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“Why not?” Cat rushed. “What possible difference could it make where we live?”
“Isn’t it obvious? I have a ranch, Cat. That means I have chores and responsibilities there. If I have to drive back and forth, plus commute to my job, there wouldn’t be any time left to spend with my son. Or had you thought of that?”
“No. I just assumed—nothing was ever said—it never occurred to me we would live anywhere else.”
He expelled a long sigh. “It seems we both made some wrong assumptions. We should have discussed it, I guess.”
“I’ll talk to Dad,” she said, certain there would be a way around this. “We can arrange for one of our men to look after your—”
“No,” Logan broke in, sharp and decisive. “It’s my ranch and my responsibility. I don’t need your father’s help with it. And I’m not about to accept simply because you want to stay here—in your father’s house.”
“But it’s my home—and Quint’s home,” Cat argued.
“Not anymore. Not for a year,” he added, reminding her of the agreement they had made.
In the face of that, there was no argument Cat could make. “It will take me some time to pack.”
“For now, just take what you and Quint will need tonight. In the morning, you can come back and pack the rest of your things.”
“Very well,” she accepted the logic of his suggestion.
But a half-formed fear gnawed at Cat all the way to her room. It wasn’t until she saw her bed that she understood the reason for it. She felt safe here, safe from this marriage she had made. Here in this house, she would have had the distraction of family. They would have s
erved as a buffer to keep Logan at a distance. Conversation would have been easy.
Sharing a house, just the three of them, was a whole different story. Meals, bedtimes, morning, nights, constantly in each other’s company—how on earth was she going to do it?
Quint stood in the seat between them, all eyes when the pickup pulled into the ranch yard. Sunset flamed across the western sky, casting its rosy hue over the buildings and the single-story house.
“Is this your ranch?” Quint asked.
“This is it.” Logan swung the pickup toward the house.
“It isn’t very big, is it?”
“Not as big as your grandfather’s, but it’s big enough for one man to handle—if he has some help.”
Quint jumped on that. “I can help.”
“I’m counting on that.” Logan flashed him a smile and switched off the engine.
“Is there some work you need me to do now?” Quint followed Logan, climbing out the driver’s side after him, not once glancing in Cat’s direction when she opened the passenger door.
“Not tonight, but in the morning, you can help me throw some hay to the horses.” He lifted the two overnight bags out of the back of the truck and handed one to Quint. Quint struggled a bit with the weight of it when he set out after Logan.
Cat trailed behind them, staring at the house. It was a homey, rambling affair, with a long front porch complete with a pair of rocking chairs, meant to be used on warm summer evenings. But compared to The Homestead, it was small. She knew it would be impossible not to be aware of someone in the next room.
Ahead of her, Quint dragged his bag up the porch steps, then stopped and looked back. “Are you coming, Mom?”
“Yes.” She quickened her steps.
A hinge squeaked a loud protest when Logan opened the screen door.
“I’ve been meaning to oil that,” Logan said, propping the door open with his body and setting the bag at his feet, then digging in his pocket for the house key.
Watching him, Quint cocked his head at a curious angle. “How come you lock it?”
Logan sent an amused look over his shoulder, then glanced at Cat as she climbed the three steps to the porch. “I lived in the city too long, I guess.”
