In a Cowboy's Arms. Lissa Manley

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      And that was far more dangerous than any physical yearning could ever be.

      Ty answered his dad’s question about how to operate their new DVD player, then paused outside the entrance to the kitchen, trying to get his thoughts in order before he went back in and sat down next to Jenny.

      The truth was, her tears over her husband’s death had landed on him like a snorting, charging bull, bringing out not only his sympathy, but a deeply rooted sense of protectiveness he’d thought long buried. Strangely, he’d wanted to take her in his arms, and soothe her grief and guilt away while wiping away the pain in her beautiful green eyes.

      Bad, bad move. The last thing he should be thinking about was letting himself feel even remotely protective of his daughter’s nanny, or attracted to her. On any level. As if to drive that point home, a vision of Andrea popped into his head.

      Remember the pain, McCall.

      He gave himself a mental slap and reminded himself that women left when the going got tough, period. No way was he going to put himself through that hell again.

      So she’d been deeply affected by her husband’s death. So she was vulnerable and more appealing than any woman he’d been around in a long, long time. While he felt bad she’d been hurt, he couldn’t let himself be too affected by her.

      He stepped back into the kitchen, his priorities in order, intending to ask her some questions about Morgan’s insulin regimen. Jenny was at the sink, rinsing the dishes and loading them into the dishwasher.

      “Hey, you don’t have to do that,” he said.

      She turned around, her eyebrows arched high, then lifted one slim shoulder and went back to rinsing and loading. “I don’t mind. Sam’s entertaining the girls and you’ve had a long day.” She glanced at his empty chair. “Why don’t you sit down and relax for a while?”

      Her consideration of him warmed a cold, empty place inside of him. Liking the feeling, but wary of it, too, he shook his head. “No way am I going to have you doing all the work. Hand me the sponge and I’ll wipe the table down.” Cleaning up in the same room seemed impersonal enough.

      She rinsed out the sponge, then handed it to him along with a spray bottle of antibacterial kitchen cleaner. “Spray it down with this, all right?”

      He took the sponge and cleaner from her and went to work. Before he could start the discussion about Morgan’s insulin regimen, Jenny jumped in and said, “So, as long as we’re unloading, why don’t you tell me what happened with Morgan’s mother.”

      He froze in mid-spray, yanking his brows together. “What do you mean?” he asked, attacking the Formica table with a vengeance.

      “Connor told me you’re divorced.” She swiveled around and pinned him in place with her beautiful greenish-brown gaze. “Why?”

      Ty stared at her, surprised by her probing question. He squished the sponge in his hand and resumed wiping. “Things didn’t work out,” he said, his jaw clenched. Talk about a major understatement. His marriage to Andrea had been a disaster from the start.

      Jenny walked over and gathered the placemats together. “What happened?”

      Ty kept wiping, scrubbing at a nonexistent spot on the table. “So, how many units of insulin did you give Morgan today?”

      She put her hand on his forearm, sending warmth up his arm and into his body. “I think the table’s clean,” she said, her voice soft and devoid of reproach. “I’m sure you’d like to change the subject, but I think I have the right to know what happened with Morgan’s mom.”

      He jerked his brows together, then abruptly straightened, glaring at her. “Oh, really?”

      She glared back. “Yes, really. Your ex-wife not only left you, she left Morgan. As her nanny, I think I should know some details.”

      He hated to admit it, but she had a point. Even though it raised the bile in his throat to discuss his ex-wife’s appalling actions with anyone, maybe he needed to let Jenny in on what had happened. For Morgan’s sake only, of course.

      He paced toward the sink. “Andrea wasn’t happy living way out here.” He flung the sponge into the sink, familiar, overpowering bitterness rising in him. “Said it was boring and dull. Even after Morgan was born, she was restless and took off for Portland every other weekend to shop and visit friends. Still, we had a daughter, and I had hope.” For love. Peace. A happily-ever-after.

      He stopped and shook his head. “I was a fool for hoping for anything. The second Morgan was diagnosed with diabetes, Andrea was out of here, saying she couldn’t handle having a child with a chronic disease.” He snorted. “Just like that she left, and I haven’t seen her since.”

      Jenny remained quiet for a moment. “She deserted you,” she said in a monotone. It was a bald-faced, razorsharp statement that cut deep.

      His hackles shot to the roof. “Dammit,” he ground out, swinging away, floored by her tactless statement. “No kidding she deserted us.”

      Jenny placed her small hand on his rigid arm for a moment. “No, that came out wrong. What I meant was that I’m just…incredulous that a woman would willingly throw away her husband and child.” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “I’m sorry for being so blunt. It’s just that as a widow who had no control over my loss, I can’t imagine choosing to walk away.”

      Slowly his hackles relaxed. “That makes sense,” he said, seeing the pain and contrition in her eyes. “Sorry I overreacted.”

      She smiled, then bent down and pushed the dishwasher closed. “I understand. It’s easy to overreact when the wounds are fresh, isn’t it?”

      “Yeah,” he said slowly. “I guess it is.” He rolled a shoulder. “Although, I don’t like to think of myself as wounded.”

      “I guess that’s my perspective.” She hung the dish towel on its hook on the refrigerator. “Jack’s death left a wound that I’m not sure will ever heal.”

      For some reason, the thought of this vibrant woman being wounded for the rest of her life bothered him. “So does that mean you’re never planning on marrying again?” Strange how the question seemed suddenly very important.

      She was quiet for a second, then softly said, her voice tinged in sadness, “That’s right. I loved and lost once. I don’t plan on ever doing that again.”

      He straightened the chairs around the table, again somehow saddened that a beautiful young woman like Jenny was planning on being alone for the rest of her life. Funny how he could imagine himself that way, but not her. “Hey, I get that.” Boy, did he. “Depending on someone will burn every single time.”

      She turned around and leaned back against the counter, her arms crossed over her chest. “Seems we have a lot in common, don’t we?”

      Before he could reply to her statement, Ava called out, asking Jenny to come see the funny doggy on TV. With an understanding smile that Ty liked way too much, Jenny left the kitchen, leaving him alone, one disturbing thought running around in his brain.

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