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“Yeah, for the colt. We can’t keep calling him Easy Boy Easy.” Balancing the plates, he climbed back onto the chair and jumped to the floor.
“Raindance sounds good. Where did you come up with that?”
“Well…I wanted an Indian name for him ’cause he’s an Indian horse. And it looks like he’s got raindrops on his rump.” Quint walked around the table, setting a plate in front of each chair. “It’s okay to say rump, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Cat retrieved a head of lettuce from the refrigerator and took it to the sink to wash.
“The sheriff said butt isn’t a nice word.” Quint went to the silverware drawer.
“The sheriff’s right. There are definitely better words.”
The crunch of tires on gravel and the low rumble of a car engine filtered into the house. Quint snapped his head toward Cat and listened with eyes wide and mouth open, a look of excitement dawning.
“That’s the sheriff!” He gave the drawer a shove and stampeded toward the door, all coltish energy. “I gotta go tell him we fed the horses.”
A quicksilver tension raced through Cat, all her senses going on high alert as she rinsed the lettuce one last time and turned off the faucet. Leaving it to drain in the colander, she went to the cupboard and took down a salad bowl.
A mix of footsteps, one set slow and even and the other quick and light, thudded across the porch. The squeaking of the screen door signaled their entrance into the house. A tremble skidded up her spine when she heard the low, rich timbre of Logan’s voice.
Cat chalked it up to nerves and this awkward marriage that had them living together for Quint’s benefit. She consoled herself with the knowledge that it would be twice as unnatural if she weren’t aware of Logan as a man, a virilely attractive man. If there were times when she longed to be held and touched, such urges were perfectly natural, too. Probably even healthy. But that didn’t mean she wanted to give in to them.
Except for that first night, their wedding night, Logan hadn’t shown any interest in her as anything other than Quint’s mother. Even that night when he had shown her the various ways she could escape an attacker’s hold, his attitude and touch had been purely instructional. Which was precisely the way she wanted it, Cat reminded herself and ignored the funny ache inside.
Footsteps approached the kitchen, and she busied herself patting dry the head of lettuce, her pulse rushing a little as it always did when Logan was around.
“Something smells good.” Logan walked to the stove, lifted the lid on the sauce pot and inhaled the fragrant steam. “Spaghetti and meatballs. Looks like we’re going Italian tonight.”
“Yeah, Mom makes the best spaghetti. It’s even better than SpaghettiOs, ’cept she doesn’t make the Os,” Quint added.
“That’s a shame.” A smile was in Logan’s voice.
“She can’t find the Os at the store,” Quint explained. “She’s looked and looked. Haven’t you, Mom?”
“That’s right,” Cat agreed, too aware of Logan moving to the counter area where she was working.
He opened a cupboard door and took out a cup, slanting her a sideways look. “Quint tells me you fed the horses already. I don’t expect you to take care of the house, look after him, and do ranch chores as well. I hope you know that.”
Uncomfortable and half-irritated that he should be so thoughtful and considerate, Cat dug her fingers into the head of lettuce and tore out a chunk. “I had been working with the colt. Since I was already at the barn, it seemed logical to go ahead and feed the horses. It didn’t require that much effort.”
“Maybe not. Anyway, thanks for doing it.” The warmth in his voice was genuine, and much too unsettling.
“No problem.” She was cool to the point of being brusque. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his mouth tighten.
“I thought of a name for the colt,” Quint put in. “It’s a good one, too.”
“Let me guess,” Logan said. “You’re going to call him Lollapaloosa.”
Logan’s suggestion was so unexpected and whimsical that Cat couldn’t keep a laugh from bubbling out. She struggled to smother it, even though this wasn’t the first time Logan’s sense of humor had taken her by surprise.
Just for a moment, amusement danced in both their eyes. The guarded look was gone from her expression. She was open to him, warm and vibrant and beautiful. Desire crawled through Logan with an enveloping heat. Then Quint spoke up, reclaiming his attention.
“Lollap’loosa,” he stumbled over the name, a deep frown knitting his forehead. “What’s that mean?”
“It means the colt is unique, the best there is,” Logan explained.
“Is it an Indian name?”
“I’m afraid not.” Logan carried his cup over to the table.
