Spurs 'n Surrender (Operation Cowboy Book 2)(20)

“I… Just come and have a plate, Wydell. We can be civil.”

She was right. He accepted a thick paper plate and a seat between Mrs. Fletcher and the oldest Kent daughter. When he asked the little girl how the stuffing tasted, she jammed some into her mouth and gave him a toothy grin.

“It was so kind of Anya to do this for us tonight, wasn’t it, children?” Mrs. Kent asked, smiling at her offspring. They nodded. “So what do you tell her?”

“Thank you for the grub,” Robbie said.

Anya tossed her head back and laughed. The sound so musical, it might have been angels singing. She wore a white, floaty top that didn’t show off her curves nearly enough. What he wouldn’t give to rip the garment off her and look upon her gorgeous body.

His cock started to harden, and he tamped down his desires. Now wasn’t the time or place.

Pastor Kent helped himself to more turkey. “So Wydell, tell us how the construction is going.”

Wydell speared a piece of his own as he answered the man’s question. Anya’s attention was glued to him as he spoke, which only made him burn more. When he finished, he popped the turkey on his fork into his mouth.

Flavors burst in his head, and he moaned.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” Mrs. Fletcher rested a hand on his arm. “I asked Anya’s secret, and she said it was all in the rub.”

The word rub set Wydell off. Visions of her nimble fingers riding over his skin, down to encircle his erection—

“Yes, it’s very good.” He flicked a glance at Anya, who seemed lit from the inside by a candle’s glow.

She was distracted by one of the children then, and Wydell filled his stomach with her surprisingly good food. After all, cooking wasn’t a category beauty queens competed in. It was sweet of her to make a meal like this for people who were virtual strangers to her. He might have been hasty in thinking she was a selfish rich bitch. So far her actions weren’t connecting with the image of her he’d formed in his mind.

When nothing but a few crumbs remained on the table, one child asked about pies. Everyone laughed, and Anya raised a glass of what appeared to be sweet tea.

“Before we get to dessert, I’d like to thank all of you for sharing this meal with me. You’ve all had a long road and there are more bumps ahead. It’s why I’d like to do more. From what I see, we need a proper church. A place to go on Sunday and rest from the trials of the week.”

Pastor Kent was shaking his head immediately. “You’re doing more than enough for Los Vista, Anya.”

“I won’t take no for an answer. There are plenty of men from this town who would love to volunteer to build you a new church.” She raised a brow at Wydell, and he nodded, his chest filling more than his stomach with all the goodwill here.

“Of course I’m in. My buddies too.” Even Boyd would get on board with this, even if he wasn’t as attached to Los Vista as the rest of them anymore.

“I couldn’t let you do that.” Pastor Kent was choked up, and his wife wrapped her arm around his shoulders and squeezed.

“This is for all of the townspeople, including me,” Anya said. “I’ve already spoken with the lumber mill and the first shipment of wood will be delivered Friday.”

Wydell gaped at her. Damn, she was something special. And his body recognized it too.

Pastor Kent swiped a tear away and then he raised his beer to Anya. Everyone followed, and by the time the man finished with his speech of appreciation and a short prayer for her, they were all wiping away tears.

The pastor’s words seemed to rattle Anya. She got up and disappeared into her Airstream after the pies. Wydell followed her. When he entered the space behind her, her eyes widened. “Please don’t start throwing insults about what I do with my money, Wydell.”

He caught her by the elbows, drawing her near. A stuttering breath left her. “Why would I do that? What you did was selfless and kind.”

Before she could say anything, he kissed her. Pulled her on tiptoe and plundered her sweet mouth with his tongue. She opened to him with a coo of longing, which only fueled his fire. Pressing his hand to the small of her back, he swayed her against him, letting her feel every hard inch of his arousal.

She angled her head and kissed him with the same hunger he’d been thinking of nonstop. Skating his hand up her hip, he kneaded the hollow of her hipbone. She cried out. Then tore away.

“The pies.” Panting, her eyes twin candles again.

“Don’t tell me you have an old-fashioned pie safe in here.”

“Of course I do. What self-respecting Southern woman doesn’t? It’s by the hot tub.” Her quip made him laugh. Then she shoved two pies into his hands and sent him back out of the Airstream. When she followed with pots of coffee and hot cider for the kids, he couldn’t stop thinking about pinning her to the side of her trailer and pounding into her.

Of course everyone tucked into their slices of pie and then the storytelling began. Pastor Kent told a story from his youth, which spurred his kids to do the same. When Mrs. Fletcher got rolling about the old days, Anya listened raptly.

Wydell watched emotions run over face, and he wondered about her upbringing. She sure could cook a damn fine meal, so somebody must have taught her. Her grandmother? A favorite aunt?

Or maybe she was trained by the President of the United States’ own private chef, he mused with a crack of a smile.