Page 42 of Long Hard Fall

She located her bag and withdrew her sketch pad. When she’d first arrived, she’d coveted the huge porch as a divine place to sit and sketch. Shrugging into a sweater, she figured out the time she had to draw before she had to finish supper and stepped outside.

An old porch swing creaked under her weight but felt sturdy enough. She curled one leg under herself and used her other foot on the ground to gently rock the swing.

The breeze sharpened with a chill now that the day was coming to an end, but Abbi wasn’t rushing inside. She studied her surroundings. A long barn. Another big shed. Pastures dotted with cattle in the distance.

What should she draw?

A mew caught her attention. A gray and white tabby cat slinked toward her. The cat swiped itself along her leg. She giggled. A farm kitty, and a tame one at that. It’d been a huge challenge to catch cats at her grandparents’ place, but Cash must give this little girl some lovin’.

The cat found a fading sun patch and curled into a ball like she owned the place.

It seemed Cash had a major soft spot for creatures. Abbi started drawing.

Chapter 12

Cash took his hands out of his work gloves and slapped the dirt off them against his leg.

His stomach growled. He was almost giddy at the thought of having a warm meal ready at the end of a long day.

But was he really looking forward to the food or the company?

This was the closest to a date he’d gotten since high school. She understood he meant to have sex with her yet she’d even cooked him dinner. She could’ve just as easily said she’d meet him later, or they could have gone out, but she seemed to like hanging out at his home.

He liked having her here. He’d never thought about being lonely, not with all his family around and stopping in anytime they wanted. But once Abbi left, he might just feel a little isolated and alone.

Nearing the house, he glanced up when he heard Alfalfa meow. His number one mouser arched her back on the porch, then sauntered off.

Then Abbi’s voice drifted to him and he spotted her on the porch swing.

“Really, cat? I’m almost done and you get up and walk away? Figures.” She scowled at a notepad in her hands.

“She probably figures I rustled up some critters down by the barn and wants to go hunting.” He loped up his porch steps.

Abbi half-heartedly glared at the cat. “Laugh’s on her. She looks bald in my picture.”

She flashed her drawing toward him and his brows popped up. “An artist, huh.”

She flipped the cover over on the picture and tossed it beside her. “Not really.”

He snatched it away before she could grab it and opened it back up. Sitting next her, he studied her drawing. They swung gently together.

Without knowing much about art, he’d still say she was talented. Maybe Alfalfa’s individual pieces of fur weren’t sketched in, but the kitty looked nowhere near bald. Abbi had captured the pure feline bliss of roasting in a sunbeam.

Instead of reassuring her that she didn’t suck, he decided to show her. He found an empty page and held his hand out for her pencil.

She narrowed her gaze on him, but handed it over. He took a few minutes and did his best, but his scribbles wouldn’t look out of place in an elementary school art fair.

“There,” he said and gave it to her. “Out of the two of us, which one’s an artist?”

Her mouth quirked and her eyes danced with appreciation. “To be fair, the cat wasn’t modeling for you.”

“Oh, Alfalfa models for me. Usually at five in the morning when she thinks I’m late with breakfast and decides to caterwaul outside the window.”

She laughed and pushed out of the swing. “You make pussies sing.”

“You bet I do.” He followed her into the house. Warmth and savory smells swamped him. “Do I have time to clean up?”

“Yep. It’s done cooking, but I’ll set the table and start yowling if you take too long.”

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