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“No, I’m here for good.”
“Does that mean you’re going to live with us?”
Logan nodded. “After your mother and I get married.”
Quint turned to Cat. “When will that be?”
“In a couple of days.”
“Oh.” A rustling of straw distracted him. Quint turned to watch the colt’s uncoordinated attempt to explore its new surroundings. The mare nickered to it, summoning it back to her side. “What does a dad do?”
“What do you and your mom do together?” Logan countered.
His slender shoulders lifted in a high shrug. “Sometimes we go riding. When it’s warm enough, we go swimming in the river. And we go to the cemetery a lot.”
Logan’s glance flicked to Cat. There was a heat in it that burned. But his voice was remarkably calm and level when he asked, with seemingly casual interest, “What do you do at the cemetery?”
“We visit my grandma’s grave and Repp’s, sometimes Nana Ruth’s, too. Sometimes we put flowers on them, and sometimes we just look,” Quint replied, then frowned curiously. “My mom loved Repp. Does she love you?”
“Honestly, Quint.” Cat managed a stilted laugh, an uncomfortable warmth staining her cheeks. “I have never known you to ask so many questions. As for me loving Logan, I will love your father forever for giving me you.” She thought she had dodged Quint’s question quite handily while still being truthful. “I think that’s enough for a while. Molly’s out in the corral. I’ll bet your dad would like to see your horse.”
Quint shook his head. “He’s already seen her. We rode Molly together.” He unstraddled the board and jumped to the concrete alleyway. “I’d rather go down to the river. Uncle Ty takes me fishing sometimes. He says fly-fishing is an art.”
“Your uncle is right.” Logan strolled along with him when Quint moved toward the sunshine that streamed through the open barn door. Cat was slow to follow, but neither appeared to notice. Being ignored was a new experience for her, one she didn’t particularly like.
Quint released a long sigh. “I’m not very good at fly-fishing.”
“I’ve heard it takes a lot of practice.”
“Can you fly-fish?”
“About as well as you can:”
“It must take a lot of practice,” Quint concluded as they passed into the bright light of afternoon. He walked a few paces, absorbed in his own thoughts. At last, he tipped his head back. “If you’re my dad, how come we don’t have the same name?”
“Because your mother and I weren’t married when you were born,” Logan explained. “After the wedding, we’ll have yours legally changed to Quint Echohawk.”
“Echohawk,” Quint repeated. “That sounds like an Indian name. Are you an Indian?”
“My mother was half-Sioux.”
“Does that mean I’m an Indian?”
“You’re part Sioux.”
“Do you live in a tepee?” Quint’s eyes got big at the thought.
“I’m afraid not.” A wry smile slanted Logan’s mouth. “I live in a house the same as you do.”
“That’s too bad.” Quint kicked at a rock. “I think I would like living in a tepee.”
The remark was nothing more than a little boy’s idle fantasy. Cat knew that, yet it hurt to see how quickly he embraced the things from Logan’s world.
Convincing herself that the two of them needed time alone to get acquainted, she angled toward the house. “You guys have fun,” she called. “I’ll see you later.”
Quint stopped, staring at her with a stricken look. “Aren’t you coming with us to the river, Mom?”
“No, I thought I’d help Jessy with the dinner dishes.”
