Page 16 of Overdue for a Cowboy

He shrugged. “Normally, I take my coffee black, but I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

“Fancy cappuccino it is then. You’re gonna love it,” she told him as she poured each of the tiny pitchers of espresso into a mug then pumped two squirts of caramel from one of the bottles on the counter into each. “You stir those up while I froth the milk.”

He did as she said then pulled the spoon out so she could pour the frothed milk into each cup, reserving the foam to dollop on top.

“This is the best part,” she told him as she drizzled caramel sauce over the foam then pushed one of the cups toward him. She anxiously watched as he picked it up and took a small sip.

He smiled at her over the rim of the cup. “It’s pretty dang good. Seems like a lot of trouble for one cup of coffee, but it tastes delicious.”

“I told you.” She picked up her own cup and took a decadent sip. She closed her eyes and let out a sigh. “That first sip is always the best.”

He took another drink then set his cup down. “Point me toward a skillet, and I’ll get to work on those scrambled eggs.”

She gestured to the cabinet next to the stove while she got out the eggs and bacon. Her hip bumped his as they maneuvered around each other—she still couldn’t believe Dodge Lassiter was inherkitchen—and each time his arm or hand brushed hers, a thrill of desire went shooting up her spine.

“You can sit down, and I’ll do this,” he told her, motioning to the chair. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“I’m being careful. And I don’t mind helping. It’s kind of fun to have someone to cook with.”

He laid several pieces of bacon in the skillet and turned it on low as she cracked eggs into a bowl and whisked them together. After washing his hands, he nodded to her head. “That bacon’s gonna take a few minutes. Do you want me to help you comb out your hair while it’s cooking?”

She started to protest then realized his hands would be on her again and offered him a small shrug. “Sure. If you want.” She handed him her hairbrush and the bottle of curl cream. “Can you put a little of this on it once it’s combed out? Then I won’t have to blow dry it.”

She sat at the table, and he pulled the towel from her head then used the brush to gently untangle and comb through her hair. Squeezing a dollop of curl cream into his palm, she explained how to work it through and then scrunch it toward her scalp.

“This is a little more complicated than what I do,” he said, filling his palm with a handful of her hair and scrunching it as she directed. “I’m lucky to even get a comb through mine. Usually, I just get out of the shower, shake my head like a dog, and call it good.”

Which is obviously how he got that sexy tousled look that she loved.

“This is my easiest styling method,” she told him, trying to rein her thoughts in from imagining Dodge in the shower. “If I blow my hair dry and attempt to straighten or style it, then it can take me up to thirty minutes.”

“Thirty minutes? Just to do your hair? In thirty minutes, I can shower, shave, eat breakfastandhave the horses fed.” He turned her chin toward him. “I think I did it. Looks good.” He brushed a lock of her hair behind her ear, and she tried not to shiver as the pads of his fingers grazed her cheek.

He paused, for just a moment, his hand resting lightly on the side of her head as he looked at her, and she stared back, as if trapped by his gaze.

Then an acrid scent filled the air, and the dog started barking as the smoke alarm went off.

Chapter Eight

“Oh no! The bacon’s burning!” Maisie yelled over the shriek of the smoke alarm as Dodge raced into the kitchen and pulled the skillet off the burner.

She pushed the window above the sink open and grabbed a dish towel, but it was hard to wave at the smoke using only one hand.

Dodge hit the button to turn on the fan above the stove, and the alarm silenced as the acrid smoke was sucked into the vent. “Damn,” he said, shaking his head before turning to her. “I’m sorry. I should have been paying closer attention. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. And it’s not your fault. It’s mine.” She offered him an impish grin. “I tried to tell you that my hair takes more time than you’d think.”

He stared at her then his lips curved into a grin, and he let out a soft chuckle.

She laughed with him. “This is not the first time, nor will it be the last, I’m sure, that I’ve burned something in this house. It’s no big deal. I’ve got more bacon.” She opened the cabinet, took out another skillet, and handed it to him.

The cat chose that moment to wander into the kitchen and offer him a disapproving glance.

“I know,” he told the cat. “I said I was sorry.” Moose walked closer to the stove, lifting his head to sniff the air. Dodge waved him away. “There’s the difference between dogs and cats,” he told Maisie as he reached into the fridge to get the package of bacon. “April is annoyed at the disturbance, while Moose is happy to dispose of the evidence.”

Maisie laughed again. She liked his easy-going charm and the way he’d calmly handled the mini crisis. She lit a vanilla cupcake scented candle while he started more bacon frying and cleaned up the burnt pan.

After the bacon finished, he expertly scrambled the eggs, adding a little cheese at the end, and arranged them on two slices of buttered toast before topping them each with the perfectly crisped bacon and another slice of toasted bread.

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