42. Montana

“Do you think she did it on purpose?” I asked as he brought in the last of the dishes to load into the dishwasher. The sun had set, and the house had the kind of warm, homey feeling that made me want to curl up under a blanket with snacks and a movie.

Cole laughed and I nudged him to keep him from waking the child up. She had fallen asleep on the couch and Cole had gently covered her with a blanket.

“She actually enjoys loading up dishwashers,” he said. “Sometimes she even likes doing the dishes herself.”

I shuddered. “Ugh … they were my absolute worst chores when I was growing up. Anything but the dishes.”

“You liked to be outside, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” I said.

He smiled and continued to work quietly. I didn’t mind the silence and didn’t particularly feel the need to fill it up with idle chatter, but he began to speak unexpectedly.

“Why is your father’s ranch called Shadow Wolf?”

“Well, it’s a long story.”

“Tell me. I’m curious.”

“When my great grandaddy moved here, wolves still roamed these parts, but the locals kept killing them off. My granddaddy had spent a lot of time with Native Indians so he had a great love for wolves, but there was nothing he could do about it. Finally, there was only one large black wolf left. It was so elusive, they called it Shadow.

“One day, he was in the forest, and he found the black wolf with its foot caught in a trap. It was frightened and in terrible pain so it snarled ferociously at him. He had to put a metal shield with a hole in the bottom between him and the wolf so he could release its foot. It ran away and he never saw it again. Many years later, he found the black wolf on his porch. It was dying of a gunshot wound and it had come to say goodbye. He tried to give it milk, but it was already too late. It died in his arms. As a mark of respect, he named his ranch after it.”

“Wow! That’s some story. You should tell it to Anya. She loves that kind of thing. Especially stories featuring wolves and princesses.”

“Princesses? There are no princesses in this story.”

“No? I think I’m looking at one now.”

I blushed and pretended to give my whole attention to cleaning a spot on the counter. “Right. I better put these cupcakes in the pantry. They last longer when they’re kept cool.” I opened the pantry door and was shocked to find it full of all kinds of pies, pastries, cakes, and bread. Every shelf was crowded with food. I went back to the kitchen.

“Your pantry looks like a bakery.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said wryly. “People keep bringing welcome food and I don’t know what to do with it.”

“People? You mean, women, mostly single women,” I deduced.

“Aren’t single women people? Anyway, would you like to take them all to school? Maybe the kids can eat them.”

“Sure. I’ll take them. No point wasting them, but don’t you want to keep anything?”

“Not really.”

“Not even Mrs. Dearborn’s fruitcake?”

“Mrs. Dearborn’s fruitcake?”

“Yeah, Mrs. Dearborn’s fruitcake. Oh my God! You’re giving it away and you haven’t even tried it. You have to try it. It’s to die for.” I went back to the pantry and came back with her cake. I cut a thin slice, put it on a small plate and took it to him. “Try it.”

He took a bite, his gorgeous teeth biting into the juicy fruit. His eyes widened. “Mmmmm.”

“Good, huh?”

“Very good.” He took another bite. “Actually, almost as good as your pussy.”

My mouth dropped open with shock. “Cole!”

“What? I’m making a comparison. I’m not allowed to?”

I snatched the plate away from him. “You don’t deserve this.”

He started laughing softly. “You’re so fucking adorable, Montana.”

“Don’t change the subject. We’re talking about Mrs. Dearborn.”

“Mrs. Dearborn. I remember her. She was wearing a blue hat. She asked so many intrusive questions, I thought she was the town gossip.”

“She is.” I nibbled at the cake. “But every year, without fail, she wins the Best Fruitcake title during the Best Baker summer festival. No one knows her secret. That special, elusive thing that makes her cakes so delicious.”

“Is that the Summer Festival next weekend?” he asked.

“Yes, the whole town looks forward to it every year. It”s the best. You should take Anya to it. All her friends from school will be there. You will probably also get to meet a few more of the local women too.”

He looked amused. “To help refill my pantry?”

“There’ll be a waffle-eating contest.”

He looked at me indulgently and I realized I deeply enjoyed this light and airy attitude of his. He seemed relaxed, or least, a bit less on guard than usual.

“I’m just mentioning it because I am the undefeated champion. No one”s been able to beat me for the past three years.”

“So you like waffles?” he asked.

My heart jumped like a wild deer. “Um … yeah. Waffles are good. But you’re the new face. You ready for some competition?”

“I won’t enter the competition, but I’ll be there.”

“Good.”

“When I was at your ranch I saw a photo of your mother. You look exactly like her,” he said, changing the subject.

“Do you really think so?”

“Absolutely.”

“You’re just being kind. My mother was the town’s beauty. She was heart-stoppingly beautiful.”

“So are you,” he said.

I blushed. “I still miss her.”

“What happened to her?” he asked softly.

A smile came to my heart. As it always did when I thought about my mom. “She passed away from cancer,” I replied. “I was still pretty young, about six, but I still remember her vividly. When she smiled, she lit up the whole world. My father was never the same after she died.”

“I’m sorry, Montana.”

“It was a long time ago. I will see her again. What about your mom? Where is she?”

“My mother suffers from dementia. She’s in a care home.”

“Oh, Cole. I’m sorry.”

“Yes, it’s sad. Very sad.”

We were done with uploading the dishwasher. I drained my glass simply because I was getting even more nervous about the part of the night we were now approaching. The moment of truth. I needed to distract myself; otherwise, I was going to jump him.

“So … how about the house tour?” I asked, then realized just how suggestive I sounded after the words had left my mouth. “I mean … it”s what we were supposed to do earlier. Did you forget?”

“I didn’t forget,” he said as he set his empty glass down and then turned to glance at his daughter.

“Don’t worry. She’ll be asleep for a couple of hours, at least.”

I let him lead me up the stairs. He didn’t bother to show me any of the rooms. Instead, he led me straight down the end of the hallway and pushed a door open. I walked in, wondering if this was his room. It wasn’t. It was just a spare room with a divan bed in it. Before I could turn around, I heard the key lock turn with a click behind me.