Hank thought that was odd. Caleb and Jack grumbled about the lack of doughnuts as if they didn’t know how to feed themselves. Hank ignored all of it, made Libby some peanut butter toast, and then hustled her over to Doc’s office at the far end of the building.

“You mind?” he asked, setting his daughter down.

Doc looked up from the puppy he had on the scale. He smiled down at Libby as she dropped to the floor and began to play with the black-and-brown bundles, little tails wagging. “You know I don’t. Did Becca not come by?”

“She’s a no-show.”

“Is she sick? It’s not like her.” Doc’s face wore a look of concern. “Her father always used to joke that Becca was more tenacious than a terrier. He had a lot of dogs, you know.”

“I’m sure she’s fine,” he said abruptly, trying not to think too hard about how he’d more or less told her to buzz off days ago. Surely she realized he didn’t mean it? That he’d liked her coming around? But maybe he should have been clearer.

Hell, he was bad at this.

Hank kissed Libby’s head and then headed out to the barn to work.

By the time the sun was setting, he practically raced inside the house, hoping to see Becca there in the kitchen. Hell, he wouldn’t care if she was sitting in the living room or even in her car, just as long as she was at the ranch. But inside, all he found was Uncle Ennis with Libby and the five puppies, and Jack and Caleb scrounging through the back of the fridge looking for dinner.

Jack looked up at him as he entered, scowling. “Where’s your girlfriend? I’m starving.”

“She ain’t a short-order cook,” Hank told him, but he had to admit he liked the thought of Becca being seen as his girlfriend . . . or even just as “his.” “And what’s wrong with your two hands?”

“My hands have been working all day long shoveling horse shit and feeding cows. It was kinda nice to have someone cooking for us.” He pulled out a jar of pickles and opened it, staring morosely down at the contents. “And now all we got is this shit.”

Caleb—the quiet one—frowned at Hank. “She mad at you? What’d you do?”

“Nothing,” Hank said defensively.

“You must have done something,” Jack insisted, fishing a pickle out of the jar with a fork. “That girl’s been up here every day for the last month even though you did your best to ignore her.” He glanced over at Caleb. “You know he did something.”

Caleb nodded, taking the jar of pickles from his brother.