“I won’t let you.” Astrid patted her back.
“None of you will disown me if I make a spectacle of myself?” Tansy was pretty sure that’s what this would turn into. But, if it worked, it would be so worth it.
“Cheers.” Aunt Mags laughed. “It’s time Willadeene Svoboda has something real to carry on about.”
If Tansy could get all the pieces together and if she could get up the nerve to do what she was thinking, Dane Knudson would never doubt how much she loved him.
DANEWALKEDINTOthe kitchen, sweat-soaked and covered in ash. As far as he knew, Leif was with Kerrielynn and their friends. And his father was at the hunting cabin so he had the place to himself.
“I made dinner.”
Or not. His father was at the stove, onions and garlic scenting the air. “I’m not saying it’s good. But I made it.”
Dane glanced at the table. It was set for three. “Is Leif home?”
His father glanced at the table. “I don’t know what the boy’s schedule is.”
Dane didn’t argue. He didn’t have the energy—or interest. “I should shower.”
“Fine.” His father nodded. “It’ll be a few minutes longer anyway.”
But he couldn’t head upstairs if his father had something up his sleeve. “Is something going on, Dad?” He didn’t have the patience for any more revelations about his father. He’d been disillusioned enough for one day.
“No.” His father glanced back at him. “Just dinner.”
Dane nodded. “Give me a sec.” He was so exhausted he used the handrail to pull himself up the stairs, left his dirty clothes on the bathroom floor and leaned against the wall under a bracingly cold shower until he was shivering. With any luck, it would revive him enough not to fall asleep, face-first, in his dinner.
He tugged on a Texas Viking Honey shirt and some worn sweatpants and headed back down the stairs.
“Better?” his father asked, sliding a plate of partially singed dinner rolls onto the table. “You look dead on your feet.”
After the day he’d had, he needed to be too tired to think or feel. “That was the goal.” Dane sat at the table hoping this was just dinner and not the start of another yelling match.
Beyond the charred rolls, there was a bowl full of undercooked spaghetti noodles and another bowl of something that resembled marinara sauce—with several large chunks of hamburger.
“Spaghetti.” His father sat opposite Dane and served them both. “I did my best with the meat. It was frozen through so I cut it into smaller pieces.”
Dane tapped the meat with his spoon. It was hard as a rock.
“Don’t eat the meat, then.” His father scooped out the still-frozen beef onto the third dinner plate. “There. Vegetarian spaghetti.”
Dane managed to choke down a few bites before his father grabbed his plate and pulled it away from him. He sorted through the rolls, salvaging three for Dane and two for him. “Here.” His father slid the butter across the table to him. “I didn’t make it so it should taste just fine.”
Dane slathered butter on a roll, and took a big bite—into stone.
“Dammit all.” His father threw the roll back onto the table. “How the hell did I burn the outside and leave it rock-hard in the middle?”
“I’m not all that hungry anyway.” Dane shrugged. “I’m tired.”
“It’s barely eight.” His father frowned.
“Well, Dad, it’s been a hell of a day.” Dane carried his plate to the counter, scraped his food into the compost bin, and rinsed and loaded his plate into the dishwasher.
“I was hoping we could talk about that.” His father pushed his plate aside.
Talk? That was the last thing he wanted to do. “Which part?” He ran a hand over his face. “To be honest, I’m not sure I’m up for talking. But I appreciate the food.”
“Five minutes.” His father glanced at him. “All I’m asking for is five minutes.”
