I spent twenty years married to a man who couldn’t change a car battery, refused to help with house projects that required the use of a ladder, and couldn’t figure out even basic furniture assembly. I learned to replace my own car headlight bulbs and clean gutters and install appliances. And fix things. Especially because after Drew lost his job, every penny counted.
So it’s no wonder that a man who can start a fire in my hearth in under two minutes is pulling an unmet need to the surface—one I’ve done such a good job at silencing—sparking a different kind of fire in the process. Because it’s not that I long to be taken care of or doted on. It’s having a partner who can handle shit. Someone who can lead, so I don’t have to all the time.
Bonus points if he can fold me like laundry and make me forget my own name.
In my kitchen, I use Rowdy’s hearty bread to finish thesoup and slide the enamel bowls under the broiler. At the fridge I glance over my shoulder at him.
“Is sparkling water okay?” If we were in Paris, there would be wine, but bubbles are still fun.
“Sounds great.” Rowdy swivels, a handful of kindling clutched in his fist. He’s removed his sweater and rolled up his sleeves, revealing the edge of a vividly outlined falcon tattoo on his muscular forearm. I drink in the clean lines for long enough that his gaze lifts to mine.
He smiles, and do I detect a gentle heat in his gaze?
I spin away, heart tapping into my throat. While I focus on getting waters and spoons and napkins set up on the breakfast bar, he washes his hands at the sink, his woodsy scent mingling with the savory aroma from the oven.
“Thanks again for putting this together,” Rowdy says as I carry each bowl by its handle to the set of placemats.
“Company’s nice,” I say to keep it neutral.
We settle onto the stools side by side. Sitting next to him instead of facing him across my table feels casual, yet somehow still intimate. And I love eating here with the pretty view, especially today with the racing clouds and patches of blue sky.
He dips his spoon into the broth and brings it to his lips, his dark lashes fluttering closed as he blows across the surface. The way his full lips purse coupled with the scent of the woods he’s brought to my space is making it hard to stay focused. Then Rowdy slides the spoon into his mouth and groans.
I can’t hide the rush of pleasure warming my insides. “You like it?”
“It’s really good.” He cuts a bite with the bread and melted cheese.
“Lily says the secret is cognac.”
“Tell her she’s right.” Our eyes connect again, sending an electric buzz dancing under my skin.
I force a stuttered breath from my lungs and take a spoonful ofbroth, pausing to savor the caramelized onions while Rowdy slips a small envelope from his pocket and sets it on the counter between us.
The handwritten note inside from Colton is brief but sweet enough to make my heart melt a little. That longing to stay connected to him tightens inside me. “He’s doing okay, then.”
“So far, yeah. He’s in a group home while they try to find placement with a foster family.”
I’ve done some research on the process, so this tracks. Though I can’t imagine the group home is all that great. Colton’s plea to stay on as my ranch hand keeps skipping through my thoughts. Maybe once he gets a little further along in the process, his foster family would let him come work for me a few days a week? He might appreciate a job, and I know I’d appreciate his help.
“When can I visit?” I ask.
Rowdy sets his spoon down and slips his phone and a pair of glasses from one of his breast pockets. “Here’s Benjamin’s number. He’s the social worker in charge of Colton’s case.”
I didn’t think Rowdy could look any more distinguished, but the glasses prove me wrong. “Thank you.”
“We could visit him together.” Rowdy sets his glasses and phone to the side.
“Okay.” I blow on my bite of soaked bread and cheese. Do I feel his eyes on me as I swallow it down? I lick my lips, and he shifts on the stool next to me.
“Maybe something on the weekend?” I prompt.
“Good idea.” He breaks a piece of the extra bread I toasted for dipping and pops it into his mouth. “How about Saturday?”
I glance at him, but he’s focused on spooning up another bite. “Sure. Micah’s visiting with some friends, but not until late.”
“I’ll set it up.”
There’s that strong leadership I sensed in him, and god, is it nice.