The Trouble with Texas Cowboys (Burnt Boot, Texas #2)(7)

Warm air rushed into the cold room when he opened the door. A burning fire crackled in the cast-iron stove. On top, a chipped blue granite pot gurgling away as it boiled coffee. Sawyer hadn’t had a cup of campfire coffee in ages, and it sure smelled good.

He rounded a corner into the kitchen area, and there was Jill coming right at him, head down, with an empty coffee mug in her hand. He checked the cup out carefully. It wasn’t dark brown with writing on it, so she hadn’t stolen his cup as well as his coffee.

She looked up a split second before stopping so quick that her boots made a high-pitched squeak on the tile floor. “Don’t sneak up on me like that,” she said breathlessly.

“I didn’t, and who gave you permission to use my coffee?” he asked.

“Hey, you woke up to a warm living room and coffee. Quit your bitchin’, and I might share. I woke up to a cold house because a tall, dark—” She stopped shy of saying handsome. She faked a cough and went on. “A cowboy didn’t bank the fire, and there’s not a single thing to eat. I’m grouchy when I’m hungry, and I bite before I have my morning coffee. So stand aside and let me pour a cup. And from this standpoint, Sawyer O’Donnell, you don’t look like you wake up in a good mood either, so pour a cup and let’s talk.”

“It’s my coffee, so you don’t have any say-so about sharing it,” he said.

“It’s my pot, so don’t argue with me. Didn’t you hear that part about biting? I haven’t had rabies shots, either,” she shot back over her shoulder, her green eyes dancing with mischievousness. “Much more of your whining, and you can brew a cup in your sissy pot and leave my real stuff alone.”

Sawyer poured a cup, tasted it, and nodded. “Delicious, madam barista.”

“Don’t give me a fancy name. I can’t even run that prissy pot you’ve got sitting on the cabinet. If it’s more complicated than putting coffee in one place and water in another, I’m lost,” she admitted.

She bent over to set her blue granite cup on the stove, and the way she filled out the butt of those jeans made his mouth drier than the damn Mojave Desert. She straightened up and dragged the second wooden rocker across the floor to the other side of the stove, sat down, and reached for the metal cup.

“Ouch!” she said, quickly wrapping the handle in her shirttail.

“Got a little warm, did it?”

“Oh, yeah!” Her smile was bright and honest. “Aunt Gladys left me a voice message. She’s got the feeding chores done, and we’re supposed to meet her at the bar. I vote that we go to the bar early and have breakfast there. There’s always bacon and eggs in the refrigerator and bread for toast on the shelf. Then we’ll stop by the store and get a week’s worth of supplies after we talk to the aunts,” she said.

“Sounds like a plan to me, but I thought Polly only fired the grill up for dinner and supper,” Sawyer said.

“You said you could cook, cowboy. If I’m stealing the food, surely to God you can make breakfast for both of us.” That sparkle was back in her eye that said she liked to banter.

*

The mug cooled enough that she could handle it, and the hot liquid warmed her insides while the old woodstove took care of the outside. She stole glances at Sawyer with his long legs stretched out, black hair falling down on his forehead, and sleep leaving his big brown eyes. It should be a sin for a man to have lashes that long and a smile so damn bright that it could put the summer sun to shame.

Never before had she been attracted to the tall, dark, handsome man. She’d always gone for the blond-haired, blue-eyed guys. Being a cowboy had always been a plus, but it had never been a necessity. But it would be just downright wrong to start up anything with Sawyer. They had to live in the same house and work together. Friends might work…but that was as far as it could go.

“Aunt Gladys will fire your lazy ass if you sleep until seven every morning,” she said.

Sawyer drew down his eyebrows and tucked his chin to his chest. “For your information, come Monday morning I’ll be out there with the cows at five o’clock. That means I’ll be up at four to make my breakfast.”

“I know ranchin’, Sawyer. I’ve been doin’ it my whole life. One set of my grandparents had a little spread down near Brownsville. That would be my mama’s folks, but Daddy’s lived close by on the outskirts of town. Mama remarried after Daddy died, and we moved to Kentucky, but I got to spend summers and holidays in the area until they passed on a couple of years ago.”

“Your dad’s folks been gone long?”

“They both died within a year of each other when I was in high school.”

“And then?” he asked.

“I completed a bachelor’s degree in business agriculture, and I went to work full-time on a ranch. Now I’m here.”

“You ready to go raid the bar’s refrigerator?” Sawyer asked.

“Oh, yeah, I am.”

“Are we going to have to add breaking and entering to a felony conviction of stealing bacon and eggs?”

She frowned. “Well, dammit! I hadn’t thought of getting inside. Aunt Polly has always been there. We may have to eat peanut butter sandwiches after all. The store should be open now, though, so we can get some food there, I guess.”