Page 35 of His Tenth Dance

“We shouldn’t linger,” he said. “We have to get down to the ground, and we’ll want to be back closer to civilization before too long. There are coyotes out here.”

“Okay,” Kristie said, but panic paraded through her when Mission released her hand and leaned forward to pick up his pizza box.

“Just answer one more thing for me,” she said.

He leaned back and looked at her, curiosity raging through his expression.

“What’s one thing in your life you really want? Something you dream about doing?”

Mission blinked, clearly not expecting such a question. He cleared his throat and ducked his head, using that sexy cowboyhat to hide his face. “My granddad taught me not to worry about things I don’t have,” Mission said.

“But you must have dreams,” Kristie said.

He sighed and looked back toward the mountains, as if she were being difficult on purpose. “Tell me one of yours then,” he said.

“I want to win a blue ribbon at the Colorado State Fair for my baking,” she said.

That brought a smile to Mission’s face. He nodded and said, “I think you’ll be able to do that, kitten.”

“All right, your turn,” she said. “It doesn’t have to be a big thing.”

He turned to face her. “What if all I’ve got is a big thing?”

“That’s fine too.”

His eyes drifted down to her mouth, and every cell in Kristie’s body rioted. Would he kiss her on this rooftop in the afterglow of the summer sunset? She suddenly wanted nothing more than that.

“A wife,” he said. “And a family. Been thinking about those things a lot the last couple of years. I’ve been out with several women, trying to find the right one for me.”

Kristie reached up and trailed her fingertips down the side of his face, feeling the softness in his beard. “And you haven’t found her yet?”

“Jury’s still out on you, kitten,” he whispered.

He lifted his hand to cradle her face too, his dark eyes buzzing with such intensity. He hesitated for one breath of time—which was so classically Mission that it made Kristie smile—before he leaned down and touched his lips to hers.

She slid her hand to the back of his head, threading her fingers through his hair and pulling him closer.

She kissed him back, realizing that she should have been dreaming of something different since the moment she’d met Mission.

She should have been dreaming of this very moment, where he kissed her like she was royalty, perfectly worthy of his love, and absolutely desirable by a good-looking, hardworking cowboy.

She’d never been kissed like this before. And once again, she found herself praying that this night would never end.

twelve

Molly Hammond watched as Poppy Thatcher braided the seven strands of cinnamon raisin bread together. She looked over to Opal, who wore a wide-eyed, semi-horrified look on her face. Honestly, Molly felt the same, and seeing Opal’s reaction so blatantly made her start to laugh.

Poppy looked up, but her hands didn’t stop braiding. Seriously, the woman was a genius in the kitchen, and Molly had no idea how she would ever make this cinnamon twist braid at all.

“What?” Opal asked, the hand that had been holding her small notebook dropping to her side.

Molly never took notes at the neighborhood cooking demonstrations, but Opal always did. “Your face,” she said, giggling around the words. “It was just funny. It was showing exactly how I feel inside.”

She looked over to Poppy, who hadn’t quite gotten the joke. “There’s just no way I can do this.”

“Yes, you can,” Poppy said. “You just always take the outside braid into the middle.” She stretched over a piece of dough. “See, now this one’s on the outside. We’ll do that one after we do this side.”

Poppy looked up at Opal and Molly. Jane stood in the kitchen as well, and she scratched something into her miniature notebook. Thankfully, Britt never made any notes either, and nothing seemed to ruffle her—even braiding bread.

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