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“The colt needs an Indian name,” Quint said with a decisive nod, th
en proceeded to tell him the one he liked and explained at length how he had come up with it, finishing with, “What do you think? Do you like Raindance, too?”
“I think it fits him perfectly,” Logan agreed. “He certainly does a lot of dancing around when you put a halter on him.”
“Not anymore. Mom’s got him leading real good. But he used to, didn’t he?” Quint said, pleased to find another reason for choosing the name.
“He sure did.” Logan drank the last of the coffee in his cup and took it back to the counter, glancing at Cat. “Do I have time to change before dinner’s ready?”
“Easily,” she answered without looking at him. “I won’t be cooking the spaghetti until Uncle Culley gets here.”
“I’m gonna put on a clean shirt,” Quint announced. “Mine’s dirty.”
Cat started to suggest that he finish setting the table first, but the words died on her tongue when she saw Quint trailing Logan, doing his best to copy Logan’s long, unhurried stride. The image of father and son couldn’t have been stronger. For some reason it cut deep.
She stood for a long minute, listening to Quint’s steady run of chatter fade to the other end of the house, then shook aside the vague melancholy and finished setting the table before putting the water on to boil in anticipation of her uncle’s arrival.
Conversation lagged at the supper table that evening. Cat had quickly exhausted her supply of mundane topics and wondered if she was the only one who felt the strain of this silence. She glanced at Quint, noting the way he idly toyed with his chopped-up bits of spaghetti.
“You’re awfully quiet tonight, Quint.” A few weeks ago Cat wouldn’t have found that at all unusual. Since moving here, he had become much more talkative. It was something that had happened so gradually that Cat was only now realizing it—and how much she had come to rely on him to keep the table conversation going.
“I been thinking.” He wore his serious face.
“About what?” Logan glanced at him, amused and curious.
“Well…” Quint laid his fork down and gazed intently at Logan, “I was just thinking that I’m really glad you found us, Dad.”
It was the first time Quint had ever called him that. Cat didn’t know if she was more shocked by that or the breathtaking look of love that shone in Logan’s eyes.
“I’m glad I did, too, Quint,” he replied with husky sincerity.
A beautiful, beaming smile lit Quint’s whole face. Cat stared at it for a numbed instant, then pushed to her feet, turning from the table. “I forgot to put fresh coffee on.” Her voice shook almost as much as her hands.
Her appetite was gone. She could hardly wait for the meal to be over. But her attempt to shoo everyone from the kitchen failed when Culley insisted on helping with the dishes. In the end, Cat didn’t have the energy to argue and consoled herself with the knowledge that Culley wouldn’t expect much in the way of conversation.
Working in a companionable silence, she dipped the first dinner plate in the rinse water and set it on the drainboard rack, then immersed her hand in the soapy dishwater to wash the next one. Culley picked up the plate and began wiping it dry.
“It’s natural for a kid to love his father, Cat.”
Instinctively tensing, she managed a relatively even, “I know that.”
“You looked like your heart had got torn out of your chest.”
“That’s ridiculous.” She felt her skin heat.
“You thought it was safe to love the kid, didn’t you?” He set the dried plate on a clean section of the counter.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Cat rubbed vigorously at the already clean plate.
“I got a feeling you’ve been playing it safe just about ever since your mother was killed. I can’t say that as a fact, ’cause I was pretty tore up myself back then.”
Determined to change the subject, she said, “Remind me to tell Logan that Dad called today. He wants us to come over for dinner on Sunday.”
“Now that I think about it,” Culley took the plate from her before Cat could place it in the rack, “I was kinda like you after Maggie died. I figured as long as I didn’t let myself care too deep about anybody, I wouldn’t be hurt that bad again. Then you started coming around, reaching out and needing someone because you didn’t have anyone to turn to, not with Calder laying in the hospital and your brother suddenly finding himself holding the reins to the ranch. You looked so much like Maggie that it hurt sometimes, but it helped, too. And I knew she’d want me to look out for you. So I reached back. You were family. I guess you’re more like me than Maggie.”
Cat shook her head at his rambling discourse. “You aren’t making any sense, Uncle Culley.”
He frowned. “I guess I’m not saying it plain.”
