The Winter Soldier

“I’ll give you the going market price. We’ll get two appraisals and I’ll match the highest one. You can rent the house from me and I’ll manage the cattle. And the cowboys,” he added wryly.

“It’s not in very good shape,” she said honestly, and pushed her glasses back up onto her nose.

“It will be. If you’re willing, I’ll have my attorney draw up the papers tomorrow.”

“I’m very willing. I’ll be happy to sign them. What about the appraisals?”

“I’ll arrange for those. Nothing for you to worry about now.”

“If only my father hadn’t been such a throwback,” she murmured, leading the way into the ramshackle house. “He thought a woman’s place was in the kitchen, period. I’d much rather be working in the garden or doctoring cattle than cooking stuff.”

“Can you cook?”

“Breads and meats and vegetables,” she said. “Not with genius, but it’s mostly edible.”

She poured black coffee into a mug and handed it to him. When she sat down across the table from him, he noticed the dark, deep circles under her eyes.

“You aren’t sleeping much, are you?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I’m still halfway in shock, I guess. Married and widowed and pregnant, and all in less than two months. That would be enough to unsettle most women.”

“I imagine so.” He sipped his coffee. She made the decaf strong and it tasted pretty good. He studied her narrowly. “You haven’t had any more problems at night, have you?”

“None at all, thanks.” She smiled. “And thank you for having my car fixed. I guess if people are going to own old cars, they need to be rich or know a lot about mechanics.”

“They do,” he agreed. “But I’ll keep your little tin can on the road.”

“It’s not a tin can,” she said. “It’s a very nice little foreign car with an—” she searched for the right words “—eccentric personality.”

“Runs when it feels like it,” he translated.

She glared at him. “At least I don’t have to have a ladder to get into it.”

He smiled. “Remind me to have a step put on just for you.”

She didn’t reply, but that statement made her feel warm and safe. God knew why. She was certain he wasn’t really going to modify his vehicle just for her. She’d only been in it once.

“Do you like opera?” he asked out of the blue.

She blinked. “Well, yes…”

“Turandot?”

“I like anything Puccini composed. Why?”

“It’s playing in Houston. I thought we might go.”

She pinched her jean-clad leg under the table to see if she was dreaming. It felt like it, but the pain was real. She smiled stupidly. “I’d really like that.” Then her face fell. She moved restlessly and averted her eyes. “Better not, I guess.”

“You don’t have to wear an evening gown to the opera these days,” he said, as if he’d actually read her mind. He smiled when her eyes came up abruptly to meet his. “I’ve seen students go in jeans. I imagine you have a Sunday dress somewhere.”