Rowdy glances up, concern on his face. “You okay?”
“Fine.” She picks up the spoon then uses a dishrag to clean up the splotches of sauce. “Supper’s ready.”
Two minutes later we’re sitting down with our bowls, and Linnea adds a skillet of cornbread to the middle of the table.
It’s been a long time since I had a home-cooked meal like this, and it’s damn nice. Even with the awkward tension hovering between Linnea and me.
Why doesn’t she want her dad to know we’ve met? It’s not like we’d have to share details. Is she ashamed of what we did that night? Is it me? Do I not measure up?
“What made you want to be a conservation officer?” Rowdy asks before scooping a bite.
“My grandpa and I hunted and fished a lot when I was growing up. One of his close friends was a game warden, and I always thought it was cool that he got to be outside so much. I worked wildland fire in the summers for a while, and I thought I might go into law enforcement someday or the fire service, but I like the conservation work that goes with being a CO, and the idea of being my own boss.”
Across from me, Linnea blows on a bite of chili, her eyes on her bowl. Watching her lips pucker takes me straight back to Sunday night. My fingers in her hair and her soft, tight mouth wrapped so perfectly around me. Her little moan that was more like relief. Like she wanted me, but expected me to deny her.
What kind of a fool would deny her anything?
Forcing my eyes back on my bowl, I scoop a bite, then close my eyes so I can savor the rich flavor. Garlic and tender beans, and meat that practically melts in my mouth.
“This tastes amazing,” I say. “Thanks for having me.”
Rowdy grunts, but Linnea’s gaze is thoughtful when it finally connects with mine. Then it drops to my lips for an instant before she looks away.
Did my little sigh of pleasure affect you, darlin? Because just being in the same room with you is sure as hell affecting me.
She spoons another bite. “Have you spent much time in this area before?”
I take a sip of water, but it doesn’t squelch the heat building in my core. “As a smokejumper we passed through here now and again.”
“Scott said you’re from Gardiner,” Rowdy bites into his cornbread. “Lotta farms down that way.”
“My sister and I grew up sheep ranching with my grandparents, actually.”
Linnea’s brows knit together, like she knows there’s more. It catches me off guard. Most people just breeze on by.
But from Rowdy’s thoughtful expression, he’s picked up on it too.
If I had a nice buzz going, telling them about my parents would roll off my tongue so smoothly. But that’s not why it’s tough to share. It’s the pitying looks it usually gets me.
Rowdy sips from his water. “Are your grandparents still raising sheep?”
“No. We sold the operation about five years ago. My grandparents were ready to retire.”
“And you didn’t want to become a sheep rancher?” Linnea asks, her lips twitching like she might actually smile. That urge to grab her face and kiss her senseless nearly knocks me flat.
I reach for a piece of cornbread instead. “No. I care about animals, but sheep are…special.”
Even Rowdy gives an amused grunt.
“What about your sister?” Linnea asks.
I take a few extra seconds to butter my cornbread, sifting for the right words. The last time I talked about Molly, it was to the police, not that they had any luck finding her. “She had other plans.”
Even though I’ve delivered my answer with a light tone, the table goes quiet.
“What’s this Winter Range Project?” I ask to move us along.
Linnea’s spoon pauses on the way to her mouth and a look fires between her and her dad. “It’s a volunteer effort to remove old livestock fencing so that wildlife can better access their winter ranges.” She rubs her lips together while her expression turns eager. It’s easy to read this project means something to her. “My sister and I were involved for a while. We helped remove hundreds of miles of old barbed wire. My brother made a film about it, actually.”