Even as she bit in, she toed off her shoes.

“It’s work, you know. The shopping safari. As physical as mucking out stalls.”

“Uh-huh.” He lifted her feet onto his lap, and began to rub, running his knuckles up her instep.

Lil felt her eyes roll back in her head. “Oh. This is probably what heaven’s like. A huge sandwich, a glass of cold milk, and a foot rub.”

“You’re a cheap date, Lil.”

She smiled and took another bite. “How much of my shopping adventures did you actually listen to?”

“I tuned out in the shoe department.”

“Just as I suspected. Lucky for you, you give a good foot rub.”

Later, when she hung her new dress in the closet, she thought it had been an exceptional day. Stress-free, once she’d put stress aside, and touched with moments of real joy and wonderful foolishness.

And her mother had been right, she realized as she heard Coop tune in for the baseball scores. It was nice to have someone who’d walk out on the porch to welcome her home.

Lil felt him touch her, just the lightest touch, a brush on her shoulder, down her arm. As if he reassured himself she was there before he got out of bed in the predawn dark.

She lay, wakeful now, in the warmth of the bed, the warmth he’d left for her, and listened to the sound of the shower. The hiss of water against tile and tub.

She considered getting up herself, putting on the coffee, getting a jump on the day. But there was something so comforting, so sweetly simple about staying just where she was and listening to the water run.

The pipes clanged once, and she smiled when she caught his muffled oath through the bathroom door. He tended to take long showers, long enough for the small hot water heater to protest.

He’d shave now-or not, depending on his mood. Brush his teeth with the towel slung around his hips and his hair still dripping. He’d rub the towel over it briefly, impatiently, maybe scoop his fingers through it a few times.

Oh, to have hair that didn’t require fuss or time. But in any case, vanity wasn’t part of his makeup. He’d already be thinking about what needed to be done that day, which chore to deal with first on the daily list of chores.

He’d taken on a lot, she mused. The farm, the business, and because of who and what he was, the responsibility of finding ways to keep his grandparents involved in the day-to-day while making sure they didn’t overdo.

Then he’d added her, she thought. Not trying just to win her back but also to help her deal with the very real threat to her and hers. That piled extra hours, extra worry, extra work into his day.

And he brought her flowers.

He came back into the bedroom, moving quietly. That, she knew was both an innate skill of his and basic consideration. He took some care not to wake her, dressing in the half-dark, leaving his boots off.

She could smell the soap and water on him, and found it another kind of comfort. Heard him ease a drawer open, ease it shut again.

Later, she thought, she’d go downstairs to the scent of coffee, the scent of companionship. Someone cared enough to think of her. He’d probably light a fire, to take the chill off the house, even though he’d be leaving it.

If she needed him at any time of the day, she could call. He’d find a way to help.

He came to the bed, leaned down, and pressed a kiss to her cheek. She started to speak, but felt words would spoil the moment, would distract from what was happening inside her. She stayed silent as he slipped out of the room.

The night before he’d come out on the porch to greet her. He’d eaten the leftovers, and gone to the market. He’d walked with her on her evening check of the habitat.

He waited for her, she admitted. But what was she waiting for?

Promises, guarantees, certainties? He’d broken her heart and left her unspeakably lonely. It didn’t matter that he’d been motivated by good intentions, the hurt still happened. Still existed. She feared it nearly as much as she feared Ethan.

In fact, Coop was the only man who’d ever had the power to break her heart or make her afraid. Did she want to live without that risk? Because she would never get there, not with Coop. Just as she would never, never feel so utterly safe, happy, and excited about anyone else.

As dawn streamed in the windows she heard him leave. The door closing behind him, and moments later, the sound of his truck.

She rose, crossed to her dresser to open the bottom drawer. She dug under layers of sweats to draw out the cougar he’d carved for her when they’d been children.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor, she ran her fingers over the lines as she had countless times over the years. She’d put it away, true. But she took it with her when she traveled, kept it in that drawer at home. Her good-luck piece. And a tangible piece of him she’d never been able to toss away.

Through that roughly carved symbol, Coop had gone with her to Peru, to Alaska, to Africa and Florida and India. He’d been her companion on every field study.

Twenty years, she thought, nearly twenty years since he’d taken a block of wood and carved the image of what he knew-even then-she valued.

How could she live without that? Why would she choose to?

Standing, she set the cougar on her dresser, then opened another drawer.

She felt a tug for Jean-Paul. She hoped he was well, and he was happy. She wished him the love he deserved. Then she emptied the drawer.

She carried the lingerie downstairs. A fire crackled in the hearth, and the scent of coffee tantalized the air. In the kitchen she put the nightwear in a bag, and with a smile ghosting around her mouth put it in the laundry room.

It would wait until he got home, she thought, because this was home now. For both of them. Home was where you loved, if you were lucky. Where someone would light the fire and be there when you came back.

It was where you kept the precious. A baseball bat, a carved cougar.

She poured a mug of coffee and, carrying it with her, went upstairs to dress for the day. It was a good day, she thought, when you opened yourself to both the joys and the risks of love.

COOP WORKED UP the first sweat of the morning mucking out the stalls. They had three group rentals booked for the day, two of them guided, so he’d need to load up a couple more horses and get in to set up. He needed to schedule a visit from the vet and the farrier, both at the stables and at the farm. He had to get in, check the website for future bookings.

And he wanted an hour, a good hour without interruptions to study the files, his notes, the map and try to find a new angle for tracking down Ethan Howe.

It was there, he knew it was there. But somehow he was missing it. A handful of men couldn’t cover the hundreds of acres of hills, forests, caves, and flats. The dogs couldn’t hold the scent when there was essentially nothing to hold.

A lure was needed. Something to lure Ethan out, just far enough to trap him. But since the only bait that seemed potent enough to accomplish that was Lil, he had to find another way.

Another angle.

He tossed another load of soiled hay into the wheelbarrow, then leaned on the pitchfork as his grandfather came in. Barely a limp now, Coop noted, though it generally increased if Sam stayed on his feet for several hours.

The angle there, Coop knew, was to get the man to take periodic breaks without making them seem like breaks.

“Just the man I wanted to see.” Coop shifted to stand between Sam and the barrow before his grandfather got it in his head to haul the manure out to the pile. “Do me a favor, will you? We need vet and farrier appointments here and at the stables. If you could set those up it would save me some time today.”