“You get settled in all right?” he asked congenially, aiming his rich-chocolate gaze in her direction.
“Fine, thank you.” Her lips felt as stiff as new shoes. They’d gotten off to such a bad start that afternoon, she wasn’t sure what to expect.
“Baby asleep?”
“Oh, yes,” she answered around a bite of buttery mashed potatoes. In the past ten minutes, she’d stuffed herself like a Charles Dickens orphan. “A baby his age sleeps a lot.”
“Not when I was taking care of him,” Colt answered wryly.
His cute smile set off another chain of flips and somersaults that Kati battled by drowning them in cold tea. But his smile was a welcome change, considering what happened that afternoon in the nursery. Colt had clearly thought she was snooping. Well, she had been, hadn’t she? But only by accident. As a teenager, she’d once been falsely accused of stealing from a foster family. Though she’d eventually been cleared, the cloud of suspicion had hovered and she’d never quite forgotten the bitter humiliation of such an accusation. Colt already thought she was a lunatic; she couldn’t allow him to think she was a thief, as well.
Cookie appeared with a steaming apple pie and interrupted her anxious musings.
“Got some ice cream to go with this, too, Miss Kati.” He slid the pan onto a trivet close to Kati’s elbow, bringing the cinnamon scent right beneath her nose.
“Hey,” Colt said, pretending hurt, “what about me? Don’t I get some pie and ice cream?”
“Ladies first,” Cookie insisted, sliding a saucer of pie in Kati’s direction. “Ain’t every day we have a guest as perty and nice as this one, and I want to make sure you and your cranky attitude don’t run her off.”
“Cranky? I’m not cranky.” He turned to Kati, hands spread in teasing supplication. “Have I been cranky today?”
She laughed. “You? Never.” But he had been cranky. Frantic, funny and so sexy she could melt like a chocolate bar on the dashboard.
Cookie’s air-horn laugh blasted. “This one got your number in a hurry, boy. Better watch out.”
Suddenly the rotund cook froze and cast a wary eye toward the doorway. “Uh-oh.”
Following his gaze, Colt stiffened. Slowly he raised his fork and pointed. “What in blazes is that?”
Caesar, tail twitching, pranced regally into the dining room as if to say, “You started dinner without me?”
Kati grimaced. Great. Leave it to the recalcitrant cat to make a grand entrance the very first night. “Caesar. Come here, boy.” Kati patted the side of her leg, hoping against hope that for once in his life, he’d obey.
The cat ignored her, making a beeline for Colt instead. “You didn’t tell me you had a cat.” He sounded as though she had leprosy instead of a pet.
“Sorry. I never thought…”
“I’m not exactly a cat hater,” he said slowly. “But in my book cats were put on this earth for one purpose—alligator bait.”
Kati didn’t know if he was serious or kidding. “I’ll keep him in my room,” she said hurriedly. “He won’t bother you.”
Making a liar out of her, Caesar chose that moment to begin a slow, seductive weave through Colt’s legs. The cowboy glared down at him. “Cats belong in the barn.”
Caesar sat and raised a plaintive paw to Colt’s knee. Suspiciously the cowboy drew back. “What’s he doing?”
Why, oh, why had she spoiled her cat by feeding him from the table? Kati made a face and in a small voice said, “I think he wants a piece of your steak.”
“My steak! Not a chance.” After a second, more-insistent pat from Caesar’s paw, Colt ripped off a bite of the meat and jabbed it in the general direction of the cat, muttering, “Anything to make him go away. Blasted feline.”
As Cookie sounded his air-horn laugh once again, Caesar carefully, daintily took the offering between his teeth and retired to the corner to dine.
Between bites, Colt kept an anxious eye on the corner. Finally he frowned and said, “I hope that’s not a tomcat. They roam, you know, and caterwaul all hours of the night.”
“No, no. Don’t worry. He’s not a tomcat. Caesar’s been neutered.”
Cookie stopped dead in his tracks, turned and gazed at the cat. Colt swallowed hard and did the same. Then the two men looked at each other in horror.
“Poor guy,” Colt commiserated, casting a long sympathetic look toward the animal.
“Yeah,” Cookie breathed, then rushed back into the kitchen as though the same fate awaited him if he stuck around any longer.
“Well,” Colt twisted uncomfortably in his chair. “Since the poor critter doesn’t have much else to live for, I guess he can stay. But he’s confined to your room. Understand? I can’t abide a cat underfoot.”
“Absolutely. That’s fine. No problem. Thank you so much,” she gushed. Shut up, Kati. Stop gushing as though he’s handed you the winning lottery ticket. But her relief was genuine. She couldn’t let anything happen to good old Caesar. He was all the family she had.
In her rush of gratitude, Kati leaned forward and placed her hands on the tabletop. The fingertips of one hand made inadvertent contact with the hot pie plate.
“Oh!” she cried out, yanking the burned hand to her chest.
Instantly, Colt was beside her. He pulled her fingers into his and pressed them against his lips for two quick kisses.
Shocked, Kati didn’t know what to do, but her heart reacted violently. No one had ever kissed her fingers. Certainly not a gorgeous man she barely knew who made her heart flutter by just being in the same room.
As soon as Colt realized what he’d done, he froze, blinked at her fingers in confusion, then plunked them into her tea glass. The icy plunge shocked her back to her senses.
“There. That should take the edge off.” Releasing her as though he’d been the one burned, Colt backed around to his chair. After a moment’s silence he cleared his throat. “If you get blisters, Cookie has some ointment that might help.”
“I’m fine, really. More surprised than hurt.” She was surprised all right but not by the hot plate. Kati withdrew her fingers from the glass and laid them in her lap, the gentle heat of Colt’s mouth lingering much longer than the burn.
An uncomfortable silence hovered over the table until Colt ripped off a bite of hot buttered bun and leaned toward her. “Say, do you ride? I’ve got plenty of gentle horses if you’re interested.”
Clearly, Colt was eager to guide the conversation to safer ground.
“I love to ride,” she admitted, struggling to concentrate on horses when all she could think of was Colt’s mouth against her skin. “Though I’m not very good at it.”
“Wes Patterson’s wife, Becky, is an expert rider. She comes out twice a week to do my bookkeeping. I’ll bet she wouldn’t mind showing you around.”