I flipped off my reflection before leaving the room. A peek inside each of the girls’ rooms showed them empty, beds made, and no clothes dotting the carpet. I was less and less surprised by that sort of things when it came to the Walkers.

When I rounded the corner into the kitchen, I found it much the same as it had been yesterday morning. Rose and the girls were all busy prepping something for breakfast, zipping around the room like little worker bees.

When Rose spun away from the fridge, she smiled when she took me in. “I think we just put a little bit of country in this girl,” she said, setting a couple cartons of eggs on the counter.

I made a non-committal motion with my hand. “Here I am. Put me to work.” The girls stopped what they were doing to check me out, too. They weren’t as good at hiding their surprise.

I gave Lily a What do you think? look, and she flashed me a thumbs up. She was infinitely more sure about the way I looked than I was.

“Have you ever made pancakes before, Rowen?” Rose asked, waving me over with a spatula.

“Not exactly,” I said, eyeing the frying pan suspiciously. “But I’ve eaten my fair share.”

“Then that qualifies you. Come on over,” she said, stepping aside to give me the front and center position. “Clementine already mixed the batter up, so all you need to do is pour it onto the griddle, flip them, and throw them onto the platter.”

Clementine waved at me from where she was whipping up something else. A seven-year-old was kicking my ass in the home economics department. I wasn’t sure whether to be proud of myself or ashamed.

“Do you have a diagram or directions I can follow?” I asked as Rose handed me the spatula ceremoniously. “Because this is not going to be pretty.”

Holding up her finger, she turned to the griddle. “Ladle. Scoop.” She grabbed the ladle and scooped out a full serving of batter. “Pour.” The batter sizzled as it hit the griddle surface. “Repeat.” She was pouring another ladleful, then four more, before I blinked. “Flip.” She flicked the spatula in my hand, patted my cheek, then went back to her eggs. “Ladle. Scoop. Pour. Repeat. Flip.”

“Burn,” I said, studying the six pancakes as though they were a puzzle. “Fail.”

As I was about to attempt to flip a pancake, Hyacinth shouldered up beside me. She smiled as she nudged me. “Wait until tiny bubbles surface around the outside before you flip them.”

It wasn’t even dawn, and I’d already learned something new.

“Thanks,” I replied, matching her smile before she got back to work pulling plates out of a cabinet. They used plates? Real plates they had to wash? Along with air conditioning, paper plates must not have made their way to the Walkers’ corner of the world yet.

I turned my attention back to the pancakes, watching them so intently I don’t think I blinked once. The second those bubbles started popping to the surface, I wielded my spatula and flipped the first pancake.

It was a proud moment. Not only had I managed to flip it without getting batter all over the place, the cooked side was a perfect golden brown. If that was all there was to cooking, I had it down. No problem.

I repeated the process with the other five; all were a beautiful golden brown. As soon as I let myself get a little cocky, like I was the modern day Betty Crocker, the kitchen door to the porch flew open. Goosebumps trailed up my spine. I hadn’t yet turned my head, but I was as sure the person who’d just stepped into the kitchen was Jesse as I was sure the air in the kitchen had gotten a little thin.

“First one to breakfast,” Lily said in a teasing voice. “Big surprise.”

“It’s not my fault the rest of the guys like to sleep in ‘til the last possible minute. I’ve been up for an hour checking the new calves, and I’m hungry. I’m a growing boy.” I willed myself to stare at the pancakes. I willed myself to not let his voice get to me. I willed myself to be unaffected by his presence.

I wasn’t very willful.

My body twisted around of its own accord, and my eyes locked on his at the same time his locked on mine.

Jesse. Smile. Dimples. Jeans. Hat.

I grabbed the edge of the counter to keep from wavering.

“Look at you,” he said, hanging his hat on one of the pegs sticking out of the wall. I guessed they were for hanging hats. Lots of hats. He headed my way, rumpling Clementine’s hair as he walked by her. Toward me. Where I braced myself against a countertop to keep from passing out. “Country looks good on you, Rowen.” Jesse ran his eyes down me before stopping a few feet in front of me. When he glanced down at my shoes, his smile pulled higher. He was in his standard blood-cutting-off jeans, boots, and hat, but he had on a tan Carhartt jacket over yet another clean white tee. How many of those things did he go through in a day?

“And silence might look good on you if you ever gave it a try,” I threw back, right before I realized four other people were in the room. Four women who had stopped what they were doing to watch the two of us with rapt interest.

Catching Rose’s stare, I shrugged. “Your son likes to talk. He really likes to talk,” I added, remembering all the things he’d said in the past few days. The frequency of his words wasn’t really the issue; it was the power behind them.

Rose studied the two of us for another moment, almost like she was trying to put her finger on something, before getting back to cracking eggs into a skillet. “Breakfast in five, girls. Get movin’.”

Just like that, Jesse’s sisters’ attention moved from us back to breakfast.

“How are those pancakes coming along?” Jesse asked, leaning closer to inspect the skillet.

“Swimmingly,” I replied, checking them. No bubbles yet.

He moved a little closer. So close, I could tell he’d recently taken a shower. He still smelled like soap and shampoo. “You really do look nice, you know,” he said, his voice quieter.

I huffed. “Really? Because you seemed to be a pretty big fan of that outfit I wore yesterday.” My mind flashed with the memory of him catching me checking him out.

“That was pretty great, you’re right.” His eyes told me he was reliving the memory of me on all fours. “But this look appeals to me in a different way.”

I did a quick check of the kitchen to make sure no one was paying us any attention. “In what way?”

“In a quid pro quo kind of way.”

I rolled my eyes. Apparently someone had gotten an A in Willow Springs English. “Why’s that?”

“Because every time you make fun of how tightly my jeans hug my backside, I can throw the same thing right back at you.”

I didn’t need to look to confirm he was inspecting my backside. Lily’s borrowed jeans suddenly seemed to be squeezing the hell out of my ass.

“Don’t you have some cows to milk or something?” I elbowed his stomach. Yep, it was just as hard as it’d been last night.

Jesse laughed and shook his head. “We’re not a dairy farm here, Rowen. We’re a beef ranch.”

Sorry, I didn’t speak hick. His chuckling unsettled me in a couple different ways.

“Then maybe you could go unload another truckload of ginormous bags.” A clamp for my mouth would have so come in handy.

“So that was you spying on me again last night,” he said, his voice so damn confident. “I knew someone was watching me, and I figured it was you.”

I glared at those six pancakes. Still no bubbles. “And why would you figure it was me?”

“Well, you know,” he said.

“No, I don’t know.”

He leaned his hip into the counter. “Given your track record of spying on me.”

“For Pete’s sake,” I said, tempted to dump the bowl of batter over his head. “I wasn’t spying on you in the laundry room. I was hiding from you.”

“You were hiding from me?” He crossed his arms.

I nodded.

“And what about last night when you were watching me from your window? Were you hiding from me then?” My hands actually moved for the batter bowl.