I debate whether I want to shake his hand or not. There's nothing overtly threatening about him, just a vibe that he's not here for altruistic purposes. Shaking his hand will only encourage him, and that's the last thing I need. Walker already thinks I'm a distraction and a problem. I do not want to give him a single reason to believe he's right.
I quickly decide I'm not shaking his hand, and I'm not letting him stay, either. But I don't get a chance to send him on his merry way before the devil himself strolls into my kitchen.
Great. Just freaking great.
Walker takes one look at the cowboy standing in front of me, and his expression turns downright arctic. "Jackson," he growls. "What the fuck are you doing in here?"
Toby slowly turns to look at Walker. "Oh, hey, Jessup." He shoots him a lazy grin. "Just came to see if Letty could use some help cleaning up."
"Right," Walker says, his tone flat. "And how many times were you in here, asking Abel that question when he was cooking for you?"
"Uh…" Toby's confident expression slips.
"Get the fuck out of her kitchen," Walker growls, drawing himself to his full height. "And don't let me catch you in here again."
"Yes, sir." Toby shoots me a look that's part determination and part frustrated pride, making my heart sink. He'll be back again.
Great. Just great.
Walker doesn't move out of his way, forcing him to squeeze past.
"I could have handled him," I mutter as soon as I'm sure he's out of earshot.
I expect another reminder that I'm just a distraction or something equally as infuriating. Instead, Walker just shrugs. "Yeah, I know. Now, you don't have to handle him." He cocks his head to the side, eyeing me. "You need help?"
I blink at him. "You're offering to do dishes?"
"I work on a ranch, Sunshine. You think I don't know how to get my hands dirty?"
"No, I just…"
"The sooner you're done, the sooner I can go to bed."
I swear, as soon as I start to think maybe he's human, he opens his mouth again and reminds me that he's the biggest jerk on the planet. I scowl at him before turning back to the sink.
He watches me for several long moments before I hear him moving around behind me. I don't turn around to see what he's doing, but I think he's washing down the counters. At least, that's what it sounds like.
"Dinner was delicious tonight," he mutters a few minutes later.
I actually turn to look at him this time. "What?"
"Dinner was delicious."
Oh, he is such a liar!
"Good to know," I say, my tone flat. If he's trying to coax me into confessing what I did, hell will freeze over first. I'm already mad that he annoyed me into doing it in the first place. I ruined perfectly good food just to spite him. That's a sin in my book.
"Where'd you learn to cook?"
"By living."
"I'm serious, Letty. Where'd you learn?"
"I went to culinary school for two semesters," I say begrudgingly.
"Didn't graduate?"
"Couldn't continue." I attack a cookie sheet with a sponge. "My dad got sick and needed someone to care for him. I was the only Alvarez left to do the job."
