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Her solemn gaze roamed his face, as if she searched to see if he told the truth or not. A new desire grew in his chest, an urge to fold his arms around her and hold her close. It was odd. He hadn’t wanted to hug anyone for years.
He dropped his hands to his sides. “I don’t give out promises easily, Doreena, but I will find them and discover what they’re up to.” A vow to keep his hands off her should have come next, but his tongue planted itself against the roof of his mouth, refusing to emit those words. Which told him clearly that he should hightail it. Ride as fast and far away from Doreena Buckman and her sea-colored eyes as he could.
Mules couldn’t have pulled him away from the smile that appeared on her face. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Looking into the depths of her eyes was like catching a glimpse of paradise—a place he’d thought he’d never see. It was a moment before he could think—move. He touched the tip of her nose with his index finger. “Let’s get the rest of these hogs fed.”
The fluttering in Doreena’s stomach had raced down her legs, making her quivering knees almost incapable of holding her upright. Clint turned back to the feed bags, and she tried to understand what was happening inside her. As if she didn’t have enough going on, her body now decided to act as if it had never encountered a man before. She’d been around men her entire life. But, her mind disputed, never one like Clint.
Not only was he fine looking, he radiated compassion and a sense of loyalty to his fellow man. She’d thought deep into the night, and a part of her, a large part, didn’t believe what he’d told her. He may have done time, but Clint Turnquist wasn’t an outlaw.
He caught her staring, and the smile he cracked had her cheeks tingling.
“I can do this. There’s no need for you to help.” He hefted two buckets.
She pushed off the wall. “No, I’ll help,” she insisted, if for no other reason than to be near him. It was where she felt safest, which was just one of the things that told her he wasn’t an outlaw.
Once the chores were completed, she led him to the house, knowing Sarah would have breakfast on the table.
“That pen could use a bit of reinforcement.” He nodded toward the large paddock that had held the herd Joe and Dobbs had driven to the train.
“Pigs are tough on their pens,” she admitted. “Dobbs and Joe will see to it when they return.” For a second she caught a glimpse of a future that had Clint working beside her, building the ranch back into a profitable venture.
He held open the front door for her to enter. The smell of flapjacks and bacon filled the air. Side by side, and with her heart skipping around, she and Clint walked into the kitchen and washed their hands before they took their seats.
Tristan, already consuming the food, pointed his fork at Clint. “You can give me some lessons as soon as we’re done eating.”
Doreen bit her lip and stayed silent, wondering how Clint would handle Tristan. Clint lifted a brow. “Oh?”
“Yep. Teach me the trick to shooting that coin.”
“There’s no trick,” Clint replied, taking the platter she passed his way. “And lessons can’t teach it.”
“Then how’d you learn it?” the youth demanded.
She watched and waited while Clint covered his jacks with syrup. Tristan needed guidance from a man—only heaven knew how hard she’d tried with her brother.
“It takes coordination. Once you have that, it just comes,” Clint said.
“I’m coordinated.” Tristan twirled his fork, as if proving his dexterity.
“Eye-hand coordination.” Clint chewed his food and swallowed before adding. “I’d be willing to teach you that.”
“You would?” Tristan asked.
The same question rolled around in Doreena’s head.
“Yep, as soon as breakfast is over.”
Mind ticking over, Doreena kept her gaze on Clint. He glanced her way and winked. The action had her heart thudding.
The meal proceeded with Jeb and Clint talking about repairing the pen, and as soon as their plates were empty, the two headed toward the back door.
Tristan stopped them with a shout. “Hey, what about my lessons?”
“Come on.” Clint waved a hand.
“I’ll get my six-shooter,” Tristan said.
“You won’t need it,” Clint assured him, already walking through the open doorway.
Doreena carried the dishes to the sink and peered out the window. All three men soon disappeared around the corner of the house. Usually, household chores didn’t bother her, but today, knowing Clint was outside and she wasn’t, they seemed a nuisance. Less than an hour later, she decided the rest could wait and walked out the back door to where the sounds of hammers echoed.
