Page 17 of Her Cowboy Reunion

She turned at the top step and he was pretty sure she read his mind. She paused, folded her arms and held his gaze tight. He expected a scolding. But she surprised him once again and kept to the topic at hand. “Reduced circumstances put steak dinners out of reach. Lawyers don’t come cheap and while a lot of the fallout rained down on the publishing company, Char, Mel and I fielded our share. So yeah, the steak smells good. Real good.”

She turned and walked inside, leaving him on the step.

He glanced at the horse barn, then the house as reality hit. Sean had said Tim’s girls had suffered a mighty financial blow, but Fitzgerald News Company was worth millions. Billions, maybe, for all he knew. It wasn’t like he paid attention to such things. Rich was rich and the rich always seemed to get richer, one way or another.

Evidently not this time, and shame on him for assuming things. And now she was camping out in an unfurnished stable apartment that held nothing but an old bed.

He used to be a nice guy. When had he gotten so angry that he forgot how to just be a nice guy? A few phone calls and not too much money could have taken care of that little apartment, but he hadn’t done so. Why? To punish her? Or because he never expected her to bunk in the barn?

The kitchen gong rang again, Cookie’s signal to come now or go hungry.

He went inside, feeling a little smarter and a little stupider than he’d been before, and when he saw Corrie beam a smile at Lizzie—while she held up a bite of steak—he realized the magnitude of the family financial issues.

And then he recognized something else.

Lizzie wasn’t complaining. She wasn’t whining or throwing her father under the bus. She was dealing with the situation as best she could and for the second time that day he wondered about her strength.

Clearly she was no longer the teen who caved in to family pressure to keep the Fitzgerald name pristine. In light of Tim Fitzgerald’s total ruination, the irony hit him fully. Tim had sent his daughter off to terminate a pregnancy to protect the family reputation, and less than a dozen years later he’d shattered that reputation beyond repair.

Zeke took a seat next to Lizzie at the wide-planked farmhouse table. He peered up at her and grinned.

She grinned back, and for just a moment, he wondered if it could always be like that.

His thumb moved to the wedding ring he still wore on his left hand, a reminder of his wife’s sacrifice, and when Lizzie leaned down and whispered in Zeke’s ear, making him laugh…Heath’s heart slowed.

It should be Anna teasing their son. She should be here, being a mom, a wife. When Lizzie reached for Zeke’s hand for grace, Heath turned away, unwilling to pray.

He pretended to join in most of the time. He took the boy to church, he stood and prayed or sat and prayed, because he wanted to set a good example.

But he didn’t believe. He wasn’t like those placid sheep he tended each day, following one after the other, being led along.

He was his own person. Hard work and honesty had gotten him this far. They’d get him the rest of the way.

But when Lizzie finished saying grace with his son, when she leaned down and pressed a kiss to Zeke’s forehead, making him smile, Heath read the peace in her gaze, and a little part of him both wished for it and resented it at the same time.

But that was his problem. Not hers.

CHAPTER FIVE

Heath Caufield was a major problem and Lizzie wasn’t sure how to fix it. The fact that her heart tipped into overdrive or slo-mo every time the man looked her way was no help at all, and she’d just determined to keep her distance when a text from him came through the next morning. There was a picture attached, of a solid, small sofa and chair, with an end table. For sale in town. Looks perfect for stable apartment. What do you think?

What was he doing? Being nice? Worth a look, she texted back. When?

Truck’s running.

That made her smile, and when she looked out the window, there he was, with Zeke, standing oh-so-casual next to the running pickup truck. She waved, stuffed some cash and her phone into her pocket, and slipped her arms into her denim jacket as she walked toward the truck.

He opened the door for Zeke, then her. The little guy climbed onto his booster seat, fastened his seat belt and grinned. “I had three pancakes for breakfast,” Zeke announced. He waggled three fingers to make his point. “And they were so delicious! Miss Corrie made them because Cookie had to go shopping and Miss Corrie said she’d throw on the feedbag.”

She made a face at him, then lifted a brow to Heath once he took the driver’s seat. “Is Corrie trying to sound Western? Because that’s a little crazy.”

“She did use the term feedbag. But then she laughed, so we let it go.”

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