Page 21 of The Way to a Cowboy's Heart

A little red flag started waving in his brain. “You didn’t tell me he called.”

“He just wanted our address for a thank-you card. But… while I had him on the phone, we were just shooting the breeze—as we do—and he did mention a certain woman named Emily that—”

Liam jerked a look at her. “He did? What about her? Is she… is she okay?”

“Ah-hah! That wasnotthe reaction I was expecting. Or maybe it was. And why wouldn’t she be okay?”

He opened and closed his mouth, then with a frown, pulled a chair out from the table and pushed it back. “No reason.”

“Uh-huh.”

“She’s just someone I met.” One look at Shay told him that answer would not suffice. “It was only twenty-four hours.”

“Which can feel like a lifetime, depending on how you play it. And during which you both apparently played hooky from the christening reception somewhere on the streets of New York.”

“He told you that?”

She nodded. “Also, that you eventually showed up, looking… bemused.”

“Bemused?”

“That’s the word he used.”

“That’s an exaggeration.”

“Which possibly explains the frowns and the thousand-yard stares. So, fill me in. Who is she and what’s going on with you?”

“You know.” He sighed, tossing the damp towel on the counter. “I hate it when you go fishing.”

“Only for information, baby brother. And look, no one’s around. You can tell me.”

But at that moment, Shay’s fifteen-year-old son, Ryan, burst through the kitchen door, along with an arctic blast of cold air.

Yanking off his outerwear as he moved into the room, he toed off his grime-coated Tacova boots with a shiver. “It’s freezing out there. I blanketed up all the horses I could catch. Of course, Nahkòhe wouldn’t have any of that. So stubborn, that gelding. But it looks like it’s gonna storm again later.”

Ryan read the look on both their faces. “What?”

“Um…” Shay slid a look at Liam. “Uncle Liam was just telling me… what a good job you’ve been doing with the horses.”

“That’s right,” Liam said. “You have.”

“Oh. Thanks.” He settled down on a chair by the island, looking like he wanted in on the conversation.

“And,” Shay said, “I was wondering if you wanted to help me make dinner. I’ve got all these potatoes to peel and—”

He jumped up. “Oh, well, I’ve got a ton of homework, so… can’t.” He headed in the direction of the stairs. “Sorry.”

“No worries, darling,” Shay called after him and they listened to him climb the stairs to his room. “So predictable.”

Liam grabbed a potato. “I’ll peel them.”

“Okay, now I know something is off. You’ve never in your life peeled a potato before.”

“I have.” He hefted the black-handled peeler in his hand and began peeling awkwardly backwards. “Once or twice.”

Shay guided him in the other direction which, admittedly, worked better. He sent her an annoyed look. “Her name is Emily Quinn. And she’s… British.”

“British!? From England?”

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