My Southern Bride (The Texas Two-Step Series, Book 4) by Kathy Carmichael Page B

to his chest. "I need to add some things."
    Her eyes narrowed. "What did you put on your list that you don't want me to read?"
    "I've thought better of some of the chores."
    "Quit being silly and show me."
    Monty Joe sighed. Dramatically. Then he handed over the notepad.
    "Thank you." Lori began reading the list, nodding her head in understanding as she went along. Then she got to one of the chores he hadn't wanted her to see. "Wash your clothes?"
    "Yeah. I thought better of that one. Clothes washing can wait."
    "Mop your kitchen floor?"
    "That can wait, too."
    Her eyes widened as she continued to read. "Wear that pretty pink sweater again?"

 
     
     
    Chapter 12

     
    "Just because you're stuck alone at a ranch with one hunky cowboy," Lori lectured herself as she blew her hair dry, "doesn't mean you have to go and get a crush on him."
    First he'd wanted a goodnight kiss, then he wanted to see her in her pink sweater. What was going on with him? She nodded at her reflection in the bedroom mirror.
    "It's just the situation. It's not because you think Monty Joe's feelings toward you might have changed."
    But had they?
    Why else had he mentioned her sweater?
    Well, there was liking , and then there was lusting . And maybe being stuck together had brought out his lustful side. That was way more likely than his feelings having changed toward her.
    Her thoughts returned to his two outrageously long lists of chores. She shook her head.
    The man didn't like her. Never had.
    While she'd always made it a point to not like someone who didn't like her, it didn't mean the converse—that if someone liked her she had to like them back.
    And liking was a long way from loving.
    Not that she thought Monty Joe loved her. He didn't. But maybe he didn't hate her. Maybe he'd begun to approve of her—at least a little.
    She'd keep reminding herself not to grow too attached to him. Or too attracted. As soon as she headed back to Dallas, their relationship would return to the status quo.
    Lori placed the blow dryer on the bureau, gave her hair one last brushing, then pulled it into a ponytail.
    She glanced at herself in the mirror, and saw pink. Too much pink. "Oh, no."
    Why had she put on the pink sweater? She yanked it off and tossed it on her bed, where it could cause the least amount of harm. Although she didn't have many clothing choices, she had to avoid that one. Instead she selected a long-sleeved green t-shirt, which was just about perfect as it suited the chores waiting for her—and, just as perfectly, wouldn't suit Monty Joe.
    She descended the stairs on her way to handle the first job: choosing a slab of meat from the freezer to thaw for dinner.
    When she reached the family room, Monty Joe was sound asleep.
    Good. That should keep him out of her hair while she went to work.
    When she entered the kitchen, she opened the freezer and found various shapes in white butcher paper. None were labeled. Typical of a bachelor to not think ahead that someone other than him would be going through his freezer. Or that he might not remember what was in any of the packages.
    She grabbed a flat one, hoping it was another pair of steaks, then set it on the counter. She unwrapped it and, as she'd hoped, found two steaks. If they didn't thaw in time, she could always zap them in the microwave.
    Next she opened the pantry door. It was more like a closet than a cupboard, with U-shaped shelves holding all sorts of supplies. Flour. Sugar. Cornmeal.
    Like she knew how to use any of them.
    Thankfully, one set of shelves was devoted to vegetables canned in Mason jars. Those she could handle.
    She selected a jar of green beans and another of what looked like German potato salad, and placed them on the counter beside the thawing steaks.
    She glanced outside and saw that the weather had picked up again. Wind howled around the ranch house. Snow swirled, but whether it was fresh snow or simply the wind scattering the existing snow, she couldn't make out. Either way,