Courtship of the Recluse by Linda Rigsbee (ereader for textbooks txt) 📗

Cade was trying to be accommodating, butsometimes he was as skittish about conversation as the cat wasabout being touched - and likely for the same reason. Neither ofthem had a clue what was on her mind. In Cade’s case, that wasprobably a blessing at times. Hopefully he had no idea how herheart beat double time occasionally at the strangest things. Likethe way his broad shoulders swayed so gracefully with each step ashe strode to the corral - or the way he lounged in a doorway,coffee in one hand, one long leg thrown carelessly over the other.And lately her curiosity had been going beyond the usual questionsabout his mysterious family tree - beyond the questing of his vastknowledge of the ranch. Was it normal to have sudden flashingquestions like...what would it be like to kiss him? Was it simplyloneliness? Most important, did he ever suspect her foolishthoughts? If he did, he gave no indication. Although at times shecaught him watching her thoughtfully. Thankfully it had never beenone of the times that she was thinking about him though. Otherwiseher expression might have revealed her torrid thoughts. She sighedand wandered through the spotless kitchen. She needed somethingelse to do - something creative. She paused in the kitchen doorway,envisioning the family room redecorated. It wasn’t the first timeshe had done so, but this morning she had run across some curtainsand rugs in the attic. Should she ask him about putting them up? Sofar she had never mentioned her excursions to the attic, but whenthings got too dull around the house, she went up to explore. Thediscovery of a second room in the attic had provided more hours ofentertainment.

The radio was playing a waltz as she walkedthrough the family room and she moved to the sway of it, dancingwith an imaginary friend. She stopped, suddenly aware that Cade waspropped against the kitchen door jam, nursing a cup of coffee.Warmth invaded her cheeks and she giggled nervously.

“Don’t just stand there. Come join me in adance. This other guy keeps stepping on my toes.”

“I don’t do floors,” he answered dryly.

She laughed at his dry humor. “You mean youdon’t know how to dance.”

He shook his head soberly. “No reason tolearn. I’d rather not make a fool out of myself.” He turned anddisappeared into the kitchen.

She snapped the radio off. Was he trying totell her she was acting like a fool? Well, it must have looked thatway. She shook her head. Supper was ready and he was probablyhungry. But when she came into the kitchen he was nowhere in sight.She pulled the roast from the oven. The carrots and potatoes packedaround it were the perfect consistency. She set the table andglanced up when the screen door squeaked.

He didn’t wear a coat today and hisshirtsleeves were rolled up to reveal brown muscular forearms. Theheart thing happened again and she busied herself at the table.

He crossed to the sink. “I’m starved.”

“It’s ready when you are.” She kept her faceaverted until the warmth left her cheeks. “I still don’t know howyou can stand that cold wind.”

He dropped into his chair. “It feels warmtoday, but I always keep a light jacket in my saddle bags. I needit when I get in the high country.” He accepted the platter of foodand heaped his plate. They ate in silence until he finally turned aconcerned gaze on her. “Is something on your mind?”

Her cheeks flushed again and in her desperatesearch for something to explain her preoccupation, she plunged intothe subject of the curtains.

“You know, this house wouldn’t be as cold ifthere were some curtains on the window and some rugs on thefloor.”

He took a sip of coffee before responding.“Curtains shut out the light. This place is dark enough as it is.”He took a bite of food and watched her intently. Finally heswallowed and spoke. “Does the cold bother you that much?”

“Sometimes. Anyway, it’s the paneling thatmakes the room so dark, not the curtains over the windows. If youuse the right colors, and brighten the walls with a few largepictures, or some mirrors, it wouldn’t be so dark. The house coulduse a little cheerful decorating.”

For a minute she was afraid she had steppedover the line. He stared at her and frowned. Finally he spoke.

“You think the atmosphere in this house isdepressing?”

“Don’t you?” Surely he must have noticed.

He gave his attention to the food in hisplate. Was he angry? It was hard to tell. Either she had never seenhim angry or he had cleverly concealed it - like every otheremotion. Finally he finished his meal and scooted his chairback.

“Is that apple pie I smell?”

Why did he do that every time he disagreedwith her? She scooted her chair back without responding and went tothe laundry room where the pie was cooling. As she re-entered thekitchen, he watched her cross to the table. He rubbed his jawreflectively.

“There are some curtains and rugs in theattic - I’m sure you’ve already found them. If you want to put themup, go ahead. I don’t spend that much time in the houseanyway.”

She sliced the pie absently. “What makes youthink I found them?”

He gave her a sour look. “Don’t toy with mymind. Anyone as bright and curious as you would have to explorethat attic. Now cut me a piece of that pie.”

Warmth flooded her neck and crawled up hercheeks. It was bad enough to be caught snooping in his things, butbeing accused of deception as well - and for the second time. Shecut a piece of the pie and served it to him on a clean saucer. Didhe really think she was bright? Handing out compliments seemed tobe out of character for him, but hadn’t he always been honest anddirect?

She sat down with a piece of pie and poked atit. “I noticed some crocus and daffodils coming up in the front.It’s almost spring.”

He never looked up from his food. “Do youlike flowers?”

She laughed softly. “Does a dog haveears?”

He glanced up at her laugh and watched herintently. What was he thinking when he did that? Finally heshrugged. “Down in