“MMM…” GAGE SAID with a groan, pushing back his plate. “Your mom lied,” he said to Ashley. “She’s a good cook.”

      Cheeks puffed with an oversized bite of pancakes, the girl nodded.

      He hadn’t had much of an appetite lately, but something about Jess’s welcoming country kitchen made him want to eat, and it felt good having his belly full.

      The blue linoleum floor was peeling in the corners, and the whitewashed cabinets might be in as desperate need of paint as the home’s exterior, but the yellow flowered curtains covering fogged-over paned windows were ruffled and feminine and pretty, and the abundance of thriving houseplants told him that despite the home’s shabby appearance, it was indeed a home. Gut feel told him Jess was an expert at transforming life’s lemons into sweet lemonade. If only he’d learned the same.

      Jess had taken Lexie a plate to her room, leaving him on his own alongside Ashley at the round oak kitchen table.

      “Guess what?” she asked, half a canned peach in her chubby fingers. The syrup dripped down her wrist.

      “You might want to—” He gestured for her to use her napkin.

      Instead, she licked the dripping mess.

      Gage winced.

      “What’s wrong?” the girl asked. “I haven’t even told you what I was gonna tell you yet. And it wasn’t awful.”

      “Oh,” he said, striking a solemn pose. “Sorry. Please, carry on with what you were about to say before I so rudely interrupted.”

      Her grin warmed him more effectively than Jess’s fragrant coffee.

      “Okay,” Ashley said, “did you know a brakeeo-sore-us is as long as two school buses and tall as four buildings?”

      “I did not know that. Thank you.”

      “You’re welcome. Here—” She plopped a second peach half on his plate. “I’m full, so you can have this.”

      “Um, thanks.” Though the fruit swam in a sea of buttery syrup, and Gage had never been big on mixing his foods, seeing how Ashley stared at him expectantly, he went ahead and forced a bite. “Mmm…Thanks.”

      “You’re welcome.” She pushed back her chair and leaped to her feet. “See ya.”

      “Where are you going?”

      “I’ve got to work on my pictures for Santa. Daddy always said if you left cookies and some pretty drawings for Mrs. Claus’s ’frigerator, he’d leave more toys.”

      “Your dad sounded very smart.”

      “He was. I loved him lots.” She pushed her chair in and took her plate to the sink. “Bye.”

      Just as Ashley went out, Jess headed back in. “I hope she didn’t yak your ears off.”

      Chuckling, he checked if his ears were still attached. “All good.”

      She laughed, a really heartfelt laugh that made him feel funny inside. Not ha-ha funny, but strange as it sounded even to him, proud to have made her smile. “Is she off to work on her pictures for Mrs. Claus?”

      “Yes, ma’am.” He rose, grabbing his plate and the butter dish before heading for the sink. “Cute custom.”

      “I love that she still believes.”

      “Yeah. It is nice.” Gage used to believe in magic. Then he’d urged Marnie into taking up with Deke, and nothing had ever been the same.

      “You don’t have to do that,” she said, stopping him halfway to the sink and reaching for his dish.

      “I know I don’t have to,” he pointed out, “but the rule in my house is that whoever cooks doesn’t have to clean.”

      “I think I like your house,” she said, backing away. “By all means…go for it. The scrub pad and soap are under the sink.”

      “Not that I’m complaining,” he added while Jess refilled her coffee mug, “but what’s gotten into you to actually accept help?”

      She grimaced. “Have I sounded that bad?”

      “Pretty much.”

      “Sorry.” Jess sat at the table, munching a piece of bacon she’d snatched from a plate on the counter by the stove. “It’s just with Lexie’s mood swings and Ashley’s penchant for mischief—not to mention Honey’s—I’ve been snappier than usual.”

      “No biggie. Especially after what you’ve been through.”

      “Don’t,” she said quietly.

      “What?”

      “Make excuses.” She sipped her coffee, taking her time finding just the right words. She was tired of coming across as bitchy when there was so much more behind her needing him to leave. There were Lexie’s issues and her own need to make the ranch as perfect as she and Dwayne had always dreamed it would be. Moreover, deep inside, when she was alone in her bed in the cold still of night, only then did she acknowledge the terror she felt at the thought of depending on anyone ever again.

      Hugging her fingers around her mug, she said haltingly, “I-I hate when everyone blames my every problem on my husband’s death. Dwayne died last fall. I should be over it, you know? Not that I ever want to forget him, just that my never being able to fit enough work into any given day shouldn’t have anything to do with his being gone.”

      “Sure,” he said, rinsing and then drying the frying pan. “I get it. But—and please, don’t take this the wrong way—you’re a damned fool if you think you can handle an operation this size on your own.” He reached for a plate to scrub. “Truth is, you could really use a few more men…or women. I don’t get why you feel this compulsion to run this place all by your lonesome.”

      How many times had her parents and Doc said the same thing? How many times had Jess tried telling them she didn’t know. Only she did. And telling anyone would make him or her believe her certifiable.

      “You’re right,” she confessed. “I do need help, and plenty of it. But so far, the ranch hasn’t profited like I’d hoped. Once we’re out of the red, I’ll hire lots of hands. But now…It just isn’t feasible.”