Cash yelped, which sent Lark back into the fridge. The scraping of his chair against tile filled the room, and he jogged over to the island, leaned over, and grabbed the book. He slammed it closed, and with one palm resting on it, he looked at her.
“I don’t want you to see that. It’s for Thanksgiving.”
“What have you got in there?” she asked, the cold from the water bottle seeping into her hand, but the idea of taking a drink completely forgotten. She blinked at him, and he blinked back. A line appeared between his eyes as he frowned, and then he straightened and tucked the book under his arm.
“I just told you, I don’t want you to see it until Thanksgiving.” He glared at her out of the corner of his eye as he went around the island and opened the cupboard above the microwave. He stashed the binder there, and then faced her again. He folded hisarms and settled his weight on his back leg. “And what would you do if I told you I did cook?”
“I don’t know,” Lark said. “Ask you what’s for dinner?”
Cash stepped closer, his arms falling to his sides. Lark wanted to back up, but she’d frozen. Her mind went blank, and her extremities turned numb, and yet Cash came closer. He looked down, and Lark followed his gaze. His fingers came dangerously close to hers, and then he pulled them back, as if an invisible force field had repelled him.
He stood at least eight inches taller than her, and when he looked up, he only moved his eyes to meet hers. “What do you want for dinner, Lark?”
Oh, this man could not say her name, not like that. Or ask her what she wanted in that deep, cowboy drawl. Uh-uh. Nope. He couldn’t.
And yet, he had.
“At the risk of sounding arrogant, I can probably make whatever you want.” He nodded his chin slightly toward the fridge, and then back to her. “I might have to go to the grocery store, but I wouldn’t mind the trip.”
Lark swallowed, her throat so dry and her mouth feeling gross with the scent of sausage and broccoli. She couldn’t speak standing this close to Cash. He’d be repulsed, and then she’d never have a chance with him.
You don’t want a chance with him!she screamed at herself, but her mind and her heart didn’t seem to be in alignment, because Larkdefinitelywanted a chance with Cash. So many things tumbled through her thoughts, fromWhat will Jet think?toYou’ve already sworn off cowboys,toIt sure would be awesome to have some homemade chicken pot pie for dinner.
Cash’s fingers finally touched hers, breaking through that invisible barrier. Lark sucked in a breath, which echoed throughthe kitchen. Cash’s smile started to slowly spread across his face, as if he knew she’d laid awake at night thinking about him.
The hand holding the bottle of water ceased functioning, and her fingers lost their grip. The water bottle fell, first hitting the handle on the fridge door, which tipped it toward Cash. He had the reflexes of a bull rider, and he stepped back as the water arced through the air from the open top in one moment, and then hit the floor with a plasticky crash and water gushing everywhere in the next.
“Whoopsie,” Cash said, and she wondered where this man had come from. Tall, dark bull riders didn’t say “Whoopsie,” and they didn’t grab towels from where they hung neatly on the handle of the oven and bend down and start cleaning up the messshe’dmade. He retrieved the bottle and put it in the sink, and by the time he’d finished cleaning up, Lark’s mind had thawed.
“I wouldn’t say no to a chicken pot pie and a really big green salad,” she said, throwing down the challenge. “With ranch dressing andhomemadecroutons.”
Cash leaned against the sink and considered her, that strong mouth staying flat. Oh, how she watched it and couldn’t look away.
“All right,” he finally drawled. “I’m definitely going to have to go to town though, because we’ll need day-old bread for the croutons.” He raised his eyebrows, as if asking her to give him something hard to make. “And chicken pot pie also takes a while to bake.”
He turned away from her and moved over to the very end drawer next to the pantry. “I should head out now, what with the drive there and back.” He glanced at the clock. “Should be fine, though. It’s just about getting that crust nice, and golden, and brown.”
He pocketed his keys and reached for his cowboy hat, which he’d hung next to the door that led into the garage. He wore jeans and a dark gray t-shirt that seemed too small only through the bicep and across his shoulders and chest, but hung loosely everywhere else. The cowboy hat was black, of course, to match everything else about Cash.
“Any other specific requests while I’m in town?” he said. “Something for lunch tomorrow after church, perhaps?”
She found herself gaping at him once again, for she did not imagine the mighty Cash Young to be a church-goer. His eyes flicked to the cabinet above the microwave.
“I was going to practice a couple of things tomorrow after church. Maybe I should surprise you.”
“All right,” Lark said, and she really needed another bottle of water to ease the parched quality in her throat. She flicked her gaze to the cabinet above the microwave too, because he was delusional if he thought she couldn’t reach it.
“Now I see what’s happening.” He took the few steps and opened the cupboard door and retrieved the binder. “You really have no respect, do you?” He grinned as he said it, and then brushed by her as he added, “I just need to grab my jacket.”
He went down the hall toward the master bedroom, and it took Lark a moment to catch up to the situation. She flew into her room too and grabbed her hat and gloves. She made it back to the kitchen and living room before he did, and when he saw her standing there with her purse over her arm and her winter gear in her other hand, he stopped.
“What’s going on here?”
“I’m not letting you go to town by yourself,” she said. She took her balled up gloves out of her hat and pulled that down over her ears. She gathered her hair and pushed it back over her shoulders and nodded at him.
Cash’s smile only grew, and Lark wondered what he saw. “For all I know, you’ll just call The Branding Iron and order a chicken pot pie and thenpretendlike you made it.” She shook her head. “Nope, I’m going with you.”
With that, she spun on her heel and strode toward the garage, every cell in her body vibrating with pure excitement to be stuck in the cab of a truck with Cash for an hour—each way—as they drove from Dog Valley to the grocery store, and back.
