“I’d rather sleep on the porch. Nice and cool, and the horses don’t wake you up munchin’ hay.” Charlotte smiled at him, a clear, genuine curving of lips without a hint of that worry she’d come to the ranch with.
“You’ll like this butter, dear. I made it myself.” Momma pushed the glass dish in Charlotte’s direction.
“You make your own butter?”
“My menfolk are spoiled. I tried some store-bought sticks once and that went over badly.”
“Tasted like chemicals,” Pa said around a mouthful of bacon.
“I’ll try some.”
Hank caught himself watching the graceful, economical way she moved as she spread butter. Hell, he was in trouble. He was way too engrossed in her.
“You didn’t say where you’re from.” Pa’s offhand comment made Charlotte suck in a breath. Redness crept up her throat and coated her cheeks. Hank’s heartstrings twanged like a country guitar on a Friday night.
“Uh, Phoenix.”
“That so? Now I realized you’re a city girl, but I thought you were farther from home. What brings you through these parts?” Pa was just making conversation, but Charlotte shifted in her seat.
Hank longed to place a hand on her thigh and calm her as he would a troubled horse.
“I’m searching for a new life.” She tipped her stubborn jaw up, giving them all a glimpse of the steel within her. “I’m tired of Phoenix.”
“So you’re headed for San Antonio? Houston maybe?”
“I don’t think so. While I was driving I…found I really love this country. I do need to settle in a town of some size, though. I need work and an apartment.”
“Bet you broke a lot of hearts back in Phoenix.” Momma’s tone was teasing, but Charlotte seemed to cave inward.
She dropped the muffin to her plate, buttery goodness forgotten. She curled forward, rocking a bit.
Alarm bells sounded in Hank’s mind. Some of that darkness he saw in her eyes wasn’t all worry over breaking down or being stranded with strangers.
He ached to touch her, to let her know it was okay. Seeing the changes in her, Momma intervened by bustling to the coffeemaker and refilling everyone’s mugs. “Drink up, dear. Then maybe you’ll want to go with Hank into town after the car parts.”
Charlotte wrapped her too-white fingers around the mug, eyes downcast. “I should, but I’m feeling a bit worn out.”
“That’s okay. I can handle things.” While he’d miss having her beside him in the truck for a long drive, her distress bothered him. Rule one, when dealing with a wary animal was leave them alone in small spurts. Charlotte was pretty damn wary.
He finished his breakfast, thanked Momma and took care of clearing his plate. After agreeing to do a few things for Pa around the ranch, he headed out to his truck with his parts list. As he slid inside, the image of Charlotte’s pink toenails flashed through his mind.
On the heels of that was the way she’d curled up like a wounded animal when prodded about breaking hearts. If Hank had his guess, he’d say she hadn’t broken hearts—she’d had hers broken. She was running from heartache and memories.
Chapter Three
With so much to do around the house, Mrs. Dalton kept Charlotte busy. She did the washing up after breakfast and marinated beef for supper. It was the least she could do to earn her keep, but she was eager to get on the road.
The longer she stayed, the more information the Daltons would want. She wasn’t about to discuss Stephen and how she’d believed their relationship to be in a slump. Never in a million years would she have guessed he intended to harm her.
No, kill her. He hadn’t set that fire believing she’d get out.
She spent some time tidying Hank’s room, wondering if he made his bed after sleeping. Then she did something totally out of character—she snooped in his closet.
It was a jumble of plaid and western shirts. Easily, she imagined the clothes on his hard body. A shiver ran through her.
She fingered a few belts and a childhood trophy. The man’s closet was as spare and normal as he was.
And it smelled good—like leather and spice.
Shaking herself, she went downstairs to see if Mrs. Dalton could use more help. Talking to the woman was soothing compared to her mother’s constant nagging.
Mrs. Dalton looked up from cutting onions. “Just in time. I was thinking how lonely it is around here without my boys banging through that screen door a hundred times a day.”
Charlotte smiled at the vision. Sighing, she stared out the kitchen window over the fields. Calm infused her. It was hard to remember the things she’d come from while gazing at such beauty.