Hawk's Way Grooms. Joan Johnston

      She gave him a surprised look. “I’d love some. Do you have the time?”

      He shrugged. “Don’t have anything else planned. What kinds of things are you having the kids do these days?”

      She told him, unable to keep the excitement from her voice. “Horseback riding, picnics and hayrides, of course. And handicrafts, naturally.

      “But I’ve come up with something really exciting this year. We’re going to have art sessions at the site of those primitive drawings on the canyon wall here at Hawk’s Pride. Once the kids have copied down all the various symbols, we’re going to send them off to an archaeologist at the state university for interpretation.

      “When her findings are available, I’ll forward a copy of them to the kids, wherever they are. It’ll remind them what fun they had at camp even after they’ve gone.”

      “And maybe take their minds off their illness, if they’re back in the hospital,” Mac noted quietly.

      Jewel sat silently watching Mac stare into the distance and knew he was remembering how it had been in the beginning, how they had provided solace to each other, a needed word of encouragement and a shoulder to lean on. She knew he had come back because she was here, a friend when he needed one.

      “I can remember being fascinated by those drawings myself as a kid,” Mac mused.

      “Didn’t you want to be an archaeologist once upon a time?”

      “Paleontologist,” he corrected.

      “What’s the difference?”

      “An archaeologist studies the past by looking at what people have left behind. A paleontologist studies fossils to recreate a picture of life in the past.”

      “What happened to those plans?” she asked.

      “It got harder and harder to focus on the past when I realized I was going to have a future.”

      “What college degree did you finally end up getting?”

      He laughed self-consciously. “Business. I figured I’d need to know how to handle all the money I’d make playing football.”

      But his career had been cut short.

      He turned abruptly and headed back toward the ranch without another word to her.

      Jewel figured the distance they had come at about a mile. She looked at her watch. Six-thirty. Not very far or very fast for a man who depended on his speed for a living.

      About a quarter of a mile from the house, Mac was using his hand to help move his left leg. Jewel stepped to his side and slipped her arm around his waist to help support his weight.

      “Don’t argue,” she said, when he opened his mouth to protest. “If you want my company, you have to take the concern that comes along with it.”

      “Thanks, Opal,” he said.

      “Think nothing of it, Pete.”

      She hadn’t called him Pete since he had started high school and acquired the nickname “Mac” from his football teammates. It brought back memories of better times for both of them. They were content to walk in silence the rest of the way back to the house.

      Jewel had forgotten how good it felt to have a friend with whom you could communicate without saying a word. She knew what Mac was feeling right now as though he had spoken the words aloud. She understood his frustration. And his fear. She empathized with his drive to succeed, despite the obstacles he had to overcome. She understood his reluctance to accept her help and his willingness to do so.

      It was as though the intervening years had never been.

      Except, something else had been added to the mix between them. Something unexpected. Something as unwelcome as it was undeniable.

      No friend should have felt the frisson of excitement Jewel had felt with her body snuggled up next to Mac’s. No friend should have gotten the chill she got down her spine when Mac’s warm breath feathered over her temple. No friend’s heart would have started beating faster, as hers had, when Mac’s arm circled her waist in return, his fingers closing on her flesh beneath the sweatshirt.

      She would have to hide what she felt from him. Otherwise it would spoil everything. Friendship had always been enough in the past. Because of what had happened, because she was in no position to ask for—or accept—more, friendship was all they could ever have between them now.

      As they reached the kitchen door, she smiled up at Mac, and he smiled back.

      “Home again, home again, jiggety jog,” she said.

      “Same time tomorrow?”

      She started to refuse. It would be easier if she kept her distance from him. But it was foolish to deny herself his friendship because she felt more than that for him.

      She gave him a cheery smile and said, “Sure. Same time tomorrow.” She breathed a sigh of relief that she wouldn’t have to face him again for twenty-four hours.

      “As soon as I shower, we can go to work planning all those activities for the kids,” he said.

      Jewel gave him a startled look.

      “Changed your mind about wanting my help?”

      She had forgotten all about it. “No. I…uh…”

      He tousled her hair. “You can make up your mind while I shower. I’ll be here if you need me.”

      A moment later he had disappeared into the house. It was only then she realized he was going to use up all the hot water.

      “Hey!” she yelled, yanking the screen door open to follow after him. “I get the shower first!”

      He leaned his head out of the bathroom door. She saw a length of naked flank and stopped in her tracks.

      “You can have it first tomorrow,” he said. His eyes twinkled as he added, “Unless you’d like to share?”

      She put her hand flat on his bare chest, feeling the crisp, sweat-dampened curls under her palm, and shoved him back inside. “Go get cleaned up, stinky,” she said, wrinkling her nose.” We’ve got work to do.”

      He saluted her and stepped back inside.

      It was the right response. Just enough teasing and playful camaraderie to disguise her shiver of delight—and the sudden quiver of fear—at being invited to share Mac’s shower.

      CHAPTER THREE

      “WOW! MAC MACREADY IN THE FLESH!”

      Mac felt embarrassed and humbled at the look of admiration—almost adulation—in Colt Whitelaw’s eyes. Mac had just shoved open the kitchen screen door to admire the sunrise on his third day at Hawk’s Pride when he encountered Jewel’s fourteen-year-old brother on the back steps. He had known the boy since Colt came to the Whitelaw household as an infant, the only one of the eight Whitelaw kids who had known no other parents than Zach and Rebecca. “Hi there, kid.”

      Colt was wearing a white T-shirt cut off at the waist to expose his concave belly and ribs and with the arms ripped out to reveal sinewy biceps. Levi’s covered his long, lanky legs. He was tossing a football from hand to hand as he shifted from foot to booted foot. With the soft black down of adolescence growing on his upper lip, he looked every bit the eager and excited teenager he was.

      “Mom said you were coming, but I didn’t really believe her. I mean, now that you’re famous and all, I didn’t think you’d ever come back here. I wanted to come over as soon as you got here, but Mom said you needed time to settle in without all of us bothering you, so I stayed away a whole extra day. I’m not bothering you, am I?”

      Mac resisted the urge to ruffle Colt’s shaggy, shoulder-length black hair. The kid wouldn’t appreciate it. Mac knew from his own experience