“I would.” Humor mixed with a dash of challenge was in the woman’s voice. “Looks like the only seat left in the house is right there beside Kate. Enjoy your chicken nuggets.”
“Thanks.”
Kate held her breath and listened to the scuff of boots on the wooden deck as he approached. Then a shadow blocked out the light when he stopped beside her.
“I understand this seat isn’t taken.”
“It is now.”
She looked up at him because it was the polite thing to do. With the waning sunlight behind him and the shadow of his black Stetson distorting his features, it was impossible to guess what was going through his mind. But his lips were pressed together and a muscle jerked in his jaw.
That was all it took to figure out that he wasn’t happy about this forced proximity, either.
She slid over to make more room for him. “Kids, this is Mr. Dixon. He owns the ranch and the summer camp.”
Then she introduced the four children by name and each of them said hello.
“Are you a cowboy?” Dylan asked.
“Yes.”
“What do cowboys do?” Lisa wanted to know.
“Let’s see...” He took a bite of one of the nuggets and chewed thoughtfully. “I help the other cowboys take care of cows. Make sure the herd stays together—it’s safer for them that way. Move them somewhere else when the food supply is running out. Watch over the ones who are going to have babies and help if necessary.”
“Is it hard?” Amanda’s sky-blue eyes widened.
“Can be,” he answered. “Animals need looking after three-hundred-sixty-five days a year. They don’t take the summer off or Christmas vacation.”
“But you get to ride a horse.” Dylan clearly thought that made it the best job in the world.
“His horse’s name is Blackie,” Kate informed them. “Because he’s black. I got to touch him.”
Just then Cabot’s arm brushed hers and sparks resulted as surely as if flint and steel had rubbed together. Not more than two hours ago he had held her in the barn; steadying hands had pulled her against him.
Kate was sure he’d been about to kiss her...and then he hadn’t. She’d wanted him to, and the warmth of his body beside hers right now rekindled the wanting. Just because this wasn’t the time or place didn’t mean she’d get over the feeling anytime soon.
Cabot was watching her. “You’re not eating.”
That was because she could hardly breathe, let alone bite, chew and swallow. “I guess I’m not all that hungry.”
An awkward silence stretched between the two adults as the kids made observations about cows, horses and what they wanted to be as grown-ups. Kate found that not talking was worse than carrying on a conversation with him. Every time either of them shifted even a fraction of an inch, their bodies touched. In the absence of any distraction, the contact was magnified and the reaction compounded.
She had to say something. “So, I’ve been reading up on Montana plant life.”
“Oh?” He looked at her.
“Yes. I thought the bearberry was interesting. At first I thought it was the politically correct name for a bear’s—you know.”
“Yeah. I get it.” Surprise, surprise. He actually smiled at that.
“Turns out I was wrong. Not only is it edible either raw or cooked, but also Native Americans added it to venison or salmon. They also dried it into cake and ate that with salmon eggs.”
“Sounds tasty.” Amusement sparkled in his eyes.
“Apparently it isn’t all that tasty, but it can be useful as an emergency food if chicken nuggets aren’t available.”
“Good to know if I’m stuck in the wilderness.”
“Speaking of that...” She realized he wasn’t making this talking thing easy. But she was nothing if not determined. “If one ever does get stuck, fire is probably the number one tool of survival.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“It’s useful to stay warm, cook food, sterilize if necessary and signal for help.” She figured he knew all of this but wanted to let him know she wasn’t without skills.
“That’s what matches are for.”
“What if they get wet?” she challenged. “Do you know nine ways to start a fire without them?”
“Do you?” Skepticism was written all over his face.
“Of course.” She held up a hand and started to tick off the ways. “Friction-based using a fire board and spindle. The wood you choose is important. Cottonwood, juniper and walnut are best. You make a hand drill. Build a tinder nest with dry grass or twigs, put a V-shaped notch in the board and insert a stick, then start spinning.” She held up another finger. “Flint and steel are obvious. Make sparks. Fire good.”
“That’s basic,” he commented.
“Then there’s the lens-based method.” She thought this next one would get his attention. “Every little boy has melted his plastic action figures this way. You can use a magnifying glass, binocular lens or eyeglasses and let the sun reflect through it until your tinder ignites.”
“Again, basic.”
“You can also use a balloon. Or a condom,” she added, dropping her voice so the children present couldn’t hear. They were still chattering among themselves.
“You’re joking.”
She held up her hand. “I swear.”
“How?”
“Fill it up with water—not too full or it will distort the sunlight’s focal point. Make it as spherical as possible. You want to create a sharp circle of light, then hold it an inch or two from the kindling. The other one, not the balloon,” she said, making sure the kids weren’t listening, “you can try squeezing in the middle to form two smaller lenses.”
“Is this your normal, run-of-the-mill party talk?” He looked both impressed and uncomfortable.
At least he was now participating in the exchange. “Actually, it is.” When you were the public face of an outdoor-equipment brand, a girl needed to know what she was talking about. “I’ve used all nine techniques with success.”
“I’d like to see that.” He shook his head and actually laughed.
Kate felt as triumphant as if she’d won a national championship. Not only that, she thought he was more carefree and incredibly handsome with a smile on his face. “You should do that more often.”
“What?”
“Smile. Laugh. It looks good on you,” she said.
Just like that the laughter disappeared. He looked uncomfortable, as if he’d somehow broken an unspoken rule. “I don’t know what to say to that.”
“It was just an observation.” But she was incredibly sorry she’d said it out loud.
He stood up, as if he couldn’t get away from her fast enough. “Speaking of observing, I’m going to see what Ty is up to.”
“Right. Of course. That’s why you came to dinner in the first place.”
“See you.” He picked up his hardly touched food and walked away.
Kate sat there, her head spinning at how quickly her casual words had changed his attitude. Was he not supposed to have fun? Was it somehow against his code of honor? Maybe this was about the woman who’d walked out on him, some misplaced loyalty to vows taken, even though she’d broken them first.
Or he still had feelings for the mother of his son.
It was as if he’d forgotten any of that for just a few minutes with her, and then after he’d violated his personal code of honor, he couldn’t get away from her fast enough. Her feelings wanted to be hurt, but in reality it was just as well he’d left.
She was here for a break from men as much as she was from the rest of the chaos that was her life. It made absolutely no sense on any planet for her to get involved with a handsome cowboy she would walk away from when summer was over.
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Chapter Seven
Just before lunch the next day, Ty asked Kate if it was a good time to work on archery. The other kids were busy with activities he’d chosen not to participate in. She carved out a half hour for him right then, partly because of her promise, but mostly because the vulnerability on his face tugged at her heart. She had no idea why Ty was so determined to improve his skill, but probably it had something to do with getting his father’s attention to make him proud.
Hopefully Cabot had talked to the boy about the fact that she and his father would never be a couple. She and Ty were alone on the archery range, standing at a line about ten feet from a bale of hay fitted with a target. The boy had picked out the bow and a quiver of arrows from the equipment shed. It seemed to be the right size for him.
Kate stood at the line beside him. “The first thing you need to do is set your stance.”
“Kind of like baseball when you’re batting.”
“If you say so.” She smiled down at him. “It’s pretty clear that I know very little about that sport. You could tell by the way I couldn’t catch or throw the ball.”
“You were kind of bad. Sorry,” he said.
“Honesty is always best.” She ruffled his hair. “If I wanted to and had time, practice would improve my baseball skills, although it will never be my best event.”
“What is?”
Kate didn’t want him to have information about her Olympic sport and share it with his father. It would be too easy for him to look her up on Google and find out that in some circles she was pretty recognizable. For now she wanted to be anonymous and enjoy the peace and quiet. Soon enough she would have to resume the craziness of her life but not yet. Vagueness was the way to go with his question, followed closely by a distraction.
“Like archery, my best event involves a target.” Of course, the ones she aimed at were moving and made of clay. “Some of my friends were very good at it and taught me the basics. So, like I said, the first thing is your stance.” She positioned him facing the target, leaving no time for more questions about her sport. “Put your feet shoulder-width apart with your weight evenly distributed.”
“Like this?”
She checked him out. “Looks good. Now move your left foot back about six inches.”
“Okay.”
She nodded approval. “Next step is to grip your bow with your thumb and index finger, then slide the notch of your arrow onto the bowstring. That’s called ‘nocking.’”
“Sounds weird.” Ty looked up quizzically and squinted into the sun.
“It’s just a fancy word for loading the arrow to point it at the target.”
“Okay.”
“Relax your fingers. The palm of your hand should never apply pressure. Think of it as hanging your bow on hooks on the wall and keeping it steady. Your other hand is going to do the hard work.”
“Okay.” He held it as instructed, then looked up. “Now what?”
“Lift your bow and point the arrow at the target. Keeping your hand as still as possible is the most important fundamental in shooting.” Any kind of shooting, she thought.
When her father had first taken her shooting as a way to help her adjust after another move, he’d been surprised at how steady she was. And that had continued, but only in her event. Life was far less controllable.
An image of Cabot Dixon drifted into her mind along with the memory of sitting next to him at dinner last night. Her senses had soaked up the whole experience until he’d had the presence of mind to walk away.
“Kate?”
“Oh, sorry. Lost my concentration.” Steady as you go, she reminded herself. She stood behind him and nudged his bow hand to align it with the target.
He tightened his fingers and the arrow fell off. Frustrated, he looked up and said, “That happens a lot.”
“Because you’re holding it too tightly. Relax.” When he was ready again, she said, “Raise the bow and draw back the string. Then find your anchor point.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s the place on your face where the hand is placed consistently with the bowstring at full draw and is most comfortable for you.”
“How will I know where that is?” he asked.
“Practice. For now, put it by your jaw and we’ll see what happens. You’re all lined up with the target. Just keep loose and release the arrow with your fingers. Try not to move any other part of your body.”
He did as instructed and the arrow fell short of the target. His body language screamed discouragement. “That happens a lot, too.”
“Try again,” she urged.
He did and the same thing happened. Kate checked his stance and finger position, then helped him pull back the bowstring a little farther. She made sure his fingers were loose, then directed him to release. It hit the hay bale just below the mark.
“Better,” she praised.
“I still didn’t get a bull’s-eye.”
“That takes practice, kiddo. This sport is different from baseball, where speed comes from your shoulder and accuracy is in follow-through with your arm. Archery is about focus, steadiness and aim. And how you set yourself up. How far you pull back the bowstring gives your arrow oomph, and follow-through is best when you can hold your position toward the target.”
Ty continued to practice, and she helped him make adjustments until one of his arrows hit the target’s outer ring.
“Did you see that?” His face glowed with excitement.
She grinned at him. “Excellent shot.”
“Wow, I’m better already, thanks to you. I can’t wait to tell C.J.”
“He’ll be very impressed,” she agreed.
“Maybe I can show him how to do it.”
“That would be great and would help you, too. But your dad or another adult should supervise,” she suggested.
“I know. That’s what he always says.” Ty took another shot, and the bowstring snapped against his tender inner arm. “Ow.”
“Let me see.” She went down on one knee to check him and saw a small red mark but nothing serious. “That happens a lot. If you want to practice a lot, there’s a guard you can get to protect you and keep it from hurting.” She could see that his arms were shaking. It was time to call it quits. “I think that’s enough for today. Why don’t you pick up all the arrows?”
“Okay.” He did as asked and put them back in the quiver, then returned to where she stood. “Next time C.J. comes over, could you supervise us?”
“That’s up to your dad and Caroline. I might have things to do for the camp kids.”
“I’ll ask them,” he said. “C.J. likes coming to my house to get away from his baby sister.”
Kate laughed and started walking back toward the cabins. “She’s annoying?”
“He says she cries a lot and is stinky.” He shrugged. “I think she’s kinda cute, but I don’t tell him that.”
Not macho, she thought. “What’s her name?”
“Sophia Marie.”
“Pretty name.”
“I guess.” He slung the bow over his shoulder. “Seems to me it would be cool to have a sister or brother.”
“It has pros and cons,” she commented.
“Do you have a sister?”
She nodded. “And a brother.”
“Do you like them?”
“Yes.” Although she’d heard her brother was a little peeved at her for taking his truck in her wedding escape. Pointing out that he also had a luxury car apparently hadn’t appeased him, according to her mother. She’d asked her mom to tell Zach that she promised he would have it back by Christmas so he could get a tree, which, as far as she could tell, was his only reason for hanging on to the thing. “But brothers can be annoying, too.”
“Well
, I’d like one. Or a sister.”
It was hard to know what to say because she was pretty sure that his dad was not on board with that. “Kids are a lot of responsibility, and your dad has a lot going on with you and the ranch.”
“Do you like babies?”
The question didn’t come completely out of the blue because the conversation was headed in this direction. Like she’d said at the beginning of his lesson, honesty was always best. “Yes. I think babies are cute, although I haven’t had much experience with them.”
“Do you want one?” His expression was hopeful.
Again she had to tell the truth. “Someday. When I fall in love and get married.”
Ty stopped and looked up. “Do you like my dad?”
Oh, kiddo, she wanted to say. Please don’t make me break your heart. Obviously Cabot hadn’t talked to him yet about not trying to get them together.
She went down on one knee so their gazes were almost level. “Ty, I do like your father, but not in that way.”
But he got serious points for being a spectacular kisser.
“What way?”
“Well, he’s my boss.” She thought for a moment. “And I think we’re friends.” Probably. Although the attraction was confusing. “The thing is, you have to remember that I’m only going to be here for the summer. When camp is over, I’ll be leaving.”
“Do you have to?”
Her heart was twisting in her chest. As gently as possible, she said, “Yes.”
“Then can you help me practice archery a little bit every day so I can get better?” he asked.
“That would be great. And this seems to be a good time for it. We’ll call it a standing date—unless,” she cautioned, “Caroline has something for me to do.”
“Cool.” He sighed. “I sure hope that before you have to go, I can make archery my best event.”
And she hoped that when she went, leaving this boy didn’t break her heart.
* * *
Wearing a slicker in the rain, Cabot walked from the house down to the camp building where meals were served. He could never decide if this weather was more miserable in the summer or winter. Either way it was nasty. Because of it he’d assigned to the hired help only the chores that couldn’t be put off and then instructed them to get inside ASAP. He was on his way to get a status report on how the campers and counselors were handling being cooped up inside.
The Rancher Who Took Her In (The Bachelors of Blackwater Lake) Page 8
