She cried without shame when happy, or deeply touched. But when immeasurably sad, she kept her tears private. Hearing them now, Dillon took the pitchfork from her, set it aside.
Gathered her in.
“He’s like a father to me.”
“I know.” As he soothed her, a woman who so rarely needed soothing, he struggled to bank his own fear, and a terrible anger. “We’ll take care of him, the three of us, whether he likes it or not.”
“Or not.” She managed a watery laugh. “Very seriously or not. I need to be grateful, we all need to be grateful he’s alive and well enough to bitch at us because we’re hovering.”
She clung to Dillon another minute. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t.”
“No, no, I didn’t mean that.” She drew back, laid her hands on his face. “But right now it’s sure good to lean on my boy. You were with Caitlyn.”
“Yeah.”
When she nodded, reached for the pitchfork again, he stilled her hand.
“Is that a problem?”
“I already love her. She’s easy to love, but even if she wasn’t, I’d love her because you do.”
“It shows?”
“I see your heart, Dillon, always have.”
With her face tipped to his, she laid a hand over his heart.
“She’s the only one I’ve ever known who could break it, because she’s the only one who’s mattered, really mattered to you. On the other hand, she’s the only one who’s ever put that light in you. So I’m torn between being happy and being worried. That’s my job.”
“I’m going to marry her.”
Julia opened her mouth, then took a breath, scooped more hay. “Did you let her know that?”
“Did you raise a stupid son?”
Her lips curved a little. “I did not.”
“I know how to take my time, and as much as she needs. The only way she’ll break my heart is if I’m not what she needs. And I am.”
“I also raised a confident son.”
“I see her, Mom, who she is. She sees me. She might need some time to see us. I can wait.”
He walked over, got another pitchfork. “I’ve got this. Go hover. I’ll be along to take my shift there by lunchtime.”
“Gram’s got him for now. She’s more pissed than he is, if that’s possible. You and I know there’s no fighting Gram when she’s on a tear.”
“He hasn’t got a chance.”
“Not in heaven or hell. So we’ll get this done, then do a team hover.”
Cate slept late—hello, Saturday—decided she’d go up to the main house. She’d talk her grandfather into a walk. Around the gardens, maybe down to the beach. She’d give him a break from the gym, but still have him moving.
They’d have some lunch before she came back, got some dough rising, looked over her next script. That would leave her plenty of time to fuss with herself, make the pasta—and maybe do the whole scene. Light candles, pick out some music, set a pretty table.
Maybe she’d been half-asleep when she’d asked him to dinner, but that was fine. They needed to talk, of course. And after the talk, after the meal, she wanted him back in her bed.
How nice to remember she liked sex, had some talent for it. And how being intimate with a man she cared about gave her all this positivity and energy.
She pulled on black leggings, a white tee that skimmed her hips, and old sneakers she wouldn’t mind getting wet and sandy during that walk on the beach.
She grabbed her phone because Darlie had sent a little video of her baby—and Cate’s unofficial godchild—Luke giggling when he knocked over a tower of blocks. Maybe she and Grandpa would make Luke a little vid. He was a year old now, and Cate wanted him to know her.
She thought of her friend as she walked up the path. And of the friends Dillon had held close most of his life. It took effort, she admitted, to hold friends close. Maybe she could convince Darlie to bring the baby for a weekend. Dawson, too, of course. Husbands couldn’t be excluded.
But more, she wanted to see Darlie and the baby, show them the family home, show them the ranch. Introduce them to Dillon.
The more she thought of it, the more she wanted it. She started to text Darlie, just to put it out there. Then saw Michaela Wilson getting out of the sheriff’s cruiser.
“Sheriff Wilson.” Waving, Cate quickened her pace. “I don’t know if you remember me.”
“Sure I do. It’s good to see you again, Ms. Sullivan.”
“Come on. I’m Cate.” Cate accepted the outstretched hand. “Absolutely Cate.”
“And it’s Michaela.”
“Did you come to see Grandpa? I’ll walk you in.”
“Actually, I hoped to talk to both of you.”
“Great.”
She led the way in and over to the main parlor. “Have a seat. I’ll go find out where he is. Would you like coffee?”
“If it isn’t too much trouble.”
“You’ll give him an excuse to have some. I’ll be right back.”
Michaela didn’t sit, but took the time to wander the space. She’d visited the house more than a few times over the years, at Hugh’s or Lily’s invitation. And often brought the boys swimming, again at invitation.
But she never failed to marvel at the place. The way it perched on the hill in its tiers and layers, the way it managed to exude a feeling of home and warmth even with what she considered the elegance.
When Cate hurried back in, Michaela thought much the same of her. A lot of warmth, and despite the casual clothes, innate elegance.
“Coffee’s coming, and so’s Grandpa.” She nodded toward the window. “Never fails, does it?”
“No, it doesn’t. It must feel good to be back, to be home, to see the ocean every day.”
“Yes, to all of that. I honestly didn’t know how much I missed it until I got back. Does it feel good to be sheriff?”
“Big shoes to fill. I’m doing my best.”
“From what Red says, you fill them just fine.” Cate gestured to a chair, but didn’t miss the slight, the subtle change in Michaela’s face. “Is something—”
She broke off when Hugh came in. Good stride, no favoring of the leg. And welcome all over his face.
“What a nice surprise! How are those boys of yours?”
“They’re great, thanks. Their dad’s in charge today. Little League game. I’m sorry to intrude on your weekend.”
“Don’t be silly.” Waving that off, Hugh sat. “You’re always welcome, and you know I expect to see those boys in the pool once it warms up a bit more.”
“They’ll love it. But this isn’t really a social call.”
She let that hang when Consuela brought in the coffee, along with a plate of bite-size pieces of coffee cake. “Good morning, Sheriff. Mr. Hugh, only one cake for you.”
“They’re small.”
“Only one.”
“I’ve got this, Consuela.” Cate rose to pour the coffee. “And him.”
“They unite against me.” He waited until Consuela left the room. “Is this official business?”