Page 51 of Montana Groom of Convenience
Her eyes smiled. “I’d like it.”
“What about Jill and Father?”
Her eyebrows jerked upward, and he realized it was the first time he had called Mr. Morrison Father.
“Oh, you must bring them as well,” Kate said. “Everyone would be disappointed if they didn’t come.”
A short time later, the four of them drove to the Marshall Five Ranch. He’d never been there and looked about with interest. Two houses, a much bigger barn than the one at the Morrison Ranch, and more outbuildings.
“They are a bigger operation,” Carly said as if reading his mind. “There’s Grandfather, Grandpa Bud, and Annie’s three brothers plus half a dozen cowboys on this place.”
“Just you and me at the Morrison place.”
She grinned. “That’s right. Just Sawyer and Carly.”
He looked at her, revealing nothing of the way his heart swelled at the way her smile acknowledged his statement.
“We’ve decided it’s time for the first picnic of the season,” Dawson said as they drew to a halt in the yard.
At the ranch house, the women all sprang into action, packing up food that had been prepared ahead of time.
Sawyer hung back with the men until everyone was ready and then helped carry the food, blankets, and a few cushions. Father Morrison and Grandfather Marshall waved them off.
“They’ll enjoy another visit,” Carly assured him when he wondered if someone should stay with them. “There are men hanging about if they need anything.”
In fact, a weathered old man watched them depart, and the Marshalls waved goodbye to him, calling him Jimbo.
They traipsed to the nearby creek, a much gentler flow of water than the river running through the Morrison Ranch. A gentle grassy slope slanted toward the creek. The others seemed to know where they were going and continued on for a few yards.
The children ran ahead, Jill and Mattie side by side.
“It’s good to see her making friends,” Carly said.
“She’s feeling safe enough to let herself start caring.” He knew as soon as he said the words that it would spark interest.
They had fallen behind the others, so thankfully, Carly was the only one who heard him. She slowed and turned and studied him. He pretended a great interest in the grassy field on which they walked.
“I’m glad to hear that.”
He darted a glance at her. That was all?
Her study continued. “I see a difference in you, too. Does that mean you are starting to let yourself care?”
“Different? How?” He wouldn’t admit he felt different. Nor could he explain in what way. Most certainly he was sure it didn’t mean he cared. That was not part of the agreement.
“When I first met you a week ago?—”
“Not a week yet.”
She waved aside his protest. “Close enough. A week ago, you never showed any emotion in your face. Do you remember you told me you didn’t feel anything?”
“I remember.” It seemed a lifetime ago.
“Now you smile and laugh readily, though sometimes you wear that solid mask again.” She grinned. “Like now. I haven’t figured out if it’s because you don’t feel anything or if you are afraid to trust your feelings.” They stopped walking and considered each other. He couldn’t say what she sought any more than he could say what he looked for in her eyes. Except he hoped she would say something that made him comfortable with his feelings.
“I believe, however, that it’s the latter. You’re afraid of your feelings. Or of trusting people to value you and your feelings.” She nodded, satisfied with her conclusions.
He walked on. She kept pace with him.
