Chapter 3
Lyle decided to follow, although he felt a little obsolete. She’d just marched off with his goddaughter as though he was invisible. That wasn’t something he was used to.
He braced his hands on the fence and watched as Charlotte played with Pudge under Heather’s quiet supervision.
She was instructing Charlotte on how to gently guide the kitten’s movements with light touches, her voice lilting and soothing.
It struck Lyle, not for the first time, how natural she was at this—at connecting with creatures, big and small, be they animal or human.
He tried not to think about how comfortably she fit into the world he was slowly rebuilding for Charlotte.
Across the yard, Mike ambled up with his usual mix of swagger and mischief, chewing on a piece of hay like a caricature of every cowboy Lyle had ever known.
“So,” Mike said, his tone exaggeratedly casual as he leaned against the fence next to Lyle, his grin already too wide, “how’s Heather doing? Still lighting up your world?”
Lyle shot his brother a sidelong glance. “Someday that charm of yours is gonna get you into trouble,” he said instead of answering the question. “And why did you let Charlotte come all the way over here on her own?”
“She asked first. And I watched her cross the field.” Heather’s cabin was indeed across the field from the main house, but there was a bend along the path that kept it from being in direct line of sight.
“So why are you here, then?”
Mike shrugged. “Guess I got a little worried when she didn’t come right back. You’re not the only one adjusting to having kid responsibility. You’re her legal guardian, but we’re all parenting.”
“And I appreciate that more than you’ll ever know,” Lyle said.
Mike nodded toward Heather, who was now walking back toward her truck with Charlotte skipping happily at her side, Pudge cradled like royalty in the little girl’s spindly arms. “You dodged my question about that one. Since when do you sit around gawking unless you’re feeling something?”
“I’m not gawking,” Lyle muttered, though his defensive tone betrayed him.
“You’re gawking.” Mike’s grin didn’t falter. “And I’m telling you, it’s about damn time.”
“Time for what?”
“Time you let yourself feel something other than guilt and responsibility," Mike said, leaning on the fence with a far more serious expression now. "You’ve been back for weeks, Lyle. You’ve barely let yourself breathe, let alone think about what’s good for you.”
Lyle frowned, his gaze locking on Heather for a moment before shifting back to Charlotte, who was now holding the gate open for Pudge to wander through. “What’s good for me isn’t the priority.”
“No,” Mike conceded, drawing out the word like he was testing its weight. “But don’t let that little bit of stubborn Marine pride make you think you don’t deserve it.”
Lyle didn’t answer right away, and Mike, sensing the conversation was as heavy as Lyle was willing to let it get, stood straight and slapped his younger brother on the shoulder.
“All I’m saying is, you could do worse than Heather Prescott. Consider the possibilities.”
“Pretty sure she’s not up for debate,” Lyle said dryly, though his eyes lingered on Heather’s retreating figure longer than he intended.
“Maybe not,” Mike admitted, already heading back toward the house. “But you’re the only one who doesn’t seem to realize she’s been smitten since you all were knee-high to a tumbleweed.”
Lyle snorted, shaking his head. But as he turned his attention back to the training course and toward Charlotte, who was delicately positioning Pudge in a basket Heather had set up for the kitten, Mike’s words hung in the air like dust kicked up by a galloping horse. Unsettling. Persistent.
That evening, Heather sat in her cozy little cabin, the flicker of soft lamplight casting shadows across the wooden walls while her computer screen glowed back at her. Biscuit was sprawled on a thick rug by the fireplace, fast asleep.
She was scrolling through emails, skimming over inquiries from prospective clients, when a familiar number flashed on her phone’s screen. She hesitated for a beat before answering.
“Frank,” she said, leaning back in her chair. “Let me guess. This is about tomorrow night.”
“What can I say? I’m a project man, and you’re my favorite project,” her brother teased on the other end of the line.
Heather rolled her eyes even though a small smile touched her lips. “Frank, I’ve told you, you’re barking up the wrong tree.”
“Oh, come on! I talked to Lori, and she’s got a great guy lined up. Super nice, loves dogs, even said he likes country music. He’s the whole package.”
“I’m not interested in any packages,” she said, running a hand through her hair. “I don’t do packages anymore.”
Frank’s voice softened. He didn’t know the details of her failed marriage, but he’d been there for her when she’d fled home. “Heather, I’m just saying you deserve more. You’ve spent so much of your life giving, and it’s about time someone gave back to you. That’s not a bad thing, you know.”
She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Is this really about me, or are you just trying to get out of a lifetime of wingman duties?”
Frank laughed. “Fine. You caught me. But seriously, sis, you’ve got to let somebody in eventually. Why not take another chance?”
Heather let the silence linger for a moment, her gaze drifting to the picture on her shelf—a younger version of herself, her parents, and Frank on a summer family camping trip. She felt that familiar ache of both loss and longing before speaking again. Youth and family summers were long gone.
“Look, I appreciate your concern, Frank. But I’m not ready. If I ever trust myself to go down that road again…” Her voice faltered, but she quickly steadied it. “It’ll be on my terms—and I’ll do the choosing.”
“Fair enough,” Frank said easily, though she could hear the faint disappointment in his tone. “But if you change your mind, you know where to find us tomorrow at Cooter’s.”
Heather rolled her eyes again. “Goodnight, Frank.”
“Night, kiddo.”
She ended the call and stared at her computer for a while longer, but her focus was gone.
Her thoughts flickered back to Lyle—his crooked smile, the protective undercurrent in his voice when Darren Richards had shown up, the gentleness he showed with Charlotte, the sexy tilt of his cowboy hat shielding those vivid blue eyes.
“Trouble,” she murmured under her breath, though whether she meant him or herself, she wasn’t quite sure.
Sliding her chair back, she closed her laptop, picked up Biscuit, and headed for the small bedroom.
Heather was up early the next morning as usual, moving methodically through her pre-dawn routine of feeding, walking and prepping her dogs for their training.
But no amount of busyness could shake the tension simmering in the back of her mind.
She’d spent a restless night with a certain sexy veterinarian occupying way too many of her thoughts.
And no matter how many times she told herself that Lyle Watkins didn’t matter—that he couldn’t matter—the truth was something more complicated.
And more dangerous.
My gosh, her thoughts about the man were becoming downright obsessive. And it needed to stop.
Realizing she was out of coffee, she made her way to the main house, sure that Mike would have a pot brewing. She’d noticed more guests showing up this past week. At least two couples.
She knocked on the back door of the kitchen, then let herself in when Mike hollered, “It’s open. For crying out loud, don’t act like company!”
Heather laughed and pushed through the door. “I came to beg a cup of coffee.”
He pointed to the pot. “Help yourself.”
She moved to the side counter, glancing out the window over the sink. Outside, the ranch buzzed with activity—ranch hands mending fences, horses milling in the pastures, and the Watkins brothers moving with the efficiency of men who had lived and breathed ranch life for decades.
“I see you’re getting a few more guests,” she commented, leaning against the counter as Mike expertly flipped pancakes on the griddle. The smell of fresh bacon and butter filled the air, grounding her in a way that felt good.
Mike turned, his grin as wide as the Texas sky. “Joe’s been doing some advertising. Seems to be working.”
“It’s a lot to tackle on your own.”
Mike nodded. “It was easier with Mom and Dad here.”
She hadn’t meant to remind him of his loss and for a moment, she didn’t know what to say. The Watkins boys had lost their parents in an instant, and the wound was still very fresh.
But Mike shook off his sadness and continued.
“I just told Joe the other night we’re going to need to start hiring.
Kenny’s handling the horseback rides, and now that Lyle’s home, he’s pitching in with the outdoor activities as well as doctoring the animals, and Joe and I are holding down the fort on the inside. ”
“Looks like Joe’s also doing his fair share on the outside, too.
” Her gaze drifted toward the window, where Joe and Lyle were tossing hay into the back of a trailer.
Lyle’s shirt clung to his back from the strenuous activity and the morning heat, his movements fluid, strong, and utterly distracting.
And why in the world was she even noticing him?
Her hormones were definitely out of whack.
“Joe’s a multi-tasker.”
“As I’m sure you are,” she said with a smile, dragging her gaze away from the cowboy activity outside.
“The kitchen’s pretty much my domain.” He slid a batch of pancakes into the warming oven and started heating syrup.
“Want to stay for breakfast? Guests should be coming down soon. I bet they’d love to come watch you with the dogs after their morning ride.
And Kenny should be here any minute to make sure of everyone’s skill level so he can saddle up the right horses for the trail rides. ”
“I’ll pass on the breakfast, but your guests are welcome to stop by the training field any time. I’ll be happy to entertain them.”