The Trouble with Texas Cowboys (Burnt Boot, Texas #2)(63)

Polly guffawed. “Don’t tell Gladys. I want to tell her. The reason I called is to make sure you didn’t get kidnapped again after that craziness last weekend. Are you going to church this morning?”

“Of course. Sawyer is cooking breakfast. How about you?”

“No, not today. We see the doctor this week, and if they say I can start to use crutches, maybe we’ll try it next week. I hate this big boot thing on my foot, but Verdie keeps remindin’ me that it damn sure beats one of them old plaster casts. She’s coming over after church again, and we’re going to set up a Yahtzee game. You and Sawyer want to join us?”

“No, ma’am. We’re taking naps. Tell Aunt Gladys that we’ll be glad to do the evening chores if y’all get into a heated game. Do you still bet on the games?”

“Hell, yeah. It wouldn’t be any fun if we didn’t put some money on the table. Call us when y’all wake up, and we’ll talk about chores. Keep your head low and dodge any bullets in church. I heard the preacher went to both ranches, trying to set up a powwow to make peace, but neither Mavis nor Naomi is havin’ a bit of it.”

“That’s the gist of what I heard at the bar last night,” Jill said. “Things got tense, but no fighting.”

“Use that shotgun if you have to. That’s what it is there for. Most of the time folks don’t want to take a chance on whether or not you’ll shoot ’em, and they calm right down.”

“Waffles are ready,” Sawyer yelled from the kitchen.

“Go on and eat. Any man who cooks is a jewel to be treasured. Don’t keep him waiting,” Polly said.

The table was set for two, as usual, with one exception. Right smack in the middle was an old chipped crock cookie jar. Glazing cracks started at the bottom and wove their way in different directions, some on the sides, with others winding their way around in circles.

“Are we having cookies with our waffles?” Jill asked.

“Look at it closely.” Sawyer grinned. “Pay especially close attention to the lid.”

“Daisies.” She smiled.

“I would have gone out into the pasture and picked some wild ones for you, but it’s the wrong time of year. That’s all I could find with a daisy on it,” Sawyer said.

Rule number one, two, and three disappeared as she rounded the table and looped her arms around his neck. She rolled up on her toes and moistened her lips seconds before his mouth claimed hers in a scorching hot kiss that fried any remnants of future rules. He tugged at the belt of her robe, and his hands slipped inside to graze her rib cage and come to rest on her waist. Then in a flash, the kiss broke, and he picked her up, tossed her over his shoulder, and headed for the bedroom.

The towel fell off her hair, but she didn’t care. For such an up-close view of his cowboy ass underneath those flannel pajama pants, she’d gladly air-dry her hair upside down on the way to the bed, where other delicious things might happen.

Crunching truck tires on gravel brought him to an abrupt stop. She slid off, out of his arms, and her bare feet hit the floor in a hurry when a heavy door slammed. By the time someone was walking across the porch, Jill had picked up the towel and hurried off to her room.

She’d barely shut the door when she heard Sawyer’s voice coming from the kitchen. “Good mornin’, Gladys. You are just in time for breakfast. I was about to put the waffles on the table. I’ve got maple syrup and buttered pecan. Name your poison.”

“Maple sounds good. I’ll get out an extra plate. Where’s Jill?”

“She’s on her way. I yelled at her a few minutes ago. Did you hear about the tension in the bar last night?”

Jill hurriedly wrapped the towel back around her head, removed the robe, put on underpants and a bra, and then added pajama pants, a sleep shirt, and a pair of socks. “I thought I heard voices out here. Good mornin’, Aunt Gladys.”

“Good mornin’ to you. I’m glad to see that you are both safe this morning and not wandering around with Tilly, like you were last week. Where’d the cats come from?”

“The clashing cowboys gave them to her. The gray one is Piggy and the yellow one is Chick,” Sawyer said.

“I wasn’t supposed to tell you, but then I didn’t, Sawyer did, so Aunt Polly can’t be mad at me,” Jill said.

It took Gladys a minute, but when she caught on, she slapped a hand over her mouth and giggled like a schoolgirl. “Piggy Brennan and Chick Gallagher, right?”

“You got it.” Jill nodded. “You goin’ to church this mornin’?”

“No, I don’t want to leave Polly alone that long. Y’all keep your ears and eyes open. Something is brewing. After that stunt with the pork rinds and the dog treats this week, I can feel it in the air. I’ll pour the coffee.”

Jill glanced over her shoulder toward the end table where she’d left her cup, but it was gone. When she looked back at Sawyer, he winked.

“I’ll get the butter and syrup,” Jill said.

“Y’all got cookies in that old jar?” Gladys asked.

“No, I found it in the cabinet and put it on the table,” Sawyer answered.

Jill touched the lid. “I might make cookies in the store tomorrow to fill it up. Last week when we were making chili in the back room, lots of folks bought chili meat and beans. If they smell cookies, maybe they’ll buy chocolate chips and sugar.”