Page 65 of Pretend To Be My Cowboy
She wrinkled her nose, her cheeks flushing. “You heard me singing, huh?”
He crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe. “You have a pretty voice.”
The pink color deepened as she shrugged. “The kids in my class don’t mind it. And as I’ve learned recently, it might just run in the family.”
“Oh yeah?” He arched a brow, honestly curious, which surprised him. All these years trying to avoid family drama, including other people’s families, but he couldn’t stop thinking about Emma and what she was dealing with.
It seemed every morning when he woke and every night as he was drifting off to sleep, his thoughts kept returning to her. Every inch of him wanted to help. To sort out all her issues so he’d never see that crease of concern between her brows when she was staring at that dang file.
There were some days he had half a mind to call these sisters of hers himself just to give them a piece of his mind. There were seven of them. How was she the only one taking responsibility for this land and the inheritance?
It didn’t seem right.
He hadn’t wanted to pry, but she hadn’t been forthcoming with information about her sisters these past couple days. He wasn’t sure if that was because there was nothing new for her to talk about...or if whatever his father had said had made her wary of opening up to him.
The thought made him tense as he stepped further into the kitchen. He hoped she understood that whatever his father’s interest in her property—and his too, if he were being honest—he’d never take advantage of her and her trust.
He eyed her now as she turned back to the counter to flick off the music, her gaze averted.
She did know she could trust him, right?
“What are you making?” he asked, thrilled by the thought she could create something that smelled so delicious. She hadn’t mentioned her talent for baking.
“Cherry pie,” she said. “It’s kind of like my signature dish.”
“That’s my favorite pie.”
“Really?” Her eyes widened. “I thought it was your mom’s peach cobbler.”
“That’s cobbler, we’re talking pie right now.”
She laughed, and the sound wrapped around him like a hug. “It’s done, if you’d like a slice.” She gestured to the mixer. “I was just making some whipped cream to go on top.”
“I’d love to try some.”
Her smile was sunshine and rainbows and everything good in the world. It made his heart kick erratically and he was still trying to calm this ridiculous reaction as she turned away to slide the pie out of the oven.
He reached for some plates, and as she went to slice him off a piece, he noticed the flour that streaked her cheek.
He chuckled softly at the sight, a sudden surge of affection hitting him so fierce it made his ribcage feel like a vise as his chest ached with it.
“Here you go.” She offered it up to him with an expectant smile, so sweet he knew without a doubt he’d gush and rave even if it tasted like asphalt.
Luckily he didn’t have to lie or exaggerate. His eyes closed with a groan.
“Yeah?” she asked, excitement in her voice.
“This is amazing.” He opened his eyes to meet her gaze. “This is even better than Mama’s Kitchen.”
She giggled. “Don’t let Mama hear you say that.”
He laughed. “I heard you went into town today. I take it you met Hattie May?”
“If that’s the nice older woman behind the counter at Mama’s Kitchen, then yes. Although I didn’t get her name.”
He pointed his fork at her. “Aren’t you having any?”
She beamed. “I thought you’d never ask.”
