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“Please.” Although she didn’t really want a guided tour, Cat recognized it would be the quickest way to orient herself.
Logan took them first to the typically large and roomy ranch kitchen with its white-painted cupboards, long wooden table, and ladder-back chairs. An alcove off the dining area served as a ranch office, complete with an old rolltop desk and a metal filing cabinet.
After pointing out the kitchen’s adjoining laundry and utility room with its rear door to the outside, he led them back through the living room to a hallway that branched off it. “The bathroom’s down here, along with the bedrooms.”
“Which one’s mine?” Quint wanted to know.
“This one.” Pushing open a door on the right, Logan reached inside and flipped on a wall switch.
Satisfied by the sight of a twin bed, dresser, and a corner chair, Quint then voiced his next concern, “Where do you sleep?”
“Right across the hall.” Logan indicated the door on the left side.
Two sharp knocks rattled the screen door. “Anybody home?” came the hesitant call.
“Culley,” Cat breathed her uncle’s name, relief flooding through her, dissolving the tension that had gripped her ever since they had left The Homestead. “Yes, we’re here.” She went eagerly to meet him, aware that Logan followed her.
The screen door squeaked noisily when Culley opened it. Once inside, he paused and eased the door closed out of habit. Doffing his hat, he gripped it in both hands and stood uncertainly just inside.
“Hey, Uncle Culley,” Quint greeted him with a child’s simplistic ease. “Did you know the sheriff married my mom today? This is our new house.”
“You did it, then,” Culley said with a small, satisfied nod.
“Yes.” Cat unconsciously touched the wedding band on her finger.
His glance went to Quint’s overnight bag sitting next to the platform rocker. “Guess you’re still gettin’ settled in,” he said, turning his hat in his hands.
“I was just giving them a tour through the house,” Logan explained. “But it can wait, considering you’re our first visitor. How about some coffee?”
“Yes,” Cat quickly seconded the invitation. “It won’t take but a minute to put some on.”
Not giving Culley a chance to refuse, she headed for the kitchen. The others followed at a slower pace. By the time they joined her, Cat had found the coffee in a canister and the filters in a cupboard above it.
Within minutes the coffee was brewed and poured, and all three were seated at the kitchen table, with Quint on Cat’s lap. The flow of conversation was natural and easy, centering on safe topics like weather and ranching. Listening to the two men exchange information on range conditions they had observed, Cat discovered she could readily imagine other nights spent like this, gathered around the kitchen table drinking coffee and talking.
Quint snuggled more comfortably against her and rested his head on her shoulder. Looking down, she saw the fight he was making to stay awake. Smiling, she smoothed the hair off his forehead.
“I think it’s
somebody’s bedtime,” she murmured near his ear.
“Not yet,” Quint protested without much strength.
“Yes.” She pushed her chair away from the table and stood, shifting her heavy-eyed child to ride on her hip. “Quint has decided to call it a night.”
“It’s been a long day,” Logan observed.
“Yeah.” Prompted by Cat, Quint added, “Good night, Uncle Culley. Good night, Sheriff.”
They echoed his phrase. For a brief moment, Cat met Logan’s glance. His eyes held a soft, warm look of love and understanding, the kind parents exchange when they see their sleepy child. It was intimate, disturbingly so.
The memory of it lingered throughout the nightly ritual of making sure Quint brushed his teeth, listening to his prayers, and tucking him into bed.
Leaving his bedroom door slightly ajar, she exited the room and flipped on the hall light. From the kitchen came the distinctive rubbing scrape of chair legs being pushed over the linoleum floor, followed by footsteps. She was halfway across the living room when Logan and her uncle appeared in the kitchen doorway.
“You aren’t leaving already,” Cat said on a vague note of alarm.
“It’s late,” Culley mumbled.
