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CHAPTER TEN
THE DAWN HAD YET TO BREAK when Dax entered the kitchen, drawn there by the scent of fresh coffee. He felt washed-out but infinitely better, the rampaging pain but a fading nightmare.
As bad as the dream had been, there had been a good part, too. Jenna. Even in the fog of a migraine, he’d been aware of her soft hands touching him, easing the throb in his temples, sliding his shirt from his body. Had he not been so ill—well, he had been. Otherwise, she would not have taken such liberties.
Yet he remembered.
This morning, Jenna was nowhere to be seen, but from the looks of things she was up and busy, probably tending Sophie. From what he’d gathered, she rose with the baby around six and never let up again until bedtime. He’d seen the fatigue around her eyes, felt a twinge of guilt for working her so hard, but she never complained and any suggestion that she ease up seemed to trouble her. He didn’t know why. There was no chance of her being fired, though he figured she didn’t know that yet.
After last night, when she’d tended him like a baby, her job was safe for as long as she wanted it.
He was embarrassed at his weakness, but she’d responded with such genuine care. This morning would tell the tale, though. He would know when he looked in her eyes if she considered him less of a man. Reba had.
He poured a thick brown mug full of steaming brew, dumped in two spoons of sugar and stirred. His housekeeper was still a mystery. In the back of his mind a nagging voice claimed she hadn’t come completely clean about her reasons for being here. Sometimes she seemed to be looking over her shoulder. Other times she embraced the mundane business of life with the exuberance of a child experiencing things for the first time.
But Dax didn’t care where she’d come from or why she’d chosen to stay here. He was simply glad she had.
She’d figured out Gavin faster than a flea hops and the little dude responded like a dry sponge. He was grateful, though his growing feelings for his housekeeper went deeper than gratitude. Every day he reminded himself that she was too young, too smart and pretty and refined. She was wise, too, as if she had an old soul.
With a grunt at his fanciful thoughts, he stepped to the sink and deposited the spoon there for later cleanup. The window over the sink looked out on the backyard and beyond to the barns and corrals and separating pens. The first shifting of dawn’s white-pink light cast a halo over the peaceful, drowsy ranch.
The beauty had particular significance this morning now that the Coleman curse of migraines had run its course and he’d survived.
He loved gazing out at the land he’d purchased from the rest of his family. No one else loved the ranch the way he did. No one else could tolerate the long days and 24–7 demands of the cowboy life. Most of all no one wanted to live out here far from the rest of civilization.
Which brought him back to his housekeeper. She seemed to relish the place and even if the pleasure was an act, he’d take it. He’d found her in the horse barns one day, Sophie attached to her front like a baby monkey on some kind of sling thing. He’d been surprised to hear that she had equestrian skills as she called them and after watching her with the horses for a while, he’d believed her. He’d offered to let her ride sometime, refraining from actually offering to ride along with her. No use being stupid.
After Rowdy’s comments, though, he was having second thoughts. As much as he liked his ranch hand, he didn’t want Rowdy messing with Jenna. She was too sweet and tender and innocent. Rowdy was a rounder.
He sipped his coffee, sighed out his pleasure in such a simple thing as good coffee and sunrise, and leaned against the sink to watch. The silent sun shimmered just beneath the horizon, casting up hints of the coral and yellow to come. The morning sun was magical to him, bringing with it the promise of a new, clean day, uncluttered by yesterday’s suffering.
He chuckled and shook his head. He was feeling poetic this morning.
From the corner of his eye he saw movement on the long, back porch and turned in that direction. A figure—Jenna—huddled beneath a blanket on the cedar bench he rarely used. Once, he’d planned for the backyard and patio to be a place for family and friends to gather, a place to watch his children play and grow. Those plans, like so many others, had died in their infancy.
After pouring a second cup of coffee complete with cream, the way Jenna liked it, he eased the back door open with his hip and joined her.
“Good mornin’,” he said. Standing with legs wide he breathed in the crisp, clean morning. The air was still as death, though he knew the wind would get up later on. Winter encroached on the perfect fall.
