She turned back to the stove, lifted the lid of the saucepan in one hand, picked up a giant stirring spoon with the other. She looked so good, so right standing there, as if she’d never left. A sob ached in his throat.
Drew bit his lower lip to still its trembling, took off his hat and scrubbed a leather-gloved hand over his face. “Thank You, Jesus,” he whispered. “Praise God.”
“What’s that, honey?” she asked distractedly.
His head snapped up in response to the endearment. Honey? She hadn’t called him that in…
In more than nine months.
Was this some sort of trick? Some stunt her big-city lawyer had dreamed up to get her a bigger piece of Walking C pie? He felt the heat rising in him, and clamped his teeth together. His own attorney had advised him not to say anything he might be sorry for later. It should have enraged him, that she’d waltzed in here as though nothing had happened, expecting him to like it. But all he could feel was gratitude. If she was toying with him, he didn’t care.
She’d almost gotten the better of him.
Almost, he thought, but not quite.
“What’re you doing here?”
She shot him an Are you kidding? grin. “I’m polishing my toenails,” she teased. After enjoying a girlish giggle at her own joke, Gabrielle added, “So, did you get the back fences repaired?”
The back fences? He tucked in his chin. He’d fixed those last fall.
She faced him then, and when she did, her long, luxurious auburn hair swung around her shoulders, wide gray eyes sparkling with…with love, just the way they had before she’d called it quits.
But wait just a minute here…what’s she up to, anyway? “Triumph is out behind the barn,” he began, taking care to keep a civil tone in his voice, “still saddled. Looks like he had himself one wild ride this morning.”
Her pale eyes darkened, reminding him of the storm clouds he’d seen over Beartooth earlier that morning.
“What! Someone rode him, then just left him standing there, saddle and all?” Gabrielle narrowed her eyes. “What kind of cretin would mistreat an animal that way?”
She rested both fists on her hips—on her shapely, womanly hips. Get hold of yourself, Cunningham, Drew warned himself.
Gabrielle was still frowning when she said, “If I get hold of the guy who—”
She seemed genuinely angry, which made no sense. No sense at all. “Gabby,” he interrupted, frowning, “you’re the guy, er, gal who had Triumph out this morning.”
She rolled her eyes and grinned. “Oh, Drew,” she said lightly, “you’re such a big tease! You know I’d never leave him saddled and ungroomed. I love that big bully!”
Tilting her head, she blinked flirtatiously. “Do you know what day this is?” she asked on a soft sigh.
“’Course I do.” He switched the hat from his left hand to his right. “It’s Saturday.”
“No, silly,” she said, sauntering nearer. “The date.”
Something warned him to take a step back, to keep his distance from this beautiful, sexy woman who, until nine months ago, had been his lawfully wedded wife. Instead, Drew planted his boots on the wide-planked kitchen floor, determined to stand his ground. This was his house, after all.
Until she left him, he’d considered everything that had been his just as much hers. But all that changed the morning she had the sheriff deliver the documents that said otherwise. This whole divorce thing was as ridiculous as it was unnecessary, because if she’d listened to his explanation about that night—
Smiling happily, she gave him a playful shove. “It’s our two-month anniversary, you insensitive boob. Don’t worry, I don’t expect you to ply me with greeting cards and gifts for every month we’re together.” She took another step toward him, grabbed the lapels of his jacket. “But I do expect you to enjoy the supper I’ve made to celebrate this one.”
Two months? Drew had never considered himself the sensitive type who wrote poems and counted the weeks since their marriage, but they’d been married only slightly over nine months when she left, and she’d been gone a little longer than that. Drew knew, because he’d been counting those days.
If she hadn’t run off like a spoiled brat, they’d be celebrating a year of marriage soon instead of a couple of months! What is she trying to pull, pretending that she thinks—
It took him completely by surprise, the way she stepped right up and slipped her arms around him the way she would have before that awful night. It felt so good, having her this close, that Drew ignored the warning voice in his head, and buried his face in her mass of damp, chestnut curls. Eyes closed, he inhaled deeply. She even smelled wonderful.
“So, did you miss me while you were off riding the range?”
He heard the smile in her voice, felt the heat of her breath against his shirt. Did he miss her! Does Santa Claus have a weight problem? “Yeah,” he heard himself saying, “I missed you.” I’ve missed you like crazy, he added silently. For the time being, it didn’t matter what game she was playing—if, indeed, she was playing a game.
Maybe, just maybe, she’d changed her mind. True, she’d always been impulsive, but could she really be coming back to take up right where she left off, as if nothing had ever happened? One of her greatest assets was also her biggest flaw: she was a proud woman, intent on saving face at any cost, especially if she believed she was in the wrong.
Dear God in heaven, Drew prayed, closing his eyes, let that be what’s going on here, let her have come back home to stay. If that’s the case, I promise to make it up to her for what I did.
Gabrielle took a half step back, but without releasing him from her hug. “Are you hungry?”
He couldn’t tear his gaze from her face. The Lord had outdone Himself when He made this one. Drew thought she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He swallowed, licked his lips. “Guess I could pack away a helping or two,” he said instead.
“It’s lasagna.” She kissed his chin. “Just the way you like it. Easy on the mozzarella, extra ricotta cheese.” She stood on tiptoes to press a longer kiss to his cheek before settling back onto her heels. “I’m afraid I didn’t get you a present, though,” she said, running a hand through her thick curls. “Which is strange, because I could have sworn I had bought you a shirt—”
She had given him a shirt to celebrate their two-month anniversary. He’d worn it so often since she’d left that it was getting threadbare at the elbows and cuffs.
He grabbed her wrist and, frowning at her forehead, said, “Grandma’s gravy, Gabrielle! What have you gone and done to yourself?”
Shrugging, she put her fingertips to the bump on her temple. “Oh, that.” A slight flush colored her cheeks. “It’s nothing. Really. I clunked my head when I fell.”
She stopped talking so suddenly, Drew wondered if maybe something had stuck in her throat. “When you fell?”
Her smile faded and she stepped out of the embrace, leaving a cold, empty space where her warmth had been. “Wait a minute,” she began pensively, a forefinger in the air, “I think you’re right, Drew.” Brow furrowed, she began to pace. “I think…I think it was me who took Triumph out. I seem to remember—”
She slumped, trembling,