One of these days they might actually sit down and have a real conversation, he mused. After that, who knew what might be accomplished? Maybe she would listen to reason.
Of course, in his experience, women were emotional creatures. Reason didn’t matter half as much to them as it did to men. Which meant he would just have to appeal to Karen’s heart. How he was supposed to do that when it was her heart that was telling her to throw his offer back in his face was beyond him, but he would figure it out. He was too close to his goal now to let anything stand in his way.
Grady figured he had another week’s work on the barn. Then he’d move on to something else. And something else after that, if need be. He considered the time and money an investment. After all, the work needed to be done anyway and the property would be his someday soon.
Grady leaned against the rung of the ladder and munched on the last cookie. He hadn’t had a decent oatmeal-raisin cookie in years, not since one of his classmates had moved away in sixth grade. Luke’s mama had baked the best oatmeal-raisin cookies ever. None he’d tried in all the years since had lived up to them…until now.
He stared toward the house, saw a light come on in the kitchen and knew she was in there fixing supper. Did she cook for herself now that Caleb was gone? Or did she put together a careless snack, a sandwich maybe, or even nothing more than a bowl of cold cereal and milk? That’s what he found himself doing more nights than not. It didn’t seem worth the effort to fix a hearty meal. When his body demanded something substantial, he drove into town and ate out. He’d become a regular at Stella’s, ignoring the fact that Cassie Davis tended to regard him with suspicion much of the time. If she should consider the entrée he’d gained into Karen’s life an intrusion, he might have to check his supper for arsenic.
Staring over at the house, he felt nagged by curiosity until he convinced himself that going to the door to return his mug and give Karen a proper thanks for those cookies was the gentlemanly thing to do.
As he tapped on the glass, he could see her shadowy movements inside, saw her go still, hesitate, then finally move toward the door. He could imagine her sigh of resignation as she crossed the kitchen.
“Yes?” she said, her tone surly, her expression forbidding.
Grady saw past that, though, to the hint of loneliness in her eyes. Of course, her irritation was doing a mighty fine job of covering it up, but he’d caught a glimpse of it just the same. Or maybe that was just an excuse to prolong the encounter.
He held out the mug and the plate. “Just wanted to thank you for the coffee and the cookies.”
“You’re welcome,” she said, taking the dishes and already starting to shut the door in his face.
He blocked it with the toe of his boot. He was about to do something he was likely to regret, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself.
“What are you doing for supper, Karen?”
Her gaze narrowed. “Why? Are you inviting yourself?”
He grinned. “Not at all. My mama taught me better manners than that. I was going to invite you to join me over in Winding River. I’m partial to Stella’s meat loaf, and that’s the special tonight. I hate to eat alone.”
She was shaking her head before the words were out of his mouth. “I couldn’t.”
“Don’t want to be seen with me?” he challenged.
“That’s not it,” she said with a touch of impatience. “I’ve already started fixing my own supper. It would go to waste.”
“I don’t suppose there’s enough for two?” he asked hopefully.
A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Have you forgotten your manners so soon, Mr. Blackhawk?”
“Like I said, I hate to eat alone. I think my mama would forgive me just this once for being pushy. How about you? Can you forgive me? Maybe take pity on a poor bachelor who rarely gets a homecooked meal?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sakes, come on in,” she said with a shake of her head. “You’re impossible, Mr. Blackhawk.”
Grady hid a grin as he entered. He hung his hat and jacket on a peg by the door, then sniffed the air. “Why, I do believe you’re making meat loaf.”
“Which I’m sure you knew before you made that outrageous claim about it being one of your favorites.”
Grady didn’t deny it. Instead, he looked around and asked, “What can I do? Want me to set the table, or are you afraid I’ll steal the silver?”
“No silver,” she said. “I think I can trust you with the stainless-steel utensils and the everyday dishes. You don’t strike me as a clumsy man.”
“I try not to be…especially when there’s a beautiful woman watching.”
She flushed at that, but in less than a heartbeat, her eyes flashed sparks. “Don’t try flattering me, Mr. Blackhawk.”
He frowned. “Can we get past the formalities? I’ve been calling you Karen all day long. Can’t you call me Grady?”
He saw her struggle reflected on her face, knew that she considered it one step closer to an intimacy she didn’t want. She was too polite to tell him that, though. She merely nodded curtly.
“Grady, then.”
“Thank you,” he said, keeping his expression and his tone deliberately solemn.
“Are you mocking me?”
“Not mocking,” he said. “Just teasing a little.”
“Well, I don’t like it,” she said sharply.
“Oh, really? When was the last time a man teased you, Karen?”
“I’m sure you know the answer to that.”
“When Caleb was still alive,” he suggested. “Tell me about him.”
She stared at him with surprise written all over her face. “Why?”
“Because I’d like to know how you saw him. I imagine it was quite a bit different from the way I viewed him.”
“Yes, I imagine it was,” she replied wryly. “He was my husband and I loved him.”
“Needless to say, I didn’t. He always struck me as an unreasonable man, one who twisted the facts to suit himself,” Grady said, deliberately baiting her just to see the flash of fire in her eyes, the color blooming in her cheeks. He liked seeing her come alive, instead of wearing the defeated air he’d seen on his arrival the day before.
“Caleb was the fairest men I ever knew,” she retorted, her voice as prickly as a desert cactus. “Which is why I owe it to him to think twice before I believe a word you say. You tell me you weren’t responsible for any of those incidents that almost cost us our herd, but words aren’t evidence. Where’s your proof?”
He leveled a look straight into her soft blue eyes. “Where’s yours?”
She swallowed hard at that and turned away, dishing up mashed potatoes, gravy and meat loaf with quick, impatient gestures that told him his barb had gotten to her.
Silently she slapped a fresh loaf of country sourdough bread on the table, along with home-churned butter, then took a seat opposite him.
“Shall we call a truce, Karen?” he suggested mildly. “Otherwise, we’re going to ruin a perfectly fine meal, and we’ll both end up with indigestion.”
“Calling a truce with you is a risk,” she said candidly. “You tend to take advantage every chance you get.”
“I’m highly motivated. Is there anything wrong with that?”
“I suppose that depends on your motivation and your goal.”
“You know mine. I’ve laid all my cards on the table. What about you? What motivates you?” He noticed that the travel brochures had been gathered up and tossed into a basket on the counter. “Dreams of faraway places?”
“Dreams can be a motivation,” she conceded, though it wasn’t a direct answer to his question. Her gaze met his. “Or merely a fantasy.”
“Which are they for you?”
“Fantasy at the moment, nothing more.”
She was fibbing, he decided, noting that the brochure for London was already dog-eared from handling.
“If you could go anywhere in the world you wanted, where would you choose?”