Her Hill Country Cowboy. Myra Johnson

if Christina followed, but the soft crunch of sneakers and dog paws on the gravel drive told him she wasn’t far behind.

      Rounding the garage, he stopped at the storeroom door and fumbled in his pockets.

      “Something wrong?” Christina asked.

      “Don’t have my keys with me.”

      “Allow me.” Nudging him aside, Christina used her set of housekeeping keys to unlock the door. She pushed it open, then mimicked his earlier gallantry to motion him inside.

      “Thank you,” he muttered.

      She tilted her head, one brow arched accusingly. “There. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

      With a roll of his eyes, Seth released a weak chuckle. “I deserved that. So let me try again. Thanks for getting the door. And thanks for helping get Joseph’s splinter out.”

      “You’re welcome. Now, where are those picnic supplies?”

      A few minutes later, Seth had loaded three plastic crates and some cleaning supplies onto a utility wagon. Once again, they started for the lake, and this time the tension between them wasn’t quite so thick. At the picnic area, the dog stretched out in the grass while Seth and Christina began wiping down tables and benches. Then Seth unfolded a blue gingham tablecloth. He took one end and handed Christina the other, and together they smoothed it across the first table. Seth found a container of specially made clips, which they used to secure the cloth in place.

      The breeze shifted, and Christina paused to sniff the air. “Something smells wonderful!”

      “That’d be the brisket Opi’s smoking. Best in Texas, if you ask me.”

      “We have pretty good barbecue in Arkansas, too.”

      Seth scoffed as he shook out another tablecloth. “Only because of the Texans who moved there. And I bet y’all don’t have sauce as good as what my grandmother makes.”

      Fastening down her side of the cloth, Christina winked. “Don’t tell me—it’s a secret family recipe.”

      “Wouldn’t you like to know.” Seth’s hand brushed hers as he smoothed out a wrinkle, and he felt the tingle all the way to his knees. He quickly straightened, clearing his throat. “I should get back. I need to gather some wood for the fire pit.”

      “Oh. Okay.” Did she sound a little bit disappointed? “Anything else I need to do here?”

      “One of the crates has some table decorations. Candles and globes, flowers, greenery. You’ll do better with those than I would.”

      Christina slanted him a teasing look of disdain. “Why? Because I’m a girl?”

      “Believe me, you don’t want to see the mess I’d make trying to put a centerpiece together.”

      “If you say so.” Christina turned to peer inside one of the crates. She pulled out a handful of artificial bluebonnets and a box of candles. “What should I do with all this stuff when I finish?”

      “I’ll bring the wagon back with the firewood and then haul the crates to the storeroom.” Hands on hips, he glanced around. “You’ll probably be done before then, so just leave everything where it is.”

      As he turned to go, Christina called out to him. “Seth?”

      “Yeah?”

      “Thank you.”

      His forehead bunched. “For what?”

      “For giving me a chance.”

      A fresh wave of guilt swept through him. “I haven’t been real good about it so far, have I?”

      “No, but I understand why now. And I’m in no position to judge.”

      Seth cringed as his grandmother’s admonition came back to bite him. “I’m sure not, either.” He paused while a beefy aroma drifted his way on the morning breeze. He had plenty of other things to do, but for some crazy reason he couldn’t seem to get his feet moving. Pointing to the bluebonnet sprigs Christina was attempting to arrange around a candle globe, he said, “It works better if you use one of those Styrofoam thingies.”

      Christina looked up with an arched brow. “And you said you didn’t know anything about centerpieces.” Her expression softened into an endearing smile. “So will you give me a hand? Because I’m really not the artsy-craftsy type.”

      He opened his mouth to say yes, then snapped it shut. This was so not happening. Not again. Against his will, memories of Georgia crept in. He’d fallen for her during their junior year at Texas A&M, lured by crystal-blue eyes, silky blond hair and an invitation to help her stuff envelopes for a sorority fund-raiser she was heading up. Eight months later, they were married.

      Eight years later, he’d found himself standing at his ex-wife’s graveside and wondering how it had come to this. Wondering how he’d ever explain to his kids why they’d never see their mother again.

      No, they’d had enough heartache in their short lives. Seth had experienced more than his share, too. He wouldn’t risk letting another woman slip through the chinks in his armor.

      “Whatever you do will be fine,” he muttered.

      Without a backward glance, he marched to the house. About time to check on his kids. Eva never liked him out of her sight for long and was probably pestering Omi about going to find her daddy right now.

      He walked into the kitchen to a very different scene. While his grandmother stood at the counter chopping vegetables, Joseph and Eva perched on barstools and nibbled string cheese. Engrossed in her brother’s recounting of his splinter experience and “Miss Christina’s amazing doggy,” Eva hardly acknowledged Seth’s arrival.

      The realization that he hadn’t been missed—and the reason why—cut deep. For the space of a nanosecond, he forgot how to breathe.

      “Hey, Seth.” Omi’s cheery greeting snapped him out of it. “How’s it going with the picnic setup?”

      “Fine. Christina’s putting the centerpieces together.”

      “So what are you doing in here? Shouldn’t you be helping?”

      He swiped a carrot stick and bit off a piece, then chewed with a vengeance so he wouldn’t have to answer right away. “She’s managing,” he mumbled over a mouthful, then grabbed a slice of zucchini.

      Omi slapped his hand. “Those are for the barbecue tonight. And you shouldn’t have left her on her own. She’s still learning how we do things around here.”

      “Seems plenty capable to me.” He wouldn’t mention Christina’s lopsided fake-bluebonnet arrangement.

      The chopping knife came down hard on an unsuspecting green pepper. “Seth Jacob Austin, if you aren’t the biggest scaredy-cat I ever did see.”

      He wouldn’t deny it. Because he couldn’t. So he didn’t say anything, just spun on his heel and walked out.

      * * *

      Christina adjusted the greenery around a glass hurricane shade. She’d tried to tell Seth this wasn’t her area of expertise, and now everyone at Serenity Hills Guest Ranch would realize it, too. With a groan of futility, she gathered up the leftover centerpiece materials and packed them into a crate.

      Peering up the sloping path, she looked for signs of Seth’s return. He’d stormed off so fast that he’d forgotten to take the utility wagon with him. Christina wondered when, or if, he’d return with his load of firewood and then help her get these crates back to the storeroom.

      “Guess we’re on our own, Gracie.” Gripping the wagon handle, Christina dug deep for the strength to tow the unwieldy contraption up the hill.

      By the time she reached the storeroom, her back and shoulders ached and her left hip was cramping again. She moved one of the