Page 45 of My Cowboy Temptation

Chapter 14

“What are you doing here?”I demand once I recognize who is sitting at the bottom of the stairs, and my panic gives way to anger. “And how the hell did you get in?”

Brody stands, and I notice the brown grocery bags resting on the floor around his feet. “I slipped in about ten minutes ago. Caught the door when someone was coming out. You know, you really should give someone else a key to your place, just in case of emergencies.” He studies me a moment before his face hardens in concern. “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I’m fine,” I say, determined to shake the nerves still plaguing me. “Some guy at the gallery made me a little uncomfortable is all. Made me imagine I was being followed home or something. Pregnancy is making me paranoid.”

“What’d the guy look like?”

I shrug. “Like a cowboy. I don’t think I could say much more. You never told me. Why are you here?”

“I brought you some things. Figured maybe while I was here, I might make you dinner.”

I don’t move, just continue to stare at him. “Why? Why are you doing this? To ease your conscience?”

“Damn, woman. I’m doing this because I care about you, and wanted or not, you should have someone to help while you’re going through this. I want to be that help.” His anger seems to dissipate as he sighs, his dark brown eyes softening as he stares at me. “You used to trust me, used to seek me out back in the days. I don’t want that to change.”

It’s true. Growing up, when something happened and I couldn’t go to my dad, Brody was there, offering an ear and, should I want it, a few words of advice. He was always a comfort to me, and I’d be lying if I didn’t want or need that comfort right now, even if the last thing I want is to become reliant on him for anything. But now that he’s here, looking so ruggedly handsome and achingly familiar, the comfort of his arms just a few steps away, my resolve slips.

I am hungry after all.

“Fine. You can come up. But only because you’re promising me food.”

He doesn’t try to hide the slow grin that stretches across his face, and he lifts the bags from the floor and steps aside to let me pass. When we walk into my apartment, the energy in the room becomes charged, just as it did when he was here a few nights before. I fight my usual inclination to joke and smile with him. He’s hurt me too deeply, and I don’t know if I’ll get over that pain.

“You do whatever you would do if I wasn’t here,” he says, taking the bags over to the counter, and starts to unload them.

I’m curious to see what he brought, though, and come to stand at the other side of the counter as he brings out steaks, pork chops, pasta, and bags of lettuce, carrots, bell peppers, tomatoes, grapes, and oranges.

I stare uneasily at the meat. “What are you planning on making for dinner?”

“Your choice. Steak or chops since I know they’re your favorites.”

My stomach rolls at the sight of the raw meat. “Were my favorites.” He pauses and looks up at me. “Meat kind of makes me want to barf right now.”

“Is that normal?” he asks, his face drawn in concern. “How are you getting adequate protein if you’re not eating meat?”

“Let’s just say that peanut butter sandwiches have become my primary diet of late. You’d be surprised the punch a couple tablespoons of peanut butter can provide.”

“What can you tolerate then? What about lasagna? Chicken Alfredo?”

“If you skip the meat sauce and chicken.”

He nods as if taking a mental note. “I’ll bring supplies to make a veggie lasagna next time.”

Next time? “That’s not necessary, Brody. I’m in walking distance from three restaurants, two fast food places, and a deli. And most of those deliver.”

He pretends not to hear me. “As for tonight… how about omelets and pancakes?”

Immediately, the prospect of thick maple syrup cascading over Brody’s fluffy pancakes has me salivating. “That sounds pretty good.”

He continues to unpack as I direct him where to put everything, feeling grateful at the quantity of food and supplies he pulls out, even if unsure how I’ll eat half of what he’s brought before it goes bad. “You do realize I’m only eating for two—not ten?”

“Just wanted to cover my bases. Next time, send me a list, and I’ll pick it up for you.”

“This is really nice of you, Brody, thank you. But again, there isn’t going to be a next time. This is a one-time thing.”

He’s finished putting most of the groceries away and digs out a cutting board, knife, and a couple of bowls before turning his attention to me. “What do you like in your omelet? I have bell peppers, tomatoes, and cheese.”

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