It's In His Heart (A Red River Valley Novel) by Shelly Alexander

adorned the table with matching cloth napkins that were gathered into fans and tied with artificial pieces of straw. Each mat and napkin was perfectly aligned. No way would he use something that . . . dainty to wipe his mouth. Paper towels worked just fine.
    He swiped at the perspiration on his face again and tossed the damp shirt onto the table. The shirt tumbled across two of the placemats and sent the mats and napkins sliding askew. He smiled. Better.
    An awful bellowing sound that was an apparent attempt at singing came from the kitchen. He recognized the lyrics, but the tune was so far off-key it didn’t resemble a real song. Coop peeked over the bar.
    Oh, this was just too good to pass up. He walked around the bar into the kitchen and leaned against the cabinet. Arms folded over his bare chest, he crossed his legs at the ankles and watched Cinder-Ella cleaning under the kitchen sink. On all fours. Wearing cutoff denim shorts. With an iPod and earbuds blocking out the real world, she howled a Blake Shelton tune.
    Now that wasn’t something Coop saw every day. Or heard. Thank God.
    Coop wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to listen to his favorite country singer again. The sound of Ella’s unpleasant voice could have scarred a man for life and caused PTSD by the end of the song.
    She bawled out the chorus, and Coop’s head jerked back. Atlas whimpered.
    Her butt wiggled in rhythm to the music only she could hear, and a tiny swatch of her blue silk panties made an appearance from under her shorts. Coop’s mouth went dry. His head involuntarily angled toward his shoulder, and he took in the view.
    Yep. Too good to pass up.
    With the toe of his running shoe, he nudged her foot and recrossed his ankles. Ella glanced over her shoulder, and her eyes turned to saucers. She jerked up, her head connecting with the plumbing.
    “Hells freaking bells!” she yelled. Really loud. Grabbing her head, she scooted backward out of the cabinet and collapsed onto the floor. A tank top that rode up just above her belly button revealed a flat stomach, heaving in pain. Legs pulled up, an elbow rested on each knee, yellow rubber-gloved hands clutched at the top of her head.
    She looked up and glared at him, a sexy shade of pink seeping into her cheeks.
    “Sorry,” he said. Except for the knot she was going to have on her head, he really wasn’t all that sorry, but it seemed like the appropriate thing to say.
    “What?!” she yelled with earbuds still in.
    One corner of Coop’s mouth slipped up, and he pointed to his ear.
    “Oh!” she yelled and pulled the earbuds out. Her voice returned to its normal volume, her eyes darted away from him. “Um, you scared me.”
    “Yeah, sorry about that.” Not really . “What, no pepper spray this time?”
    The pink in her face deepened, a stark contrast to the black smudges of grime streaking her cheeks. And Coop had a sudden urge to take his thumb and wipe her creamy skin clean. Softly and gently with the pads of his fingers.
    He coughed.
    “I’m considering a holster for my Taser.” She tried to get up, but her bare foot slipped on the damp floor that she’d apparently just mopped, and she slid back onto her bottom. “So don’t sneak up on me like that again.”
    Coop pushed himself off the counter and held out a hand. “Let me help. And I didn’t sneak up on you.”
    She studied his hand for a second, then took it with a reluctant expression. He pulled her to her feet, grasping her rubber-gloved hand.
    “Do I want to know what’s on that glove?” he asked and released her hand.
    Ella looked at both palms. “I don’t think I want to know. Have you ever had this place cleaned? I mean really deep cleaned?” She looked up at him; a few messy strands of hair escaped her ponytail and hung across her eyes. She swiped at them with her forearm, but missed because of the cumbersome gloves. Then she blew at them, but they settled back into the same spot.
    Coop shrugged. “A few