Maybe, Baby. Terry McLaughlin
she said.
“That’s my line, isn’t it?” He rubbed his head, frowning at the truck as Ashley continued to fuss. “Where did you get this?”
“I bought it from a cowpoke in Dillon who’d had a run of bad luck in a poker game.”
Burke lowered his hand and stared at her.
“Okay,” she said with a grin. “I made up the part about the poker.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” He hunched his shoulders against a gust of snow-flecked wind. “It was the only part of the story that made any sense.”
“It’s a good little truck. Not much to look at, but dependable.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” he muttered as he crunched across the snow toward his SUV.
Ashley’s cries grew in volume during the winding drive along the narrow ranch road and the creek bridge, and by the time the cabin’s lights winked into view through a stand of naked aspens, she’d worked herself into a tearful temper.
Burke pulled into a space beside the truck and waited while Nora unstrapped the carrier from the cab.
“Is she always like this?” Burke’s expression was set in a stoic cast as he pulled a suitcase and garment bag from the back of his car.
“She’s hungry.”
“She just ate.”
“Babies need to eat every few hours. Round the clock.”
With Ashley complaining loudly, Nora gave Burke a quick tour of the compact cabin and handed him linens to make up a bed in one of the available rooms. She rearranged the clutter in the bathroom they’d share, clearing a spot for his things, and then she excused herself to see to the baby’s needs.
She settled with a sigh into the big rocker she’d dragged into the cabin’s largest bedroom and tried to lose herself in the peace of the moment, to be thankful for her daughter and to appreciate her good fortune as she always did during their quiet times together. But tonight her thoughts returned to the men in orbit around her, each exerting a gravitational force of his own. Ken, the ex-husband who’d been so entranced by his celebrity fiancée but disappointed with his working-actress wife. Fitz, the superstar friend with the supersized heart who’d offered her shelter.
And Burke, the tall, dark and brooding man unpacking his bags in the small room next door.
The long evening had exhausted Ashley, and she drifted to sleep as she nursed. Nora gently lowered her into the crib and bent to kiss her good-night. Then she slipped out of her clothes and pulled on a practical flannel gown and a splashy silk robe, bracing herself to deal with whatever Burke might decide to discuss this evening.
She found him standing in the middle of the open front room, staring at the laptop in his hands with a frown.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
“Do you have a printer?”
“A printer?”
“For your computer.”
“I don’t have a computer.”
“And I suppose that means you don’t know whether or not you have an Internet connection.”
“No,” she said with a shrug. “Sorry.”
He closed his eyes and squeezed at the bridge of his nose, knocking his glasses askew. “I can probably rig something up with my cell phone.”
“I don’t think that’ll work here.”
“Why not?”
“My cell works fine at the main ranch house. But this cabin seems to be tucked into some little pocket that doesn’t get any reception. Don’t worry, I have a regular phone,” she added quickly.
“But no cell reception.”
“That’s not a problem, is it?”
“No. No problem,” he said, although the way his jaw clenched around the words told her he was lying through his gritted teeth.
“All settled in, then?” She opened the woodstove and lit the kindling. “Do you have everything else you need?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Would you like something to drink?”
“No, thank you.”
“Help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge.”
“I will. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She glanced over her shoulder, waiting for him to say more—perhaps to thank her for a fourth time—but he stood very still, staring at the fire.
She pulled a log from the crate beside the stove and shoved it on top of the blazing kindling. “This will help keep the place warm tonight.”
“Isn’t there a furnace?”
“Yes. But this is nicer, don’t you think?”
His silence told her precisely what he thought.
She turned to face him, twisting the ring on her right hand and willing herself not to scream away her tension. “Burke.”
“Yes?”
“Are you waiting until tomorrow to start in on me?”
He shifted his impassive stare in her direction. “I’m not planning to start in on you.”
“Oh, I see.” She paced to the kitchen area and back. “You just decided on a whim to come out to Granite Ridge to work for a while. A change of scene, a different Internet connection. Is that right?”
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to spend the evening chatting. As we used to.” He set his computer on the small dining table tucked beneath a wide window and rested his hand on the dull metallic surface. “I’ve missed you.”
She paused, studying him, waiting to see if his serious words and somber mood were some kind of clever trap. And in the next instant, she felt ashamed for looking for an ulterior motive. They were friends, after all. And she’d missed him, too.
“Tell me about Fitz.” She folded her legs beneath her as she settled on one end of the sofa. “Has he been staying out of trouble?”
Burke lowered himself to the cushion beside her and leaned back with a sigh. “Fitz is playing the role of devoted husband and expectant father with such enthusiasm that it’s beginning to grate on my nerves. I wish he’d try a more subtle approach to this rash of exemplary behavior.”
She smiled and scooped her hair back. “Like you?”
Burke raised one eyebrow in his supercilious look. “I wasn’t aware that my exemplary behavior was either overstated or abnormal.”
“No.” Good old Burke, he could always make her laugh. She ran her hand down his arm in a teasing stroke. “I meant subtle. Like you.”
Burke frowned. “Subtle is a difficult role for any actor.”
She leaned toward him. “Even for me?”
“Especially for you.”
“Are you saying I couldn’t play it?”
“Only if it were a role.” His face softened with a weary smile. “And then you’d be brilliant at it, as you always are.”
She closed the small gap between them and smacked a loud kiss on the tip of his nose. “I love it when you lay it on thick.”
“I’m only telling it like it is.”
She laughed at the sound of that phrase uttered in his thickest, upper-crustiest accent. “And how’s Greenberg?”
“Greenberg is