“Kierra.” Fargo tugged at her arm. “About the new hand—”
She twisted to look at her brother, impatience moving her legs toward the chopper like a magnet. “It can wait, can’t it? I’d like to meet this cowboy. He’s an angel, sent to rescue me from cooking for this crowd.” Relief gushed through her limbs. She could handle her own in the kitchen, but out on the range? Another hand to help would certainly fill in the gaps. “This cowboy better watch out. I’m so happy I just might kiss him!”
Alarm flashed across Fargo’s face. Comical.
Laughing, she turned around and caught sight of the pilot as he exited the chopper. Hair the color of freshly ground nutmeg. Cropped tight on the sides and longer on the top but flattened from the headgear. Heavy stubble shadowed firm jaws.
No. It couldn’t be, right? Belly clenching, her steps lagged and she rammed a fist against her gaping mouth. No way! Not when she’d finally gotten to a point in her life where a few days passed without thinking of her high school sweetheart. Of what he’d done. Where he was now.
If his son looked like him.