She laughed at his dry humor. "You mean you don't know how to dance."
He shook his head soberly. "No reason to learn. I'd rather not make a fool out of myself." He turned and disappeared into the kitchen.
She snapped the radio off. Was he trying to tell her she was acting like a fool? Well, it must have looked that way. She shook her head. Supper was ready and he was probably hungry. But when she came into the kitchen he was nowhere in sight. She pulled the roast from the oven. The carrots and potatoes packed around it were the perfect consistency. She set the table and glanced up when the screen door squeaked.
He didn't wear a coat today and his shirtsleeves were rolled up to reveal brown muscular forearms. The heart thing happened again and she busied herself at the table.
He crossed to the sink. "I'm starved."
"It's ready when you are." She kept her face averted until the warmth left her cheeks. "I still don't know how you can stand that cold wind."
He dropped into his chair. "It feels warm today, but I always keep a light jacket in my saddle bags. I need it when I get in the high country." He accepted the platter of food and heaped his plate. They ate in silence until he finally turned a concerned gaze on her. "Is something on your mind?"
Her cheeks flushed again and in her desperate search for something to explain her preoccupation, she plunged into the subject of the curtains. "You know, this house wouldn't be as cold if there were some curtains on the window and some rugs on the floor."
He took a sip of coffee before responding. "Curtains shut out the light. This place is dark enough as it is." He took a bite of food and watched her intently. Finally he swallowed and spoke. "Does the cold bother you that much?"
"Sometimes. Anyway, it's the paneling that makes the room so dark, not the curtains over the windows. If you use the right colors, and brighten the walls with a few large pictures, or some mirrors, it wouldn't be so dark. The house could use a little cheerful decorating."
For a minute she was afraid she had stepped over the line. He stared at her and frowned. Finally he spoke.
"You think the atmosphere in this house is depressing?"
"Don't you?" Surely he must have noticed.
He gave his attention to the food in his plate. Was he angry? It was hard to tell. Either she had never seen him angry or he had cleverly concealed it - like every other emotion. Finally he finished his meal and scooted his chair back.