.

      “Tell us about yourself, Miss McCain,” Big J said.

      His father’s voice broke the spell that had kept her staring back at Jack for long seconds. She jerked her attention to the end of the table as Big J passed a tray of roasted chicken and vegetables to her. Jack noticed that his father’s hand shook a bit, adding to his earlier impression that Big J seemed uncharacteristically worn out this evening.

      “I don’t know that there’s much to tell. I live in Denver, but I grew up outside of Colorado Springs and graduated from Colorado State with a degree in communications.”

      “Communications, huh?” Big J grunted. “And what are you doing with that degree?”

      “Well, nothing at the moment. My husband didn’t want me to work, and since his death, I haven’t had much luck finding a job.”

      Jack paused with the serving spoon of wild rice hovering over his plate as his eyes lifted to Tracy again. She was unemployed? That lent credence to his theory that she was after money.

      “You’re a widow?” Greta asked, her tone soft and sympathetic. “I’m so sorry.”

      “What’s a widow?” Seth asked, his mouth full of chicken.

      “It means her husband passed away,” Abra said quietly, when no one else spoke.

      “Oh.” Seth tucked into his dinner again, but Jack wasn’t sure his son understood his grandmother’s euphemism.

      When Seth picked his chicken leg up with his hands and took a big bite, Abra scowled. “You have a fork, Seth. Please use it.”

      “Oh, sorry.” He gave her a chagrined look and earned another frown when he wiped his greasy hands on the cloth napkin.

      “Can I help you cut your meat?” Tracy offered, reaching for his knife.

      Jack opened his mouth to tell Tracy that Seth could cut his own meat, but Seth beamed up at her and nodded. “Sure. Thanks.”

      Where was his I-can-do-it-myself son? Seth had insisted on cutting his own meat since he was three years old. Jack watched, fascinated, as Tracy doted on him—helping serve him rice and peas, cut his meat and tuck his napkin in his lap—and Seth soaked up the coddling.

      “How did your husband die?” Greta asked.

      “Greta!” Abra scolded in a hushed tone.

      “If you don’t mind my asking...” Jack’s sister added.

      Jack had impertinent questions of his own. He needed to know more about Tracy and her history, her family connections, if he was to be prepared to protect his son.

      Tracy flashed Greta an awkward smile, obviously uneasy with the question. She stared at her plate a moment, idly rearranging her English peas before answering.

      He recalled their conversation in the stable earlier today. He was shanked the second night he was in jail...

      “Car accident,” she said quietly.

      Jack’s pulse kicked at the lie. Or was what she’d told him in the stable the lie? Either way, he’d caught her in a deception and intended to confront her about it. Later. He didn’t want Seth to be a witness to any story she might invent to weasel out of the snare she’d caught herself in.

      “How awful. I’m so sorry.” Greta, seated on their guest’s left side, placed a comforting hand on Tracy’s wrist.

      “Wait,” Brett said, screwing his face in a frown of confusion. “Didn’t Laura die in a car accident? And she was your cousin, right?”

      Tracy turned her face toward Brett, and the color leaked from her cheeks. “Yes.”

      Jack kicked his brother under the table, and Brett cut a side glare back at him. Jack had told Seth his mother had died right after he was born, and Brett’s thoughtless comment threatened to expose the white lie. Clearing his throat and sending his brother a meaningful look, Jack said, “But that was a long time ago. Let’s not talk about that now, huh?”

      Tracy sent him a curious frown. “Not that long ago. Six months. Wh—”

      “So, Greta, have you had any luck breaking that new colt we bought at the auction last month?” Jack asked, eager to change the subject before Seth caught on. The fact that he’d nearly been caught in a lie of his own didn’t escape Jack, even if he could justify the disinformation he’d told Seth as being in his son’s best interests.

      “Jack,” Greta said through clenched teeth, her manicured eyebrows dipping low in disapproval. “You interrupted Tracy.”

      He waved a fork toward their guest. “Oh, sorry,” he said, though his tone contradicted him. “You were saying?”

      Tracy gave her head a shake. “Forget it.” She seemed glad to have the topic diverted from her, and faced Greta. “You train horses?”

      Greta arched one scolding eyebrow at Jack, but nodded to Tracy. “I do. I work with the more difficult animals on the ranch and recently started taking clients who want a kinder method of training. I use operant conditioning and positive reinforcement instead of punishment and have had great success with even the most spirited animals.” A grin tugged her cheek. “That’s how I met Mark. He was a client.”

      Tracy smiled politely. “How wonderful.”

      “Did you ever see the movie The Horse Whisperer, Miss McCain?” Abra asked.

      Tracy nodded. “Beautiful cinematography.”

      “I agree. Well, our Greta does much the same thing Robert Redford did in the movie.” Abra gave her daughter a formal smile. “The term horse whisperer is more of a colloquialism than an official term, but you get the idea. Yes?”

      “Sure.”

      “Can you ride a horse, Miss Tracy?” Seth asked, tugging at her arm.

      “Well, I rode a pony at a fair when I was a kid, and I went on a trail ride once in Rocky Mountain National Park with my family as a teenager, but I’m not sure that counts.”

      “It’s something,” Greta said.

      At the same time, Brett chuckled. “Hardly.”

      Tracy divided a grin between СКАЧАТЬ