In Shining Whatever (Three Magic Words Trilogy #2)(28)

"Do you propose to every woman who makes you food?"

"No, just the ones who buy me Christmas pajamas." He cut a chunk of omelet and put it on one side of his plate, added two heaping spoons of hash browns, and covered two split biscuits with gravy.

"You really have turned into a bad boy," she said.

"If that means starved plumb-awful to death, then I'll take the title," he teased. He carried his plate to the table and forked a bite of omelet into his mouth. "Hot! God, this is good," he said.

"It's Mexican. Jalapeflos," she said.

"I don't care if it's Korean or Chinese. It's dang good."

"Thank you." She sat down to his right at the small kitchen table.

It felt oh so right and yet oh so wrong. One part of her wanted to snuggle right into the big farmhouse, flirt with Hart, and make a home there. The other part said she didn't belong there and should run as fast as she could back to Louisiana. Back to the safety of a time-consuming job that left little time for romance.

She ate without tasting much, as she tried desperately to decide what to do. Coming on the wings of a lightning storm, the phone call was an omen-as if it had used the storm to bring the message. Telling her that what was ahead for Kate Miller in Texas was one big storm after another.

Go home, go home, her mind kept saying over and over as she shoved food into her mouth.

Texas is home. Hart is home, her heart said.

She wished she'd never heard the phone. If she'd only slept a little longer. But she hadn't, and the choice was there.

How was she supposed to know which road to take?





Kate awoke to sunshine pouring in the window and warming her face, and to the high-pitched whine of chain saws and men's deep voices. She bailed out of bed and looked out the window. Hart leaned against a fence post, and several young men were busy cleaning up the oak tree. He was dressed in faded Wranglers, a T-shirt with a plain gray hooded sweatshirt over it, and boots. His stained cowboy hat sat a little farther back on his head than usual. When the saws stopped, he pitched in and helped clear the brush from the usable timber.

The men used the blade of the saw to measure off eighteeninch lengths and sawed through the various-sized branches, ranging anywhere from the size of Kate's arm to the size of Hart's waist. After a while they stopped again, and the whole bunch of them loaded the wood into wheelbarrows and disappeared around the end of the garage.

"Must be where the fireplace wood is stacked," she muttered.

It was time to go home, and Kate wasn't ready. She liked the ranch, enjoyed cooking and eating with Hart, loved the banter between them, the excitement of flirting. But-and there always seemed to be a but-she knew nothing about ranching, not one thing about a cow except that the udders were underneath and the horns on the head. Hart deserved someone who shared his love of the lifestyle.

Kate had known since she was sixteen that she wanted to be a detective. It was ingrained in her soul, and she felt alive when she was on a case. She lived and breathed putting the puzzles together, talking to witnesses, figuring out why something happened. That was her lifestyle, and few people outside of Rudy and other detectives would ever understand that it took as much dedication as what her brother Paul gave when he went into the priesthood.

She stripped the bed and folded the bedspread across the end of the mattress, took the sheets to the laundry room, put them in the washer, and started it. She went back to the bedroom and dressed in the clothing she'd worn to the ranch the day before, leaving the pajamas and T-shirt lying on the bed, and put her shoes on.

She pressed the garage-door button and, while it opened, got into her truck and started the engine. Hart was waiting beside the doors when she backed out. She applied pressure to the brake and rolled down the window.

"Thought you might stay and help do chores this morning," he said.

"Looks like you've got lots of help. Thanks for the bedroom and everything," she said.

"Thank you. I believe you did a little more this time than I did. Dinner Saturday night? You name the place and time."

"Call me. I'll think about it," she said.

"That's more than you usually say, so I'll take that as a good sign"

She managed a weak smile as she rolled up the window and headed toward home. Ten minutes later she was in her own bedroom and redressing in clean jeans and a bright orange T-shirt. She had caught up on her sleep and was ready to do a shift at the cafe. She heard Mary's footsteps going to the kitchen, and in a few minutes the aroma of strong coffee floated down the hallway to her bedroom. She hadn't realized how hungry she was until she smelled bacon.

She followed her nose to the kitchen, poured a cup of coffee, and sat down at the table. "You making enough for two?"

"I heard you roll in a few minutes ago. I'm making enough for four. Two wouldn't come close to feeding you," Mary said.

Kate sipped the coffee. "We didn't sleep together."

"I didn't ask."

"Captain Laysard called last night"

Mary cracked half a dozen eggs into a bowl and whipped them. "That why you didn't sleep with Hart?"

"No. It's ... well, Laysard offered me my old job back," she blurted.

"And?" Mary asked.

"Maw Maw might say it was an omen. There was the storm, and I was with Hart out there at his place. And Laysard called"