I wince. “That’s awful.” No wonder he carries a gun. “Why haven’t they all been arrested yet?”
“Crimes against wildlife and public resources come with pretty light consequences. In all my years on the job, I’ve maybe sent half a dozen poachers to jail. That’s why the task force is going to be so important. We’ll be able to share resources and concentrate our efforts.”
“It sounds dangerous.”
“There’s always that potential, yeah.” Framed by long, dark lashes and crow’s feet that somehow sharpens his blue eyes, his earnest gaze holds mine for only a second, but it’s long enough for that same spark to fire between us. Curiosity? Desire?
“When you said you’d been busy chasing a poacher, was it someone from Sons of Eden?”
“Yes.”
“So that wasn’t just some line you gave me? You were being honest?” If he truly didn’t call me because he’s trying to make our world a safer place, maybe he’s earned a little leniency.
“My family and my work take up a lot of my time.”
I look away, the sting of rejection somehow worse this time around. Okay then. Time to usher him to the door.
I lead us back to the kitchen. “Do you think I could give Colton some clothes? I texted Micah. There’s some of his stuff here that he doesn’t need anymore. I should have donated it before I moved, but…” I set my mug next to the sink. “Micah said it’s okay.”
“Sure. I can get it to him.”
I hurry up to Micah’s room and pack up the items from his closet that he greenlighted in his text. Jeans and sweatshirts and some nice warm socks, a pair of pajamas, and a couple of sweaters. I will find a way to do more, but this feels like a decent start.
When I return downstairs, Rowdy’s inspecting the framed photos on my mantel with that same intense curiosity.
What would it be like to be with a man who found me worthy of such attention?
I yank my head out of the clouds, because that person is obviously not going to be Rowdy Whittaker.
We meet in the entryway and he slings on his coat and steps into his boots. When he tucks on his hat, he looks like the cowboy version of Patrick Dempsey. Manly and sexy and capable. As he takes the bags from my hands, my stomach flips because he’s lifted his gaze, his lips pursed like he’s going to say something.
But I’m not opening myself to another misread signal, so I step back to let him go.
To my relief, he slips into the night without another word.
Chapter Five
I hurrythrough the driving rain to my truck, my boots splashing through the mud. Once inside the cab, I slip off my coat and hat and stow the bags of Micah’s clothes behind the seat. Then I take a last glance at Keo’s handsome house before I pull the trailer around and bounce down her driveway.
I’m even more attracted to her now, after teaming up to help a troubled kid. Plenty of people would have called 911 and booted a runaway off their property. Or filed charges for theft or trespassing. I got the feeling Keo wasn’t opposed to letting Colton stay, even thought that wouldn’t serve him in the long run.
It stirred something inside me. Something tender and if I’m being honest, a little bit scary.
Pictures of her twin kids filled every one of those frames on her mantel. Keo was in a few of them too. Lily has serious brown eyes and her mom’s curly hair and full lips. Micah is tall and lanky, his eyes playful and warm. There was a shot of the three of them on a ski lift, their cheeks pink from the cold and their smiles bright, one of Micah soaring above a snowy half pipe, his face slack in concentration and a pale blue sky behind him, and one of Lily in a chef’suniform, her hair tied back in a tight bun. She was laughing at something, her face lit up.
What Keo said earlier flickers into focus.When my kids were launched... Not whenourkids were launched. It’s a subtle difference, but the meaning is clear. She raised her kids alone.
Is what I picked up on, a hint of bitterness that the kids’ father wasn’t more involved?
I can understand that one. My resentment toward Eliza has softened with time, but back in the thick of solo parenting three children, I was overwhelmed more often than not.
Or is Keo still adjusting to life without her children, especially in such a big house and a brand-new community?
As an artist, does the quiet help her creative flow? Or does she miss the rich and complex color and texture of family life?
Staring up at that painting while she talked, I wanted answers to those questions.
So why did my defenses rise up the moment she looked ready to forgive me for not calling her when I said I would? What is it about her that makes my tongue feel too loose? The entire time I was inside her house, the staticky heat between us kept building, like the summer storm in that painting of hers. My skin felt too tight, like the beginning of a rash.