His fierce frown dissolved into a guilty grimace. "Actually, I was worse. I drank the juice directly out of the pitcher, then put it back in the fridge empty. Now I know why my mother used to get so upset, because it annoys the hell out of me when Laura does it." He set the pitcher in the sink, went back to the refrigerator, and grabbed the container of milk. "How about a cup of hot cocoa instead?"

"Sounds good." Standing, she walked to the counter where Paula had left the tarts. She pulled the plastic wrap off the plate, and the sweet yet tangy aroma of cherries drifted up to her. "Would you like one?" she offered. "I made them. You didn't have one after dinner, and if I do say so myself, for a first attempt they aren't half bad."

Filling the pan on the stove with milk, he glanced at her, his eyes glittering with a teasing light. "I'll risk eating one. Warmed, please."

She smiled. Setting two on a plate, she popped them into the small microwave, set the timer, and let them warm. Leaning her hip against the counter, she watched as he scooped sweetened cocoa into two mugs and then stirred the milk so it didn't scald.

Interested to know more about his family, and him, she asked softly, "Has your mother been gone for long?"

The surprise her question triggered was quickly replaced by a distant sadness in the depths of his gaze. "She died from cancer when I was eight."

His long-ago grief touched her. "You were so young." The microwave buzzed. Removing the plate, she took it to the table and sat back down.

"Yeah." He sighed, pouring the milk into each of their mugs. Bringing them to the table, he sat in his usual spot across from her. "It was tough when Mom died. Debbie and I were both close to her."

"Your father never remarried?"

"Nope. He loved Mom so much, he said he didn't even want to try and find someone as sweet as her." He grabbed one of the pastries and took a huge bite.

Caitlan smiled to herself, instinctively knowing that, with a love as binding as the one his parents had shared, they were joined in heaven. "So you grew up without a mother around," she went on, taking the other pastry and nibbling on the corner of it.

"Yeah." He stared thoughtfully at the filling oozing from his pastry. "I missed her, but I still had Dad for guidance. Mom's death was hardest on Debbie." He transferred his gaze to her, distant emotions shading his eyes. "Dad wasn't all that comfortable explaining 'female' things, and even though Paula was around, Debbie got cheated out of that closeness mothers and daughters seem to share. That's probably why Deb is so protective and extra loving with her own girls. She wants to give them everything she missed out on."

Caitlan swirled the cocoa in her mug, deciding to take a gamble with her next question. "What about Laura's mom?"

Glancing at her sharply, he swallowed the last of his tart, chasing it down with a drink of his cocoa. "What about her?"

His tone and expression didn't encourage further questions, but Caitlan was too curious about this mystery woman. "Will you tell me about her?"

"What are you more interested in hearing?" he began, bitterness deepening the timbre of his voice. "That Stacey was a gold digger? That she deliberately got pregnant so I would marry her? Or maybe you'd like to hear about how she got bored with ranch life right after Laura was born and started sleeping with the hands before she divorced me to marry some rich guy from Texas?" His mouth stretched into a grim line, and there was a challenge in his gaze. "Not a pretty story, is it?"

Caitlan didn't allow his bluntness to dissuade her from wanting to know more. "Did you love her?" For some reason his answer was important to her.

He stared at her for a long moment, the air charged with turbulent emotions. Dragging his palm down the side of his face, he released a long breath burdened with regrets. "I tried, Caitlan. I really did. I wanted so badly to forget Aman-" He stopped abruptly, as if catching himself revealing too much. Then his jaw hardened. "It's difficult to love a woman who traps you into marriage for her own selfish means. I cared for Stacey. She gave me Laura, and for that I'll always be grateful."

"But you never loved her," she stated softly.

He shook his head. "No. I've already told you, I've only loved one woman and she's dead."

Caitlan understood his loneliness and pain so much better. What she didn't understand, however, was why her own heart felt exposed as a result of his lost love. Crazy. Unexplainable. Staring at the dregs of cocoa in the bottom of her mug, she channeled her thoughts down a different avenue. "Does Stacey ever see Laura?"

"Not since the day she left the ranch ten years ago. She had visitation rights, but she never exercised them. She didn't want the complications of a kid messing up her life with her rich Texan." He shrugged. "Actually, I'm grateful, because Laura doesn't need to be in the middle of a tug-of-war between Stacey and me. I know it has to be difficult for Laura without a mother around, but I try and do the best I can."

Caitlan heard the doubt threading through his voice, and without really considering her actions, she reached across and placed her hand on his arm and gave him a light squeeze. The contact of his warm flesh against her palm radiated up her arm like a ray of sunshine. "She's a wonderful girl. You should be proud."

He smiled, a genuinely proud grin that reached his eyes. "Yes, she is, and yes, I am."

Caitlan grinned back and reluctantly withdrew her hand from the solid strength of his arm. He stared at her, his smile slowly fading into something more curious. His gaze gradually lowered to her mouth, making her suddenly conscious of her lips, and the way his had felt moving over hers. Like heated silk and, deeper, the taste of man and earthy desire. A light, fluttery sensation settled within her.

"What about you, Caitlan?" he asked, turning the tables on her. "Ever been married?"

"No."

He studied her closer, a scrutiny that made her uneasy. "How old are you?"

"Thirty-four."

"An old maid." He grinned, humor creasing the skin around his eyes. "That clock of yours is ticking."

"Yeah," she agreed for his benefit. She pressed her hand to her stomach, an unexpected, vast emptiness consuming her. For the first time since passing on, she resented not having had the chance to have children, the love of a good man, and a full life. Why did that bother her so much now?

"Ever been close to getting married?"

She glanced at J.T., his question evoking all kinds of feelings in her. Elusive sensations, and even more distant, wispy emotions. "Yes," she automatically answered. "Once. A very long time ago. Things didn't work out." She frowned, wondering how she knew she'd been close to getting married at one time, but unable to fully grasp the answers she sought. Vague images danced in her mind, and she closed her eyes to bring them into focus, ignoring the sudden heat of the medallion against her skin.

J.T. as a young man knelt in front of the blond-haired girl. His eyes openly displayed his love for her as he slipped a ring on her finger. "Will you marry me, Amanda Hamilton?"

"Are you sure?" the girl whispered in a voice mingled with happiness and insecurity.

"Absolutely. You've always been mine, Amanda… "

Caitlan sucked in a sharp breath as a brutal pain seized her head and the images dispersed. Pressing her fingers to her temples, a distressed moan rolled from her throat. Heaven help her, what was her connection to these strange visions?

J.T. watched Caitlan squeeze her eyes shut, her face pale. She drew in a deep, steady breath as she rubbed her temples, as if warding off a sudden headache. "Caitlan, you okay?"

"No," she said on a low moan, blinking her lashes open. Confusion and pain glazed her eyes; then they cleared. "I mean yes, yes, I'm fine," she quickly amended, avoiding his gaze. "Just tired, I think."

Nodding his agreement, he gathered up their plates and stood. "Considering it's nearly five in the morning, you should be." He rinsed their dishes, wondering at how easily she'd pried personal confessions from him, how easily he'd whiled away over an hour with her. What surprised him the most, though, was that he'd enjoyed every minute of being in her company.

He turned back toward her, noting that the color in her cheeks had returned, and she looked more in control of her senses. "Come on; I'll walk with you upstairs."

Grabbing her sketch pad and pencil, she slid from the bench. She passed him on the way to the door, giving him a facsimile of her normal bright smile. He shut off the light, throwing them into shadowed darkness. Quietly, side by side, they ascended the stairs. At the landing he grabbed her elbow and stopped her when she would have veered off toward her room.

She glanced at him, and he saw the questions in her eyes. Her tongue slid along her bottom lip, a nervous gesture he found endearing, and arousing. His gut tightened and heat flared like wildfire inside him.

For a reason he couldn't explain he didn't want to let her go, even though he knew he should. What he wanted was to lead her into his bedroom, lay her down on the bed, ease deep inside her, and stay in that paradise forever. He wanted to fill her up the same way she filled him when he was near her. Completely. Unequivocally.

Looking into her eyes, he wanted to drown in their endless depths that promised everything he'd lost faith in so long ago. Things he had no right expecting or taking from her.

He slid his fingers from her elbow and down her arm. Picking up her hand, he rubbed his callused thumb across the soft skin of her knuckles. "Thanks for listening to the sordid details of my life," he said, his voice low, a wry grin curving his mouth.