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flowers. She was lucky if she got a birthday card.
    “Thank you. They’re lovely. Come on back to the kitchen.”
    Trent followed her and stood at the bar while Annie arranged the flowers in a vase.
    “I need to finish our salads,” she told him.
    Trent watched as she chopped celery and apples. “You can’t make a Waldorf salad ahead of time,” Annie prattled. “If it sits very long the apples get all soggy.”
    Soggy apples! A great conversation starter. Her how-to-talk-to-a-man skills had rusted away.
    “Do you cook, Trent?”
    “I grill meat—that’s about all. But I’m spoiled. I have Rosa to cook for me.”
    Annie stopped chopping at that announcement. Was Rosa Trent’s girlfriend? Or his fiancée? She pushed aside a zing of jealousy.
    Not that it mattered, of course. The man’s personal life was none of her concern. “What kind of food does she cook?”
    “Enchiladas and tacos. But quesadillas are her specialty. She’s Hispanic.”
    Annie plastered on a smile and pretended that it didn’t matter that Trent had a gorgeous Latino girlfriend who cooked incredible food. “That sounds terrific.”
    Trent’s expression was one of pure bliss. “Rosa’s awesome. I’m one lucky man.”
    While Annie had no claim on this cowboy, and didn’t want one, the satisfied smirk on his face ruffled her emotions. Since she didn’t consider herself a great cook, competing with the fabulous Rosa would make this meal even more challenging.
    “Would you take our salads to the breakfast room?” she asked, trying to change the subject. “I’ll pour the tea and we’re set.”
    “More tea? Will the scones arrive soon?” he teased.
    “It’s Italian day. No scones allowed.”
    As Trent pulled out Annie’s chair, she determined to make this afternoon work. She’d steer clear of hot topics, so their conversation would be pleasant. And then she’d send the cowboy back to his ranch. Back to the glorious Rosa, whoever she was.
    Trent took a bite. “Mmm. This lasagna’s delicious. Are you an Italian in disguise?”
    “Nope. My ancestors came from Switzerland.”
    “That explains your blonde hair and blue eyes.”
    Trent’s gaze lingered on her eyes and hair longer than Annie thought it should. And to her dismay she felt a shiver ofpleasure—another sensation she hadn’t experienced in ages. Her hormones had mutinied the day she got pregnant, she reminded herself. That explained this reaction.
    “More cheese bread?”
    Trent helped himself to another slice. “Thanks.”
    The kitchen fell silent except for the ticking of the wall clock. Eating alone had eroded Annie’s social skills. Finally she said, “I know nothing about you, Trent. Tell me about your family.”
    His forehead creased and a flush crept up his neck. “I didn’t really have one. To call my parents dysfunctional is generous. We didn’t go on picnics or chat around the dinner table.”
    Annie’d stuck her foot in it. The man had told her he hung out at the Samuels’ because his home life was troubled. So much for avoiding hot topics!
    But beneath his gruff tone, Annie sensed the pain Trent harbored. Pain that ran deep. “Do you ever see them?” she asked softly. “Your parents?”
    His scowl deepened. “I walked out at sixteen and never looked back.”
    “I’m sorry,” Annie murmured. “I shouldn’t pry.”
    He shrugged. “My home life forced me to be independent. You could say my folks did me a favor.” But his distressed tone contradicted his words. Trent carried the scars from a difficult childhood.
    Annie made several more stabs at conversation but didn’t get far.
You flunk How to Make Happy Talk at Lunch
, she told herself.
    When they were finished, Trent said, “Shall we check out Elaine?”
    “Elaine? Who’s Elaine?” Did the man have another woman stashed away somewhere? Was there no end to his exploits?
    Trent coughed. “You know—your car.”
    Annie felt a surge of relief. “Oh, you mean Eloise. Sure. I’d love