City Girl (9 page)

He did. “Now pull up your hood, zip your jacket all the way up, and go back to the house. I’ll be with you in a minute or two. I have to speak to Kirk.”

Ryan looked mutinous. His lower lip jutted out, then trembled. “Are you mad at me for touching the knife?”

“No. But I will be if I catch you with a sharp one in your hands again. Now go inside. You can read a book on my bed until I come.”

He left, dragging his boots.

Kirk got slowly to his feet and closed the jackknife against his thigh before slipping it into his pocket. “Don’t blame the boy, Liss. It was my fault. He asked me who’d made those.” He pointed to a shelf on which several carved figures stood, mostly surrealistic faces. “I told him I’d done them and he asked how I’d learned to carve things, so I explained that my dad had taught me.”

Pain twisted his mouth for a moment, then he went on. “He said he didn’t have a dad, so would I teach him?” He blew out a breath of air that puffed his hair back off his forehead, and followed it with a broad hand, his fingers combing roughly. “I remember what it was like, not having a dad, and I figured it wouldn’t hurt.”

Liss winced at the bleak expression in his eyes, and was sorry he’d been deprived of his father all through his childhood. Her major concern, however, was—had to be—her own children. “Dammit, Kirk, you don’t give a four-year-old a sharp knife like that to play with.”

“I didn’t let him play with it! I was teaching him how to use it and I never took my eyes off him. Besides, he’s nearly five.”

She exhaled an angry breath. “Did he tell you he wasn’t allowed to touch sharp knives?”

“Well, yes, but like I said, I wasn’t letting him play with it. I was teaching him to use it safely.”

 “Even after you knew I preferred him not to?”

“Dammit, Liss—”

 “No!” she said, stepping closer. “Dammit, Kirk! Those are my children, and I’m responsible for them. I make the rules and give the permission and take the heat when things go wrong, not you. I’m sick of fighting the whole damned world when it comes to the rearing of my children and I don’t intend to allow any further interference on your part. Is that clear?”

He said nothing, only glared at her from his superior height. After a moment she turned and stomped angrily from the barn, leaving him standing there looking after her. She felt the ice of his gaze more intensely than she did the pellets of snow striking her burning face. She should leave. Was it worth it, staying there under the circumstances, with him and his women and his interference . . . and his kisses?

She opened the back door and stepped inside. Leaning against the door after closing it, she was aware of the warmth, the lack of drafts though the wind howled outside, and remembered the abundant food in the freezer and pantry. Oh, heavens no, she thought, she couldn’t take the kids back to what they’d had before She was going to have to tough it out, and Kirk would have to learn to leave the raising of her children to her. And keep his kisses to himself.

Yet, after she’d put Ryan to bed, she couldn’t help remembering the look of adoration and trust on his face as he’d looked up at Kirk and listened to his words. Boy children needed a man around. They needed a man’s influence in their lives. And what Kirk had done hadn’t really been so bad, had it?

Again, she’d overreacted, as she had with the dog, and the milking, and the. horse. Again, she’d made a fool of herself. She crawled into bed, stacked both her pillows behind her back, and buried her nose in the novel she was reading. Several minutes passed before she realized she was turning pages but hadn’t read a word. What she’d been doing was staring at the book and thinking about Kirk, remembering his scent, the feel of his mouth on hers, the strength of his embrace. It wasn’t just her sons who needed a man in their lives, she needed one, too. Only . . . was Kirk Allbright, avowed bachelor, likely to be the right man?

“No; “ she said, dropping her book to the floor and setting her alarm clock. “Not in a million years.”

* * * *

“Oh, Lord . . . “ Liss groaned and rolled over to shut off her alarm, then sat on the side of her bed, rocking back and forth, hugging her arms around her middle. She glanced at the window where she could hear icy bits of snow clattering as they hit. It was pitch-dark outside! This couldn’t be morning! She snapped on her bedside lamp and stared at the clock to make sure she hadn’t inadvertently set the alarm wrong. Nope. The dial read 5:33, and it was now up to her to prepare breakfast for a hungry rancher, who would probably want something disgusting like steak and a mound of fried potatoes topped off with half a dozen sunny-side ups. Cholesterol alley. Gahhh!

To her amazement the aroma of freshly brewed coffee greeted her as she entered the kitchen. Gratefully, she poured herself a cup and stumbled to the table. She sat there, arms folded, head resting on them, trying to wake up enough to function. She lifted her head, took a sip of coffee, then dropped her head back down after a glance at the clock showed her she wouldn’t have to worry about it for another twenty minutes. After all, she couldn’t start cooking until she found out what he wanted, could she?

Chapter Four

The scent and sound of frying bacon woke Liss, and she sat up to see Kirk standing in front of the stove, doing her job.

“Oh, heavens!” she said, jumping to her feet and rushing toward him. “I’m sorry. Here, let me take over. This is supposed be . . . Oops, excuse me.” She stumbled against his arm, joggling it as he tried to turn a slice of bacon.

“Sit down,” Kirk said with a quiet laugh, putting his hands on her shoulders and holding her steady. “Look at you. You’re so tired you can hardly see. Go back to bed, Liss. You’re off the hook for breakfast. Any fool could see this is too early for you.”

“No, no,” she said.

He ignored her protest, though. Draping an arm across her shoulders, he led her back to her chair and sat her down. While she watched, still bleary-eyed, he dumped her cold coffee in the sink and poured her a fresh cup. He sat the mug in front of her, then pressed her back down when she tried to stand.

Quickly he withdrew his hand. He’d have to remember not to touch her, he thought. She was too damned tempting. Lord, look at her, all soft and creased and rumpled, her lashes tangled, her hair combed but messy, and dressed in a pair of old jeans and a hot-pink sweatshirt. She smelled deliciously of sleepy woman, soap, and toothpaste.

“Kirk, honestly,” she said. “I’m awake. Let me get up. I’m supposed to be cooking breakfast. I was only . . . resting until you came in so I could ask what you wanted and—” A huge yawn interrupted her, and she rubbed her eyes before flipping her hair back from her face.

“You look about as old as Jason,” he said, forcing himself to take the two long strides back to the stove before she tempted him further. He flipped the bacon out onto a paper towel to drain, then cracked three eggs into a bowl and beat them with a fork.

“Well, I’m not Jason’s age,” she said, getting up and dropping bread into the toaster. “I’m an adult who took on a responsibility and when I agreed to the terms of Ambrose’s will, I didn’t say I’d do it only if it proved to be easy or convenient. I said I’d do it, and I mean to.” She met his gaze challengingly. “No arguments, Kirk.”

He had to smile at her fierceness. She reminded him of a banty hen his mother once had. “All right, all right,” he said placatingly. “I’m not arguing. But starting tomorrow, not today.” He finished cooking the eggs, scooped them onto a plate, added several slices of bacon, then waited until she’d finished buttering the toast. “You sit down and dig into that,” he ordered, shoving the plate toward her. “I’ll make more.”

Liss started at him and locked her hands behind her back. “I don’t eat breakfast at this time of night,” she said. “I eat when the kids get up, which isn’t for”—she glanced at the clock again— “another two hours or more.” Leaning on the counter, she eyed him balefully. “This is barbaric, you know that, don’t you? It’s downright uncivilized getting up to milk at this hour. Why don’t you teach that cow better habits?”

He grinned as he sat down and started hungrily on his breakfast. “Cows are naturally early risers, and I like to have her needs out of the way early. This is nothing. In summer we often put in ten- or twelve- or sometimes twenty-hour days.”

Liss topped up her coffee cup and filled one for him. “Twenty-hour days?”

“At calving season, yes, that can happen.”

“Wow! I can see why you’re so eager for Ryan to learn how to milk!”

He laughed again. “Oh, sure, I believe strongly in child labor. I expect to have him out there running the tractor for me by the time he’s six, roping steer at seven.” Reaching out, he brushed his fingers across the back of her hand. “I really am sorry about last night and the knife, Liss. You’re right when you say he’s too young for that. I’ll try to be more sensible in what I teach the kids, and if I’m in doubt, I’ll check with you first. Okay?”

She looked at him for a long moment, then nodded. “Okay.” She chewed on her lower lip, reddening it until he wanted to lean over and stop her the best way he knew how. She prevented his acting on the impulse by saying, “I’m sorry, too, for the way I behaved. I mean, I know you weren’t letting him play with the knife, and that you wouldn’t have let him get hurt.”

He smiled. “Thanks, Liss.”

She gave him another look, then said tentatively, “Uh, Kirk? Can I ask you something? I mean, get a male point of view from you?”

He blinked. “Sure.”

“Do you think I’m being overprotective?” She ran a hand through her hair, shoving it back from her face, and bit her lip again when he didn’t reply. “Oh, darn, I shouldn’t put you on the spot like this. Of course you think I am. My father-in-law always accuses me of that, yet my mother-in-law says I neglect the kids and expect too much of them.” She sighed gustily. “How did your mother deal with raising a son all alone?”

He leaned his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his hands. “For one thing,” he said, “my mom didn’t have anybody undermining her authority, so she likely had it easier than you did.” He shrugged. “What you see here is the finished product. How do you think she did?”

Liss had to smile. “Okay, I guess.”

He swallowed a bite of toast. “I think she did okay, too, but she didn’t do it all on her own, not the whole time. Tell me about your in-laws. From what Lester Brown said, I gather there have been custody questions. Why would they want to take the boys away from you?”

Liss shrugged one shoulder. “The McCalls never approved of me. Mixed blood, you see. I’m half Japanese. And they don’t approve, either,” she continued, staring at her coffee mug as she turned it around and around on the table, “of a hand-to-mouth existence, even if it’s a perfectly happy one filled with lots of love and laughter and togetherness. “ She lifted her worried gaze to him. “I’m willing to share the boys with them. I understand they’re all that’s left to them of their son, but I can’t bear this constant threat that there’ll be a messy custody battle.”

“You won’t have a hand-to-mouth existence here, Liss,” he said soothingly.

“I know that. But while the ranch is a vast improvement over my last home, it’s not exactly the luxury they think is necessary for the care and well-being of their grandchildren.”

“I take it they have money? Couldn’t they have helped out if they felt your kids weren’t getting everything they needed?”

“Their kind of help comes with too many strings. I couldn’t go on living with them, watching the boys become more and more spoiled. And since I won’t live with them, they won’t help.”

He scooped up the last of his eggs. “How long did you live with them?”

“Quite a while. When Johnny, my husband, died, Ryan was only six months old and I was a couple of months pregnant with Jason. It seemed the sensible thing, moving in with them.”

Kirk cocked one eyebrow. “But?”

“It didn’t work out, so I left a year and a half ago. Ever since, they’ve been looking for a reason to take the kids.”

He tossed the last bite of his bacon to the dog, who caught it without rising from his place in the doorway. “How did your husband die, Liss?”

Afterward Liss wondered why she told him. Maybe it was because he seemed to ask out of interest and caring, rather than curiosity.

“He committed suicide,” she said. Hearing the anger and resentment in her tone, she tried to subdue it. “In a way, I guess it was my fault, mine and his parents’. Mine, for getting pregnant again, his parents for making him a spoiled, ineffectual person who couldn’t deal with reality—or failure. Everything he’d ever wanted, they’d given him. Except success.” And talent, she added silently. They hadn’t been able to give him that, however much he wanted it.

“He was an artist, too,” she went on. “We met in art school, and together we made a modest living.” She didn’t say that most of that living was what she earned with photography. “But then his folks . . .” She sighed. “I guess I have to say they bought him a one-man showing for his landscapes. He worked in oils.”

Waiting for her to continue, Kirk sipped his coffee, watching her over the rim of the mug. “And?” he prodded gently when she said no more.

She stared at the still-dark window where the snow had collected in a thick diagonal pad. A few flakes stuck higher up, then melted, running down the glass like tears. “And it bombed. And he hung himself. End of story.”

Several minutes passed before Kirk stood and walked up behind her, putting his hands on her shoulders in a warm and comforting gesture. “I’m sorry, Liss.”

She turned her face up to him. “I was, too. I think we would have made it, somehow. He was beginning to . . . grow up. Beginning to take responsibility. Trouble was, that time he took too much on himself. When it didn’t pan out, he couldn’t bear it. When I saw my in-laws trying to turn my sons into little replicas of their father by giving them everything they asked for I knew I had to get out.”

He dropped his hands from her shoulders, then leaned over her to pick up his empty plate. “And now you’re afraid I’ll interfere,” he said as he carried the plate to the sink. “I can understand that, Liss, but I promise you, I’ll try not to. What I did last night was wrong, not just the knife thing, but keeping Ryan out too late. I knew you wanted him in, but I was enjoying his company. He’s a nice little boy. They both are. I guess I wanted to show him something my dad showed me when I was a kid. You know, sort of pass something on to the next generation?”