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“So far, so good,” Cassie said, “but I think I’d better stick around for a while.”
“Then come on in to dinner,” Milly insisted.
Cassie held up a hand. “No, I couldn’t—”
“Nonsense. I always make enough to feed the entire Third Battalion, so you just come along.” Before Cassie could protest any further, Milly swept out the door and hurried off toward the kitchen.
“I really can’t,” Cassie said to Colton once the housekeeper’s footsteps had faded.
“Why not?”
“Because. I don’t want to intrude—”
“You won’t. Besides, I want you to stay.” He touched her lightly under the chin, forcing her gaze to his, and for the first time that day Cassie saw tenderness tempering the passion in his eyes.
She swallowed nervously. Staying with Colton seemed natural and right, and she might be able to help if any of the rest of the stock came down with the virus.
“Don’t tell me,” Colton joked, “you’ve got a better offer.”
“Millions of them.”
“I thought so.”
Cassie’s lips turned up at the corners. “Actually I’m on my own tonight. Dad’s playing cards with some friends.”
“Then I insist.”
“And I accept,” she said, burying any lingering doubts. Tonight Colton needed her, and, unfortunately, she needed him.
* * *
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Milly Samms proved an excellent cook. By the time the pork chops, potatoes, gravy, fresh asparagus and cherry pie had been served and devoured, Cassie was stuffed.
Curtis and Len had already left. Only she, Milly and Colton lingered over half-full cups of coffee at the McLeans’ large dining room table. “I’ll help with the dishes,” she offered, but Milly wouldn’t hear of it.
“You go tend to the horses, and I’ll handle this.”
“But—”
Colton reached over and squeezed her hand. “Don’t argue,” he said. “The kitchen is Milly’s turf. She kicked me out just the other day.”
“And a lucky thing, too,” Milly said, picking up a few of the platters of leftover meat and potatoes. “This place was fallin’ down around your ears and you didn’t even know it.”
“It was just a little messy.”
“A little? A little, he says,” she muttered under her breath, chuckling to herself.
Cassie reached for the butter dish. “At least let me clear—”
“No way. You’re the guest, remember? Now put that down.” Casting Cassie a look that dared her to defy her authority, Milly carried a stack of dishes through the swinging doors to the kitchen.
Cassie felt a bitter pang of disbelief. Milly had referred to her as a guest. In the McLean house. Never in all of her twenty-five years had she entered the house as a guest; not even when, years before, she’d thought she would marry Colton. She was an Aldridge—not a friend.
“I’m the veterinarian,” she corrected, shoving her chair back. “And I’d better go check on Black Magic.”
The phone rang, and Colton jumped. “Denver,” he said just as Milly called, “Colt—Denver wants to talk to you.”
