City Girl by Judy Griffith Gill Page B

the table in five minutes,” she said. “Will you eat before you go?” Kirk felt that smile of hers sneak up on him and give him a hard zap in the gut. He took a step back, wondering how he had gotten so close to her. He hadn’t been aware of moving, and she still stood where she’d been when he entered the room, a big white apron tied around her slim middle, her cheeks flushed from the heat. The soup smelled good. She smelled good. He wanted to touch her again so bad, he had to clench his hands into fists.
    “No,” he said roughly, turning on one heel and putting space, lots of it, between them. “I’ll be late. Don’t expect me for dinner, either,” he added impulsively, without the faintest idea of where he’d eat. He only knew he had to escape before he kissed the living daylights out of Liss Tremayne in front of her little boys.
    He plunged outside and drew in a deep breath of the icy air. It stung his nose and made his chest ache, but he took another breath, and another, until he had a damned good reason for the dizziness that assailed him. “Damn you, Brose,” he muttered, getting into his truck and slamming the door. “If you didn’t go to hell, that’s where you belong, the Reverend Daisy notwithstanding. What have you saddled me with? And how am I going to deal with it?”
    There was no answer, of course. He started his truck and drove out of there as if something were chasing him. Damn right he was going to be late, he reaffirmed to himself. Maybe he wouldn’t go home all night. That, he knew, was the most sensible course, but he still felt as if he were being hounded out of his own house.
    He pounded his fist on the steering wheel. Dammit, whose ranch was this, anyway?
    * * * *
    “That is my place,” Mrs. Healey said, tapping Liss on the shoulder with a stiff, hard finger. “Ambrose sat at that end, I sat at this one.”
    Liss jerked around, staring up at Mrs. Healey. Dammit, she thought, for a large woman, Mrs. Healey could moue awfully quietly when she chose not to hammer her cane on the floor at each step. Though Liss had called a few minutes before to alert her that lunch was ready, there had been no response. Now that she and the boys were nearly done, here came the silent mountain, sneaking up on her.
    “Excuse me,” she said with exaggerated courtesy. “I had no idea this was your special place.” At lunch and dinner the day before, Mrs. Healey had come in, filled a plate, then disappeared with it, either to her room or to the office. Now, it seemed, she had decided to join the family. “I’ll be happy to sit elsewhere at dinnertime and from then onward,” Liss continued. “But for now, please sit at the other end of the table, Mrs. Healey, and help yourself to lunch.” She indicated the pot of soup on the stove and the plate of sandwiches on the table. “Unless, of course, you’d like to wait until I’ve finished; then you’ll be welcome to this seat.”
    With a “Hmmph” and a toss of her head, the older woman grudgingly did as she was asked, sitting down with a thump. She stared at Liss so long and so hard, Liss rose, ladled out a bowl of soup for the old bag and set it before her. It would, she told herself be difficult for Mrs. Healey to handle the hot soup as well as her cane, which made her lurch. Better to serve her than to have to wash the floor again.
    Naturally, she received no thanks, just a sniff of disdain. “I don’t much like pea soup.”
           Liss smiled. “Sorry, that’s all there is.”
    “Can we go now, Mom?” Ryan asked. He shoved his bowl away and left a half-eaten triangle of sandwich on his plate. “You said we could build a snowman right after lunch.”
    “Yes, you may go. And help your brother with his boots.” Both boys scampered into the back entry room, where she could hear them struggling with snowsuits and boots.
    She was about to go help when a female voice called from the front hall. “Yoo-hoo! Kirk, sweetie . . .where