The Reluctant Rancher. Leigh Riker

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СКАЧАТЬ gaze kept straying to her. He could still feel that briefest touch of her lips to his face yesterday. To Blossom it had meant nothing, he supposed, no more than a friendly gesture—as if to say she knew how hard Nicky’s surprise visit had been for him—but it had been a while since a woman had touched him even like that.

      He ran through an imaginary preflight checklist to refocus his thoughts and tried to keep his eyes on the road instead of on Blossom.

      Neither spoke until they were at the edge of town.

      “The kitten needs a name,” she said.

      He could tell she’d been turning that subject over in her mind the whole way, as if she’d decided it was the only safe topic they might discuss. “Thought we agreed. We don’t name the animals.”

      “I bet Sam does.”

      “Yeah, well,” he conceded. “But barn cats are different.”

      “I know. They don’t always stay around. Maybe they would,” she added, “if they did have names. If they felt a part of the ranch instead of just coming and going.”

      Like me, he thought.

      Logan glanced at her again—and nearly rear-ended the car in front of him on Main Street. The big flashy SUV likely belonged to a spring tourist who didn’t know it sometimes snowed here even in April or one of the wealthy out-of-towners who’d settled in Barren in one of those monstrous log homes on ten-acre “ranches” that made them feel like true Westerners.

      “Are you really talking about the cats?”

      She blinked. “Excuse me?”

      “Philadelphia,” he said, swinging the truck into an angled parking spot that had just opened up halfway down the street. “You left home. For some reason.”

      “I wanted to see the world,” she said, but Logan didn’t believe her. According to Blossom herself, she’d already seen plenty of it.

      In front of the ag store, he cut the engine. “All right, we’ll save that for later. I’m going in here to order supplies, get some feed. The market’s right across the street. When you’re done with the groceries, I can roll over to pick you up.”

      “How long?”

      “An hour, maybe? Like a lot of guys I tend to get lost in the aisles, trying out this gadget and that.” His mind should be on getting back to Wichita, not on farm equipment or a woman he had no business even thinking about except, he reminded himself, as an employee.

      Or maybe he was just delaying their return to the ranch.

      And the isolation that always reminded him of losing the people he loved.

      “I might have another errand to do,” she said.

      “Take your time.”

      * * *

      IT TOOK BLOSSOM a while to reach the far end of Main Street, not because the street was that long but because she kept stopping to look in store windows. And to bask in the spring sunshine, letting the still-cool air blow through her hair.

      She glanced back toward the agriculture store. Logan had disappeared inside.

      The little town of Barren was a far cry from Philly—it was no more than this one street and a few surrounding blocks, from what she’d seen—and most of the area’s population probably lived on ranches like the Circle H. That suited Blossom just fine. She was anonymous here, another bonus.

      A smile crossed her lips. She couldn’t imagine Ken here in his fancy suit that had cost thousands of dollars, his silk ties and custom-made white shirts, not to mention his pricey shoes. He’d stick out all right. The local dress code seemed to be jeans and boots and, of course, the ubiquitous cowboy hat.

      Logan hadn’t worn one today, but then he didn’t seem to consider himself a cowboy. A jet pilot, he’d told her, and his job was as far from ranching as she was from Philadelphia and Ken. No wonder Logan looked uncomfortable on the Circle H.

      In front of a pet store, she gazed at the window display. A red dog collar studded with silver adorned the neck of a stuffed black-and-white border collie. A herding dog. Blossom had seen several of them at the Circle H but only from a distance. We don’t name the animals. They weren’t family pets any more than the little no-name kitten was, at least in Logan’s view.

      Unable to resist, Blossom stepped inside the store. From the cat department in the rear, she bought a couple of toys—a mouse with catnip inside, a fishing-pole type thing with feathers at the end—then a dish with a goldfish design and, finally, a small pink beaded collar with a bell to warn the birds.

      Outside again, she strolled along the paved walkway, humming to herself.

      A few doors down, a children’s apparel shop looked too enticing to be passed by, even when she shouldn’t keep Logan waiting. He’d said not to hurry, but Ken had been good at laying traps like that to spring on her without warning.

      Carrying her pet-store bag, she went in.

      “Good morning.” A clerk came forward. “May I help you find something?”

      “Oh, no. Thank you. Is it all right if I just look around?”

      The woman smiled. “Of course. Take your time,” she said as Logan had.

      Blossom wasn’t used to dallying. With her father she didn’t dare, and when Ken said jump, she’d asked how high—at least in her mind. Her daily routine in Philly had come to be very structured and, ultimately, confining. She’d even quit her first job there to have more time at “home” to meet Ken’s demanding standards, and it wasn’t often—or hadn’t been until now—that she could simply enjoy part of a morning doing what she liked.

      The clerk, who trailed her through the shop, clearly wanted to chat. She had no other customers. Or did she expect Blossom to shoplift from one of the displays? In the next instant she had her answer.

      “Do you live here?” the woman asked. “I haven’t seen you before.”

      And in small towns, people noticed. She’d gathered that right away from a few curious glances she’d gotten on the street. Blossom would bet the woman knew everyone around here by name.

      “I’m passing through,” she admitted with a twinge of regret. What if she’d grown up in a town like this one on a ranch like the Circle H? In a house she could truly call her own?

      She explored a rack of oh-so-small baby clothes mostly in blue then, moving on, a set of cream-colored shelves that held silver mugs, little spoons and picture frames. The baby in one photograph made her heart turn over. “What a sweet face,” she said to the clerk, who was still hovering nearby.

      “That’s my niece, actually. I wanted to show off this frame in a more personal way. Usually, my stock comes with inserted photos of complete strangers who stare out at me all day. Barren is a close-knit town. People like to make a connection. Isn’t she cute? If you’re not looking for baby boy things, we have some adorable new dresses over there on the far wall.” She waited only a second before asking, “Are you having a little girl?”

      As СКАЧАТЬ