Page 53 of No Place for Single Cowboys

And that bit about not knowing where Lane was…

“Um.” She followed him up the porch steps, clutching desperately at the railing. “Um. Sometimes, kids like to wander. I haven’t seen my parents in…” She calculated, had to add a few months from the last time she’d seen them. “…My dad in about four years, my mom in about two.”

God, where was her patter now? She’d been a bartender for years, thought she could handle any situation, but this one was stumping her.

Holden paused in the doorway, gave her another of those odd searching looks. “That long? Lane’s been gone for three.”

Then he reached out and patted her shoulder. It was too rough to be comforting, his hand flopping against her like he couldn’t quite control it. But she recognized what he was trying to do.

“It’s hard.” Cordy’s nose prickled. It wasn’t like she depended on her parents for anything—she’d learned that lesson fast andearly—but it would be nice to have them here. Have them care at least a little bit.

Holden nodded and then walked inside.

The interior was rough and cramped, clearly the product of a different time. The floor was bare wood, the walls old-fashioned plaster. The windows were heavy single-pane monsters with a strange pulley system to open them. The pictures on the walls were ornately framed black-and-white portraits of unsmiling ancestors and some old photos of thick-muscled cows, which Cordy didn’t understand. Were those cows famous or something?

Someone from a spic and span suburb would take one look at this place and run away screaming. Cordy wanted to explore more.

“Kitchen’s this way.” Holden went through a narrow hallway, Pard close on his heels.

Iggy sighed, then tugged her toward the well-worn brick hearth. Seems he’d found a nap spot already.

Cordy unclipped his leash and let Iggy go rest. He wouldn’t get into anything here, and he’d never start any trouble with Pard. Pard seemed like a lover, not a fighter, just like Iggy.

The kitchen was shabby but cozy, with appliances that seemed older than Cordy but probably worked better than anything from today. The big windows looked out onto several dead, bare garden boxes.

It felt like a kitchen that had once been loved but was now neglected. A little bit of work would bring it right back to life.

Somehow, Cordy preferred Chance’s kitchen. Maybe because she didn’t feel out of place like she did here. This kitchen seemed to be waiting for someone else, not her.

“Here you go.” Holden handed her a steaming mug. “Where’s your dog?”

“Asleep by the fireplace,” she said. “That’s his favorite spot to sleep. And sleeping is his favorite thing to do.”

“Kind of lazy, huh?”

“You have no idea.” She pretended to sip the coffee. “This is great, thank you.”

The smell made her mouth water regretfully. Oh, she missed coffee so badly. The pot Chance had left this morning had scratched some of that itch, but not all. She didn’t miss sushi, soft cheeses, or raw juice since she didn’t even know what that was, but coffee… Damn, she missed that.

And sex, too.

Okay, that was quite enough input from her inner voice.

Cordy set the mug down before her willpower completely broke. “I work at the Swing Inn.” She put on her best customer service smile. “I haven’t been in Star Crossed Springs that long, which is probably why we haven’t met before.”

Holden got that odd expression again. “You met Chance there?”

“Um, yes. Glenn…do you know Glenn?”

“His sister was in my year.”

Cordy wasn’t sure exactly what that meant. “Well, Glenn is my boss, and?—”

The slam of a door opening cut her off. Both dogs started barking their heads off.

Cordy instinctively rose, turning to meet whatever was coming. From the loud sounds pounding toward them, it was one very large, freaked-out man. Probably wearing cowboy boots.

Then Chance barreled into the kitchen, his eyes wild, looking like he was about to have a heart attack.

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