Page 32 of Her Boss, Her Rancher: Sunrise On The Ranch

“Seriously, Emma. You envy me what?”

She finished chewing her bite of sandwich and took a swallow of lemonade. Anything to stall. But there was only so much she could do before her mouth, dry with anxiety, was empty.

“This.” She swept her hand around in a wide arc. “You have awayabout you, an almost maternal air, that gives off a sense of security. You’ve made me feel so at home, so welcome. I wouldn’t hesitate to dig through the fridge to get whatever I crave, or to make a sandwich at 2:00 a.m., because I’m sure you won’t mind and of course there will be food. A mom never allows a house to run out of food.” Eyes burning, she closed them and continued. “Usually there’s nothing more than bottled water and a bad lemon in my fridge. I have a cleaning service come in because I can’t manage the housework on a two-bedroom condo occupied by one constantly absent person. An interior decorator decked out my house for a magazine shoot. He did such a good job I’m afraid to put my feet on my own sofa.” She opened her eyes, staring at Reagan through the faint sheen of tears. “I don’t want to return to Seventy-second Avenue because it’s not myhome.Worse? I’d give anything to make it feel likethis, but I don’t have that skill. I’ve always lived in a house, never a home, and it just hit me how horribly lonely it really is.”

Closing her eyes again, Emma willed the last bite of sandwich down. It hit bottom heavier than a lead ball. She wiped her mouth on her paper towel and cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, Reagan. Truly. I’ve never been mothered, and it just occurred to me that I’ve thrived on your nurturing.” Hesitantly, she touched Reagan’s arm.

Cade stomped into the kitchen. “Forgot my water bottle.”

Reagan studied Emma for the briefest second before setting the sponge down. “Emma, will you grab Cade’s bottle? You’re nearer the fridge, and if he comes in here all filthy after we just cleaned up, I’ll kill him.”

“Sure.” She moved toward the refrigerator.

“I’ll grab the stuff so we can make cookies.”

Emma stumbled. “Cookies?” she called in a total panic.

But Reagan didn’t answer, just lifted a hand in acknowledgment and skipped down the stairs to the basement.

“What’s in the basement that’s necessary to make cookies?” Emma demanded of Cade.

He shrugged. “Chocolate chips are always in the freezer, so I’d imagine that’s what she’s after. Maybe butter since we buy in bulk and it keeps longer if it’s frozen. Why?”

She wanted to answer, but the words wouldn’t come.

“Emma?”

“Cookies,” she wheezed. “I’ve never made cookies. Hell, I can’t cook. What is she thinking?”

Cade faced her, his brow creasing. “It’s just chocolate chip cookies, Emma. Maybe Ranger cookies if she brings up the coconut, too.” Emma saw the moment he registered just how foreign to her this was, how alien his upbringing had been to hers. “Wait. Your mom never made cookies with you?”

“My mom wasn’t the mothering type, Cade. I told you, I had nannies.” She hated,hated, the fact she couldn’t make that statement without her voice wavering. But this whole experience, from the moment Michael had given her the file until now, had spun her in circle after circle until she was dizzy with emotion.

The line between his brows deepened. “Right, but I thought... Your nannies didn’t do stuff with you?”

“They didn’t usually last that long. I never even saw the cook make a meal.”

Cade moved in close, his movements slow and deliberate, his voice soft. “What did you eat?”

“Whatever I was told to eat.”

“You didn’t rebel if they put broccoli on your plate?”

“No!” she nearly shouted. “No.” Quieter. “I ate what I was served, alone more often than not, and always with the right utensils. I ate in the kitchen so as not to disturb my parents’ meal, and the cook refused to eat with me. If I complained, I was sent to bed with an empty stomach. So, no, I don’t know how to makecookies.” Her voice broke, surprising her.

“Oh, Emma.”

He crossed to her in three long strides and pulled her into his embrace, surrounding her with the smell of hot cotton and sunshine, and she completely fell apart.

He held her as she cried, rocking her and whispering wordlessly into her hair, his hands soothing her with tender touches while his arms offered sanctuary. Minutes later, she understood what he was whispering.

“I’ve got you, baby,” he said, over and over into the hair at the crown of her head.

Collecting herself, she stepped out of his embrace and wiped her face. “I apologize. I had no business crying on you.”And overcookies, she realized, mortified. Her mother was likely spinning in her grave so hard she was pulling three g’s.

“You had every right to cry, honey.” Cade’s tone was melted chocolate poured over honed steel, a sharp edge dividing his tone into equal parts compassion and ferocity. “Don’t ever apologize for tears shed over a wrong done you.”

“It’s so long past, Cade. Crying isn’t going to change what was any more than it will affect what is.” She went to the sink and splashed cold water on her face. “If you’ll give me a moment, I’ll get you the bill of lading for the furniture delivery.”