Page 50 of The Soldier and the Cowboy

He took a breath and shoved it in his pocket instead, nodding. They stood in silence a few minutes. “I don’t know what to do now,” Cal admitted.

“Maggie made a lot of sugary food,” Cam volunteered. “According to her, it works like magic to make a body feel better.”

“I could go for something sweet,” Cal said. “How about you, little bit?” He slid his arm around Bailey.

“Definitely,” she agreed.

“All right then.” He put his other arm around Cam and gave his shoulders a squeeze.

“Did you guys both ride here bareback?” Cam asked, spying their horses.

“You’ve been gone a long time, city slicker,” Cal said.

“I could still ride bareback,” Cam boasted.

“Let’s see it,” Cal urged.

“I don’t want to make Maggie worry.”

“We won’t tell,” Cal promised.

“She has a way of sussing these things out,” Cam said.

“Did you say sussing or sissy?” Cal asked.

“Can I take this opportunity to remind you the last time you prodded me to do something I broke my ankle, and it was atthis very spot?” He pointed to the tree over the watering hole.

“You would have been fine if you hadn’t stepped on that dead branch,” Cal said, swinging up onto his horse.

“Regardless, I’m a grown man, not easily prodded into outdoing my big brother.” He swung up onto his horse, too.

“I guess you’re too old for a race back to the house,” Cal said.

“Definitely,” Cam agreed. “Last one there’s a rotten egg.” He took off like a shot, Cal close at his heels.

Chapter 20

The next day was slightly better. Grief and shock were still palpable, but now that the secrecy was over, Cal felt as if he could breathe, as if he could be himself and relax. He rose at his usual time and prepped the coffee.

Bailey walked in a minute later, her usually perky ponytail in place, her flawless clothes looking as if she’d ironed them when Cal knew for certain she hadn’t. Someday he would ask her how she accomplished that.

“Morning,” he said.

“Morning,” she responded.

“Coffee’s almost ready.”

“Great. Would you like some oatmeal?”

“Yes, please.”

She put the kettle on to boil and prepped their oatmeal.

“Coffee’s done,” he announced. “Black today?”

“Yes, please.” The only changeable portion of her morning routine, as far as he’d been able to tell, was that sometimes she took her coffee black and sometimes she added cream and sugar. He didn’t yet know what made the difference, and he added it to the list of things to ask her.

She reached to the counter beside him for her mug. He grasped her arm, pulled her close, and kissed her. She stoodon her toes, leaning into him. When that still wasn’t enough, he picked her up and backed her into the wall.

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