Wolf Creek Father (Wolf Creek, Arkansas Book 3) by Penny Richards

now she was the topic of dinnertime conversations! Forcing civility to her voice, she said, “I appreciate that, Gabe, really, but just because you and Rachel are ridiculously in love doesn’t mean that the whole world wants the same thing.”
    “You’re right,” he said, nodding. “But I can’t imagine why they wouldn’t.”
    “I’m perfectly happy with my life. I do not need a man to feel fulfilled.”
    She imagined she saw a hint of impudence lurking in his blue eyes. “You should have quit while you were ahead,” he said, the cheeky grin reappearing.
    “I beg your pardon,” she said again.
    “Methinks you’re protesting too much, as Shakespeare would say.”
    He was right, of course. Rachel claimed that Gabe had always known how a woman’s mind worked better than any man she’d ever met. Allie took refuge in irritation. “I don’t know how Rachel tolerates you,” she said, snatching up her package.
    Still smiling, he shrugged, recognizing her response for what it was. “It’s a mystery to me, too.”
    She was all the way to the door when his voice stopped her.
    “You gonna pay for that?”
    Turning with a huff, she said, “Put it on my bill.”
    “You don’t have a bill,” he reminded her gently.
    “Well, then, start one!” she snapped, and whirled to leave. She turned back in the next instant, full of contrition. “I’m sorry, Gabe. I don’t know why I’m so irritable.”
    “Don’t worry about it,” he said in a soothing tone. “I understand perfectly.” And he did.
    * * *
    Allison spent a good part of the remainder of the morning writing letters to two of her favorite, most helpful professors, and then headed to the post office to see that they went out on the next train. Back home, she ate a light lunch, freshened up, snatched up the package, squared her shoulders and walked to Colt’s house at the edge of town, hoping Cilla and Brady would be there when she arrived.
    To her relief, Brady answered the door on her first knock. Allison smiled. “Good morning, Brady.”
    “What are you doing here?” he countered.
    Not a good beginning, she thought, smiling wider. “I’ve come to see you and Cilla and talk to you about the things your father and I discussed.”
    “He’s already told us a buncha stuff.”
    Allison suppressed the urge to sigh. “May I come in? I’ve brought you and Cilla some things from the general store.”
    “Why would you do something like that?”
    The question came from Cilla, who was crossing the parlor from the back of the small house. She paused behind her brother, a wary expression in her eyes.
    “Well,” Allie said in a reasonable tone, holding out the gift, “because you’ll need these things if you’re going to learn needlework, and I didn’t suppose you had them.” She handed Brady a small brown bag. “This is for you.”
    “Come on in,” he said, grabbing the sack with one hand and her hand in the other. Well, one of them could be bribed, anyway. Holding back from Brady, she looked at Cilla for permission.
    “Come on in.”
    “Thank you.”
    The sheriff’s house looked much as she would expect a house inhabited by a single man and two children to look. The brown sofa was worn, and the plain blue curtains were faded. All in all, it looked clean enough, just...tired. Neglected. It needed pictures on the whitewashed walls and flowers in vases, and rag rugs and crochet doilies, and a man’s boots by the door and—
    Stop it, Allison! Just because that’s what you like doesn’t mean that Colt and the kids aren’t fine with the way things are.
    Gathering herself, she asked, “May I sit down?”
    “Sure,” Brady said, his hand already deep in the paper bag. “There’s a broke spring in the divan. If you’re not careful, it’ll poke you in the behind. The rocking chair is comfortable, though.” He popped a piece of the candy into his mouth and chewed.
    “Thank you, Brady,” Allison said, settling into the chair.
    “Ugh!” he