The Rancher Next Door. Susan Mallery
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morning she would call the contractor and see if there was any way to hurry the construction on her new house.
Chapter Four
“Now I insist you and Shane stay for dinner,” Hattie said a week later as Katie packed up her equipment at the end of their session. “I’ve invited you twice before, and you’ve always made excuses. You’re going to have me thinking you don’t care for my company.”
Katie zipped her bag then straightened and looked at Jack’s mother. Hattie had graduated to using a walker to get around the house. She still had a brace and a cast, but she was much more mobile than she’d been when she’d first returned to the Darby ranch. A cheerful red and white checked shirt hung to mid thigh, while black leggings covered her lower half. The knit material had been cut at the knee to accommodate her cast. A bright red ribbon held her long hair away from her face, and her daughter had been by that morning to paint her toes purple with fluorescent yellow flowers. Hattie sat on the edge of her hospital bed admiring her daughter’s handiwork.
If Katie were to believe her father, she would agree with him that Hattie Darby was no less than a creature of the devil and a danger to all who knew her. But Katie knew her father was wrong.
She’d avoided the invitations to stay in an effort to keep her life calm at her father’s ranch, but the plan wasn’t working. Aaron continued to insist that she not treat anyone with the name of Darby, and Katie continued to refuse to listen to him. They were at an impasse—which made for an unpleasantly strained dinner table. The thought of not having to face that tonight was tempting beyond measure…as was the thought of spending some time with Jack.
“We’d love to,” she said with a smile. “If you don’t mind, I’ll phone Suzanne and let her know not to expect us.”
Hattie grinned. Her dark eyes sparkled. “Actually, I would appreciate it if you’d use the phone in the kitchen. That way you can pull a couple of Nora’s dinners out of the freezer and pop them in the oven. I would suggest the lasagna. It’s wonderful. I’m a halfway decent cook, but Nora is amazing.”
Katie headed out the door, then paused. “Are you going to tell her?”
Hattie considered the question. As the meaning sank in, her eyebrows rose. “If you’re asking if I’ll let my daughter know that horrible, hated Fitzgeralds have eaten food prepared by her delicate hand, I’ll have to confess that I plan to keep that information from her.” Her humor faded. “On my good days I tell myself that if there wasn’t a feud, no one would have anything to talk about. On my bad days I wonder how many lives have been ruined because the two families can’t get along.”
Katie thought about the problems she was having with her father. “I couldn’t agree with you more.”
She made her way to the bright kitchen. Here, as everywhere else on the ranch, was proof of the Darbys’ recent good fortune. New appliances gleamed in the late afternoon sun. Dark blue granite countertops sat on top of refinished cupboards. The white walls were freshly painted, and blue and white curtains hung at the bay window over the double sink.
After calling Suzanne, Katie crossed to the professional-size refrigerator and pulled open the freezer section. Inside were over a dozen wrapped meals, all clearly labeled with contents and cooking instructions. Katie found two claiming to be lasagna, took them out, along with some frozen garlic bread, then started the oven. She looked in the refrigerator, collected fixings for salad and went to work.
When she was up to her elbows in wet lettuce, she heard footsteps on the hardwood floor. Hattie still needed the walker to help her get around, and the step was too heavy to belong to Shane. Which left only one person.
Just the thought of him made the hairs at the back of her neck rise. Her stomach clenched, and a bit lower than that she felt a tingly shiver that had nothing to do with hunger for food and everything to do with needing a man.
“I wasn’t aware that physical therapists cooked dinner as part of their duties,” Jack said.
She wiped her hands on a towel and turned to face him. She understood the workings of ranch life and knew that a man who’d spent a day with cattle generally showered before presenting himself at the dinner table. Even so, she was unprepared for the sight of still-damp hair slicked back from a smooth-shaven face. The shiver turned into a full-fledged attack of nerves that had her torn between throwing herself at him and running from the room.
“Your mother invited Shane and me to dinner,” she said, carefully setting the towel on the counter. “I hope that’s all right.”
He looked at her for a long time. His dark eyes gave nothing away. Unfortunately she found herself wishing she could see a spark of something in the bottomless depths. Maybe a hint that he remembered their past with something other than dismissal or contempt. A flicker of interest or even lingering friendship.
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