Free Cowboy Tough by Joanne Kennedy Page B

pardon,” he said.
    â€œI don’t mean that kind of strange.” Actually, she did. The guy gave her the creeps, and the fact that he’d talked to Dora at the airport set off warning bells in her head. But Dora had said that she saw his art supplies. So he hadn’t instigated the conversation.
    Still, it made Cat uncomfortable. “I meant that she doesn’t know you.”
    â€œWe got to know each other.”
    Cat literally bit her tongue to keep from responding. There wasn’t a thing she could do about it now. And Dora was here, safe and sound and apparently unmolested.
    â€œSo where have you been since you got here?” she asked her niece.
    â€œHelping Mack.”
    â€œShe’s got a great touch with animals,” Mack said.
    â€œI told you, if you’ll just show me how, I’ll be happy to help with the horses,” Cat said. “Dora’s here to paint.”
    â€œNo shit?” The thundercloud was forming over Dora’s head again. “I thought I was here to relax. Get away. Have some girl time with my Aunt Cat.”
    Dora looked angelic—tiny, balletic, and blonde—but she seemed to have developed a mouth like a sailor and the rebellious spirit of a spoiled princess since her mother’s death. Ross said she’d been suspended from school once for fighting, and once for cussing out a teacher. But this probably wasn’t a good time to wash her mouth out with soap.
    â€œWe’ll have fun, hon. We will. But it’s also a great chance for you to get some painting done. Some new subjects.”
    Dora had always been a talented artist, but since her mother’s illness, her paintings had taken on a dark tone. When she painted at all, she churned out abstracts, tortured scribbles in dark blues and blacks. Her work was incredible, especially for her age. But hanging one of her pictures on the wall was a sure way to suck all the air out of a room.
    â€œI told you, I don’t want to paint. I’m going to help Mack with the horses.”
    â€œBut…”
    â€œThey make me happy, okay? And Mack treats me like I’m normal.”
    â€œYou are normal.” That wasn’t quite true; Cat thought Dora was exceptional in many ways, good and bad. “I’m just worried about you, hon.”
    â€œI’m not the one who died, okay?” Dora’s brittle veneer cracked for half a second, but she quickly straightened her shoulders and shot Cat a scathing glare. “I’m sick of people worrying about me.” She kicked a stone into the fire, which was starting to eat its way up the carefully stacked wood. “Just leave me alone.”
    ***
    Dinner was everything Maddie had promised and more. Mack arranged log benches around the fire pit as promised, and the casual atmosphere and gorgeous setting made everything taste better.
    Not that Maddie needed help coaxing flavor out of food. Two Dutch ovens nestled in the coals. Lifting the lid on one of them released a curl of swooningly fragrant steam and revealed a cozy cluster of biscuits, browned to golden perfection on top and light as spun sugar on the inside. Another bubbled over with glistening chunks of what proved to be venison floating in a rich sauce along with potatoes and carrots. Cat felt like she was eating Bambi’s mother, but the meat was full of flavor. Corn, steamed in its husks, completed the meal. Dessert was apple cobbler cooked in a skillet over the coals.
    Tippy spent mealtime circling the benches, staring pleadingly at each diner in turn. Dora chattered animatedly with Mack and Maddie, and even with the hired hand—a tall, quiet man who’d sat on the far side of the fire and eaten in near-total silence. But she ignored Cat, and when Maddie began loading the quaint enamel plates and cooking pots into wicker laundry baskets for the trip back to the house, the girl jumped up to help, chattering as if she’d known these people all