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held up the plastic container. “My father sent over some supper.” The lie was preferable to the truth.
    Not that he was even all that sure what truth had propelled him back to the Lazy-B that evening. “I can get up and down the stairs,” she defended. “And that was very kind of your father but hardly necessary.”
    He shrugged and headed into the kitchen. “Just being neighborly. And you haven’t seen the army that my dad thinks he’s cooking for,” he said as he went. He’d been inside the Buchanan house more than once; mostly becausethere was no getting around Belle when she was insistent about something like inviting him in for lunch or coffee whenever he had met with Cage for one reason or another. But he still had to open a few cupboard doors before he found the plates. He dumped out a healthy portion on one, stowed the rest in the plastic container inside the nearly barren fridge, hunted a little more for some silverware, then carried everything back out to the living room.
    He extended the plate toward her. “You’ll hurt his feelings if you don’t eat.” Another guilt-free lie. Lifting her off her feet had been about as taxing as tossing a pillow. As far as he was concerned, the dancer could stand to eat more. A lot more.
    She took the plate but didn’t look all that happy about it. “Again, that’s sweet of him, but I can fend for myself.”
    â€œOkay.” He reached to take the plate back from her, but she let out a laugh that was as unexpected as it was quick, and held the plate out of his range.
    â€œI’m also not foolish enough to turn down a meal when it’s looking me in the face.” A smile hovered on her lips, revealing that faint dimple again. “Particularly one I didn’t have to cook for myself.” Her lashes lifted for a brief moment as she glanced up at him. “Are you going to hover there while I eat, or sit down?”
    He’d done what he’d come to do. Deliver the food and put an end to the annoying niggle in his head that hadn’t let him forget the bravado she’d shown earlier that day on the mower. False bravado.
    The pain in her face then had been as plain as the white knuckles she’d needed to stand up on the stairs.
    Her brother wasn’t around to watch out for her, but she had food in her hands, a couch under her rear. Beck had even noticed the cell phone that was sitting on the end table,within easy reach, which meant she had a passel of family, too, within easy reach.
    No reason for him to keep hovering, that was certain.
    But his feet made no move toward the door.
    He swallowed another oath, even as he found himself sitting down on the couch beside her.
    And then he wished that he’d at least had the sense to sit on the chair that was adjacent to the couch.
    He looked away from the vee of smooth skin that extended from her long neck down between the lapels of her robe where they criss-crossed between her breasts.
    Legs that seemed strangely long for someone so short, and breasts that seemed strangely full for someone so slender beneath the skim of that pale gold silk. The fabric was only a shade darker than her skin.
    He realized he’d lifted his hand to run it around the too-tight collar of his T-shirt and curled his fist.
    It was July for God’s sake. The anniversary of his wife’s death loomed like a specter over every breath he drew.
    What the hell was he doing noticing— really noticing—the attributes of his neighbor’s daughter?
    He started to push off the couch but went dead still when she reached out and closed her hand over his arm. “Wait.”
    When was the last time a female had touched him?
    He’d barely had the thought before her hand moved away again, returning to steady the plate that she was balancing on her lap.
    â€œSorry.” She focused on the fork she was swirling into the spaghetti. “It’s