Read Online A Love to Call Her Own by Marilyn Pappano - Free Book Online Page A

him for George?
    â€œIs he still in the Army?”
    Now it was her turn to study her hands. They weren’t pretty, her fingers weren’t long and slender, and her manicure was in need of a redo. But they could cook. They could bake. They could scratch Norton and pat shoulders and dry tears. “No. Mike died in Iraq six years ago.”
    After a moment of utter silence, as if he weren’t even breathing, she looked at him again. “That’s why I kept calling. Because I know what Patricia’s going through. I’ve been there and done that, and no one should ever have to do it alone.”
    *  *  *
    Jessy and Dalton ran out of casual conversation about halfway through lunch. Normally, silence didn’t bother her. Hell, she spent enough time by herself these days. But normally she wasn’t sitting at a kitchen table across from a man she’d had sex with and now was finally getting to know.
    You like doing things ass-backwards, don’t you? Aaron’s teasing voice echoed in her head.
    She pushed his memory aside and looked around the room. There was a formal dining room a few feet down the hall, but the kitchen, with its oak table and four generous chairs, was clearly where most of the living went on. It was modern enough to be convenient, but retained enough of its old character to feel timeless. The wood floor had been worn by millions of steps of bare feet, socked feet, and cowboy boots. A rack near the door held two cowboy hats and three baseball caps, along with a pair of threadbare gloves that still had a few jobs’ wear in them.
    Unlike most kitchens she’d seen, there was no island in this one, just plenty of open space to allow a person to move about freely. Thick mats fronted the sink, the range, and the prime workspace on the counter, and a couple of good-sized windows allowed wide-ranging views of the barn, a couple of sheds, and the pasture where black-and-white-striped cattle—
    â€œThey look like Oreo cookies,” she blurted out.
    Dalton blinked. “I told you they were black with white bands.”
    â€œYeah, but you didn’t say they look like Oreos.” She stuffed the last bite of her sandwich into her mouth. “Can we go see them?”
    He answered by standing and taking their empty plates to the sink while she got her camera. They left the house by the rear door, Oz trotting alongside until they got to the big oak tree thirty feet back, where he immediately trampled a circle in the grass and settled in.
    â€œI’m guessing he’s not a working dog.”
    â€œYou’d think, being a shepherd, he’d want to herd something , but nope. Maybe when he’s more comfortable here, his instincts will kick in.”
    â€œMore comfortable?” She glanced back at the dog, on his back now, feet bobbing in the air as he shifted to keep his balance. “He lives in the house. You feed him your mom’s home-baked bread. I bet he sleeps on your bed, too, doesn’t he?” Immediately the image of her in his bed popped into her mind, and her face flushed pink. So did his. He looked away, and she did, too, and she fumbled trying to make her point. “It doesn’t sound like he could get any more. Comfortable, I mean.”
    â€œOz was a stray. He’s only been here about a month.” His voice was steady, but he still avoided looking her way, which she knew because she was sneaking peeks his way. “I think he’s still adjusting to not having to scavenge all the time for food and trying to stay out of trouble.”
    So Dalton hadn’t brought Oz here expecting him to earn his keep. He’d fed him, likely doctored him—according to Lucy, fleas and ticks in Oklahoma were fierce—and given him a place to live simply because the dog needed it.
    Compared to the time she and her sisters had found a frail, sickly kitten. We can take her to the animal doctor, Jessy had pleaded, and