Dawns Everlastin' (former title: Dusk Before Dawn) Book 2 by Mickee Madden Page B

the slightest difference. He'd even donned
one of Lachlan's ridiculous full-sleeved shirts to appease her
indignant airs over his state of undress. The woman simply expected
more of him than he could deliver.
    And it irked him.
    So the brose was lumpy. He'd
never professed to be much of a cook, although how he could have
screwed up something as simple as oatmeal mixed with boiling water,
butter and salt, was beyond him. Regardless, a thank you from the
woman would have been appreciated.
    Peering at her from his
lowered head, he found himself counting the number of times she
lifted her spoon to her mouth. Deliberate small portions, as if to
prolong the agony of finishing the meal. And her gaze never left
the bowl.
    Too bad. Whatever her mood,
her green eyes always fascinated him. Clear. Vibrant.
Sexy—
    Clearing his throat, he
straightened in the wooden chair and pushed his bowl aside. The
next time—if there was a next time—he decided they would eat at the
long dining room table, and not crowd five around a table built
comfortably for two. The other table would also place them farther
apart, which, during his intermittent urges to throttle her, would
require him to leave his chair and hopefully regain his reasoning
by the time he got to her.
    To dispel his mental
wanderings, he asked, "Can I get anyone anythin' else?"
    Shaking his head, Kahl
reached for another oatcake.
    "Naw," Kevin said through a
mouthful of food.
    "No, thank you," Laura
corrected him then looked coolly at Roan and repeated the
words.
    Roan's gaze clashed with
hers. Rising from his chair, he refilled his cup with dark, strong
coffee, and sat again.
    Kahl giggled, his impish
blue eyes staring askance at Roan.
    "What's so
funny?"
    "You look like a girl," Kahl
grinned, staring at the ruffled cuff of the shirt Roan
wore.
    A flush worked its way into
Roan's cheeks, and he grinned. "Aye, so I do. Hard to believe grown
men willingly wore these things, aye?"
    His gaze cut to the woman
across the table from him. She stared through him before looking
down at her bowl once again. "It’s the owner's shirt. I braved
damnation to enter his grand suite and take a loan o' one o' his
possessions."
    Scrinching up his face,
Kevin grunted, "Huh?"
    Taking a sip of coffee, Roan
winked at the boy. "Lannie's verra possessive o' his
belongin’s."
    "That's enough," Laura
warned, her eyes flashing at Roan through a darkening
expression.
    Roan arched a brow. "Beg yer
pardon, but wha' can I talk abou' wi'ou' insultin' yer sensibilities?" Pushing an
ear forward with an isolated finger, he probed, "Eh?"
    "Knock it off."
    A look of spleen brought
ruddy color to Roan's face. "I tell you wha', Miss Bennett, make me
a bloody list. And don't be shy abou' sparin' ma
feelin’s."
    "Here we go again," Kahl
sighed, his gaze pinging between the adults.
    Laura cast the boy a heated
glance, then rose from her chair and carried her bowl and cup to
the sink across the room. Roan watched her, her every stiff
movement further fueling his temper.
    "I'm neither responsible for
yer predicament nor the storm."
    "I never said you were," she
responded, standing at the deep porcelain sink, her back to
him.
    Turning sideways in his
chair, Roan began to drum the fingertips of his right hand atop the
table. "Then spare me the dirty looks. I'm doin' the best I can.
Ye're simply expectin' miracles where there's none to be
found."
    "Naw," Kevin piped in,
popping a chunk of oatcake into his mouth. "She's pissed, all
right."
    "Kevin!" Laura gasped,
issuing him a visual scolding.
    "Pissed?" Roan rose to his
feet, his brow drawn down in a scowl. "Wha' have you been dippin'
into?"
    "What?"
    "Whiskey?"
    "What are you talking
about?" Laura asked, visibly rattled.
    "Pissed. Drunk."
    After a moment, her
confusion fled. "No, Mr. Ingliss, I do not drink. The pissed Kevin
referred to, means...upset."
    "Angry," Kevin
lightheartedly corrected.
    "I think we've heard enough
from you," Laura told the boy.
    "We're outta bog