Page 5 of An Angel for the Cowboy
"Dad!" Mel thunders down the stairs, all teenage energy and bright smiles. She skids to a stop in the kitchen. "You made breakfast!"
"Anita did," I correct.
Mel beams at her. "Do you always cook like this?"
"Usually." Anita plates bacon and scrambled eggs. "My mom taught me. We always had big family breakfasts when I was growing up."
Mel peppers Anita with questions about her parents and life in the city. I watch my daughter come alive in a way I haven't seen in the past year, since she discovered the Christmas and birthday gifts that arrived through the mail were sent by me and not her mother. She's laughing, hanging on Anita's every word.
Something clenches in my chest. Mel's been missing having a mother. Someone who actually listens to her instead of abandoning her.
I shove the thought away and focus on eating. The food is good. There are spices I can't identify that make the eggs sing, and the bacon is perfectly crispy.
"This is delicious," I say.
Anita's face lights up. "It's nothing fancy."
But it is. It's having someone around who cares enough to wake up early and make a proper breakfast instead of grabbing whatever's quickest.
After Mel leaves for school, Anita turns to me. "Can I see the ranch?"
I want to say no. Want to keep a distance between us. But she's going to be working here, and she needs to know the layout.
"Let me show you around."
We head to the barn first. The morning sun is bright; the air is still cold enough to see our breath. I'm hyperaware of her beside me, the way she walks, the flash of her smile when she sees the horses, the soft gasp of delight when Duke sticks his head over the stall door.
"Hey, handsome." She reaches up to stroke his nose.
Duke, who's usually wary of strangers, immediately leans into her touch, blowing softly. Traitor.
"He likes you."
"I like him too." She's speaking Spanish now, soft words I don't understand but that make my chest tight. "My dad always said horses can sense good people. If Duke trusts me, maybe you can too."
Her eyes meet mine, and the air between us charges with electricity. She's close enough that I can smell the floral and sweet scent mixed with hay and leather from being in the barn coming off her. Close enough to see the gold flecks in her brown eyes.
I step back before I do something stupid.
I show her the other horses, the cattle in the far pastures, the equipment shed, the line shack up in the hills. She asks intelligent questions, the kind that tell me she actually knows what she's talking about. This isn't some city girl playing at ranch life. She has a good understanding of livestock, land management and navigating seasons.
"How big is the herd?" she asks.
"About two hundred head. Used to be bigger when my dad was alive, but I've scaled back since Zeke left."
"Your brother?"
"I don't want to talk about Zeke. He took off after Mom died. Needed to find himself or whatever."
She doesn't push, just nods and makes a note in her little book.
We end up back at the house. I show her the disaster of papers and receipts piled on Mom's old desk. I've been managing the numbers myself, but I'm a rancher, not an accountant. Duct tape and prayers hold the whole thing together.
Anita doesn't judge, just rolls up her sleeves.
"I can fix this. Give me a few days."
"You sure?"
