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you have to win, cowboy,” Carol said, smiling, then hurried upstairs to change on a wave of her aunt’s laughter.
     
    * * *
     
     
    Harlan stood in the kitchen manning the teakettle, boiling water and thinking about Carol. Her laughter. The way she moved in those jeans. That quick wit. Her sense of humor. That gal could turn heads, true enough, but it was her smile he was coming to love. No, not love. More like it had the spurs in him, the bit between his teeth, and was riding him toward the ledge.
    He shook his head. Carol hadn’t appreciated him mentioning the accident to her aunt. He’d noticed that straight off. Didn’t mean he was going to back down. Keeping things from the people who loved you never led to happy times. Besides, Mrs. McCreedy had a right to know. She worried, but worrying about the unknown was always a harder trail to blaze than worrying about the known.
    The steady hiss of the shower came from the second floor bathroom. The pipes creaked and groaned in the walls and under the sink from the water pressure. He folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the counter, still staring at the teakettle, his thoughts turning to the snowstorm, then shifting back to the accident. He still felt like half a fool, rushing out to help her when she’d been perfectly capable of helping herself. Though if the damn fool who’d run her off the road had actually clipped her…well, she might’ve ended up in a bad way, and the thought iced his veins. Carol didn’t seem rattled by the whole incident, but he certainly was. Which might be foolish perhaps, but there you go.
    Mrs. McCreedy peeked into the kitchen. “How’s that hot chocolate coming along?”
    “Reckon I have the boil-water part down, ma’am. After that, we’ll see.”
    She grinned with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “You need a hand?”
    “Thank you kindly, but I suppose if she finds you helping me, I’ll be forfeiting my part of the bet. Wouldn’t want to have to hear about that from here to eternity.”
    She laughed. “That girl has some kind of issue with hot chocolate. She even drinks it in the summertime. Have you ever heard of such a thing?”
    He shook his head gravely, disguising a smile.
    “Hmm. Neither have I.” She threw a knowing glance his way. “That girl’s a firecracker, you understand. Takes after her father. And her mother. A whole family of firecrackers.”
    The teakettle began to whistle. He took it off the stove and over to the mugs he’d set up. The hot chocolate power was already in the cups, and he poured and mixed slowly, careful not to splash. “Seems to me you raised her right.” He shrugged, meaning But I’m just a ranch hand, what do I know ?
    “Had my fingers stung a few times. But who hasn’t, raising a child? We did the best we could after her parents passed on. Car accident. So you understand why I worry. An independent little girl, and she grew into an independent young woman. Lost her folks young, but she’s tough as leather, never let it sour her spirit. Yet, I figure we all need a partner now and then. Help shoulder the burden.”
    He kept his face neutral, but his heart was beating hard and fast. “Is that a hint, ma’am?”
    “Take it as you may. I’m a horrible rambling gossip, about as subtle as a charging bull. Jim always says so anyways.” She smiled and waved a hand at the stove. “Suppose I should leave you to your work then.” She patted his arm and shuffled her way out of the kitchen.
    The shower shut off upstairs. He quickly found the whipped cream and layered a mountain of it on her hot chocolate. He left his unadorned. He was an hombre who took his hot chocolate black. He smirked and shaved some cinnamon on top of Carol’s whip cream.
    The floorboards overhead creaked. He shut his eyes to stop the visions of Carol in her room, walking around with a towel around her body. Wet. The towel clinging to every curve. Or without a towel. Her nipples beading in the cold