Rodeo Rancher. Mary Sullivan

I’m not much of a cook, but I can handle the basics.”

      “Would you mind if I check your cupboards to see what else there is?”

      He spread one arm wide. “Have at it.”

      He stood back, leaned against the doorjamb and crossed his arms while he waited.

      He didn’t like having her in his kitchen, but maybe she could come up with more ideas to feed six people with his supplies.

      She dived into the task, surprising him with what excited her. A tin of black beans nearly sent her into raptures. He almost smiled.

      “You have spaghetti and canned tomato sauce. Your spices look old, but we can try to jazz it up a bit. How about one meat loaf and a pot of Bolognese?”

      “We’re having bologna?” Mick asked. He stood behind Michael with the other children.

      Samantha spun around. “Bolognese. Basically, beef sauce for spaghetti.”

      Why didn’t she just say so? Awkward and unsophisticated beside her with her fancy words for meat sauce, he bristled.

      “We’re hungry,” Mick said.

      “You keep checking out the food,” Michael told Samantha. “I’ll make snacks.” He gave them cheese strings and granola bars.

      “They need a fruit or veggie with that.”

      He knew how to feed children, for God’s sake. He had two of them. The woman didn’t seem to notice that she’d butted in. She insisted they have apple slices spread with peanut butter. Health freak.

      Not a bad idea, though. They carried their snacks to Mick’s bedroom.

      She rummaged through his cupboards again.

      “Barley!” she squealed.

      “You get excited about strange things,” he said.

      “I can use it to make a vegetarian soup for myself.”

      He cocked his head. “You said your sons eat anything. Aren’t they vegetarians, too?”

      “No. I’ve told them my philosophy, but they can eat what they want and make their own choices when they’re old enough. They eat all of my food, but if anyone offers meat, they eat that, too.”

      Hell of a way to go about it. He taught his children his values and he expected them to follow. He didn’t give them choices.

      He shrugged and moved on. No skin off his nose if she was a screwball parent.

      “What are you comfortable making?” he asked.

      “I love cooking soups. Do you want to make the meat loaf with half the ground beef and brown the rest for the spaghetti sauce?”

      “Suits me fine.”

      While he focused on the meat, she started pulling out every vegetable in his crisper—cabbage, carrots and celery.

      “Do you have potatoes?”

      “I’ll get them. How many do you want?”

      “As many as you have.”

      “I’ve got ten pounds.”

      While she digested that, she chewed her bottom lip. “An entire bag?”

      “Close to it.”

      “There are six of us. Should we use half of them to make mashed potatoes to go with the meat loaf and bake the rest?”

      “Yeah. We can always eat them cold tomorrow if need be.”

      He stored the bag at the top of the stairs to the basement. He retrieved it and also snagged a rutabaga and a bag of onions.

      He returned to the kitchen and came up short. It was strange to see a woman there and even stranger that he had to pass close to her to get to his own counter.

      Careful not to touch her, he sidled past, feeling her heat nonetheless.

      It was going to be a long night.

      She asked, “Are you sure you’ll have enough food? We’re three extra mouths.”

      Without a word, he opened the freezer door. Loaves of bread filled half of the space, with plenty of meat crowding the other.

      “Living this far from town, I’m always prepared.”

      “Hey!” she declared, reaching in as though she’d found a treasure. “Look at all of this spinach. Awesome! You said the kids didn’t eat greens.”

      “For some weird reason, Mick likes the frozen stuff, so I keep plenty on hand.”

      “May I use it?”

      “Of course.”

      They worked side by side for an eternity, or so it seemed to Michael. Every time he had to pass her to get into the fridge, or to retrieve a pot from a low cupboard, he held his breath.

      She was almost as tall as him, maybe only a couple of inches shorter. He wasn’t used to that. Lillian had been a little bit of a thing.

      The first time they brushed arms, he just about jumped out of his skin.

      He wasn’t the skittish type, not usually. He might not be attracted to this woman, despite her beauty, but he also wasn’t used to having a woman in his kitchen. Other than Lillian’s friend Karen, that is, who came around more often than he liked under the guise of helping him with the children.

      Things were getting complicated there. All Michael felt for Karen was a small level of affection. He’d known for a while now that she was expecting more from him than he wanted to give.

      She’d been good to him, and he felt nothing other than gratitude. It made him feel ashamed...and guilty.

      Samantha brushed past him again. He glanced her way sharply, but she wasn’t doing it on purpose. The working area of the kitchen was just too damn small for two people who didn’t know each other.

      The harvest table took up pretty much all of the room, but at least there would be plenty of space to seat everyone at dinnertime.

      Earlier, when she’d pulled her sweater up over her hair for Lily’s benefit, she’d revealed a trim waist and perfectly tanned tight flesh. His libido had performed a tap dance worthy of Gene Kelly.

      It had been two and a half years since he’d been with a woman. Once Lillian had become too weak for intimacy, all he’d done was hold her.

      Maybe sometime in the two years since her death he should have slept with a woman. But who? This was a small town. Everyone knew everyone else and all of their business.

      He suspected the town might already think he and Karen were having relations, even though he’d been careful to set boundaries there.

      Did his physical discomfort matter? In the space of a silly heartbeat, Samantha had won over his daughter. That had been clear when Lily had whispered, for his ears only after that trick with her hair, “I like her, Daddy.”

      That was good enough for him, even if he did find her ditzy and too beautiful.

      She puzzled him. Without a speck of self-consciousness, she’d messed up her own hair, just to break the ice with Lily.

      In his experience, beautiful women cared too much about their appearances. His mother had. So had his baby sister.

      Michael strengthened his defenses and set his confusion aside. The power could go out at any time and there was a lot to do.

      Between the two of them, they managed to make the meat loaf and put together one pot of chicken soup and another of spaghetti sauce.

      Samantha had made a small pot of barley soup for herself and had used the steak to make a larger one of beef and barley.

      Michael had also boiled and mashed potatoes—more potatoes