“No. Near Dallas, remember?”
She ground her teeth together. “No, sorry.”
“No problem. My father was born here. So was his father, and his grandfather, and so on.”
“It must be lonely, with your parents gone,” she said delicately.
He nodded. “It’s hard to lose both parents within a few months. Dad was never the same after she died. They were married for a long time, and they loved each other desperately. I had an older brother. I lost him overseas, in the last Gulf war.” He sighed. “It’s lonely when you don’t have anybody. Well, except for Cary, and I’d give him away to anybody who wanted a bent and broken relative to keep. He’s not even a blood relative, at that.”
She grinned.
He laughed at her expression. “I told him to keep his hands to himself, but it wasn’t necessary. He said he was getting into a tub of liniment and he hoped you’d understand if he went searching in another direction for company.”
She laughed, too. “Oh, I understand perfectly. No problem.”
He pulled up in front of the sprawling ranch house. There were men working everywhere, including on the front porch.
“This is why I said we’d go riding,” he said under his breath. “They seem to multiply every time I leave home.”
“What are they doing?”
“Upkeep and maintenance,” he said as he got out of the SUV and went around to help her down. He held her just in front of him for a long moment, savoring the closeness. “Something I should have been doing all along. Now it’s piled up and it takes a lot of manpower to set things right. Your eyes are the oddest shade of blue,” he added, searching them in the long silence broken only by hammering nearby. “They’re china blue.”
“Like my mother’s,” she said with a sad smile. “But her hair was black. I inherited mine from her grandfather. I’m the only redhead in the family right now—well, what there is left of it. I have an uncle in Grand Rapids, Michigan, and a grandfather somewhere in Canada. He roams.”
“I had a great-uncle who lived in a cabin up in Alberta with a black bear.” He shook his head. “No accounting for taste, I guess.”
“The bear didn’t eat him?” she asked.
“Not that we know of. He died slumped over a poker hand at his weekly game. He’d won the pot, too.”
“That’s a shame,” she said.
“Not so much. He was always happy, always smiling. We figured he went the way he would have wanted to go. Quick and easy, no long stay in a hospital or a nursing home. There’s a lot to be said for that.”
“I totally agree,” she said.
She reached back into the SUV for the bag she’d put the clothes in. “I almost forgot to give these back. Thanks so much for the loan,” she added, handing it to him.
“I’ll put these,” he indicated the bag, “in the house and bring yours out. Bessie washed and dried them for you.”
“Bessie?”
“My housekeeper. The clothes I loaned you were her daughter’s.”
“Oh.” She smiled. “Thank her for me.”
“She wouldn’t mind. Nita works for a bank down in Denver. She’s sweet.”
“I see.”
He cocked his head and smiled at her. “No, you don’t. I’m not carrying a torch for her. She’s sweet, but she’s outlived three husbands already. She’s on number four now. And she’s only thirty-one.”
“My goodness!”
He sighed. “I guess some people have a hard time with marriage.”
“I guess.”
He led the way to the front door. “Want a cup of coffee before we go?” he asked.
“That would be nice.”
“And warming,” he added, noting her slight discomfort in the way she hugged her arms around herself. “You’re not used to Colorado weather yet, I see.”
She raised her eyebrows in a question.
“This is fur coat country. Or shearling coat country. Lightweight jackets won’t cut it out here.”
“I’m not really cold,” she lied. “I just had a chill.”
“Uh-huh,” he murmured.
He led the way into the kitchen.
She remembered it from the last time she’d been here. It was roomy, spotless, with appliances like the ones she had in storage, that she’d cooked on when she lived in Atlanta.
“I love your kitchen,” she said with a sigh. “You must have every gourmet tool they make.”
“Bessie does,” he said, smiling. “She can cook anything. Food’s great, too.”
“I’ll bet.”
“Do you cook?” he asked.
She nodded. “I can’t do haute cuisine, but I can do most any food there’s a recipe for. And I can make any kind of homemade bread and rolls. I do those for Dad. He