Dawson laughed this time and said, “I’m not going to pass up free food from literally the best cook y’all have at that ranch.” He cut a look over to Caroline. “I’ll come get it.”
“Oh, don’t let Bishop hear you say Etta’s the best cook.” Lincoln chuckled again and settled his hat on his head. “Ma’am.” He nodded his way away from her, and Caroline actually turned and watched him walk back to where he’d tied his horse. He unlooped the reins, then swung into the saddle like he did it every hour.
He probably did.
“He didn’t drive?” she wondered.
“The Glovers are a special breed of cowboy,” Dawson murmured back. “Great men and women there.” He took a big breath, which seemed to break the quiet moment.
She inhaled too and turned to face him. Every time she looked at him, she saw someone and something different. The man had close friends, and things he’d been through with them. He had a past. He had different moods, and laughter she’d never heard before. He had family she hadn’t met, and suddenly, she couldn’t wait to do that.
“You know those shoes you have by your front door?” she asked.
Dawson blinked a couple of times, clearly surprised. “I suppose.”
“Who do they belong to?”
He backed up a step. “You want to know who the shoes by my front door belong to?”
“They were too small to be yours or Brandon’s.”
He cocked up the corners of his mouth, like he knew something she didn’t. “You haven’t met Brandon. Maybe he’s real short, with small feet.”
She blinked too, a vein of cold shock filling her for a moment. Then everything in her body warmed when she realized Dawson Rhinehart could make a joke. “Just tell me who the shoes belong to.”
He chuckled and ducked his head as he shook it. She doubted he knew how adorable that was, but she felt real feelings streaming through her at the mere sight of him.
Dawson raised his head, something blazing in those oceanic eyes. “Can we talk out of the wind? Maybe on the way back to the ranch? I really do have things to do today if I’m to be showered and on your doorstep by six.”
“I said—” She silenced when he reached out and brushed his fingertips along her cheek, finally giving true weight to his touch as he tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear.
“Six is just fine,” he drawled.
She suspected he was saying more than that, but Caroline had gone numb and still at his touch. He nodded past her and said, “Let’sgo, Ruffin.”
The dog went by her, and she let Dawson turn her back toward their vehicles. “I drove myself,” she said dumbly.
“Can I hold your hand?” he murmured, but he didn’t wait for her to say yes or no. He simply slid his gloves into his back pocket with one hand and with his other, he claimed her fingers with his own.
She pulled in a breath that another gust of wind thankfully stole the sound of, and somehow got her legs to start walking with him.
“I was thinking of doing a little sightseeing tonight,” he said. “But we might have to raincheck that if it’s raining.”
“Sightseeing?”
“You seem interested in knowing some of the history of the town,” he said, glancing over to her. “Unless I misread the situation completely. But?—”
“No, you’re right,” she said, finally coming back to herself. “I wanted to be a history major in college, but I didn’t want to teach.”
“Is that all you can do?”
“No, but none of the job opportunities excited me.”
“So you moved into wildlife management?”
“I don’t like working at a desk.”
Dawson didn’t respond for a beat, and then he said, “I hate it too, and I think that might be the first thing we have in common.”