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“Yes. Very much,” Cat answered truthfully, surprised that she felt it so strongly.
She loved The Homestead and the Triple C as deeply as she always had, but this wasn’t her home anymore. Her home was the Circle Six, with Logan and Quint. It wasn’t something she could easily explain, not even to herself.
“Mom, I don’t think I can go to sleep.”
“Why don’t you try closing your eyes?” she suggested.
“It won’t work.”
“Try.” Bending, Cat tapped his nose and gave him a goodnight kiss.
By the time she reached the door, his eyes were already drifting shut. She left the door standing slightly ajar and went downstairs to wait for Logan.
A nearly full moon had begun its climb into the night sky when headlight beams flashed across The Homestead’s front windows,” signaling Logan’s return. Cat met him on the porch and went straight into his arms, greeting him with a long, welcoming kiss.
“You must have been reading my mind,” Logan murmured against her lips. “I’ve been thinking about kissing you for the last ten miles.”
“I’ve been thinking about it longer than that.” Cat locked her hands behind his neck and added suggestively, “Among other things.”
He slanted a hard, quick kiss across her lips. “Hold that thought until after I’ve had a shower.” He reached up to pull her hands from around his neck.
“Yes, I noticed you’re wearing every rancher’s favorite cologne—Eau de Manure.” She let him draw her hands down between them.
“A cow got stuck in the mud. I had to dig her part way out before I could pull her free. I hosed the worst of it off before I left.”
“How are things at the ranch?” Cat wasn’t ready to go inside yet.
“Fine.”
“Quint wants to know when we’re going to move back. So do I.”
“I don’t know. Maybe next week.”
“Why not tomorrow?” She saw the refusal forming in his expression and quickly reasoned, “Everything is almost back to normal. The media pulled out last week and the FBI two days ago. You don’t honestly believe we’re in any kind of danger or you wouldn’t have told Dad he could take his men off guard duty and let them go back to their regular work. So why do we have to wait until next week?”
“Blackmore reports back next week,” Logan explained. “When he takes over as sheriff, I’ll have regular hours again. I’ll be able to spend more time at home, especially in the evenings. I won’t feel comfortable leaving you and Quint alone at night, not for a while. And that’s not the right frame of mind to have when you go out on a call.”
Cat understood his reasoning. She didn’t like it, but she understood it. “All right,” she gave in, with a sigh. “Next week.”
Beer in hand, Lath strolled over to the jukebox and glanced over the selections. Rollie adjusted his angle on the cue ball and took aim on the seven ball near the corner pocket. Drawing the pool cue back, he let it fly. There was a crack and a rumble followed by the solid thud of the seven ball falling into the pocket.
“What was that noise?” Lath turned from the jukebox, a heavy frown on his face.
“That was the seven ball.” Rollie moved around the pool table, his eye measuring the best angle on the eight ball. “You might as well get your money out now, Lath. This game is mine.”
“No, I heard something else.” Still frowning, he looked toward the front windows, his head cocked at a listening attitude.
“You aren’t going to break my concentration playing that old diversion game,” Rollie told him and bent over the table. “Eight ball, side pocket.”
“It’s no game. I swear I heard something.” Lath came back to the pool table.
“Then maybe you should go check it out.” Rollie did a practice stroke.
“I forgot—how much was the bet?”
“Ten dollars. You can lay it right there by the chalk.” Rollie nodded to it.
“I thought it was five.”
