Page 78 of Love on Deck

“Okay.” She faced me, slipping her hand over my cheek and turning my head until I was looking at her. She leaned forward and kissed me until I didn’t feel the Texas winter anymore and all I could think of was this woman, this place, this moment.

Nothing else mattered.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

LAUREN

I woke up to the smell of bacon. Like the smell of actual, legit, sizzling bacon wafted into my room and woke me from the deepest, most comfortable sleep I’d had in a while. Sunlight streamed through the cracks in the blinds, highlighting dust motes floating lazily through the air, and the hum of conversation downstairs pulled at me.

But first, I had to get out of this Little House on the Prairie getup. I got back into my jeans and black T-shirt from yesterday, pulling on my University of Texas sweatshirt.

“Good morning!” Mrs. Fletcher sang out when I stepped into the kitchen. The table was set like this was some sort of sitcom and not real life. “Sleep well?”

“I did, thank you.”

“Breakfast is on the table. You aren’t gluten-free, right? Those pancakes are full of flour.”

“I’m not allergic to anything.”

She bustled over to the table. “Orange juice?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Mrs. Fletcher poured for me. I moved around the table and pulled out my chair. When I reached for a pancake, she stopped me. “A hot one is coming in two shakes, if you can wait.”

“I can wait.”

I loaded my plate with scrambled eggs and browned sausages.

“Jack is out with Roy. They should be in soon.” She flipped the pancakes and looked at me over her shoulder. “Tucker was called into work in the middle of the night for some emergency. He thinks he’ll be done by noon.”

Noon. I looked at the clock. That meant killing four hours before our ride back home. If I started walking, would I make it home before that? Unlikely.

“Y’all are welcome to come to church with us, if you’d like.”

I eyed the single yellow flower in the vase on the center of the table. This was growing more sitcom-like by the second. “Is your husband the pastor?”

She gave me a funny look. “He runs the farm here and drives bus for the local schools.”

“Oh.”

The door swung open as Mrs. Fletcher was putting two pancakes on my plate, steam rising from them and making my stomach grumble. Jack stepped in, wearing a red plaid shirt over jeans, with boots that almost reached his knees.

“Boots on the porch,” Mrs. Fletcher said.

Jack turned right back outside and heeled them off before returning in his socks. He must have borrowed the outfit from his old drawers if the tight way the jeans fit was any indication. I didn’t realize I was into cowboys, but apparently a soft, worn plaid and a pair of Wranglers made my blood hum.

“No ride to Dallas until noon?” I asked, getting Jack’s attention.

“It’s a hazard of Tucker’s profession. If there’s a power line down, he has to go out.”

“Probably a drunk driver hitting a pole,” Mrs. Fletcher mumbled, moving near the stove again.

“I had an idea while we’re waiting though.”

“Church?” Mrs. Fletcher asked.

Jack looked from his mother to me. “If Lauren’s okay with it, yeah. Then I want to show her around.”

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