that big recliner in the living room, and hold her until she woke up.
“I don’t want to be awake. I told you I sleep late on Saturday.” She grumbled to cover up the way his mere touch made her knees go all weak and rubbery.
She wanted to be grumpy. She wanted to be mad until the next Saturday when she planned to sleep in, but his smile sure knocked a hole in that idea. That and his red-hot touch on her shoulder didn’t do a damn thing but make her want to grin back at him. She picked up the coffee and sipped but she was not going to dye Easter eggs. If he wanted that gazillion eggs all colored up and pretty then he could dye all day. When she finished her coffee, she was going right back to bed.
“I told you that we dye eggs every year for the Easter egg hunt. I promised Granny Lanier that I would keep up the tradition for her and I’m going to, with or without you,” he said.
The coffee was just like Granny made and ten times better than Starbucks. The second sip woke her up a little more. She shouldn’t finish drinking the whole cup or she’d never go back to sleep, but it was so good she kept sipping. “It’s not even seven o’clock!”
“If you’ll step out on the porch, there’s a beautiful sunrise putting on a show just for you,” Rye said.
More than the aroma of good coffee wafted to Austin. He had shaved recently and the aroma of his shaving lotion blended with the coffee smell and good Lord, was that bacon frying in the electric skillet? A man that dyed Easter eggs, cooked breakfast, and looked like he just walked out of a western movie. It wasn’t fair that he lived in Terral and not Tulsa.
“How do you like your eggs?” he asked.
“In an omelet with tomatoes and mushrooms.”
“Don’t have fresh things in the fridge and the garden won’t be ready for weeks so it’ll have to be with ham and cheese.”
“Why’d you ask if you were going to make them that way?”
“So I’ll know next time. Get that smaller skillet out from under the bar and you can stir the sausage for gravy while I keep the bacon turned.”
“This is my house.”
He pointed at the bar. “Yep, it is. After today you’ll know there are two electric skillets that we use on Easter weekend when we need all the burners on the stove to boil eggs.”
She set her mug on the bar and pulled out the small skillet. “Sausage, ham, cheese, and bacon. I’ll gain ten pounds on breakfast alone.”
“And you’ll work every bit of it off on a watermelon farm. Plug that in and crumble the sausage…”
“I know how to make gravy. I don’t need a lesson.” Her tone had softened and she almost smiled.
His eyes twinkled every time he glanced her way. “Good. The biscuits are already in the oven. Out of a can because my biscuits have to be registered with the police as weapons. Granny never could teach me how to make decent biscuits. If you can make them like hers we’ll go on to the courthouse in Waurika and get married today.”
She gasped.
“Don’t faint. I was teasing. I’m not in the market for a wife even if it is a sore spot with my family.” He said the words but his heart didn’t believe them for one minute. If Austin had turned around and said she would marry him right then he’d have scooped her up in those cute little pajamas and carried her out to this truck before she could change her mind.
Good Lord, what in the hell am I thinking? I’m not ready for marriage. Austin is hot and I’d love to date her, but marriage? I don’t think so.
She cut off a fourth of the roll of pork sausage and put it in the skillet, fished an egg turner from the drawer under the bar, and stomped it into tiny pieces. Her stomach growled as the smell of the sausage blended with the other breakfast aromas in the small kitchen. On weekdays she grabbed a Starbucks on the way to work and called that breakfast. On Saturday she had a late brunch with her mother at the dealership which usually consisted of a bagel with
“I don’t want to be awake. I told you I sleep late on Saturday.” She grumbled to cover up the way his mere touch made her knees go all weak and rubbery.
She wanted to be grumpy. She wanted to be mad until the next Saturday when she planned to sleep in, but his smile sure knocked a hole in that idea. That and his red-hot touch on her shoulder didn’t do a damn thing but make her want to grin back at him. She picked up the coffee and sipped but she was not going to dye Easter eggs. If he wanted that gazillion eggs all colored up and pretty then he could dye all day. When she finished her coffee, she was going right back to bed.
“I told you that we dye eggs every year for the Easter egg hunt. I promised Granny Lanier that I would keep up the tradition for her and I’m going to, with or without you,” he said.
The coffee was just like Granny made and ten times better than Starbucks. The second sip woke her up a little more. She shouldn’t finish drinking the whole cup or she’d never go back to sleep, but it was so good she kept sipping. “It’s not even seven o’clock!”
“If you’ll step out on the porch, there’s a beautiful sunrise putting on a show just for you,” Rye said.
More than the aroma of good coffee wafted to Austin. He had shaved recently and the aroma of his shaving lotion blended with the coffee smell and good Lord, was that bacon frying in the electric skillet? A man that dyed Easter eggs, cooked breakfast, and looked like he just walked out of a western movie. It wasn’t fair that he lived in Terral and not Tulsa.
“How do you like your eggs?” he asked.
“In an omelet with tomatoes and mushrooms.”
“Don’t have fresh things in the fridge and the garden won’t be ready for weeks so it’ll have to be with ham and cheese.”
“Why’d you ask if you were going to make them that way?”
“So I’ll know next time. Get that smaller skillet out from under the bar and you can stir the sausage for gravy while I keep the bacon turned.”
“This is my house.”
He pointed at the bar. “Yep, it is. After today you’ll know there are two electric skillets that we use on Easter weekend when we need all the burners on the stove to boil eggs.”
She set her mug on the bar and pulled out the small skillet. “Sausage, ham, cheese, and bacon. I’ll gain ten pounds on breakfast alone.”
“And you’ll work every bit of it off on a watermelon farm. Plug that in and crumble the sausage…”
“I know how to make gravy. I don’t need a lesson.” Her tone had softened and she almost smiled.
His eyes twinkled every time he glanced her way. “Good. The biscuits are already in the oven. Out of a can because my biscuits have to be registered with the police as weapons. Granny never could teach me how to make decent biscuits. If you can make them like hers we’ll go on to the courthouse in Waurika and get married today.”
She gasped.
“Don’t faint. I was teasing. I’m not in the market for a wife even if it is a sore spot with my family.” He said the words but his heart didn’t believe them for one minute. If Austin had turned around and said she would marry him right then he’d have scooped her up in those cute little pajamas and carried her out to this truck before she could change her mind.
Good Lord, what in the hell am I thinking? I’m not ready for marriage. Austin is hot and I’d love to date her, but marriage? I don’t think so.
She cut off a fourth of the roll of pork sausage and put it in the skillet, fished an egg turner from the drawer under the bar, and stomped it into tiny pieces. Her stomach growled as the smell of the sausage blended with the other breakfast aromas in the small kitchen. On weekdays she grabbed a Starbucks on the way to work and called that breakfast. On Saturday she had a late brunch with her mother at the dealership which usually consisted of a bagel with
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