Page 7 of Curvy Girl and the Protector Cowboy

I hesitate outside Luisa's door, hand half-raised to knock. What would I even say? 'Good morning, still running from mysterious danger?' Instead, I continue down the stairs, the familiar scent of fresh coffee pulling me toward the kitchen.

Jackson looks up from the newspaper spread across the table, coffee mug in hand.

"They still here?" he asks without preamble.

"Don't know," I answer, pouring myself a cup. "Door's still closed."

He nods, returning to his paper. That's what I appreciate about Jackson—he doesn't push when it's not his business. After a few minutes of comfortable silence, he folds the paper and stands.

"Need to check on that mare before feeding time. She was restless yesterday." He rinses his mug and places it in the dish rack. "Sarah's coming by early to help with the new therapy horses. Thought you should know."

"All good. I'll handle breakfast," I tell him. Jackson claps me on the shoulder as he passes, silently acknowledging my unspoken concern for our guests.

Once alone, I start gathering ingredients for pancakes. It's been a while since I've cooked for anyone but my brothers, but some skills you don't forget. Mom made sure all of us could feed ourselves properly before she passed.

I'm mixing batter when I hear it—the slight creak of the third stair from the top. I don't turn immediately, giving her space to retreat if she wants to.

"Good morning," I say, still facing the counter. "Coffee's fresh if you want some."

"Thank you."

Her voice is closer than I expected. I glance over my shoulder to find her standing in the doorway, Miguel balanced on her hip. She's wearing Sarah's borrowed clothes—gray sweatpants and a faded blue T-shirt that's too big for her small frame. Her hair is pulled back in a simple ponytail, her face clean of yesterday's smudges. She looks younger in the morning light, but no less wary.

Miguel, on the other hand, looks around the kitchen with curiosity, fully awake and alert.

"Morning, buddy," I say, offering him a smile. "Hungry?"

He nods enthusiastically but looks to his mother for permission before answering. "Yes, please."

Luisa sets him down but keeps hold of his hand. "We don't want to impose. I was just hoping for a glass of water before we go."

"Not imposing if I'm already cooking," I reply, turning back to the batter. "Making pancakes. More than enough for everyone."

I hear her soft inhale, like she's about to refuse, but Miguel tugs on her hand.

"Pancakes, Mama! Like at the dinner, remember?"

Something in his innocent excitement must convince her, because she sighs softly and says, "That would be nice. Thank you."

I gesture toward the coffeemaker. "Mugs in the cabinet above. Milk's in the fridge if you want it."

She hesitates, then moves around the island to fix herself a cup. Miguel climbs onto one of the barstools, his feet dangling well above the floor as he watches me pour batter onto the griddle.

"You know how to make shapes?" he asks, his voice small but eager.

"Sure do." I adjust my pour to create a rough circle with two smaller circles on top. "Mickey Mouse okay?"

His eyes widen as he nods, and I catch a glimpse of the carefree child beneath the solemn exterior. From the corner of my eye, I see Luisa watching us, her expression unreadable over the rim of her coffee mug.

"So," I say casually as I flip the pancake, "any plans for today?"

Luisa tenses slightly. "The bus station, I suppose. What time does it open?"

"Eight," I answer. "But there's only three buses today—9:15 to Meridian, 11:30 to Springfield, and 4:45 to Grantsville."

She absorbs this information with a slight frown. "How far to Meridian?"

"About four hours." I slide the Mickey Mouse pancake onto a plate and hand it to Miguel, who beams at me. "Springfield's further—maybe six. Grantsville's closest but smallest. Not much there except the train station."

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