And with that, his daughter dragged their guest into the house.
Roan turned his attention to her car. It was a trusty compact. The type of car he’d buy for Trinity when she started driving. The inside was vacuumed clean. A kitschy pink flamingo hung from her rearview mirror and a medical bag sat in theback seat. ASimpsons-themed thermos rested in the cup holder and the floor mats were custom-order Van Gogh’sStarry Night. Before she’d pocketed her keys, he’d noticed she had a kitty cat key chain. He liked her fun, effervescent sense of style. Even the inside of her car made him smile.
He checked the tire pressure. It was low. He took the air compressor from the garage and went to fill the tire.
The cool December breeze shifted, and he smelled burning leaves. Was one of his neighbors using a controlled burn to ready their fields for spring? To Roan’s way of thinking, it wasn’t the best timing. They weren’t in an official burn ban, but it hadn’t rained since mid-October.
Filling the tire, Roan checked to see if he could find any reason for a leak. No punctures he could see. The tires were new, so it wasn’t a tread issue. Perhaps the valve stem had been loose. He tightened it when he finished airing it up. Fingers crossed that it would hold. He put away the air compressor and ambled into the house.
In the kitchen, he found Jazzy and Trinity munching on PB&J sandwiches with the crusts cut off and a third sandwich waiting for him on a paper plate. At the sight of the sandwich, he felt touched by the effort she’d made.
“Hey thanks,” he said, sweeping off his cowboy hat and hanging it on a hook by the door.
“Least I could do,” she said. “Since you were looking after my tire and giving me a Dutch oven. I hope you don’t mind that I made myself at home.”
Did he mind? No doubt it felt odd knowing she’d been bustling around his kitchen, opening cabinets and drawers. But not in a bad way. Just unfamiliar.
Trinity seemed comfortable, perched on the barstool beside Jazzy. Roan wondered where he should sit. After washing up at the sink, he elected for standing at the counter in front of them to eat his sandwich.
“Aired your tire,” he said. “We’ll give it fifteen or twenty minutes to see if it’s gonna hold enough to get you back to town where you can get your mechanic to double-check it.”
“I appreciate it so much,” Jazzy said.
“No problem.” Roan took a bite of the sandwich. “Wow. I think that might be the best PB&J I ever ate.”
“Jazzy used all the jellies,” Trinity said. “And honey too.”
Roan met Jazzy’s dazzling blue-eyed gaze and arched an eyebrow.
“She couldn’t decide which flavor she wanted. We went for the more-is-more school of thought.” Jazzy laughed.
Gosh, she had the best laugh. It could lift a man’s soul right up to the roof.
“You haven’t decorated for Christmas,” she said.
“Not yet. I took boxes down from the attic, but with Trinity in the hospital...”
Jazzy studied him, and he wondered what she was thinking. He hoped she wasn’t feeling sorry for him again.
“Let’s get that Dutch oven.” Roan dusted crumbs from his fingertips.
“Yes.” For the first time, her smile did not reach her eyes. She pushed back from the barstool and got up.
Trinity hopped down too.
“I put the Dutch oven in storage,” Roan said. “In the garage. It’ll take me a minute to find it.”
“You know, if this is difficult for you, I can just buy a Dutch oven.”
“No, you’ve come all this way. Please take it.”
She moved closer to him. If she reached out her hand, she could touch him. She looked like she wanted to touch him, but she kept her hands at her sides. Or maybe it was just his wishful imagination.
“Roan?”
“Yeah?” Something in her tone gave him pause, and he studied her face. It was heart-shaped, he realized. Her chin small and pointed a little at the end, with a widow’s peak at her forehead.
“The YouTube recordings are great, so helpful. Thank you for putting them up again just for me, but are you sure that you can’t tutor me in campfire cooking?”