Free Downhome Darlin' & The Best Man Switch by Victoria Pade Page B

Lucky Seven Lottery—and I just had a hunch about it. So we pooled our money, bought a bunch of tickets—”
    â€œAnd won?” she guessed with a full measure of surprise in her voice.
    â€œAnd won. We split it up—there was plenty to go around—and all of a sudden my share gave me a lot of choices. I had the chance to use the money to dig some real roots of my own. Started thinkin’ about givin’ myself—and maybe my sister and brothers—a home base, as you put it. A place where I could stay put and so could they if I could convince ‘em to. Maybe it comes from bein’ the oldest, but somehow it seemed like I could make the home we all never had.”
    â€œSo here you are.”
    â€œSo here I am.”
    â€œRumor around town was that you won the place in a poker game,” Abby informed him.
    He laughed at that. “Close, but not quite.”
    Abby was dying to know exactly how much he’d won, but it seemed rude to ask. So instead she went back to what they’d been talking about just before.
    â€œHave your brothers or sister come to see the place yet?”
    â€œNot yet. But they’re due. By the end of the week, last I heard from my brothers. I haven’t been able to get hold of Kate yet to find out when she’s comin’.”
    â€œDo you think they’ll stay when they do?”
    â€œThat’s anybody’s guess. They know they can. That I’d like it if they do. Like their help fixin’ the house, startin’ up the ranch. But we’ll see.” He chuckled lightly, a deep rumble in the cooling night air. “If they do, we’ll be Cal, Cody, Kit, Cabe, Cole, Cray and Kate Ketchum of Clangton, Colorado—how’s that for alliteration?”
    Abby laughed, suddenly studying him with new eyes. She would never have guessed he had strong family ties, a strong sense of responsibility or any desire to establish a home base for a whole passel of siblings. Somehow that seemed much more domestic than she would have ever pictured him.
    He stood then and held out his hand to her once more. “Come on. Let’s walk this lake and you can tell me tales of woodsies.”
    Without thinking about it, she took the hand he offered, remembering only when that electrical current danced up her arm again that that was what happened when he touched her. And how good it felt.
    This time when she was on her feet he kept hold of her hand so she couldn’t pull it back.
    Then, too, she didn’t try very hard.
    She did tell him about woodsies as they headed off around the lake, though. Nothing she thought was terribly interesting about a bunch of kids building bonfires years and years ago. But he seemed interested nonetheless, listening raptly, laughing where she meant for him to, asking a question here and there that proved he was paying attention.
    All the while she was talking, Abby was very aware of Cal. Of the nearness of him. Of her hand in his. Of the warmth and kid-leather toughness of his palm. Of the pressure of each of his long, thick fingers holding her just firmly enough within his grip. Of his thumb rubbing softly back and forth against the tender flesh between her own thumb and forefinger. Of the things that were coming alive in her at being with this man, listening to his deep, quiet voice filling the emptiness around them and to his laugh, so rich it seemed to ripple through her.
    And somewhere along the way she started to think that there was more to Cal Ketchum than a gorgeous face and a body to die for. She began to like him. Much, much more than she wanted to.
    The lake was a little over five miles around, and slowly strolling it the way they were took a long time. Ten o’clock was a memory when they reached the blanket again.
    â€œI suppose you’re going to say you need to get home now because it’s already past your curfew,” he said as they neared it.
    Going home, ending the