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high-school crush. But heaven help her, the man was still an eyeful!
    Tearing her gaze away, she moved the stew pot off the stove and ladled the stew into a big serving bowl. It looked and smelled delicious, but Amy and Hunter were already rolling their eyes and wrinkling their noses. If her finicky children hurt Muriel’s feelings, there would be words later on.
    After Shane was introduced to Kylie’s children, he and Henry hung their damp coats over the backs of the chairs and went to the half bath off the kitchen to wash up. By the time they came back, the meal was on the table, ready to eat.
    “Thanks, Muriel.” Shane took his seat, his tall frame dwarfing the small, crowded kitchen table. “I’ve been hankering for some of your beef stew and biscuits. Just right for a cold night like this.”
    Muriel flushed at his praise. “Same old thing I’ve always made,” she said. “Eat up. There’s plenty.”
    Hunter was reaching for a hot, golden biscuit when Henry stopped him with a stern look. “Wait till we’ve said grace, young man.”
    Hunter and Amy looked startled. Brad hadn’t been a religious man, and their eat-and-run California lifestyle hadn’t included a prayer before meals. One more thing that would take some getting used to.
    “Would you say it, please, Henry?” Muriel asked.
    Henry nodded. As he bowed his head, Muriel reached out to join hands with the children, who sat on either side of her. Unused to the custom, but sensing they should follow along, Amy and Hunter reached for the hands on either side—Henry’s and Shane’s. Kylie had taken the last empty chair, between the two men. One hand slipped lightly into Henry’s work-roughened palm. Her other reached toward Shane.
    Their fingers brushed and fumbled. Then his big, leathery hand, still chilled from the cold, closed around hers. Tingles of awareness swept through her body. After all the teenage fantasies that had begun with Shane taking her hand, she’d never expected it to happen under these circumstances. The contact of skin to skin sent her pulse skittering. This was crazy. She was a grown woman, a widow with children, not a silly schoolgirl.
    Henry’s mumbled prayer was mercifully brief. As the hushed “amen” echoed around the table, Shane’s clasp loosened and Kylie pulled her still-tingling hand away. Amy and Hunter were already grabbing for the fluffy golden biscuits, ignoring the stew Muriel had ladled into their bowls. A lesson in manners would be in order before the next meal.
    “That’s more than your share, Hunter,” she admonished her son as he reached for a third biscuit. “Leave enough for the others. If you’re hungry, eat more of this delicious stew.”
    Hunter poked at a carrot slice with his spoon, wrinkled his nose, then lifted a small chunk of beef to his mouth and chewed it as if he expected some kind of trick. “Not too bad,” he pronounced.
    “ ‘Not too bad’?” Shane raised an eyebrow. “If you ask me, Muriel’s the best darned cook in the county. Isn’t she, Henry?”
    “Far as I know.” Henry bit into a buttered biscuit.
    “I’m hoping she’ll give me a few lessons,” Kylie said. “I’ve got a lot to learn about that temperamental old stove.”
    “Once you know what to expect from it, you’ll be fine, dear.” Muriel glanced around the table. “Cowboy, I was so sorry to hear about your motorcycle. I know you loved that old bike.”
    “Can’t undo what happened.” Shane’s face was a stoic mask. “All we can do is try to fix it.”
    “And what if it can’t be fixed?” Muriel persisted, heedless of Kylie’s unease.
    He shrugged. “Nothing lasts forever. Guess I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”
    Kylie shrank in her chair. All she wanted right now was to slide under the table and disappear. But she had no choice except to sit here and endure the cold anger that radiated from Shane’s powerful body—the anger he couldn’t quite manage to hide.
    They ate in