“Hell, I saw her at Christmas and she was blond.”

“Did you invite her over?”

“And forget to tell you? No. I haven’t called her and she knows I’m mad. She better not bitch about sleepin’ on the floor if she plans to spend the night with us.”

Holy crap. It hit home that she actually had a mother-in-law. A mother-in-law who might be spending the night? She fought the urge to hide in the kitchen as Kyle let his mother in.

“Hey, Mom.”

She hugged him fiercely. “My boy. I’m so glad to see you.”

“You should’ve called.”

“I did. But you’re not answering my calls.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Busy being pissed off?”

“That too.”

“I figured. I’ve given you more than a week and I suspected you’d take a month, so I decided to be proactive.” She hugged him again. “You’re looking fit.”

Kyle snorted. He held his hand out for Celia.

She took a deep breath and stood beside Kyle.

“This is my wife, Celia.”

Kyle hadn’t even told his mother her name? Her first thought was he was embarrassed to be married to her. Her second thought was he didn’t want Celia to get close to his mother because she repeatedly reminded him she wasn’t sticking around past the six-month mark.

Her green eyes, identical to Kyle’s, narrowed skeptically. “Little Celia Lawson? My God. Kyle used to bitch about you all the time and now you’re married to him?”

“Jesus, Mom.”

“Sorry.” She smiled tightly. “I’m Sherry Gilchrist. Despite all the years my son spent at your brother’s place we’ve never met, have we?” Sherry’s voice had the rasp of a lifelong smoker.

“We met a long time ago. But it’s nice to see you, Sherry.”

“Couldn’t’ve been that long ago, honey, ’cause you ain’t that old. Then again…now I remember. Good Lord. You still look about sixteen.”

Kyle muttered, “I need a f**kin’ drink,” and bailed into the kitchen.

Celia would make him pay later for abandoning her.

Sherry’s gaze tracked everything in the room. “This place is—”

“We’re doin’ some updates,” Celia said hastily. “Everything is kind of a mess.”

“So a tour of my son’s home is out?”

Intentional use of my son’s home seemed a little combative. “No. But I’ll warn ya. It’ll take about three minutes.”

Sherry didn’t say much besides, “I see Kyle still doesn’t make his bed.” Followed by, “I imagine Kyle hates the pink bathrooms.” Sherry lifted a brow at Celia’s pink shirt. “He has an aversion to anything pink.”

Smile. “There are chairs in the kitchen if you’d like to sit.”

Kyle’s glass of whiskey stopped halfway to his mouth. He looked at Celia and Sherry guiltily. “What?”

“Why don’t you offer your mother a drink?”

“Nothing alcoholic for me, thanks. I’m driving. I’ll have orange juice, which I know is stocked in the fridge because Kyle drinks about a gallon of it a week. He’s loved it since he was a boy.”

Celia had known about Kyle’s juice addiction for years. What bothered her was the almost…jealous aspect of Sherry’s comments.

You’re being paranoid. This is Kyle’s mother. There is no competition.

Kyle parked himself across from Sherry. “You drove to Rawlins by yourself?”

“No. Rick is visiting a friend at the prison.”

“Big surprise he’s got friends in the slammer,” Kyle muttered.

Sherry’s, “Be nice,” admonishment was followed by a low-pitched smoker’s laugh. “I know you’ve never liked Rick.”

“You deserve better.”

“And that’s why I didn’t date while you were growing up. None of them would’ve passed the Kyle test.”

That comment jarred her. Sounds like Kyle had been as protective of his mother as her brothers had been of her.

He smiled. “True. So how long you stayin’?”

“Until we get some things straight. Took me an hour to get my courage up to head up the driveway or I’da been here sooner.”

Good thing Kyle’s mother hadn’t shown up earlier, when her bawdy, bossy son had Celia on her knees in the hallway, hands tied with a bandana as she blew him to heaven. She set the juice on the table. “I’ll leave you two to talk.”

“Huh-uh. You’re my wife. Whatever she says will affect you too, so have a seat.”

Sherry wasn’t thrilled about Kyle’s decree and seemed to study Celia closer than ever when Kyle wrapped one arm around her shoulder.

But her focus returned to Kyle when he demanded, “I wanna know how you got knocked up by Marshall Townsend.”

“Kyle, I—”

“Save it. No excuses. We’re getting some things straight, remember? So start talking.”

When Sherry pressed her hands to her cheeks, Celia noticed the manicure with little red hearts for Valentine’s Day. Even Kyle’s mother was a girly girl. She curled her rough-skinned fingers into her palms. She’d had a manicure exactly once in her twenty-five years and it was only because Harper did it for free.

Once in a while Kyle would toss off a comment about Celia acting like a man or looking like a man from behind in her Carhartt overalls. She hadn’t mentioned it bothered her because she was still finding her footing and discovering verbal boundaries, when in the past everything Kyle had said to her seemed to set her off. The truth was, she wasn’t outwardly feminine very often. She didn’t devote time to fussing with her appearance when her day was spent outside dealing with livestock. Her clothes were comfortable rather than fashionable, with the exception of the blouses and belts she’d worn in the arena—those had a little flash. There was nothing wrong with living in boots and jeans.