Tina Leonard - The Renegade Cowboy Returns

“I didn’t touch anything. You left the screen up.” Cat shrugged. “Anyway, it’s going to get read if it ever gets published.”

“It is getting published, and I don’t allow anyone to read my work until I say it’s all right to.” This was something they were going to have to straighten out pronto. Cat would have to understand that her room was off-limits.

“Anyway,” the teen said, “I just thought you should know that Tempest is a real flesh-and-blood person. I can actually see her.” Cat took a bite of carrot, considering her thoughts. “Bronwyn, not so much. She seems kind of wishy-washy. Cardboard.”

Chelsea and Moira stared at Cat. Chelsea wasn’t certain what to think about the critique—although she had a funny feeling it was dead-on. “Please don’t read my work anymore, Cat, unless I give you permission.”

She nodded. “I won’t. Miss Moira says she’s going to take me to the library and get me some books by great authors. Great texts, is what she calls them. Suitable for my advanced level.” She beamed, pretty proud of that praise.

Chelsea shook her head, recognizing the teacher at work. She sank onto a bar stool and looked at Gage’s daughter. “Permission aside, that was a pretty confident critique.”

“I know.” Cat nodded. “My teacher says I should consider journalism. Maybe even poli-sci.”

The front door opened, interrupting the conversation.

“Cat!” Gage called from the front door.

“Yes, Dad?”

“I thought you were going to catch up with me?”

“I am.” She put down the carrot she’d been chopping. “I’m sorry, Miss Moira. I have to go help my dad.”

“You go, love,” she replied, amused.

“Will you finish helping her?” Cat asked Chelsea. “There’s a lot left to do.” She went out of the kitchen, and the front door closed a moment later.

“Goodness.” Moira laughed. “She’s a bit of an old soul, isn’t she?”

“Yes.” Chelsea took over the chopping. “I’m not too happy with her critique, either.”

“Oh, don’t be angry with the lamb,” her mother said. “You know our rules may be different from what she has at home. I don’t sense that she gets a lot of supervision. Now that you’ve explained the boundaries, I’m sure she’ll respect them.”

Gage would insist on his daughter respecting boundaries. That much she could tell about Gage—he tried to keep distance where it needed to be.

Except when he’d kissed her.

And she hadn’t even smacked him, as she’d promised herself she would if he ever stepped over her lines.

Like Cat, he’d crossed her limit so nicely. In such an ordinary way. It had barely been a kiss—and yet it had felt strangely as if there’d been deeper meaning behind it.

Boundaries.

Like father, like daughter.

“Boundaries are good,” she told her mom. “We’ll work on them.”

* * *

DINNER WAS SET ON THE PATIO, and Gage and Cat gathered around, looking hungry, and in Cat’s case, tired and a tiny bit red in the face from exertion and late-afternoon sun. They washed up and then sank down gratefully to join Moira and Chelsea.

“This is great,” Gage said. “I can’t remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal.”

Cat looked at her dad. “That’s probably because you’re itin—”

“I know,” he said, ruefully interrupting. “But going from job to job is how I make money, kitten.”

“Mom does say you’re always right on time with the child support.” Cat grinned at her father. “It’s the one nice thing she says about you.”

“What did you two do all afternoon?” Chelsea asked, wanting to put Gage at ease.

“We went and talked to a man about knocking down the barn. Dad wants an estimate for that,” Cat said importantly. “Although I think his boss will be angry if he does it.” She looked at her father, not certain if knocking over buildings was really in his job description.

“And look who’s going to join us for dinner,” Moira said. “Just in time to say grace for us.”

Chelsea looked up, surprised to see Jonas Callahan pulling in with a horse trailer. “I’ll set another place.” She went to grab a plate and silverware, coming back out in time to see Jonas slap Gage on the back.

“Didn’t I tell you you’d like it here?” Jonas asked, glancing around at the wonderful spread on the table. “That smells good. I love roast chicken and portobello mushrooms.” He leaned over to kiss Moira on the cheek, tipped his hat to Chelsea, and said, “Who’s this beautiful girl?” to Cat, who blushed, to Chelsea’s delight.

“My daughter, Cat,” Gage supplied. “Sit down, Jonas.”

“I will.” He sat down easily, filling his glass from the tea pitcher. “Hi, Cat. You like it here?”

“Not really,” she said with her characteristic tact. “But will you please say grace for us? Miss Moira says you will, and we’re starved. Dad’s been working hard today.”

Jonas laughed. “Good for him. And I’m happy to say grace, thank you for the honor.”

They bowed their heads, and Jonas said grace, and then everybody began filling their plates with Moira’s good cooking. Chelsea was amazed by how well Cat seemed to fit in, with just a smidgen of guidance and structure. She caught Gage watching her study his daughter, and busied herself with the chicken and vegetables. I’m getting too involved. It’s none of my business. I’m here to write, and get my heroine out of her tangle, and take care of my mother.

Not get love-struck over a footloose cowboy.

“Fiona says to tell you hi, Miss Moira,” Jonas said.

“When’s she coming out to see me?” Moira asked.

“Actually, I’m to remind you all of the Fourth of July picnic at the ranch. You’ll be there, won’t you?” Jonas looked at Chelsea and then Gage.

“I will be,” she said.

“We can all drive out together,” Gage offered.

“Splendid.” Jonas grinned. “You know, Aunt Fiona said you would all get along like peas in a pod, and she’s never wrong about these things.”

Chelsea’s gaze caught Gage’s by accident, and she felt herself blush—just like Cat.

Jonas grinned at her, looking like a man who was enjoying his charmed life a bit too much. Chelsea frowned at him, letting him know she didn’t appreciate his statement, and he laughed.

She was going to stab him with a fork, she vowed, if he thought about trying any of the Callahan matchmaking games on her.

“How’s the writing, Chelsea?” Jonas asked, trying to get on her good side, probably having noticed the steam coming out of her ears on his behalf.

“Fine,” she said, her tone sweet for the sake of table manners, but with a definite edge of don’t bother.

“She’s still stuck,” Cat said, “but Miss Moira says if we shut her up in her room for a few days, sometimes that works. And sometimes a change of scenery helps, too.”

Jonas snapped his fingers. “Speaking of that, I need the two of you to run an errand for me.”

Chelsea felt her eyes narrow. “The two of who?”

“You and Gage, my two trusted house sitters.” Jonas waved a fork expansively. “I need you to go sweet-talk two peacocks out of our neighbor to the north, a Ms. Ellen Smithers.”

“Peacocks?” Chelsea said. “Why peacocks and why us?”

“I want two peacocks out at Rancho Diablo, and maybe here, once we get things settled. Ms. Smithers doesn’t like us. Or at least she didn’t like the man who used to own this house. I’ve talked to her on two occasions, even took Sabrina with me. Both times the answer was an enthusiastic no.” He grinned. “She’s a stubborn thing. But Ms. Ellen doesn’t know that I’m not above using a decoy to get what I want.”