disposition.
But then, no one around here had ever seen her mad. She hoped they never did. It was a side of her she kept hidden, just like her past.
Henry put down his cup. “You weren’t singing this morning,” he said, eyeing her closely. “Usually I can hear you the moment I pull in at the back. I was worried.” He had the most intense blue eyes she’d ever seen. “Everything all right?”
His question surprised her. Usually they talked about the weather or the price of beef or what she was cooking that day for the café. She liked to cook what she knew. And what she knew was Tex-Mex with a side of Cajun. Which in this part of the country seemed exotic—and often too spicy.
“Do I sing that much?” Half the time she didn’t even realize she’d burst into song. Must have been all those years singing in church growing up. She still loved hymns.
“I like your singing,” he said shyly. “You have a wonderful voice. When you don’t sing, it worries me because I know something is wrong.”
She gave an embarrassed laugh and took a drink of her coffee, avoiding Henry’s gaze. She’d never taken compliments well, but maybe especially from this cowboy. The first time she’d met him, he’d come back to the kitchen to compliment her on her chili. Like today, he’d been dressed in clean boots, jeans, a canvas jacket and a Stetson. He’d told her he was a retired rancher.
He had a confident air about him that she’d liked from the first. She’d warmed to him, just the way she’d warmed to this place, to this job and to the family that came with it.
“I love this warm fall weather, but I heard it’s about to change. I’m not sure I’m ready for winter. What about you?” she asked, changing the subject. Henry had sensed something off about her, sensed it because normally she sang while she cooked. Except this morning. Was she worried about something? Yes. But should she be? Maybe it was nothing.
Henry smiled almost sadly. She hadn’t fooled him in her attempt to change the subject. But he was too polite to call her on it. “Your gumbo smells delicious. You mentioned green chilies the other day. My daughter, who lives in New Mexico, said she would send you as many as you would like. Just let me know.”
“Thank you.” Normally the thought of fresh green chilies would have made her day. But Henry was right. She wasn’t herself today. And it was silly. So she’d spotted some man standing in the shadows last night across from her small house she rented. She hadn’t gotten a good look at him. It had just been the way he was standing there in the dark before he moved away, but she could tell that he’d been watching her house. It probably meant nothing.
Henry finished his coffee. “I should let you get back to work,” he said, rising.
“I’m glad you stopped by.” She hadn’t meant it more than she did today. She looked forward to his visits although she often wondered if he wanted more than coffee. Or if she did?
Henry was just lonely, she told herself. Along with the daughter in New Mexico, he had two sons, who ran the ranch now. He’d lost his wife five years ago, his three children were raised and he was retired. He was probably just at loose ends and she was a distraction for a while in the mornings.
“It is always good to see you,” he said now as he took his Stetson from the hook and settled it on his thick head of hair. That he was handsome for his age was an understatement. She often wondered why some local woman hadn’t snatched him up already. Or was he just not interested in another relationship? Sometimes—like at the moment—the way he looked at her stirred up old passions that she’d channeled into her cooking.
“Enjoy your day,” she said around the lump in her throat. Sometimes she wanted to just flat out ask him what he wanted from her. But she was afraid he only needed coffee and a little conversation.
“You too, Billie Dee.” He hesitated at the door, turning back to give her a look that sent her heart racing. “If you ever need...anything, I hope you know that I’m here. All you have to do is ask.” With that he opened the door and left, leaving her feeling shaken. Henry Larson seemed to know her better than she knew herself. And that scared her, especially given what she was hiding.
STAGECOACH SALOON CO-OWNER Lillie Cahill Beaumont came through the back door of the business minutes later in a flurry of shopping bags and excited movement.
“Is Mariah up yet?” Lillie asked, glancing toward the stairs that led to the upstairs apartment where her twin brother and sister-in-law resided. She rushed on in, dropping the shopping bags on the kitchen table. “Billie Dee, you have to see the baby clothes I picked up in Billings yesterday!”
“Haven’t seen Mariah or Darby yet this morning,” Billie Dee said as she took her cup and Henry’s over to the sink. “Can I get you some decaffeinated coffee?”
Lillie made a face as she put a hand over her baby bump. “I’d rather not drink coffee at all if I have to drink that stuff. Thanks, but I’m fine.”
Rinsing her hands and drying them, Billie Dee stepped over to the table to see what Lillie had bought for the baby she was carrying.
Always a beauty with her dark hair and gray eyes, Lillie Cahill Beaumont now glowed. She’d married her childhood sweetheart and was now pregnant with their first child. But Billie Dee suspected what made Lillie even happier was having her fraternal twin, Darby, married to a woman she called the sister she’d always wanted.
At the sound of footfalls on the stairs, the apartment door opened and Darby and Mariah came into the kitchen. Mariah and Lillie could have been twins, except for Mariah’s dark eyes. They had matching baby bumps and the same healthy in-love and pregnant glow.
“Did I hear you bought more baby clothes?” Mariah cried. “Without me?” She rushed to the table to see what her sister-in-law had in the bags.
Darby stepped over to Billie Dee to take a whiff of what she had cooking. “I thought I smelled Texas shrimp gumbo,” he said with a laugh. “I know it’s early, but—”
“Let me get you a bowl,” she said, smiling. Like all of the Cahill sons, Darby was one handsome cowboy. He’d left the ranch, though, determined to find his own way in life, and opened the saloon and café with his twin. As far as Billie Dee could tell, the business was a huge success.
She listened to the chatter at the table as Darby ate and the young women oohed and aahed over Lillie’s haul. As Lillie held up outfits for her comment, Billie Dee made the appropriate sounds, but her thoughts kept returning to Henry and his last words.
“So what is everyone doing up so early this morning?” she asked Darby when he came back over to the stove for more gumbo.
“Family meeting.” He rolled his eyes. “Ely again.”
Ely was their father, a former rancher turned mountain man, who spent most of the year tromping around in the woods trapping and panning for gold. He became a problem when he came down to civilization and tied one on at the bar. Which often led to him ending up in the local jail, where his son Flint Cahill just happened to be sheriff.
As if on cue, the back door opened and Ely came in, followed by the sheriff and two other brothers, Hawk and Cyrus. With a full gray beard and light gray eyes, Ely looked like a wild man. But there was always a mischievous twinkle in his eye. He’d had a heart attack recently—she was sure that was why his children were worried about him. That and the drinking and carousing and that other alleged misfortune. Ely Cahill had become the local nutcase after claiming to have been abducted by aliens back in the 1960s.
After a quick hello to everyone in the kitchen, Flint herded all but Darby toward the saloon. As Darby came over to rinse out his bowl and spoon and put them in the dishwasher, Billie Dee took the moment to ask, “I need to run a couple of errands. I’ll leave the gumbo simmering if you wouldn’t mind checking it. I won’t