Never Love A Lawman. Jo Goodman

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      Wyatt stomped his feet as he came in the door, alerting Rachel to his presence. The combined hearty aromas of bacon and coffee made him hope that she intended to feed him. He hung his coat and hat by the door and stepped into the kitchen. It was a consequence of the appetite he’d worked up that the first thing he noticed was that there were plenty of eggs and bacon in the skillet. She’d even made some biscuits that were now staying warm on top of the stove. Evidently she’d elicited the great black beast’s cooperation this morning.

      “Smells good.” He came up beside her at the stove and warmed his hands several inches above the basket of biscuits.

      “Wash up. I know your mother taught you manners.” Rachel glimpsed his half smile before he went to the tub and lathered his hands. She placed the biscuits on the table and served up the bacon and eggs, then took up the chair she’d occupied the night before. She was uncomfortably aware that she usually sat in the chair she was giving over to Wyatt. He’d only spent one evening in it and somehow she’d allowed him to claim it.

      She’d have to be careful she didn’t let him wander around the house, marking territory.

      “Did you say something?” asked Wyatt. He slathered butter on a warm biscuit.

      “Hmm? No. No, at least I didn’t mean to. I was just thinking.”

      “A penny, then.”

      “It’s not worth that much.”

      Wyatt let it go. “Ned and I made a pretty good start on the wood you’ll be needing.”

      “About that, Sheriff Cooper, I—”

      “Wyatt.” When she just looked at him, he added, “Wyatt. Most folks call me that.”

      “Not that I’ve heard.”

      Biting into the biscuit, Wyatt let it melt over his tongue. As the first taste slowly made its way to all of his senses, he was tempted to simply close his eyes for the sheer fine pleasure of it. “Well, they do,” he said around a mouthful. “Lord, but this is good. Why did you let me think you were all thumbs in the kitchen?”

      “Please don’t make me responsible for what you think. I had problems yesterday with the eggs. I never said I couldn’t make a biscuit.”

      “No, you didn’t, did you?” He nudged the honey jar toward him and drizzled a curlicue on what was left of the biscuit in his palm. The sweetness made the last two bites just about sinful. “I promise not to tell anyone you can cook like this as long as you fix them for me from time to time.”

      “Now, why would I care if you told anyone?”

      “First off, because they’d know you were entertaining me and that’s bound to make for speculation, and second, Abe Dishman will take it as a sign that you’re wavering in your old maid ways and is likely to lead the charge to your front door. There’s no hope I can beat back all your suitors.”

      “Old maid, Sheriff?”

      Wyatt didn’t answer. He picked up a forkful of eggs instead.

      “Old maid, Wyatt?”

      He lifted an eyebrow as he gave her a sideways look. “You’re just about the oldest unmarried woman in Reidsville. That pretty much defines old maid here.”

      “I was only twenty-four my last birthday.”

      “When was that?”

      “March.”

      “Twenty-four and one-half. You’re making my point for me.” He used his fork to indicate her plate. “You better eat. You’re going to need your strength to fight off Abe and everyone else who wants their name on your dance card.”

      Rachel СКАЧАТЬ