Nash choppedlard until the flour mixture looked like tiny white peas. He dribbled in water until the dough became soft and pliable. He’d made biscuits often enough to do it without much thinking, which was good because he found himself distracted.
What had made him behave that way? So boldly touching Addie’s nose. He should be ashamed of himself. Ma would scold him for it, saying, “Be cautious with how you conduct yourself around young ladies. Don’t toy with their feelings.” Words she’d said so many times. Not that he’d forgotten. Nor would he ever. Any more than he’d fail to heed the one admonition that had always seemed most important perhaps because it came from the Bible. “Keep thy heart with all diligence, for out of it are the issues of life.”
He knew beyond a doubt that the heart could lead a man astray. Whether in desiring a woman or monetary gain.
Addie was not the sort of young lady who should betreated frivolously. She’d been raised by a preacher and seemed content to live a simple life. Maybe even to live on a ranch?
Not that those things gave him the right to be so bold.
But, his heart argued, wasn’t she equally bold?
She had been. They’d both enjoyed a little teasing.
And her eyes…so full of surprise that gave way to what he took to be enjoyment.
Having circled back to the moment their gazes had connected, and something passed between them, he grinned. They could be stuck here for a few days. No reason the time couldn’t be enjoyable.
No reason at all.
While she chopped carrots into the stew, he kneaded the dough, pressed it into a square, and cut it into biscuit-sized smaller squares.
One hand on the cupboard, Addie watched. “Square biscuits?”
“More efficient. Less waste.”
She considered his reason. “Fine. I concede you might have a point.”
The biscuits fit on a baking sheet. “Concede?” He did his best to look stern. Mere inches separated them. He leaned closer so they were almost nose to nose. “You wish you’d thought of it first, don’t you?”
Her eyes widened, watching him without blinking. “Did your ma teach you that?”
“Who says anyone taught me? Maybe I reasoned it out on my own.”
“Did you?” Her gaze lowered to his nose, his chin, rose to his mouth, and paused there. She swallowed loudly and returned to staring into his eyes. “Did you?” The words whispered across his skin.
Did he what? What did she mean? All he could thinkof was how close she stood, how warm her breath, how he wanted to capture the strand of hair that hung past her cheek.
“Nash?”
His name breathed from her lips.
“The biscuits?” She tipped her head to the cupboard.
Yes, they were talking about biscuits. About why he cut them in squares. And who had taught him to do so. He’d teased her that he didn’t need anyone to give him the idea.
“I might have thought of it on my own, but one of the chuckwagon cooks working for Gib did it.”
“There you go. Was that so hard?”
Hard to confess? No. Hard to keep his mind on the subject? Yes. In fact—“I better get these baking.”
She stepped aside to allow him to open the oven door.
He slid them in, closed the door, and then remained there for no other reason than Addie had to be at his side in order to stir the stew.
A scraping sound outside drew his attention. The doorknob rattled, and Hawk stepped in. His boots showed the signs of having been very muddy before he’d done his best to clean them, which explained the scraping sound. He hung the slicker on a peg. Muddy water puddled on the floor. Rubbing his hands together, he faced them.
“Any chance there’d be some hot coffee?”
