The Rancher's Unexpected Family. Helen Lacey

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СКАЧАТЬ child appeared in the doorway. He had a shock of curly red hair and a face load of freckles. He also had a brace on his left leg and used a cane.

      “Hi, I’m Jaye,” he said and ambled slowly toward them, a noticeable hitch in his gait.

      Cole didn’t miss the disinterest in Maisy’s expression. “It’s good to meet you, Jaye,” Cole said, and introduced Maisy, who gave a half-hearted wave. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

      “I’ve heard a lot about you, too,” the kid said cheerfully. “My mom was talking about you on the phone to someone today,” he said and then frowned a little and shrugged. “Though I probably wasn’t meant to hear it. Or tell you.”

      Cole laughed softly. He already liked the boy. “Well, it’ll be our secret, okay?”

      Jaye’s freckled face beamed. “Sure thing. Mom doesn’t ever need to know.”

      “Mom doesn’t ever need to know what?”

      Cole’s gaze instantly shifted to the doorway. Silhouetted in the door frame and wearing a short green dress that shimmied around her thighs and showed off a truly sensational pair of legs, Ash McCune just about dropped him to his knees. He noticed her hair was out of its band and fell just past her shoulders. Cole stared and then swallowed hard, trying to get his wayward thoughts off her smooth calves and the curves that had somehow managed to consume his thoughts for most of the afternoon.

      I’m in big trouble.

      “Nothing, Mom,” Jaye said and grinned. “Just guy stuff.”

      She smiled and Cole’s stomach took a dive. Damn, she was beautiful.

      “So you’ve met everyone?” she asked as she came into the room and stood behind her son, dropping her hands onto his shoulders.

      “Yes.”

      “Mom said you used to be a race car driver,” Jaye said, beaming up at him.

      “That’s right.”

      The boy’s bright green eyes widened. “I’d love to drive a race car. That would be so cool. Mom said that maybe next year I can enter the soapbox-derby races at the spring fair. I’d like to enter this year though,” he said and shrugged. “I’ve already got a plan drawn up for my cart and—”

      “I said next year...maybe,” Ash said and kissed the top of his head. “Now, how about you show Mr. Quartermaine and Maisy to their seats and we can all eat?” she said to the whole room.

      A minute later they were all seated and Nancy had returned with a pitcher of homemade lemonade that she placed in the center of the table. Uncle Ted said a short prayer before they ate and everyone stayed quiet, including Maisy. Cole had been raised in a strict Catholic household, but rarely went to church except for weddings and funerals. He found himself seated between Maisy and Uncle Ted, and while his daughter was sullen and uncommunicative during the entire meal, the older man talked incessantly about everything from motor racing to the current price of barley and wheat, and the last time he’d visited the nearby Mount Rushmore. Cole didn’t mind, though. Ted was friendly and personable, telling funny stories about the ranch and his years in the navy. But Cole was distracted. With Ash only a couple of seats away and holding court with the kids, who chatted about their day out, their haircuts and the upcoming spring fair, he couldn’t help but be aware of her as she laughed and bantered with her son and the two youngest children. There was a kind of natural energy around her, and he realized how out of the loop he’d been lately when it came to being around an attractive woman. He hadn’t been on a date for six months. And hadn’t had sex in longer than that.

      Almost as though on cue, he met her gaze across the table. She was smiling just a little, as though she had some great secret only she was privy to. He wanted to look away, but couldn’t. Her smile deepened and he watched as she blushed. Whatever was going on, Cole’s instincts told him she was feeling it, too. He gave himself a mental shake, turned his attention back to his food and tried to start a conversation with his daughter, who’d barely spoken a word since they’d sat down for dinner. He managed to get a few sentences out of her and by the time the plates were cleared she was talking quietly to Ricky about music and the latest boy band. He relaxed a bit and pushed back the chair, got up and grabbed a few of the dishes still left on the table. The younger kids and Ted had moved into the adjoining living room to watch television and Cole headed for the kitchen.

      Ash was alone, loading the dishwasher, but she stopped the task when she noticed the plates in his hands. “Oh, thanks so much.”

      “No problem,” he said and placed them on the counter. “You’re an amazing cook.”

      Her mouth curved. “Thank you. But the peach pie was my mom’s doing. Some secret recipe she’s been threatening to share for years, but still hasn’t. Can you cook?”

      “Not a lick,” he replied and grinned. “Spoiled, silver spoon, only son—you get the picture.”

      She laughed. “Can you make coffee?”

      He nodded. “Sure.”

      She waved an arm in the direction of the coffeepot. “Then you’re on beverage duty while I keep stacking.”

      Cole moved around the counter. “You’re bossy, anyone ever tell you that?”

      She laughed again. “Of course. Just ask my son and Uncle Ted.”

      He grabbed the coffeepot. “He’s a great kid, by the way.”

      “I know,” she said quietly. “And you can ask, if you want.”

      Cole rested his behind on the countertop. “Ask?”

      “About Jaye,” she explained. “And his condition. He had an accident when he was two and half years old and was badly injured. There were surgeries and—and he...”

      “He’s a great kid,” Cole said again when her words trailed off. “That’s all I see.”

      She stopped what she was doing and turned, resting her hip against the counter, arms crossed loosely. “Thank you.”

      “For what?”

      “For not looking at me with the kind of pitying expression I usually get from parents of able-bodied children.”

      “I don’t pity you,” he said. “Or Jaye. He’s obviously bright and well-adjusted.”

      “Yes. And he loves reading and music and art.”

      “And soapbox-derby racing?” he said, one brow raised. “He mentioned several times that he wants to enter this year.”

      She nodded. “I know. Maybe next year. I may be an overprotective parent, but I don’t want him to get hurt, either physically or emotionally. The races can be really competitive and some of the other kids and their parents take it so seriously. I don’t want him to be singled out or be disadvantaged because of his disability.”

      “That’s a fair call,” he said and rested his hands on the edge of the countertop. “But I don’t imagine you can protect him from soapbox spills or schoolyard bullies twenty-four seven.”

      “My СКАЧАТЬ