The Rebel Rancher. DONNA ALWARD

understand.”

      Clara swallowed again as relief made her wilt on the inside. “You’re not letting me go, then?”

      Molly lifted startled eyes to Clara’s. “Heavens, no! Was that what you thought?”

      Clara’s cheeks heated. “I thought you were letting me down easy.”

      “Oh, goodness.” Molly’s eyes softened with compassion. “We all adore you. But this is about you, not us.”

      All adore her? She doubted it. Obviously Molly hadn’t included Ty in that equation. Since their talk things had been a bit easier, but it was a long way from being totally comfortable, and adoration was a joke.

      “I’ll stay as long as you feel Virgil needs my help,” she replied carefully. “Honestly, Molly, sometimes I feel guilty taking a paycheck.” She offered a smile.

      “How much longer are you staying at Butterfly House, then?” Molly didn’t look up but her stitches seemed to slow.

      “I’ve been saving up for my own place,” Clara explained. “The program is great, but if I can find an apartment, that frees up my spot for someone else who needs it more.”

      Molly’s voice remained conversational as she stitched along a dark green leaf. “This job could easily include room and board.”

      Clara’s heart leapt. Oh, that was generous and so very Molly. And a few weeks ago she might have accepted—especially with Angela and Sam getting married and moving into their new house soon. But now there was Ty. It shouldn’t matter that he lived here now, too, but somehow it did.

      “Oh, Molly, that’s so kind of you to offer, but I can’t do that. You’ve been far too good to me already.”

      Molly’s soft eyes met hers. “You’re already like one of the family. It doesn’t make sense for you to have to scrimp and save when there is plenty of room here.”

      But there was every reason, and not just because of Ty. “I wouldn’t hurt your feelings for the world, so I hope when I say that this is something I need to do on my own—on my own two feet—you understand. I know you’re offering from your heart, and that means so much.” Her throat tightened with emotion. “But I can’t stay here. I need my own place, my own space. And even though I know you don’t mean it that way, I would feel a bit like a charity case.”

      “Of course I understand.” Molly smiled. “I told you I was being selfish. And I’ll confess, I’m a bit relieved that you’re not going anywhere for a while. You’ve made all our lives easier.”

      Except Ty’s, Clara thought dryly. She put her needle to work again. Every time he came into a room where she was, he got this weird look on his face before masking it away.

      And despite her assertions that she needed independence, she knew darn well she’d be tempted to take up the offer if it didn’t mean being faced with Ty twenty-four-seven. Morning, noon and night. Running into each other in the hallways. Sleeping down the hall from each other…

      That thought made something delicious hum inside her and that was how she knew it was trouble. Trouble she wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole.

      They worked together until they’d each finished the side they were stitching. Molly took a few moments to check on Virgil, who was watching television, and came back with Ty in tow.

      “Look who I found hovering around the doughnut jar. Just the help we need to roll the quilt.”

      Ty’s eyes met hers and their gazes caught for one breathless moment. Goodness, she didn’t know why he had the power to make her feel all fizzy and flustered. He looked so ordinary, after all, dressed in plain jeans and a plaid work shirt, with his hair still slightly messy. One of Ty’s eyebrows rose as he spoke to Molly but kept his gaze locked on Clara. “I haven’t rolled a quilt since …”

      “Since you were a teenager and still at home, and you and Sam did the rolling while I put on the clamps,” Molly finished.

      Ty looked down on the top of Molly’s head. Clara hid a smile. Ty was what, close to thirty? It had to be constricting for a grown man to be back in his childhood bed again after years of living on his own.

      “I haven’t forgotten how,” he replied, going to one end of the quilt. “Mom, you and I can roll and Clara can do the clamps.”

      Molly braced her hip against one of the frame pieces and held everything taut while Clara removed the clamps. Then together Molly and Tyson pulled the fabric tight and rolled it under—once, twice, three times.