Page 4 of Cowboy's Melody
After running a brush through my hair and putting on a clean pair of black yoga pants and a white long-sleeved t-shirt, I leave the cabin and head to the main house. Before I can even open the French doors, they’re swinging open and Logan greets me with a million rapid-fire questions.
“Slow down there, sweet pea,” I tell her. “I haven’t had my coffee yet.”
Logan grabs my hands and drags me to the sunny and spacious eat-in kitchen. Her dark chestnut colored hair is divided into two perfect French braids and there’s a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. And her eyes, the same piercing blue as Brooks, dance with excitement.
“Daddy! You need to get Teddi some coffee now,” she practically yells.
Brooks walks into the kitchen and despite his gruffness moments earlier, he shoots me what can only be described as a panty-melting grin. All the air escapes from my lungs. Jesus, they don’t make ‘em like that anymore…
“If you just tell me where everything is, I can get it myself,” I offer.
“Oh no,” he says, waving his hand. “If Linda finds out you got your own coffee, she’ll kill me. You’re a guest at this ranch, so just have a seat.”
He starts moving around the kitchen quickly, pulling dishes out of the cabinet and setting them down in front of me. Several times I catch the hint of something spicy that makes me want to bury my nose in him to find the source.
He shouts for Logan to sit down at the table and eat breakfast. When she pouts, he’s firm with her but as soon as she relents, he tugs one of her braids.
“Did your grandma braid your hair,” I ask, slathering a piece of toast with butter.
“Daddy did it,” she says with a proud smile.
“Impressive.” I look over toward where Brooks is standing. His fine, broad back is facing me, and I can’t help but wonder two things: Where is Logan’s mother and how did he learn to French braid?
