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He wondered at the assessment, so different from Reba’s. She’d felt confined and alone. Jenna felt safe and free. Though he wondered at how such a young woman could know otherwise, another hitch in the terrible knot beneath his heart loosened.
“Wide-open spaces, fresh air, can’t beat ’em.”
She inhaled deeply. “Just smell that, Dax. So clean and pure.” She touched his shirtsleeve. “I smell winter.”
Resisting the urge to put his hand over hers, Dax smiled and looked toward the horizon. She had a cute way of putting things.
“You probably smell rain blowing up from the Gulf. Anyway, I hope you do. Lord knows we need it.”
“Do we?”
We. He didn’t miss the pronoun. “Always need rain out here. That’s why we irrigate.”
“Ah.” She tilted her head in acknowledgment. “What is that sound?”
Dax listened, hearing only the usual noises of a Texas dawn. “Birds, hungry calves bawling for mama.”
“No, that other sound. The popping.”
His lips curved against the rim of his coffee cup. He’d lived so long with the noises he hardly heard them anymore. “Oil wells somewhere. Could be miles away. Out here sound travels forever.”
“We don’t have those in—back East.”
That tiny pause caught in Dax’s thoughts. What was it about her past that she wanted to hide? Why didn’t she want him to know her hometown?
He mentally rolled his eyes. Get a clue, Coleman. Women like an escape route. Last night meant nothing beyond an employee showing kindness. Get over it.
The back door groaned open. Gavin poked his head out. “Dad?”
Both adults turned toward the sound.
“Out here, son.”
Dressed in flannel pajamas, his dark hair sticking up in horns all over his head, Gavin stumbled out onto the porch. “What are you doing?”
“Talking. Watching the sunrise.”
Gavin’s face screwed up tight. “Is it time to get up?”
“Only if you want to.”
“Okay.” He scratched at his underarm, clearly bewildered by the adults’ behavior. “Dad?”
“What?”
“Is your grain better?”
“My what?”
Jenna chuckled softly and touched Dax’s arm. They exchanged glances. “My grains. Your grains. Understand?”
The light dawned in Dax’s eyes.
“Yes, son,” he said. “My headache is gone, thanks to Jenna.”
“And me. I was real quiet.”
“Yes, you were,” Jenna said. “You helped me with Sophie, too.”
“Yeah.” The dark-haired child stretched, yawning loudly. “It’s cold out here. Dad?”
The adults shared another amused glance. “What, son?”
“Can Jenna come to my school again? She wants to, don’t you Miss Jenna?”
“Yes, I do, but that’s entirely up to your father.”
“Why would I care if you went to Gavin’s school?”
“They’d like me to volunteer one day a week.”
“You want to?”
“Very much, but my first duty is here.”
Duty. For some inexplicable reason, the word chafed like starched pants. “Gavin is part of that duty. But you have a life, too, Jenna. You aren’t a slave here.”
“I know, but I want to do the right thing.”
“Volunteer. It will be good for both of you.” Good for him, too, not to be thinking about her in his house every minute of the day.
She smiled. “Yes, I believe so, too.”
Her smile touched a sore spot inside him. The chafing evaporated. Hadn’t he been thinking she needed to get out more?
“This reminds me of something I’ve been meaning to discuss with you.” Since the conversation with Rowdy, the thoughts hadn’t let up. Along with a near kiss over a rearranged couch, thinking about her had probably given him the migraine. A woman had needs, even a woman with a new baby. Maybe especially then. He didn’t want her getting dissatisfied and running off. Though anyone with half a brain would tell you that Dax Coleman no more knew how to make a woman happy than he could sprout wings and fly. But he had to try.
She was a good cook. Gavin needed her. Things ran smoother since she’d come. He needed to keep her happy.
That gnat of a voice buzzing inside his head said he liked having her around, too, but he swatted it. No use thinking the impossible.
“You want to discuss something?” Jenna tilted her head, one finely shaped eyebrow upraised. “Is it something I’m not doing correctly?”
There were lots of those but he wasn’t going there. Who cared about pink socks or a fork down the garbage disposal when she served beef tournedos and salmon roulade—and he wasn’t even a fish eater.
