A Weaver Vow

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The grass in the little rectangular yard was a bit overgrown, but otherwise, the place looked pretty much the same as it always had. White paint. Black trim.

And in the picture window that looked in on the living room, he could see Isabella sitting at a table, her head propped in her hands. Weariness screamed from her hunched shoulders.

The glimmer of sense faded to black. Winked out completely.

He pulled next to the curb in front of the house and shut off the engine.

She hadn’t budged.

Calling himself ten kinds of fool, he got out of the truck, spotted the covered dish from his mom and grabbed it. It was still warm but no longer hot enough to need the towel. Dish in hand, he headed up the front walk and knocked on the door. From there he couldn’t see through the window, but it was only a few seconds before she pulled open the door.

Her dark eyes widened and filled with alarm. “What are you doing here? I thought everything went okay yesterday.”

He wanted to kick himself. “It did,” he assured her quickly. The last thing he wanted was to cause her more worry. “I was just at my folks’ place,” he added, holding out the dish. “And since I was passing this way anyway, figured I’d deliver these leftovers from my mom.” Hell. His ears were burning. “She remembers how much I ate when I was Murph’s age.”

Her gaze dropped to the dish, then lifted back to his face for a moment before skittering away again. “I don’t know what to say.”

He’d have been better off staying at Colbys and putting up with Pam. He lifted the lid. “Say you’re not a vegetarian.”

She let out a sudden, breathy laugh. “This is a very unexpected surprise.” She reached for the dish and her fingers brushed against his as she took it. If she felt the tingling that he did, she showed no sign of it as she lifted the lid again and leaned over a little, inhaling deeply. “Smells wonderful.” She glanced up at him. “But would these leftovers be yours if not for us?”

“You won’t be taking any food outta my mouth,” he assured her drily. “Every week I get another batch or two from someone. You’re saving my refrigerator from being overloaded.”

“Well, then.” She smiled. “How can I refuse? I’m sure Murphy will devour it.”

Erik could easily see over her head into the living room. the furniture was the same furniture that had been there for years, from the squishy, slightly worn couch to the round table in the dining area. “Where is he?” He couldn’t be certain, but the papers spread across the table looked like bills.

“In his room doing homework.” Her smile turned wry. “Or else just avoiding me as much as he can.” She took a step back. “Would you like to come in?”

She was wearing a pair of skinny blue jeans and an oversize white shirt that hung down to her thighs. Her white-blond hair was pinned up in a messy sort of knot on top of her head and her feet were bare.

Everything about her was appealing.

Except the sparkling diamond on her finger that blinked at him like a flashing stoplight.

“Thanks, but I gotta head back home.”

“Okay.” Her lips curved a little, seeming only to accentuate the fullness of her rosy lower lip. “I’ll be sure to get the dish back to your mother the next time I see her.”

This was what he got for attributing the leftovers to his mom. “Just bring it out next time you drive Murph to the ranch.” He managed not to ask if he’d have to wait until Saturday for that. He had no intention of pushing it.

“I’ll make sure she gets the dish with all the other stuff I’m collecting from her,” he added. “Now, go on and enjoy the rest of your Sunday,” he said.

Her eyes turned bright and her dimple flashed. “I will,” she said, clasping the dish to her chest. “Especially now that I won’t even have to cook.”

He managed a grin and turned to go.

It was all he could do not to trip over his own two feet as he strode back to his truck.

Whoever said the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach had it all wrong.

All it took was a pair of flashing brown-black eyes and a mischievous dimple.

Chapter Four

The following Saturday, Isabella tried to allow more time to get out to the ranch. Erik had been kind enough to drop off those leftovers. The least she could do was take him up on his offer of a tour of his ranch.

Not that she had a single inkling whatsoever about cattle ranches. She wouldn’t know at all if she was oohing and aahing at the appropriate times.

But still.

Having driven the rough stretch of road four times now, she was a little better prepared for that particular experience. She fancied that she was even beginning to learn when to maneuver to the right or left to avoid particularly jarring holes. Which made the trip go considerably faster.

But they still didn’t arrive as early as she’d planned.

She just hadn’t anticipated having to nearly physically drag Murphy out of bed to get him going this morning. And it hadn’t helped that she’d dithered over what outfit to wear, all because she’d be seeing Erik Clay for a few minutes. That was something she had never done in her life. Not even with Murphy’s father.

The boy was sprawled in his seat, his eyes at half-mast and his lips turned down in displeasure at having to spend more time with the man he called “the Jailer.”

She wished she knew what to do to help him change his attitude. She’d already spoken with his counselor, Hayley Templeton, for suggestions. But nothing was working.

“I wanna go back to New York—” Murphy broke his silence with the abrupt announcement “—and live with my real mom.”

Her hands tightened around the steering wheel. It wasn’t the first time that he’d mentioned his mother. Jimmy had never lied to his son about her, though. Murphy knew perfectly well that Kim was a troubled woman who’d spent time in jail. “I know you want to go back to New York. But that doesn’t mean we know where your mother is.” If Isabella took him back, admitted that she had failed to provide him what he needed, he’d be placed into the foster-care system. Maybe with a better, more suitable family than her.

But guilt and grief collided inside her chest every time she thought about it.

She’d promised Jimmy.

“I’m sorry,” she said huskily. “I know you miss your dad. I do, too. But going back isn’t going to happen right now.”

“Then when?”

They topped the rise in the road, and the ranch buildings came into view. It relieved her as much as it worried her. “I don’t know,” she said. Never, if she had her choice. Sooner, if the caseworker didn’t like what she saw when she visited.

Murphy just gave that disgusted wordless grunt of his.

But he said nothing more as she drove the rest of the way and parked next to the dusty blue pickup truck beside Erik’s house. “Come on,” she said as she climbed out of the car. “The sooner you get started, the sooner you’ll be finished.”

“Yeah, until you get out here to take me home.” He slammed the car door shut and stomped ahead of her, heading toward the barn he’d worked on last week. When Isabella followed, his head swiveled around, and even beneath his Yankees ball cap she could see the alarm in his eyes. “Don’t you gotta leave to go teach?”

“Yes. But not right this minute.” She caught up to him. “I want to see what you’re doing and say hello to Mr. Clay. He’s offered to show me around the ranch.”

His lips twisted. She was certain he would have said something if Erik hadn’t appeared at that particular moment. Luckily he did, coming out of the partially standing barn. He had a pair of goggles dangling around his neck and a sledgehammer in his leather-gloved hand. Dusty jeans and a pair of equally dusty boots completed his outfit.

And she nearly swallowed her tongue.

Lucy hadn’t told her exactly how well they grew male gods out here in Wyoming.

With nothing else covering his wide shoulders and washboard stomach but the gleam of sweat, Erik Clay looked as if he belonged on some calendar somewhere for women to drool over.

“Thought you said you missed my dad,” Murphy accused in a low voice.

Horrified at herself, Isabella dragged her attention away from all that raw glory. “I do.”

Murphy just made a face.

And why wouldn’t he?