The Delivery of Decor (Shiloh Ridge Ranch in Three Rivers #7) - Liz Isaacson Page 0,42

we can swap confessions this morning.”

“Then will you let me take a nap?” He grinned at her, and Dot giggled and shook her head.

“I think you’re in the clear for hypothermia,” she said. “So we can probably take a nap, yes.”

“We? Together?” he asked. “Right here?” He gestured to the couch with his spoon.

“If you’d like,” she said.

“I’d like.” He took another bite of cereal.

“I haven’t even made my confession yet.”

Ward glanced up and into the fire while he chewed. He swallowed and faced her. “You think I won’t want to be in the same room with you after I hear what you have to say?”

“I have no idea.”

Ward lifted his bowl to his lips and drank the extra milk. “I’m ready.” He set the bowl on the hearth and started bundling himself back in the blanket and towels. The rice bag was still hot, and he’d have to tell Mother her crafts had saved his toes.

“Remember how I was kind of…standoffish with you in the beginning?”

“Yes,” he said. “And you know, like, three weeks ago.”

“Yes.” She reached up and tucked her hair, the gesture of the nervous kind that Ward had seen her do before. “There’s a reason for that.”

“Okay.”

“You see…my ex-fiancé and business partner’s name was Ward.”

Ward opened his mouth to say something, but his brain honestly misfired.

“Ward Rogers,” she said with an exhale. “Sometimes your name still triggers me a little.” She looked at him with doe-eyes, and Ward didn’t know what to think.

“I see,” he said, but he didn’t. Not really. There were probably a thousand men named Ward.

“That’s why I asked about your name so early,” she said. “And why I wish you’d go by Woods.”

Ward wanted to tell her he’d go by Woods from that moment on. At the same time, the name had never fit him, and everyone in the family had known it. “Woods is my great-grandmother’s maiden name,” he said. “That’s why my mother chose it for me. But my name is Ward.”

Dot nodded. “I know. I’m dealing with it.”

“Dealing with it?” Ward didn’t mean to sound so harsh. “It’s just a name, Dot.” He got to his feet and took his cereal bowl to the sink. He didn’t want to make his confession now, because he suddenly felt inferior due to something he absolutely couldn’t control.

Something pinched in his chest, and he placed both palms against the strip of counter in front of the sink and leaned into them. He strained to see beyond the window, but the wind felt never-ending.

It annoyed him, because they had animals to tend to. He’d probably find some of them dead due to the cold snap and lack of food, as no human could get out to the barns and stables to feed the animals. All he could do for them was pray, and he took a moment to do that.

“Praying again?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said without opening his eyes. “For the animals out on the ranch. I’ve got a horse named Nickers I’m quite fond of.”

“Knickers? Like underwear?” She giggled, but Ward wasn’t done with his prayer yet. He added a bit about him so he wouldn’t push Dot too far away while he dealt with his feelings about her confession.

Ward didn’t get to have feelings sometimes, and he hated that. He’d learned to be steady, and he’d adopted his daddy’s attitude of worrying about things when they happened and not a moment before. But the truth was, he did worry about things from time to time, and he felt like he had no safe place to do so.

“No,” he said, exhaling and opening his eyes. “Like the sound a horse makes. He nickers at me. He can nod too.”

“He can?”

Ward grinned at the faint reflection of himself in the glass. “Yep.” He turned toward her and said, “Thank you, Dot, for saving my life. Really.” He didn’t move toward her, and she hadn’t gotten off the couch. “I’m going to go work on some stuff in my office, if that’s okay.”

That got her to her feet. “Wait. I thought you had a confession.”

He shook his head. “I don’t want to say it quite yet.”

She looked like she’d protest, then she snapped her mouth shut. She nodded, and Ward did too. Then he walked toward the office in what he hoped was a normal gait, not something that looked like him running away from her.

Ward let his fingers wander over the strings, plucking if they wanted to and strumming chords in no order