Page 40 of Wild Highway (Runaway 2)

“A casserole.”

“Yes. It was my grandmother’s recipe. My mom’s mom. She died before I was born in a house fire. Not much survived the blaze except some of her jewelry that was in a fire-safe box and a few recipe cards she kept in a metal tin. That casserole was Mom’s favorite too. The reason she only makes it for special occasions is because it’s hard for her to see my grandma’s handwriting.”

My anger vanished. “And she made it for me.”

“She made it for you. So if you’re not going to eat it and fuss over it and make sure Mom knows exactly how much you appreciate the heartache it took for her to make you that meal, then give it to me so I can.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” He went to grab it from the cooler, but I slapped his hand away.

“I’m not giving it to you. But you can stay for dinner. And we can both make sure she knows how much it was appreciated.”

Not his first choice, but he kept his mouth shut and nodded.

Most of the time, I wanted to strangle Easton. But then there were moments like this one where he showed me a glimpse of the good man lurking inside that solid body. The man who would come here and suffer through a meal with a woman he couldn’t stand, just so the next day he could make sure his mother felt appreciated and that her grief had not gone unnoticed.

I glanced at the clock on the microwave and saw it was nearly five. “Are you hungry now?”

He shrugged. “I could eat.”

“Then I’ll get it started.” I went about preparing our meal, following the instruction card Liddy had taped to the casserole’s aluminum dish. While it was in the oven, I set the small table while Easton went outside to bring in some more chopped wood to set beside the stove.

“Is that always here?” I asked as he stacked the split logs. “The firewood.”

“No, I, uh . . . I brought it over yesterday.”

“You?” My jaw dropped.

“As tempting as it is to let the snow and cold chase you away, the last thing we need is a city girl freezing to death on ranch property. Goes against the sales brochure for the resort.”

I snorted. “Was that a joke? Who knew Easton Greer has a sense of humor buried beneath the snide remarks and muttered censure?”

He frowned.

Predictable, this man. “Ah, there’s the face I recognize. I was worried for a moment.”

The timer dinged on the oven before he could deliver a snarky comeback. I smiled to myself as I took dinner from the oven. Tonight’s banter felt different than our normal bickering. It was almost fun. Charged.

It felt a lot like foreplay.

Not that Easton had any notions of taking me to bed. At least, not again.

With our plates served, we sat and began the meal in silence, neither one of us doing more than shovel those first few bites.

“Wow. This is amazing.” The casserole was the definition of comfort food. It was warm and cheesy with just the right amount of salt and those blessed starchy potatoes.

“Told you,” he said, dishing his plate with seconds. “You and Kat seem to be getting along.”

“We always did. Before I left.”

“You lived together, right? In California?”

I wasn’t sure where this curiosity was coming from, but I’d take conversation over a quiet meal. I’d eaten alone enough times in my life to prefer company, even if it was grouchy. “In a junkyard outside of Temecula.”

“When Kat told us about that, I didn’t believe her at first. Not because I thought she was dishonest. It just didn’t seem . . . I couldn’t wrap my head around it.”

“That’s because you grew up with a family in a loving home.” I’d told my story to enough people to know the reason Easton struggled to understand—he had good parents.