He scooped the cat food out of the mouse-proof bin tucked up underneath the eaves of the house and dumped it into the weathered metal bowl. Two of the outdoor cats wound their way around his feet eagerly, while a third sat off to the side, regally inspecting the going-ons without actually getting involved. Declan had nicknamed him King last week, during his first trip over to feed the cats since the…

Since everything happened.

He refused to let himself think anything deeper than that.

He placed a bowl on the ground and the two eager cats dug into it, while King just continued to observe. He knew another bowl was coming.

Yup, he deserved that nickname all right.

“Come on, boy,” he said, as he dug out the food for the second bowl, “you know it wouldn’t hurt you to say thanks every once in a while.”

One long blink was his reply.

Declan wasn’t sure how to interpret that, so instead, he simply put the bowl down on the ground. “Yours for the eatin’,” he said gruffly.

Eleven days, and no word. He stared at Iris’ front windows, the drawn curtains telling him nothing. Not that he expected them to. For all he knew, she was still in the ICU, clinging to life.

Surely she wasn’t dead, though. Someone would’ve told him if she were dead.

Right?

Of course, he’d always thought that someone would’ve told him if she’d gotten into an awful accident and got life-flighted to Boise, and look at how that assumption turned out.

He’d tried her front door the first few times he’d come over, and it’d always been locked. He could only hope that a neighbor had a key and was feeding Oreo and Milk. Surely someone would’ve thought to arrange for that…

After he’d come back from Boise, it’d taken him a while to calm down. Truth be told, he’d been pissed as hell at a certain Iris Blue McLain. First her yelling at him during the party, then crying, then slamming the door in his face, and then, the worst of all: Refusing to talk to him while she’d been in the ICU.

He’d calmed down, though that’d taken days to happen, and finally realized that whatever was going through her head, it made sense to her. He just needed a chance to figure out where the train had jumped the tracks, and rectify the situation. He’d probably screwed something up royally without realizing it – a talent he owned in spades – but he needed Iris to talk to him.

But until she came back home from the hospital, he could do nothing but feed her cats, and worry.

A position of helplessness that he detested.

A movement caught his eye, and he looked up to see the front door swing open to reveal Iris. Beautiful in a white sweater, she seemed to glow just a little. “Iris?” he whispered, taking a step forward. Was he imagining her? Was she his Christmas angel, come back to earth to tell him all the ways he’d screwed up their relationship?

Then he saw her cane, and thought that if she were an angel, she got the bum end of the deal. They were supposed to come back perfect, not still with shaky legs and an off-kilter way of looking at the world.

“I thought I heard something out here,” Iris said softly. “It took me a while to get dressed and to the door. Sorry.”

He moved closer, his breath forming clouds in the air in front of him, obscuring his vision a little, blurring her into an out-of-focus painting of a red-haired angel. But then the clouds dissipated, leaving him free to study her face closely.

To see the blue smudges under her eyes, and a flash of white in her hair. Quick as lightning, he moved over to her side to stare at the bald patch, covered over with a large white bandage.

“Oh, Iris,” he said softly, his heart breaking as he stared at the bandage. Why hadn’t he taken care of her? For the hundredth time, he wondered why he hadn’t thought to come over and shovel her steps for her. He should’ve thought of it – a true gentleman would have.

“I’m getting tired,” she said, just as softly. “Do you mind if we go inside and sit down?”

“Of course not!” he said, moving forward and looping his arm through hers.

As he shut the door behind them and helped guide her towards the couch, she said, “Thank you for thinking of feeding the outside cats. No one else would have, and then I would’ve broken my agreement with them.” She grimaced slightly in what he assumed was supposed to be a smile. Milk and Oreo, disturbed from their afternoon nap, jumped off the couch and headed to the back bedroom. They appeared in perfect health, so someone had been taking care of them.

Good.

“Well, we couldn’t have that,” he said lightly, trying to make a joke out of her comment. He helped lower her to the couch and then stood back, unsure of what to do. Did she want him to leave? She looked worn out. He wanted answers – God, how he wanted answers – but he also couldn’t pester her while she was so worn down. He could come back—

“Sit down,” she said, patting the cushion next to her lightly.

Thank God.

“Declan, I want to apologize,” she said, cutting him off before he could marshal his thoughts together and really start grilling her for answers. Cut off at the pass, he snapped his mouth closed and simply stared at her.

He was finally going to get some answers.

Finally.

“I…You may or may not have noticed this,” her mouth quirked for a moment, “but I am stubborn.”

He busted out laughing. He couldn’t help himself. Describing Iris Blue McLain as being stubborn was rather like saying that a bull rider liked to take risks. Yes, that was true, but it didn’t exactly sum the situation up in its entirety.

She glared at him for a moment, and then the corner of her mouth quirked up and her face broke out into a grin.

“Really, don’t argue too heartily with that,” she said with a sarcastic smile. “I’d hate for you to strain yourself, arguing so hard with me.”

“Have you met you?” Declan finally got out around his laughter.

She stuck her tongue out at him. He grinned back.

“So anyway,” she said with a huff of breath, “this whole thing,” she waved her hand in the general direction of her cane, “has served to teach me that I have to learn how to swallow my pride. I just hate being dependent on other people. Hate it with a passion.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” Declan said dryly. She glared at him again. He grinned at her again, unrepentant. She rolled her eyes.

“I told my parents and Ivy that I didn’t want to see you,” she said quietly, and he sobered up to really listen to what she had to say. “I…didn’t think that you’d want to be with someone who couldn’t even sweep off their front doorstep without taking a helicopter ride afterwards.”

He opened up his mouth to argue with her, and she just glared at him. He snapped his mouth shut again. If she wanted to talk, he had to let her talk. He could tell her how wrong she was when it was his turn.

“When I actually started to wake up and thus become a little more logical, my mom and Ivy talked me through it, and made me realize that I needed to tell you what I was thinking – what was going through my head – and then let you make the decision from there about what to do.

“So this is me being brave, and admitting that…Declan, I’m not perfect. I can’t do everything. Your truck is going to be the death of me.”

“What?!” he exclaimed, completely thrown off by the change in topic. “My truck?”

“Yes! It’s big and tall and so damn hard to get up into. You help me, but every time, I almost land on my head on the dashboard. Well, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but I cannot date a farmer if I can’t even get up into a pickup truck!”

He cut her off. “Now hold on a minute there, Iris. You just said that you’re going to tell me the problems, and then let me decide whether or not I care about them, and then you go and say things like that! You can’t even last five minutes.”

“Yes, but I can’t get up into your truck. At least, not without making it into a death-defying stunt every time.”

“Fine, but you’re assuming that that matters to me. It doesn’t. I can buy a little four-door car that’s easy as pie to get into. Hell, I can take you car shopping with me and you can get in and out of every car on the lot, until you find one you like just right.”

“You, drive a car? Farmers don’t drive cars.” She crossed her arms defiantly, as if stating an unbreakable law of the universe.

“I can’t say I’ll drive it out into the fields,” he said dryly, “but I’m pretty sure they won’t repo my farm if I happen to drive a car to pick up my girlfriend.”

“Oh.”

He let that soak in for a minute. For being as smart as she was, she sure did have some blindspots in her common sense.

“All right, fine. So you buy a car. But what about those ten kids you want?”

“Ten kids…oh, you heard what I was talking about with Stetson? Oh my God,” he exclaimed, as everything clicked into place. “That’s why you were so upset that night.”

She gave a short nod, and he searched her face, trying to figure out what she was thinking. Did she want to marry him and have kids? He’d dumped her, rather abruptly, years ago. She hadn’t brought it up since they got together, but it was possible she was still harboring a grudge about it. He rather thought he would in her shoes.

Plus, getting married was a big step forward. Was she ready for that step? He knew what he wanted, but he’d known it pretty much all his adult life. He’d just been a bit dumber during certain parts of it, was all.

And anyway, she wouldn’t want to marry him, not once she knew how stupid he was. What if dyslexia were passed on genetically? She wouldn’t want stupid kids.

All in all, it was best to leave the discussion of marriage out of it. One step at a time.

“If you were just joking with your brother,” she said, breaking into his thoughts, “and you don’t want children with me, I understand.” She’d obviously misunderstood his silence. Her back was so straight, she rather looked like she was going to snap off a salute to him at any moment.

“Sorry, sorry, trying to gather my thoughts.” He reached out and took her hand, stroking her knuckles with his thumb. She relaxed.

Just slightly.

He decided to take that as a good sign, and continued on. “I was joking with my brother about wanting ten kids, although if they’re as cute as Flint, I might be talked into it.”

He winked at her and she gave him a tentative smile in return. “I don’t mean to be a-pryin’, but why does the idea of having kids upset you so much? In all the years I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you cry, and especially not in public. You promised to tell me what you were thinking and let me decide whether or not it was somethin’ I could live with, right? Well, start talkin’. What’s wrong with a couple of little ones running around?”

“I can’t take care of kids!” she burst out defiantly, crossing her arms and glaring at him.

Well, if he’d wanted her to be forthright in her thoughts, he sure was getting it. “I have to admit that this kinda confuses me,” he said slowly. “You’re the most loving, sweet woman I’ve ever met. I figure you’ll be the best mom this side of the Mississippi, and maybe the other, too. Why do you figure you can’t have a baby?”

“Declan Miller, I’ve never met someone as smart and as stupid as you,” she said, drumming the fingers of her free hand on the arm of the couch. He had a hold of her other hand, and wasn’t about to give it up for anything.

“Funny that – I had just about that same thought about you earlier in this conversation,” he said dryly.

She glared at him for a moment, and then burst out, “What would’ve happened if I’d been holding Flint when I fell down on those steps out there? His head is still soft,” she waved her free hand around the general vicinity of her head to indicate the problem area, “and instead of just knocking him out for a while, it would’ve killed him. I can’t be trusted to hold a child.”

He sat back and just stared at her for a long, long moment.