When Nick parked in front of her house, Eva pulled the cinnamon rolls out of the oven and left them on the counter to cool. If he’d had barn duty this morning and yet had committed to showing up here at seven-thirty he’d likely left the bunkhouse without much more than a cup of coffee.
Even if he’d had breakfast, he wouldn’t have had time to eat much. Nick loved his food. She’d make sure he started the day off right. They could eat first and fetch her truck afterward.
She’d set two places at the kitchen table, had a breakfast casserole keeping warm in the oven and a festive bowl of sliced bananas, strawberries and kiwi ready to go. The Apple Grove Market occasionally surprised her with delicacies like kiwi. She’d splurged and bought some this week.
She’d made Brazilian coffee from freshly-ground beans and poured it into a thermal carafe. She had half-and-half in the fridge, although most cowboys she’d met took it black.
When he rang her doorbell, she surveyed her preparations one last time and walked to the front door, adrenaline pouring through her system. She’d dreamed about him last night, dreams that made her blush.
Seeing him in person should help. It was just Nick. That moment on the porch had been the result of an emotionally charged evening. She blamed the dream on too much rich food.
Taking a calming breath, she unlocked the door and pulled it open. Damn. He looked even better this morning.
Hat in hand, feet braced apart, he stood on the other side of her screen door, filling the space with his wide shoulders. His snowy white T-shirt, nearly as snug as the navy one, emphasized the breadth of his muscular chest. He exuded physical power, as if he could handle anything.
Might as well admit that he turned her on. But she didn’t have to let him know. “Good morning.”
“Morning, ma’am. Ready to go get your truck?”
“Not yet.” She unlatched the screen and pushed it open. “Come in. I want to feed you a proper breakfast before we leave.”
“Breakfast?” He frowned. “Oh, no, ma’am. I don’t need—”
“We had an agreement, remember?” She breathed in the tantalizing scent of soap, cologne and healthy male. “Whatever you grabbed on the way out the door couldn’t possibly be enough to get you through a morning of lugging stuff from the attic and digging up rocks. Everything’s ready and the cinnamon rolls should be cooled by now.”
“Cinnamon rolls?” He stepped inside.
For some reason his expression hadn’t brightened. Was it possible he didn’t care for them? “Maybe you’re not a fan.”
“Oh, I love cinnamon rolls. I just hate to think of you going to so much trouble.”
“Making them is fun for me—kneading the dough, shaping the rolls, the wonderful smell while they’re baking.”
“I thought you were burning one of those scented candles.”
“Those don’t smell as good as the real thing. And not to brag, but I make a killer cinnamon roll.” She left the front door open to allow cool morning air to drift through the screen.
The oven had heated up the place. Add in the presence of a big strong cowboy and the breeze was mighty welcome. “I’ve set us up in the kitchen.”
“You haven’t had breakfast, either?” He followed her in.
“No.”
“Well, then.” He cleared his throat. “Mighty nice of you to include me.”
“I figured why not? I love cooking and you love eating. Have a seat.”
“Not until you do.”
She glanced at his mannerly and extremely sexy self. Whew. “Then let me take the casserole out of the oven and bring over the rolls. Then we can—”
“You made a casserole, too?”
“Don’t worry. It’s easy-peasy. The cinnamon rolls take effort. The casserole only involves throwing the ingredients together.” She grabbed oven mitts, pulled the baking dish from the oven and set it on the trivets she’d put on the table earlier.
“Smells great.”
“Doesn’t it? Pairing this with cinnamon rolls might be a little heavy under normal circumstances, but you have intensely physical work ahead of you. This meal will help get you through the morning.”
“Looks substantial.” He took a quick breath. “And smells delicious. Ready to sit?”
“Let’s see… I think that’s it. Wait, do you use anything in your coffee?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Ha. Nailed it. Then yes, I’m ready to sit.” She gestured to her place. “This one.”
He pulled out her chair. “You must have been up early to do all this.”
“I was, but cooking is more rewarding when you’re sharing the meal with someone.” She slipped into the chair he held for her. She’d been this close to him many times in the salon without hyperventilating. Maybe the cape had shielded her from his tasty pheromones.
“Well, I surely appreciate it.” He took the spot she’d set for him, catty-corner from her. He hung his hat on the back of the chair nearest to him.
“Let me have your plate. I’ll dish you some casserole. Do you like fruit?”
“I… ah… sure.”
“Ever had kiwi?”
“Must be the green one with the little black seeds. No, I haven’t.”
“You’ll love it. Comes from New Zealand. Doesn’t show up that often in the market here, but it did this past week.” She gave him a large helping of casserole and two heaping spoons of fruit salad. Then she paused. “One cinnamon roll or two?”
“One is fine.”
“You’re just being polite. I’ll only eat one of these. You can have the other five.”
“I would never take more than my share.”
“Please don’t hold back on my account. They’re best when they’re fresh. When I make them for myself, they go stale before I can finish them. Unlike you, I don’t have a huge appetite.”
“Must drive you nuts when you have them go stale.”
“Believe me, it does. I want these eaten ASAP. I’ll leave the dish on the counter so you can help yourself to any you don’t eat now.”
“I…” His breath hitched. “That’s very generous.”
“Sure you don’t want two?”
“Just one, thanks. If I’m going to start at eight, we need to go fetch your truck soon.”
“I guess that start time really is important to you.” She dished herself.
“The sooner I start, the sooner I’ll be out of your way. I intend to give you twelve hours, one way or another.”
“I can’t gauge how long either of these jobs will take. Maybe you’ll have all the stuff out of the attic by ten, which leaves you a whole bunch of time to dig up the rocks. If you’re as efficient as Rafe says, that won’t take long, either.” She ate a bite of the casserole because clearly he was waiting for her to start.
He dug into his, popped a forkful into his mouth, chewed and swallowed. “Very good. Excellent.”
“Thanks.”
He forked up another bite. “Is there anything else you’d like me to do if I finish early? I’ll bet you could come up with something.” He’d said it straight-faced, without a wink or a knowing smile.
Clearly last night’s moment on the porch hadn’t translated to flirting today. “I probably could. It’s an old house.”
“And a big house. How many rooms?”
“Eight if you count the attic, nine if you count the enclosed back porch. Three bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs, kitchen, living room and dining room downstairs. Eventually I’ll add another bathroom when I can afford it.”
“Any dripping faucets or leaking pipes? Old plumbing can be dicey.”
“Why? Do you have a plumber’s license?”
He smiled at that. “No.”
There was that great smile again. Made her catch her breath.
“That said, I’m fairly handy.” He speared a slice of kiwi. “Working on a guest ranch, especially one that’s been around a while, you learn things out of necessity. Henri and Charley taught us basic skills so we could deal with minor repairs in the guest cabins.”
“In that case, I’m sure I can come up with enough things to keep you busy. Of course we’ll be taking time out for lunch and dinner. I insist on that.” She picked up her cinnamon roll. “How do you like the kiwi?”
“It’s good. Glad I got to try it. But you know, after this wonderful and filling breakfast, I won’t need any lunch.” He tucked back into his casserole.
“I don’t believe that for a minute. While you’re bringing things down from the attic, I’ll put together a pot of chili. I like making cornbread to go with it. I usually top the chili with cheese. Do you like it that way?”
“I do, but seriously, why not save the chili for dinner and skip lunch? This is a big breakfast, and if I’m going to be snacking on cinnamon rolls all day, then—”
“Are you worried that I’m putting too much effort into feeding you?”
“Yes, ma’am. That’s it, exactly.”
“Then you can help me make dinner.”
“Of course I’d be glad to help.”
Judging from his expression, he wasn’t entirely happy with the meal program she’d laid out. Made sense. Just because he loved to eat didn’t mean he was comfortable having her spend extra time in the kitchen. And it was a hot day.
She shifted her plan from a roast in the oven to steaks on the grill. “Tell you what. We’ll cook out tonight—grill steaks and corn, roast the potatoes in the coals. Oh, and I have pie from the Apple Barrel for dessert. With ice cream.”
“Sounds great.” He paused, the cinnamon roll halfway to his mouth. “But it sure is a lot of food.”
“Maybe for some people, but not you. You’re famous for your appetite.”
He gave her another of those great smiles. “Yes, ma’am. That’s a fact.” And he bit into the roll.