Free Once a Father by Kathleen Eagle Page A

a role to play.” He nodded toward the pen. “Our boy understands this, probably better than we do.”
    â€œAre we assigning roles? Is that why he’s listening?” She squared her shoulders, tucked her chinand lowered her voice. “Sound off when your role is called.”
    â€œHe doesn’t use words. Sometimes I think they hear thoughts.”
    â€œOh, yes, dogs do, too. I know they do. They read people’s minds.”
    â€œDeeper than that,” he said. “They go deeper than the part of the mind that forms words. They don’t read. They sense.”
    â€œVibes?”
    â€œYeah, maybe. They’re prey animals. They have to be sensitive to everything around them, be able to detect the slightest change in their surroundings. Sharp senses don’t lie. We put it into words, we lose something. Or maybe we add something.”
    â€œYou’re using words right now. Are you losing or adding?”
    â€œI don’t know. I’m just sayin’.” He chuckled. “I generally don’t talk this much.”
    â€œNeither do I. I can control what I say, but those vibes…” He was moving closer. “Good thing most people have trouble sensing.”
    â€œYeah. Good thing.” He touched her chin, turned her face and kissed her softly. “Mary, Mary,” he whispered.
    â€œNever contrary.” She closed her eyes and inhaled the spicy scent of sage and wood smoke. “I felt that coming.”
    â€œI felt wanted.”
    â€œI want—”
    He hooked his arm behind her head and opened his mouth over hers and stole her next breath with the kiss she wanted, the kind that gave back and kept on giving. She welcomed him, her tongue touching his, her lips taking the measure of his. Full and moist, they took the lead in a sexy slow dance meant to bring more dancers to the floor, meant to get things going up and down their bodies, bundles of nerves dying to become entangled in utterly wild ways. In the end he touched his forehead to hers, and they mixed breath with breath and sigh with sigh.
    â€œGood vibrations.” He lifted his head. “Would you like to stay with me tonight?”
    â€œIt’s not a good time.”
    He nodded and got to his feet. As soon as she started to follow suit, he offered her a hand. He didn’t seem to mind the rejection, which was almost funny because she minded it very much. She touched his sleeve.
    He slipped his arm around her shoulders and started walking her toward the round pen. Or her borrowed pickup—she wasn’t sure which.
    â€œIt’s complicated, Logan.”
    â€œNo, it isn’t.” He gave her a little squeeze. “You gave me a straight answer. Don’t tangle it up now.” He gave a questioning glance. “Is there someone else?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œGood.” They reached the pen. He grabbed the top rail with his free hand and eyed the mustang. “We should come up with something to call him. We can change it later if we need to.”
    â€œWhy would we need to?”
    â€œIt’s a big commitment, accepting a name from someone. He might not be ready.”
    â€œHow about Khaki?” She opted to take his point literally. “Isn’t that a good name? You called him a claybank. It’s a color we’ve all worn. You’re wearing it now, and my khakis are never too far away.”
    â€œThe color of dirt.”
    â€œEarth,” she amended. “Good camouflage. We blend, like a proper band. It goes along with being quiet and unscented.”
    â€œYou have a scent.” He turned his nose to her hair. “It pleases me.” He kissed her temple. “Even after you’ve gone.”
    â€œYours is powerful. It attracts me.” She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. “And stays with me.”
    â€œIn a good way?”
    â€œOh, yes.”
    He nodded toward the mustang. “Earth on the outside,