My hand slid lightly along the wall, using it as a guide in this dark unfamiliar house when my foot landed on a creaky floorboard. I froze, holding my breath, afraid I’d woken Norah. But the house stayed silent.
I pressed on and soon stepped into what had to be the living room. The curtainless windows let in just enough moonlight for me to navigate the room without bumping into furniture. From there, I moved through a spacious dining area and finallyreached the kitchen. Crossing the wide-plank floor, I flipped on the light above the sink.
The soft glow revealed a charming space of cream-colored cabinets set against a backdrop of rustic stone in warm, earthy tones—giving the room a cozy vibe that had me feeling weirdly on-edge. Like I was rudely disturbing a peace that didn’t belong to me, which was silly because it wasn’t like I was trespassing or anything. Norah invited me.
Shaking my head, I pushed the uncomfortable feeling aside, quietly cleared my throat, and began opening cabinets in search of a glass.
“Aha! There you are,” I whispered triumphantly when I’d finally opened the right door. Standing on my tiptoes, I reached for the glass.
The main kitchen light flicked on overhead, and I gasped.
“What the hell are you doing?”
The deep male voice hit me like a jolt of electricity. I yelped, whipped around, and fumbled with the glass before dropping it to the floor. It shattered at my feet, scattering into a thousand shards and catching the overhead light like sparks. Frozen, heart thudding, I stared at the arrogant cowboy from the diner who was now lowering a baseball bat to his side.
Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.
“You?” we both said at the same time, our voices laced with disbelief—and disgust.
Silence followed. Not the awkward kind, but the kind that came with eye daggers and too many unsaid words.
“I’ll ask again,” he said, taking a step into the room. “What the hell are you doing?”
“What amIdoing?” I snapped, clutching my chest. “What areyoudoing? Jesus, you scared the crap out of me!”
“Don’t try to flip this,princess,” he said, folding his arms across his bare chest like he had every right to look that good at three in the morning.
I tried to ignore the fact that he was only wearing navy pajama pants and failed. My heart was still pounding, though I wasn’t sure anymore if it was from the scare or from the sight of his ridiculous abs.
“I was just trying to get a glass of water, not rob the place,cowboy,” I said, forcing myself to look at his face instead of…everywhere else.
He arched a brow. “So you just break into people’s houses in your underwear and steal water?”
My face burned. I hadn’t realized my nightshirt had ridden up over my cotton panties. Tugging my shirt down with one hand, I straightened up. “Yourhouse? I thought this was Norah’s.” Confusion swam through my mind. What the heck was going on here?
He smirked like he’d just caught me red-handed. “It is. And Norah happens to be my sister. Which makes this—” he gestured around the kitchen “—my house, too.”
Before I could respond with something brilliant and scathing, the sound of fast footsteps pounded down the hall.
A second later, Norah’s brother from the bar burst into the kitchen, wielding a handgun.
I screamed again and instinctively backed away, almost stepping on shattered glass in the process. He took one look around, saw no danger, and lowered the gun with a relieved sigh. Then his eyes landed on me, and he gave a quick, sheepish grin as he raked a hand through his messy sun-bleached hair.
The cowboy turned to him, unimpressed. “Why the hell do you have a gun?”
Luke blinked like the answer was obvious. “I heard a woman scream. What did you expect me to do?”
Before either of them could say more, two more sets of footsteps echoed down the hallway. Norah appeared next—half-asleep and clearly horrified—and right behind her, a blonde woman in pajamas carrying a freaking rifle.
“For the love of God, don’t shoot!” I begged, holding my hands up like that might somehow protect me.
“Put the rifle down, Mom,” Luke said, nudging the barrel toward the floor.
The woman—obviously their mom but youthful-looking enough to pass as their older sister—lowered the gun but gave me a look like she was one suspicious eyebrow twitch away from using it anyway. “Would one of you boys like to explain why there’s a half-naked stranger standing in my kitchen at three in the morning?”
I tugged at my shirt again.
“She’s not a stranger,” Luke said quickly. “This is Andi. She’s the new waitress at the Rusty Spur.”
