Page 27 of Sweet Courage

“I was just thinking it looked impressive.” Kat shaded her eyes and smiled. She didn’t mean the gate, but no point in mentioning that.

Besides looking like sin on a stick, Hanson also looked tired—and proud of himself, though he probably didn’t know it.

“How many gates are needed?” she asked.

“Too many,” Garret said dryly. “Actually, we’re guessing.”

“Guessing?” That made no sense to Kat; she’d known the Sweets most of her life and they weren’t the sort to ‘guess’ at what work had to be done.

“Apparently,” Hanson reached for another bottle of water, twisted off the cap, and handed it to Kat, “the company responsible for building the event is not responding to questions.”

“They’re beyond communication issues.” Garret shook his head slowly. “At this point I’d settle for smoke signals.” He spun around. “They submitted the plans from last year, which would have been fine if we were still holding the fair on Harding’s land, but we’re not.”

Kat paused to take a long swallow of cool water. “None of that sounds good.”

“Could certainly be better.” Garret walked over to the gate they’d just installed.

Benny straightened from the post he’d sunk and wiped the back of his wrist across his forehead. “You think they even know where this place is?”

“That,” Garret muttered, “is becoming my chief concern.”

Hanson’s hand shifted to his shirt pocket. With quiet efficiency, he pulled out a small index card, glanced at it, and slid it back into place so fast most people would have missed it. Kat didn’t miss it. The little surge of pleasure she felt was wildly out of proportion. He was using the cards. Not because she had told him to. Not because someone stood over him making him do it. But, because they helped, and he had decided that mattered more than pride.

There had been several small moments like that over the past couple of weeks. Hanson stepping aside after Mason’s lesson to check a card before going to the barn. Hanson pulling one from his pocket while Alice asked him to fetch something from the pantry and Clint called from the porch at the same time. Hanson pausing, reading, then continuing instead of freezing, covering, or turning frustration inward. Each time, Kat had wanted to cheer, but merely smiled to herself.

“Sometimes,” Garret paused, “I wonder how I get myself into these messes.”

A slow grin took over Benny’s face, not with contentment but like a man who had just pulled one over on a buddy. “Because your mama asked you to.”

“There is that.” Garret chuckled.

Kat, on the other hand, let out a deep belly laugh. Immediately, Hanson’s head snapped in her direction and his gaze locked on hers. Not accidentally. Deliberately. And there it was again, that little tug low in her chest. When had this become normal? When had the man from the parking lot disaster—the one who had turned her coconut cream pie into a crime scene and her trunk into an insurance claim—become someone whose smile could rearrange her whole morning?

Maybe it had happened in pieces. The western store, when he had allowed himself to be teased. The porch, when he’d asked about Mason and listened as if dyslexia mattered because Mason mattered. The horse auction, when his hand had stayed warm in hers after she’d grabbed it. The kitchen, when he’d admitted the Sweets made the family part look easy. The index cards, when he had slipped them into his pocket even though pride had made his jaw hard. Piece by piece, moment by moment, he had stopped being a question and started being a person she looked for. That was dangerous. Also wonderful.

Her mind was so lost in the merits of Hanson Taylor, she’d missed what he’d just said. The way the sparkle in his eyes dimmed, she feared it had been something important. “Sorry, my mind was kicking around Garret’s problem. What was it you said?”

Heaving in a deep breath, as though repeating his words took a monumental effort, Hanson took a step closer to her and away from the work crew. “I’m grateful for all your help and wondered if you’d allow me a proper thank you.” Forcing a stilted smile to hide what was clearly difficult for him, she wondered what the heck could be so hard to spit out. “Would you join me for dinner tomorrow night?”

Chapter Twelve

“It’s a date.” The words were playing in his mind on a never-ending loop. He felt like such a girl. In the last twenty minutes, he’d tried on and rejected three different shirts. Never in his life had a single evening out with a woman had him nearly paralyzed with fear. He had no idea where he’d found the nerve to ask Kat out. Though he’d tried to couch it as casually as possible, the invitation sounded like a date, felt like a date, and like it or not—was a date. Kat’s response proved it.

Standing in front of the mirror over the dresser, he looked down at the blue button-down he’d finally settled on. The color at least made him look like himself. Or maybe a version of himself he could live with. For a quick flash, his mind drifted to his buddies, to how they must have felt. Taking the cell phone from his pocket, he gave a quick call to Gideon. Last time they’d spoken his buddy had sounded…down. Hanson hadn’t been feeling much better so he hadn’t called as much as he should have, but maybe just a few minutes now could put them both at ease.

The phone rang and then voice mail. He waited for the beep. “Hey bro. Just taking a minute to check in. Things here are…” What were they? “Coming along. Give me a ring when you have a moment.” Placing his cell back in his pocket, he hoped it was a good sign that Gideon was too busy to take a call, but he had his doubts. Heaving a deep sigh, he stared at his reflection. Hair trimmed. Jaw clean-shaven, he looked strong and steady. Too bad none of that changed the fact that inside he felt about sixteen years old and half a breath away from disaster.

It’s just a date, he reminded himself. Four words. Simple. Direct. No confusion possible. Which, given the state of his brain lately, should have been a mercy. Dinner. With Kat. Alone. He glanced at the clock. Five thirty-two. Time to leave. By the time he’d reached town, Hanson had checked the card twice, his watch three times, and the rearview mirror more often than recommended for safe driving. Now, parked in front of the address Kat had given him, he double-checked twice even though he had been given such precise directions a blind man could have found the place. He found himself sitting there with his pulse beating a little too hard for a man merely headed to dinner.

He had asked women out before. Plenty of times. Even before his brains had been rattled, none of them had made him think through every word before he spoke it. None of them had made him wonder whether he could keep up his end of a conversation for two solid hours without losing a thread and feeling like a fool. None of them had made him care, truly care, what a woman would see when she looked across a table at him. Tonight he cared. That was the problem.

The front door opened. Light spilled across the porch first. Then Kat stepped into it. For one suspended second, the whole evening narrowed to that doorway. For a moment, every useful thought left him. She wore a soft white dress that flowed down just below her knees and those pink cowboy boots he had no business noticing as much as he did. She looked sweet and bright and entirely too capable of undoing him without touching a thing.

“Hi.” Her gaze softened and her cheeks tugged at the corners of her mouth.

Clearing his throat, he barely managed to mutter back the word, “hi.” No question about it, he definitely felt like a teenager on his first date. “You look beautiful.”

Her lashes lowered for half a second before she met his gaze again. “Thank you.”