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Not tonight.
Not with Lizzie’s soft, long, slim fingers tucked in his, churning up memories he’d tried so hard to forget. Tried—and failed. Because all it took was the touch of her hand and that warm, sweet smile to bring it roaring back to life once more.
CHAPTER THREE
“Dad!” Zeke clapped a hand to his forehead as they finished Cookie’s meal of thick, robust stew and fresh, warm bread. “Is it campfire night tonight? Remember? You promised.”
“I did say that, yes. Wick cleaned out the fire pit earlier. So we’re ready to go.”
“Then this is like the best day ever!” Zeke turned Lizzie’s way. “We couldn’t have campfires when the weather was really bad.” Wide eyes stressed the word really and his voice did the same. “But now we can!”
The last thing Lizzie wanted to do was elongate an already impossibly long day by going to the first campfire of the season, but when Zeke sent her an imploring look, she caved.
She and Corrie crossed the yard about an hour later, heading toward the warm, inviting glow of the wood fire. Corrie had brought a shawl, because the spring evening had taken a chill. “I haven’t been to a campfire since you gals were in that equestrian group back in the day.”
Neither had Lizzie. Heath Caufield and campfires hadn’t been on her radar a dozen hours ago. Now they were. “I should be working. There’s a lot to learn.”
“Although there is much to be said for getting to know those we’ll be working with,” suggested Corrie. She pulled the woven shawl tighter as they approached the fire pit tucked on a broad graveled spot below the house.
Brad and Jace stood and relinquished their seats on the bench the moment they spotted the women. Lizzie started to wave them back. Grabbing a spot on the thick log would be fine for her, but Heath caught her eye.
He shook his head slightly.
Just that gentle warning to accept the offered gesture, so she did.
Zeke rounded the fire and came her way. “You came!”
“It was a hard invitation to resist, Zeke.”
His grin was reward enough, but he made things even better by proffering a small brown paper bag. “Cookie brought stuff for s’mores, but I don’t like them so he gave me cookies instead. Do you like cookies?” He was quick to include Corrie in his generosity as he held the bag open. “I didn’t like grab them with my hands or anything so they’re pretty clean.”
“A pretty clean cookie sounds like the best offer I’ve had all day, Zeke.” Lizzie had spent two days sitting in a car, driving cross-country, and she’d been studying the horse financial records for hours. The last thing she should do was add empty calories to her already messed-up daily fitness plan, but looking around the ranch, she figured her step tracker was about to get a serious daily workout. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome!” He smiled up at her, eyes shining, as if sharing a cookie around the campfire was the best thing ever. When she bit into the broad double chocolate chip cookie, she couldn’t disagree.
“You made a wonderful campfire even better, my friend.” He giggled as he handed a cookie to Corrie, too. When she fussed over how good it was, the boy’s grin grew wider.
Endearing. Joyous. Carefree.
A dear boy, a delightful child. Gazing at him, she wondered what their little boy would have been like. Would he have gotten her eyes? Heath’s hair? Would he have had Heath’s inner strength and the Fitzgerald writing skills? His grandmother’s fine heart and gentle spirit?
Corrie laid a hand against her arm and pressed closer to whisper in Lizzie’s ear. “You are wearing your heart all over your face, darlin’.”
She couldn’t help it. Not at this moment. And then Zeke patted her knee. “If you like Cookie’s chocolate cookies, wait ’til you try the peanut butter ones with the most special chocolate frosting ever.”
“They can’t be as good as these.” She made a face of doubt and the boy wriggled.
“I think they are!”
So sweet. So bright. Innocence and hope, a perfect blend. She met his gaze. “I do love chocolate the most.”
“And potatoes.”
Heath’s voice brought her attention around. Three people sat between them, creating a good distance. Enough, she’d thought.
But it could never be enough, she realized when he lifted his eyes to hers. She read the pain in his expression. For his lost wife? For his motherless child? Or was it her presence causing that angst? “I still love potatoes. I blame my Irish heritage. They haven’t come up with a potato I don’t enjoy.” The reply was for Heath, but she kept her attention on his son.
