Rancher at Risk (15 page)

“Lianne!” Nate said. “Look who’s here.”

“I see.” She lifted the condiments like a shield and looked as though she wanted to run from the room, too.

“Ryan’s having supper with us,” Nate said.

“Is he?”

“Yeah. I can carry those outside.” She reached to take the bottles and jars.

“Great.” Lianne set everything in a wicker basket and handed it over. “Thank you.”

Nate left the room, letting the door slam behind her. The kid—P.J.—followed. He carried a package of napkins and a plastic cup under each arm like footballs. Just the way Billy did.

“Here,” Lianne said, not meeting his eyes.

Before he could protest, she shoved a plastic-wrapped platter of hamburger patties at him. He grabbed it with his free hand just as she turned away again. If he hadn’t closed his fingers around the edge of the platter, the burgers would have landed on the floor.

She turned to her niece. The two of them started to talk, their hands flying, their faces alight, their mouths not saying a word. Not a whisper broke the silence…until Lianne laughed, that soft, throaty sound he’d last heard in her bedroom.

Before he could think straight, he had barreled through the doorway and found himself on the back porch again. And there he stood holding the danged platter of raw meat.

He didn’t want to stay for supper. He didn’t want to be there at all. Lianne didn’t want him around, either. Her actions and expression made that all too clear.

They also made him suddenly downright determined to stick around.

* * *

R
YAN
HELD
HIS
hand over the grill. The charcoal ought to be good and ready, since it burned at a heat level equal to the irritation in his gut.

Not long after he’d set the platter on the shelf attached to the grill, he’d begun wishing he’d stuck to his first reaction and run right through the kitchen in the other direction—upstairs to his room.

The little boy stood near his elbow, close enough to make it impossible for Ryan to ignore him, let alone to pretend he didn’t exist. For now, at least, the kid seemed to have run out of questions to ask. Without blinking an eye, he watched every move of the spatula as if he were starving—or had never seen anyone make such a mess of flipping burgers.

Why couldn’t the kid have stayed on the other side of the yard with Lianne and the girls, continuing their silent conversation and leaving him manning the grill?

How did he get drafted into the job, anyhow? Carrying the platter out to the yard shouldn’t have automatically nominated him as chief cook. He slapped the spatula on the grill and flipped another burger. It fell through the rack and onto the coals below.

Three down.
At this rate, they’d all have to turn vegetarian for the evening.

“Do you need some help?” the boy beside him asked.

“No, I’m good,” he said.

Your nose is gonna grow like Pinocchio’s, Daddy!

Billy had always shouted that when he suspected a lie. And he’d just now told a heck of a whopper.

The five-year-old reminded him too much of his own son. The little girl had run up to join them and now stood silently with her silver-gray eyes trained on him, too. Again he kicked himself for not having turned tail and run.

Lianne sauntered over to them. “Are we having a problem here?” She pointed to the burgers that had fallen through the rack.

First the kid, now her. He ground his molars and fibbed again, “No, things are great.” He gestured toward the dog that was never more than a foot from the girl. “Those are for Pirate.”

Lianne bit the corner of her lip, probably to hide a smile.

P.J. tugged on Becky’s sleeve. When he’d gotten her attention, he pointed to the fallen burgers, too, and then moved his free hand—all his fingertips touching—toward the dog. “For Pirate.” He clapped his hand over his eye.

The sign stood for the dog’s name, which Becky had apparently given to the mutt the minute she’d seen him. The dog had a patch of dark fur around his eye; it was a nice piece of logic.

Kids that age had plenty of smarts….

Becky grinned and wiggled her upright hands in the air.

“She’s clapping,” P.J. told him.

“Pirate’s a lucky boy,”
Lianne said, looking into the grill.

He frowned. Returning his attention to his task, he flipped another burger. Carefully. He’d already made enough for the mutt.

“We’ll be eating soon,”
she added.
“Time to go wash your hands.”

The two younger ones scampered away, the dog in pursuit. Nate took off after them. Ryan was left alone with the rest of the sizzling burgers. And with Lianne.

She stood staring at him as steadily as the kids had done. “Let me know if you plan to do any of the cooking for the scouts’ campfire. I’ll increase the food budget.”

“Very funny.” He transferred the cooked burgers to the platter she held out to him.

“What’s not funny is the way you’re behaving.”

He raised his brows. “I can’t help the way I cook.” But that wasn’t what she meant, and he knew it.

“You can help how you’re talking—or I should say not talking—to the kids.”

He shrugged, not intending to tell her he wanted nothing to do with the kids, especially the younger ones.

P.J. overflowed with the same little-boy enthusiasm his son had shown. He had the same habit of asking a never-ending list of questions. Even his hair, though blond instead of brown, grew in a cowlick that refused to be tamed, just as Billy’s had.

And Becky—

“If you didn’t feel sociable, you could have gone on your way. You didn’t have to accept Nate’s invitation.”

“That last part’s true.” Though he hadn’t actually received—or accepted—an invitation. More like Nate had taken for granted he’d stay to supper. “But the rest has nothing to do with being sociable or not. I was paying attention to my cooking.”

She glanced quickly at the grill and shook her head. “I suppose that’s a good thing. I don’t want to think about what would happen if you didn’t focus.”

She looked up, her eyes sparkling, her cheeks flushed a pale pink. “As I was saying—”

“Yeah. Focus.” Any determination he’d ever mustered to keep his distance went up in a puff of charcoal-scented smoke. He took the platter from her, set it on the shelf and turned back. “Want to know what I’m focusing on now? Read my lips.”

Chapter Twelve

As Ryan leaned closer, Lianne tensed. Ever since last night, she had reminded herself of the list of reasons she needed to stay away from him. All the reasons she needed to be strong. But she couldn’t let him see her run.

He slipped his arm around her waist and rested his free hand against her cheek.

A warmth spread through her, one she couldn’t blame on the heat from the grill.

He held her closer, the way he had on the dance floor. She braced her hands on his biceps, the way she had in her bedroom last night.

And she slipped free of his arm and stepped away.

“Hey—” His gaze darted over her shoulder.

That was enough to tell her the kids had returned to the yard. Good. He would have to keep his hands to himself.

The warmth filling her had nothing to do with his touch or the look in his eyes. It came from anger at what he had attempted and what she had almost let him get away with.

She had tried to talk about why he wasn’t interacting with the kids. He’d wanted…to do something else.

“Interesting,” she said thoughtfully.

“I’d call it more than that.”

“I mean our conversation. You deliberately changed the subject, didn’t you? I was pointing out how you had avoided the kids, and you used that…
maneuver
as a way to distract me.”

He frowned. “It wasn’t a maneuver.”

She opened her mouth and snapped it shut again. She wouldn’t be able to tell if her voice rose too high, and she couldn’t risk the kids overhearing what she wanted to say. Hands trembling, she grabbed the platter of hamburgers from the shelf.

Pirate darted between them, his head raised to sniff the air.

“No, Pirate. Ryan has yours.” She turned away.

Nate ran toward them. Behind her Becky and P.J. had climbed up to sit at the picnic table.

Ryan put his hand on her shoulder. Reluctantly, she looked back at him.

“Lianne, I don’t play games.”

She shrugged. His hand slipped away.

“We’re starving,” Nate said. “Are the hamburgers ready yet?”

She hoped her laugh didn’t sound forced. “Right here. Let’s go.” She followed Nate to the table.

Ryan had stayed beside the grill. His hair gleamed in the sunshine. His eyes sparkled as he played with the dog. He tore a hamburger patty into bits and tossed the pieces to Pirate, who snapped them up as though he hadn’t eaten in days.

Dragging her gaze away, she dropped a hamburger onto a bun and concentrated on smacking the bottom of the upended ketchup bottle. The irony of the situation didn’t escape her. She had brought the kids here to help her stay away from Ryan, and here she was, annoyed because he wanted to stay away from them.

He had interacted with Nate and P.J. only when they approached him. Becky was another story. As far as she could tell, from the moment he had walked into the kitchen until now, he hadn’t sent a smile, a gesture or even a glance in her niece’s direction.

His attitude irritated her at the same time it stirred memories, triggering a well-known pressure in the pit of her stomach and a familiar ache in her heart. At school she didn’t have to face sitting alone with people who couldn’t understand her. But later, home again, there were plenty of barbecues, birthday parties, holiday dinners… She had spent too many of them sitting alone and overlooked by most of the adults and ignored by the kids, feeling as though she didn’t fit in.

She didn’t ever want anyone to make Becky feel that way.

Especially Ryan.

Now he approached the picnic table with Pirate trotting along beside him. The closest seat open would put him opposite her and beside Becky. Without a glance at either of them, he went to the far end of the table. Pirate put his front paws on the edge of the bench near Becky.

Her stomach churning, Lianne set the hamburger back on her plate. Ketchup oozed from around the edges, and her fingertips had left craters in the bun.

She sighed, knowing it was more than just Ryan’s unwillingness to communicate that upset her.

She wanted him to care. To look at Becky and not see a less-than-perfect child. To look at
her
and not see someone less than whole. She wanted him just to accept them, as is, no expectations attached.

* * *

R
YAN
PUT
ON
a clean pair of jeans and sat on the foot of the bed to put his boots on. Every muscle in his body ached from the tension of getting through the evening before.

He should have followed his instincts and headed right upstairs instead of staying for supper. He should have come up with an excuse to leave the ranch altogether. And he sure as hell should
not
have tried to kiss Lianne again.

If he had known she would wind up throwing those accusations at him, he wouldn’t have gone near her at all.

Maneuver,
she’d said. He’d give her a
maneuver
she wouldn’t soon forget. He’d kiss her—

“Morning.”

The boot slipped from his fingers and thudded to the carpet at his feet.

The voice had come from the hall. He turned his head toward the door and saw the body that went with it— pint-sized, dressed in pajamas printed with stars and spaceships, and carrying a bed pillow.

P.J.

Other than the cowlick, the kid didn’t look much like his son. But his eyes were puffy and pillow-creased, like Billy’s when he first woke up. His hair went every which way, like Billy’s when he first crawled out from under the covers. And that cowlick, just like Billy’s, stood up on the back of his head.

The boy crossed the room and climbed up onto the bed. He settled the sheets around him to his satisfaction, then plopped the pillow onto his lap and leaned his elbows on it. “That barbecue was a long time ago. You think we’ll get breakfast soon?”

He stared, trying to regain his breath and bring his thoughts back from the past. After a moment, he reached down for his fallen boot. “I don’t know. Anybody up yet besides you and me?”

“Just Pirate. But he can’t cook.”

Right.
He managed a sickly grin.

“Whatcha doin’?”

Looking down, he focused on putting his boot on. “Getting ready for work.” And for the inevitable list of questions.

“Are you the boss of this ranch?”

Ha.
That sure recalled him to the here and now—and the problems he faced in it. He tried to keep the sourness from his tone. “I like to think I run this place, kid, but I reckon that depends on who you ask.”

“Oh.” P.J. shrugged. “Did you know there’s gonna be a lot of boys at this ranch soon?”

“Yes.” Luckily, he wouldn’t see a single one of them.

“Do
you
have any boys?”

His mouth suddenly dry, he stared at P.J. without speaking.

P.J. stared back, blue eyes unblinking, waiting for a response.

Just like Billy, trusting his daddy to have all the answers.

“I—” How could he explain to a five-year-old? “No. I don’t have any boys.”

“Oh.” The kid rolled his eyes. “You have
girls?
” His voice dropped a few notches on the final word.

Ryan shook his head. “Don’t have any of those, either. You got something against girls?”

“They think they’re so smart. And they always want to be the boss.”

Now, wasn’t that the truth.
“Like Nate?”

An emphatic nod. “And my big sister. Not the little one yet.” As if Ryan had commented, he added, “Well, Becky’s a girl, too, but she’s okay. She can’t talk, but that’s okay, too. My mama says she’s just like me. Do you know any signs?”

“No, I don’t.”

“I know lots.” P.J. touched one fingertip to his cheek and twisted it. “This is
candy.
And this—” he curved his hand into a claw and dragged his fingertips down his stomach “—means
hungry.
”