His Wyoming Baby Blessing. Jill Kemerer

dots with skinny tails swirled in the water. The coolest thing he’d ever seen. Mostly because she’d been the one to show him.

      What had happened to those days? Tadpoles and secrets and lemonade in Mrs. Bradley’s kitchen.

      The timer beeped. He flipped the pancakes. Browned to perfection. It was all in the timing.

      The truth was he had made it. And, unfortunately, he was on the verge of losing it. But the appointment with Ray would have taken all morning, and he didn’t want to leave Kit here on her own. Not yet. She’d barely touched her food last night. She was clearly exhausted. And there was a sharp edge to her he’d never seen. He didn’t like thinking of her jaded about Cam dying and the baby’s health problems. If he could soften that edge a bit, take care of her, make sure she ate and slept and relaxed, well, he’d cancel everything until she left next week.

      His ranch manager could call in a few local teens to help out with the chores.

      Just for the week, though.

      Even thinking about not hustling out to check cattle tightened his chest uncomfortably.

      It would be fine. Everyone took a vacation now and then.

      Except him.

      The smell of burning caught his attention. He lifted a pancake—black on one side. Well, giddyap. This was what happened when his mind wandered to unwelcome places. Perfectly good pancakes turned into hockey pucks. He tossed the ruined flapjacks in the trash and started a new batch.

      Fifteen minutes later, he loaded the foil-covered platter of pancakes, a dish full of cooked bacon, strawberries, maple syrup, milk and orange juice into the back seat of his truck. Then he drove into the bright sunshine and headed to Kit’s cabin.

      After knocking several times, he contemplated his next move. Knock harder? Let her sleep?

      Her pinched face when she’d gotten up from the table last night came to mind. What if something was wrong? She could be unconscious on the floor right this minute.

      Pounding on the door, he yelled her name. If she didn’t get out here in ten seconds, he was letting himself in.

      He heard movement inside, and the relief almost buckled his knees. She opened the door, her hair mussed, eyes half-closed, and wearing a short-sleeved pajama top with matching shorts.

      “What’s wrong?” she asked.

      A wave of embarrassment washed away his worry. What was wrong with him? He never overreacted. Why was he so worked up? He was worse than a nervous mama with a freshly born calf.

      “Nothing.” He tried to act cool. “I brought breakfast. Figured you were hungry.”

      “Really? Why all the noise?” She let him inside. “I’ll be right back. Let me brush my teeth and get dressed.”

      As she walked away, he blew out a long exhalation. He had to stop fussing. By the time he’d brought in the food and set the table, he’d returned to normal.

      “You made all this?” Kit appeared in a sundress. Her hair had been combed to fall over her shoulders, and her face, though pale, had more life to it than yesterday.

      “I did.” He hitched his thumb to the coffeemaker. “Should be done in a few minutes.”

      “Decaf?”

      “Decaf? Why in the world would you want that? Might as well grind up the dirt out back to brew.” He tore off two paper towels to use for napkins.

      “The baby. I’m not supposed to have caffeine.” She lifted the foil off the pancakes. “Oh, wow, this looks so delicious.”

      “I didn’t realize about the coffee.” He rubbed his chin. “I’ll go into town later and get you some decaf.”

      “No, thanks. I can get my own food.”

      Stubborn as they came. But he knew how to work around her determination. He’d picked up a few secret weapons over the years.

      “I’m going into town, anyway. You can either let me get you what you need or you can come with me. Your choice.”

      He held his breath, hoping she’d let him go alone and hoping even more she’d join him.

      “We’ll figure it out later.”

      And that was one of her secret weapons against him. The delay tactic.

      “I’m surprised you aren’t riding around the ranch. Or did you already check the cattle and do all your cowboy stuff?”

      “Cowboy stuff?” He chuckled. “I figured I haven’t seen you in a long while. I’ll take a few days off.”

      She choked on her bacon, coughing. “You don’t have to.”

      “I know.”

      “Seriously, Wade. I don’t want to be a bother.” She took a drink of milk. “Just do what you normally do.”

      “You won’t be a bother. That’s why I’m going to hang out with you. I miss you.”

      He didn’t realize how much he meant it until he said it.

      “Well, I’ll ride into town with you then. But I insist you stick to your routine. I’ll be boring to be around, anyhow. I’ve taken napping to a whole new level.” She flashed him a half-hearted smile and averted her eyes.

      She was lying. He knew her too well.

      “You’re sleeping pretty good, then?”

      She nodded, shoving a big bite of pancake into her mouth.

      He’d been right to take the time off. Kit wasn’t sleeping. Her mind was probably racing in circles around the baby’s health troubles. Or she was mourning Cam. Both, most likely.

      He bit into a piece of bacon. Cam was gone, the baby had a hole in his heart and Wade might not be able to fix any of it. But he could be present.

      Kit needed a friend.

      And, frankly, so did he.

      It was only for a week. Nothing to worry about.

      Then they’d go back to being long-distance friends. The way it should be.

      Why didn’t the thought fill him with relief?

      Until he sold Dudley Farms and got his financial life back in order, he had to tread carefully.

       Chapter Three

      A girl could live in a place like this forever. Kit sipped a glass of water on the porch of her cabin late Friday morning. The rocking chair had quickly become her favorite spot. She’d spent hours watching butterflies flit around and hawks circle overhead. The mountains added serenity to the scene. For the first time in years, she’d found space to breathe again. The anxieties of life didn’t choke her here, and she’d been sleeping well, too.

      She wouldn’t get the results of the chromosome microarray tests for almost two more weeks, but she’d begun to make peace with whatever they might reveal. Every morning she prayed for her baby boy. Every evening, too.

      Her cell phone rang. Probably Wade. Ever since she’d arrived three days ago, he insisted they eat most meals together. Afterward, she’d excuse herself to rest, and he’d wait precisely two hours to call and check on her. With anyone else it would be overbearing, but not with him.

      He cared about her. Plain and simple.

      The phone rang again, but she didn’t recognize the number. “Hello?”

      “Is this Kit McAllistor?”

      “Speaking.”

      “This is Jambalaya Suites. A room opened up. You can check in