Page 14 of Her Saltwater Cowboy

Willow hadn’t noticed him enter, her chin set with the harsh line of determination, her mind seemingly a thousand miles away. Another difference from Patsy, who seemed to have eyes, ears, and even her nose attuned to the entry of dirty ranch hands clomping into her kitchen uninvited.

For a half-minute, Chase leaned against the doorframe and watched Willow, her sleeves rolled up, flour dusting her hands. He couldn’t tell if this was the first time she’d made bread or the hundredth, but the way she sucked on her bottom lip and focused her eyes on the dough, he guessed the former.

“Smells good,” he said, finally.

She startled, then plucked a pinch of dough and held it out to him. “Want a taste?”

Was she serious? Wouldn’t that be … gross? He frowned, but pushed himself off the doorjamb and took one boot-shod step toward the island where she worked.

He reached for the dough.

Laughter poured out of her like stardust. His eyes turned to slits. She was laughing at him?

She brushed a wayward tendril of hair off her face with the back of one flour-dusted hand, still laughing. “Shoot. I wish I could’ve kept a straight face.”

“Oh, yeah?” He kept trying not to smile, to maintain a stern expression.

“Yeah. I really needed your honest feedback.” She gave him a deadpan expression.

A smile quirked the edge of his mouth, followed by a stifled laugh. It was no use. He hung his head, shaking it back and forth.

A sniffle escaped her, followed by a quick giggle. Their eyes met briefly before she dropped her gaze to a plate at the other end of the island. She nodded toward it. “As my penance for teasing you, go ahead and try one of those chocolate cookies I made for the party.”

He spied the cookies piled high on a plate, his mouth watering, his stomach stirring.

She raised an eyebrow. “Unless you think that might spoil your appetite for dinner?”

His face was a dare as he swiped a cookie. “That wasnevera joke around here.” He leaned against the counter that ran the length of the west wall and breathed in the scent of sugar, flour, and dark, rich chocolate. “Both my mother and Patsy would have chased us around with a fly swatter if we’d dared to ruin our appetites before the evening meal.”

“Something tells me your be-hind collided with that swatter often.”

“I beg your pardon?”

She tsked. He was enjoying this, and he didn’t know whether to be relieved … or more careful to keep his distance. No matter how pretty the cook was, or how much he’d rather stick around to banter with her about, well, just about anything, there was work to be done.

He took a bite of a cookie. A scowl found his face.

She froze, sudden worry lines etching her forehead. “Is it bad?”

“Is what bad?”

“That delicious morsel you’re crunching right now. Too much salt? Not enough sugar?”

His eyes slid to the half-eaten cookie in his hand, realizing he’d consumed half in one bite, his mind somewhere else. The beginnings of a grin quirked the edge of his mouth, but he wiped it away before polishing off the rest of it. He rubbed his hands together, letting the crumbs drop to the floor.

Willow followed them with her gaze.

The heat of something crept into his face. Chagrin, maybe? “Sorry, ma’am.”

She shook her head and turned toward the sink. “Don’t ma’am me.” She grabbed a wadded-up towel and tossed it onto the floor.

It landed at his feet. He caught her gaze.

She gave one quick, pointed gaze toward the mess he’d left on the floor.

“You want me to …?”

“Unless you have a backache, yes.”

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