“I’ll do it,” he said. “That was a fine kiss, ma’am. It flat-out weakened my knees.”

“Sawyer O’Donnell, you are full of shit.”

“No, ma’am, I’m speakin’ the absolute guaran-damn-teed truth.”

Chapter 18

The aroma of coffee wafted through the bunkhouse that Tuesday morning. Sawyer picked up his cell phone and found that he had no missed calls, that it was six o’clock in the morning, twenty-one degrees outside in Burnt Boot, Texas, and that it was January twentieth, his sister’s birthday. He would need to call the florist after he finished the morning chores, or there would be plenty of calls, starting with his mother fussing at him for missing an important day in their family.

He was on his way to get a cup of Jill’s strong coffee but stopped to take in the picture before him. Holding a mug, Jill sat on a worn rug in front of the woodstove. Piggy—she had a name, but Sawyer couldn’t remember it—danced across the rug sideways, and then Chick grabbed her by the tail, and the fight was on. They made Monday night wrestling look tame, right up until they got tired at the same time. Then they were friends who needed each other to sleep.

JustlikeyouandJill, his inner voice said.

Isleptfinebymyselflastnight, he argued.

Not as well as you did on Sunday.

Sawyer let the voice in his head have the last word. There was no arguing with the truth. He did sleep better when Jill was next to him.

She was gorgeous with the first morning light glimmering in her hair. Her green eyes sparkled as she watched the kittens play, and suddenly he was jealous as hell that he hadn’t been the one who brought them to her. Every time she looked at them, she’d think of Quaid and Tyrell, maybe even going back and reliving what their kisses felt like.

“Hey, you are awake,” Jill said. “Coffee is ready. There’s a breakfast casserole in the oven, and the girls have been fed.”

“You cooked?” he asked.

“Be thankful. Not grouchy.”

He poured coffee into a mug and sat down on the sofa. “I’m not a bit grouchy.”

“Your words say one thing. Your attitude says another. How can you be grumpy when these two kittens are so entertaining? Even when they are asleep, they make me smile.”

“You want honest?”

She nodded. “What’s your problem?”

“What do you think about when you look at those kittens?”

She sipped her coffee, a smile covering her face.

His heart grew heavier and heavier. Dammit! He didn’t want to be right this time.

“Well, when I look at Piggy Ollie over there, I think of pork rinds. And when I look at Audrey Chick, I think about Chicken Chips. Never knew the latter existed until I found them online yesterday. They are doggy treats, and I guess they taste like chicken. And that makes me smile. No, it does more than that. It makes me giggle like a little girl who found a way to get even with a smart-ass on the playground.”

She popped up agilely and sat down beside him on the sofa. “They also make me think of Quaid and Tyrell, and remind me of the fear I felt in that dark van. I’ve never been afraid like that before. I’ve always been able to take care of myself. But I had no gun and not even a hairpin to pick a lock with. I wasn’t strong enough to kick down the doors or to get away from the two of them, as big as they were, and they had guns. If you hadn’t been there, I’d have been a blubbering, quivering bundle of nerves, but I had faith in you, Sawyer. I knew you’d figure a way to get us out.”

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and drew her close to his side. “Don’t underestimate yourself, darlin’. Once you got over the fear, and the anger set in, you’d have kicked ass. How can you love those kittens if they remind you of the fear?”

“It’s weird, but they are so cute and funny. Maybe they are the sign that I definitely do not want to get mixed up with either family,” she said.

“They won’t quit,” he said. “And what’s this about pork rinds and doggy treats? I love pork rinds, and my sister buys those chips all the time for her spoiled little rat of a dog.”

She fit in his arms perfectly. He shouldn’t fight the urge to take it past a few kisses to the next step. It wasn’t like he’d forgotten how to date. He’d gone out lots of times and even considered a serious relationship once.

The timer on the oven sounded, and for a split second, Sawyer thought his phone was ringing. They both hopped up at the same time.

“Breakfast is ready. I’ll get the plates if you’ll make the toast,” she said.

“Why? Do you burn toast? I’m not surprised that someone as hot as you can burn bread by touching it,” he flirted.

She slapped at his arm, deliberately missing. “That’s a pickup line. Not a bad one, either. How many women have heard that?”

“Well, there was Delilah, Gloria, Letitia, Julie, Darcy, should I go on? I’m not sure I can recollect how many women have burned bread for me.”

Jill pushed him into the kitchen. “Well, scalding-hot cowboy, get on in there, and let’s see if you can burn toast.”

* * *

He had asked about pork rinds and Chicken Chips, and Jill had managed to dodge that bullet by changing the subject. But now he was probably thinking of all those tall, beautiful blonds and brunettes he’d dated and wishing that he was having breakfast with them instead of a spitfire redhead that had admitted she had been scared shitless.

That’s what friends do. They tell each other how they feel, she thought, hoping it might quiet the voice in her head before it ever got started. But the voice had to throw its two cents into the ring. Youwentpastthefriendstagethefirsttimehekissedyou. Deal with it. You are attracted to him, and he’s definitely been flirting, she argued. ButSawyercouldhaveanywomananywhere. Right now he could move to Wild Horse or River Bend, ranch to his heart’s content, and have anything he wants. They are both beautiful women, and, dammit, I’m working myself up into a jealous rage.

The irritating voice didn’t have a comeback, which aggravated Jill even more. She pulled the oven omelet out and set it on a hot pad in the middle of the table, put out plates and silverware, and refilled their coffee cups.

Sawyer winked at her when the second round of toast popped up. “I must have lost my power. It’s perfectly browned, not burnt. Hey, you mentioned retail therapy yesterday. Have you ever ordered flowers online?”

Dammit to hell and back on a rusty old poker. He’d decided to send flowers to one of those hot women of his past.

“Yes, I have. I send them to my mom in Kentucky all the time,” she said. “It’s easy peasy. You key in your credit card numbers after you pick out what you want, tell them the date you need it delivered, and hit send.”

Suddenly, she wasn’t hungry and even the coffee tasted horrible.

“Can they even get flowers to Comfort, Texas?” he asked. “That’s pretty far back in the woods.”

His old flame was about to get a second chance.

“Don’t know the logistics of the whole business, but they get them there when they say they will. I expect they pick out the nearest florist, and believe me, for the price you pay, they can afford to cough up the delivery fee.”

He set the plate of toast on the table and hurried to his room, returning with a laptop. “Okay, show me the place you use.”

He’d already gotten online, so she went straight for the site, and he picked out the biggest bouquet of red roses offered, typed in all the information, and hit the “send” button. “Wow, that is fantastic. My sister is going to be so surprised when they arrive at her house in a couple of hours.”