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Cecily opened the crock pot and stabbed a fork into the pot roast, testing it for tenderness. Perfect, as were the carrots and potatoes. Sabrina and Tanya might have a broader range of cooking skills, but the Cooper pot roast recipe had been handed down for three generations, and it was a sure-fire winner. Salad was made, French bread wrapped and ready to go into the oven to warm. Life was good, and about to get better, she hoped.
In the three weeks since Enrique and Xiang had grabbed her, she’d reclaimed her life. She’d been on half time at the Sheriff’s Department, which meant she’d had plenty of time to work on her Helping Through Horses program.
She’d spent some of her extra hours at the ranch exercising Ginger, and Derek had been right. Grady had taken a liking to ranch work, and although he still preferred vehicles to horses, he’d gotten over most of his fear and had been helping work cattle for the last week. Derek had agreed he could stay on as a hand after his six weeks in the program were over.
Cecily knew most of the credit went to Grady. Although she now knew he’d agreed to the program as a way to hide from Enrique and Xiang, she liked to believe Helping Through Horses gave him the confidence to let the real Grady shine through.
When the door opened, she couldn’t suppress the grin. The one she got every time Bryce came home. Home? Well, he’d been staying here most nights, he had a key, but she wasn’t sure he considered this home. He hooked his jacket over a peg by the door, and slid his Stetson into the hat rack.
“Smells good,” he said as he strode to her side and raised the lid of the crock pot. “How was work?”
Small talk. It warmed her heart to hear Bryce talk about the mundane. To talk, period.
She reached for the lid, her fingers brushing against his as she replaced it. Zing. “Fine. What about the ranch? Sorry I couldn’t get by today, but I’ve been arranging for a presentation to get funding for the program. Grady’s even agreed to let me put him on display as a success story.”
“He mentioned that. Didn’t seem nervous.”
She laughed. “I told him to pretend he was talking to Ginger.”
“That should do it. By the way, Derek pulled strings at Grady’s old high school. They’re going to let him take his final exams. Get his diploma. He’ll pass. The kid’s got the smarts. He wants to go to college.”
Cecily gave a fist pump. “That’s fabulous. Although the Triple-D would be losing a good hand.”
“He’s already asked if he can come back summers and work,” Bryce said.
“Well, then we do have plenty to celebrate tonight. Would you open the wine, please?” She gestured to the end of the counter where she’d set a bottle of the Chardonnay they’d shared half a lifetime ago at the Lucky Duck, along with two glasses.
He picked up the bottle, read the label, glanced at her sweater—the same one she’d worn that night—and lifted his brows. “Guess this is a celebration. But are you sure you should have any?”
“I have something else to celebrate. The doctor said I don’t need the prescription meds anymore. Over the counter stuff is fine.” She lowered her eyes. “He said I’m cleared for active duty.”
“You’ll be working full time, then?” He poured two glasses of wine and handed her one.
She raised her glass in a toast. “That’s not the kind of active duty I had in mind.” She grinned as the meaning of her words registered.
He clicked his glass to hers, took a single sip, then set it on the counter, and she followed suit. He wrapped his arms around her. Still gently, as if he might break her.
She slid the bottommost rubber band off his ponytail. “You know, if you braided your hair, there’d only be one of these to deal with.”
“I was thinking of cutting it,” he said. “A braid would work.”
“Good, because I love your long hair, and I can’t wait to feel it all over me.” She worked the next band off. His mouth pressed against hers, his tongue toyed with the seam of her lips, and multitasking became impossible. Abandoning his hair, she parted her lips, shoved her hands into the back pockets of his jeans, and pulled him closer, wriggling against him.
Bryce groaned. “Dinner can wait, right? Because I’m not sure I can.”
“The beauty of crock pots.”
He yanked the last two rubber bands out of his hair, tossed them onto the floor, and wrapped his arm around her waist. They made it to the bedroom—after a few stops to get a head start on dealing with belt buckles, hooks, snaps, and zippers. She paused inside the doorway, watching his expression as he took in the bed, turned down, with the new sheets she’d bought this afternoon, missing only rose petals and chocolates, but that wouldn’t be Bryce.
He crooked a finger under her chin. Kissed her forehead. “You had this all planned. Pot roast, classy wine, and the bed ready and waiting.”
“The bed’s not the only thing ready and waiting.” With a broad grin, she took his hand and led him across the room.
Take that, Bryce Barrett.