Black Hills

shoes.
    “It’s work, you know. The shopping safari. As physical as mucking out stalls.”
    “Uh-huh.” He lifted her feet onto his lap, and began to rub, running his knuckles up her instep.
    Lil felt her eyes roll back in her head. “Oh. This is probably what heaven’s like. A huge sandwich, a glass of cold milk, and a foot rub.”
    “You’re a cheap date, Lil.”
    She smiled and took another bite. “How much of my shopping adventures did you actually listen to?”
    “I tuned out in the shoe department.”
    “Just as I suspected. Lucky for you, you give a good foot rub.”
    Later, when she hung her new dress in the closet, she thought it had been an exceptional day. Stress-free, once she’d put stress aside, and touched with moments of real joy and wonderful foolishness.
    And her mother had been right, she realized as she heard Coop tune in for the baseball scores. It was nice to have someone who’d walk out on the porch to welcome her home.

28
    Lil felt him touch her, just the lightest touch, a brush on her shoulder, down her arm. As if he reassured himself she was there before he got out of bed in the predawn dark.
    She lay, wakeful now, in the warmth of the bed, the warmth he’d left for her, and listened to the sound of the shower. The hiss of water against tile and tub.
    She considered getting up herself, putting on the coffee, getting a jump on the day. But there was something so comforting, so sweetly simple about staying just where she was and listening to the water run.
    The pipes clanged once, and she smiled when she caught his muffled oath through the bathroom door. He tended to take long showers, long enough for the small hot water heater to protest.
    He’d shave now—or not, depending on his mood. Brush his teeth with the towel slung around his hips and his hair still dripping. He’d rub the towel over it briefly, impatiently, maybe scoop his fingers through it a few times.
    Oh, to have hair that didn’t require fuss or time. But in any case, vanity wasn’t part of his makeup. He’d already be thinking about what needed to be done that day, which chore to deal with first on the daily list of chores.
    He’d taken on a lot, she mused. The farm, the business, and because of who and what he was, the responsibility of finding ways to keep his grandparents involved in the day-to-day while making sure they didn’t overdo.
    Then he’d added her, she thought. Not trying just to win her back but also to help her deal with the very real threat to her and hers. That piled extra hours, extra worry, extra work into his day.
    And he brought her flowers.
    He came back into the bedroom, moving quietly. That, she knew was both an innate skill of his and basic consideration. He took some care not to wake her, dressing in the half-dark, leaving his boots off.
    She could smell the soap and water on him, and found it another kind of comfort. Heard him ease a drawer open, ease it shut again.
    Later, she thought, she’d go downstairs to the scent of coffee, the scent of companionship. Someone cared enough to think of her. He’d probably light a fire, to take the chill off the house, even though he’d be leaving it.
    If she needed him at any time of the day, she could call. He’d find a way to help.
    He came to the bed, leaned down, and pressed a kiss to her cheek. She started to speak, but felt words would spoil the moment, would distract from what was happening inside her. She stayed silent as he slipped out of the room.
    The night before he’d come out on the porch to greet her. He’d eaten the leftovers, and gone to the market. He’d walked with her on her evening check of the habitat.
    He waited for her, she admitted. But what was she waiting for?
    Promises, guarantees, certainties? He’d broken her heart and left her unspeakably lonely. It didn’t matter that he’d been motivated by good intentions, the hurt still happened. Still existed. She feared it nearly as much as she feared Ethan.
    In fact, Coop was the only man who’d ever had the power to break her heart or make her afraid. Did she want to live without that risk? Because she would never get there, not with Coop. Just as she would never, never feel so utterly safe, happy, and excited about anyone else.
    As dawn streamed in the windows she heard him leave. The door closing behind him, and moments later, the sound of his truck.
    She rose, crossed to her dresser to open the bottom drawer. She dug under layers of sweats to draw out