Barbara said, making a motion for Devon to follow her. “I just made some lemon squares earlier. Would you like one while I make dinner?”
“I’ll hold off for now, thanks. And you don’t have to feed me. I can just stay for a few minutes, then head out.”
“Nonsense. You already drove all the way out here. Might as well stay and eat. It’ll be nice to have company for dinner. I think Cole gets tired just staring at my mug at every meal.”
“I doubt that.”
“Regardless, please say you’ll stay.”
Devon hesitated for a moment, then said, “Okay, but tell me what I can do to help.”
She ended up cutting thick slices of homemade sourdough bread as Barbara prepared fresh chicken salad. Despite Devon’s hyperawareness of Cole on the other side of the room pulling dishes from cabinets and setting the table, her mouth watered at the thought of the upcoming sandwich. She hadn’t eaten much for lunch, and the homemade food looked delicious.
“I’m sorry we don’t have anything more substantial,” Barbara said as she removed a jar of pickles—likely canned from her garden—from the fridge. Next came a container of potato salad, also homemade.
“Are you kidding? This all looks wonderful.”
Barbara chuckled. “You, my dear, are easy to please.”
Devon didn’t miss the quick glance Barbara sent her son’s way. Barbara had given her an escape hatch from her mother’s matchmaking attempt, but was she trying for the same thing, albeit with a lighter, kinder touch?
Devon’s nerves ratcheted up a notch when they all sat down at the table and she found herself across from Cole. She had three choices: keep Barbara engaged in conversation throughout the entirety of the meal, focus her attention on her plate or risk being lured into Cole’s blue-eyed gaze.
“So, how’s your store doing?” Barbara asked.
Good, a safe topic.
“Really well, thankfully. I’m coming up on the two-year anniversary of my opening, so I’m thinking about having some sort of special event.”
“Sounds like a good idea.” Barbara turned her attention to Cole. “Did I tell you that Devon has her own farm where she raises goats and sheep?”
“You might have mentioned it.”
The way he said it made Devon wonder if Barbara had talked about her with Cole more than once. Though that thought was unnerving, she didn’t mind it in the way she did her mother’s persistent meddling. Maybe because she suspected that Barbara would stop any futile attempts at matchmaking if Devon asked her to.
“What do you do with the animals?” Cole asked.
That he actually sounded interested surprised her. “I use the wool to make yarn, which I color with natural dyes and put in my shop. I use the milk from the goats to make soap.”
“That stuff is a miracle for my skin,” Barbara said as she smoothed her fingertips over the back of the opposite hand.
“Sounds like you enjoy it,” Cole said to Devon.
She did, and it touched her that he was able to pick up on that. “I do, much to my mother’s chagrin.”
Now, why had she said that? Hadn’t they been witness to enough of her mother’s disdain already?
“We all have to follow our own paths,” Barbara said. “Would I have chosen a career for both of my boys that took them far away from home for months at a time and put them in danger? Probably not. But I know how much it meant to them, same as your farm and shop do to you.” Barbara patted Devon’s hand where it rested beside her plate.
An unexpected lump formed in Devon’s throat. How lucky Cole and Cooper were to grow up with such a mother. They might not have been wealthy, but they’d been rich in the ways that mattered most.
The three of them fell into a conversation about all the changes in Blue Falls over the past few years and specifically about the Arts and Crafts Trail as they finished up their dinner.
“Cole, show Devon what you’re working on,” Barbara said.
Cole looked across the table at Devon, and she wondered how many women had fallen for that face, those eyes. Who could blame them?
“Are you interested?” he asked, his tone making it sound as if he’d be surprised if she said yes.
“Yeah. I’ll admit to being curious.”
“Excellent,” Barbara said. “You two go on. I’ll take care of all this.” She gestured toward the dirty dishes.
“Let me help,” Devon said.
“Nah, I’ll have this done by the time you reach the barn.”
Devon didn’t feel she could argue more or her nervousness about being alone with Cole might become obvious. Why had she agreed to look at his sculptures? Oh yeah, she really was curious.
She smiled when Cole held the door open for her, unable to prevent the thought that he looked even more scrumptious when he was being chivalrous. But as they walked side by side toward the barn, she told herself to stop thinking that way. What was the use? What she could do was think of him as a friend. It would probably be nice to have Cole Davis as a friend. And really, who couldn’t use more friends?
“Sorry if you feel we roped you into more than you bargained for,” Cole said.
“No, not at all. I was thankful for the life preserver.”
As he opened the barn door, the look on his face made him appear as if he wanted to say something else.
Devon stopped and faced him. “What?”
“Is your mom that...persistent all the time?”
“In a word, yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
His apology, when he’d done nothing wrong, took her aback. But then it clicked that he was simply sorry she had to deal with that kind of pressure.
She shrugged. “Nothing new.” She pointed inside. “So, let’s see these sculptures your mom has been raving about like you’re the Michelangelo of Blue Falls.”
Cole snorted as he accompanied her inside. He flicked on the overhead lights as they walked into the barn. The first thing she saw was a beautiful roan horse that looked their way with large, dark eyes, a reminder that this was a working ranch even if Cole dabbled in art as a hobby.
“Who’s this handsome fella?” she asked as she approached the stall and rubbed along the silky smoothness of the horse’s jaw. It was obvious at a glance that Cole took good care of his horses.
“This here’s Duncan.” He scratched the horse between the ears.
“Duncan?”
“Named after Duncan, Oklahoma, where I won my first pro rodeo.”
“Ah. Well, it’s nice to meet you, Duncan.”
The horse sniffed at her hand then rubbed his head against her.
“He’s a big flirt,” Cole said.
“I can see that.”
“Come on.” Cole motioned for her to follow him. “My work area is back here.”
Devon did her best not to admire Cole’s physical attributes as she followed him to the back corner of the barn, where he’d knocked out the dividers between a few stalls to create a bigger space. In the middle of that space was a sculpture of a rearing horse, mane flying. It took a second look for her to realize that the whole was made up of many pieces that used to be parts of other things.
She stepped up close and slowly made her way around the horse. An old, rusty, metal