Down Home Cowboy. Maisey YatesЧитать онлайн книгу.

       CHAPTER SIX

      WHEN CAIN CAME back in from his evening chores, the house smelled amazing, and the sound of clattering dishes was filtering out of the kitchen. He wondered if Lane was here cooking something for dinner. That was his favorite part of his brother having a girlfriend. The fact that she fed all of them, and happily. In fact, she saw to it like it was a mission.

      Lane owned the Mercantile in town, and specialty foods were her passion. That meant that she simply wouldn’t let any of them go unfed on her watch, or fed on cruddy, frozen meals.

      It suited him just fine. Though Finn’s disgusting happiness and constant look of satisfaction got a little bit old. But there was food.

      He made his way into the kitchen, and stopped, feeling like he had been slugged in the stomach.

      Because there she was, red hair piled on top of her head, bent over in front of the oven, showing off an ass that was even more perfect than he had imagined it might be. He knew it was Alison. There was no one else it could be. Nobody else affected him like this. Wasn’t that a joke?

      “What’s going on?”

      Both Violet and Alison jumped. “Baking practice,” Violet responded, lifting a red spatula.

      “Okay,” he said, but it wasn’t okay at all. Because temptation had walked right into his house, and he was doing his very best to stay away from temptation.

      “I thought... I thought you knew,” Alison said.

      “No,” he returned.

      “Sorry,” Violet said, looking more angry than sorry. “I said that Alison was bringing me home. I didn’t think you needed details. I figured I wouldn’t see you at all.”

      What struck him was the way that his daughter’s body language had changed since realizing he was there. When he had walked in she had looked happy, at least the small blips he had gotten of her before his gaze had fixated on Alison’s butt. And now she was back to looking angry. Angry and tense.

      So, it was just him, then.

      “The cake is almost done,” Alison said. “Do you want to do the honors, Violet?”

      Violet gave him a wary look. “I guess.”

      “It’s okay that I’m here, right?” Alison asked him.

      That woman. She had no problem coming at him from the front. Of course, not exactly the way that he fantasized about her coming at him from the front. He’d like to come at her from behind. He tried to ignore the kick of heat that pooled in his gut at that thought.

      “Of course,” he said. “Have you had dinner?”

      He didn’t know why he was testing this line. Or maybe he did. Because she was here. She was here in his house. Baiting him with her perfect ass. And if she was going to do that, then he was going to push right back.

      “No,” she said. “But that’s fine.”

      “What’s fine?”

      “You don’t need to feed me.”

      He crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame. “I didn’t offer to.”

      “Dad,” Violet said, jerking him out of the interaction, and out of the haze that had descended upon him. “What’s your problem?”

      “Nothing. But I do think that Alison should stay for dinner. And then we can enjoy the cake afterward. I was just giving her a hard time.”

      “Whatever. You’re weird. Can I...” She shot a sideways glance at Alison. “I just want to talk to my friends until dinner.”

      “You’re not on the clock,” Alison pointed out. “But thanks for asking.”

      “Well, I didn’t want to deprive you of my company,” Violet added.

      “Go talk to your friends,” Cain said. “We’d hate for them to experience Violet deprivation.”

      Violet walked out of the kitchen, pulling her phone out of her pocket as she moved away from them to head up the stairs.

      His stomach tightened, a strange sense of anticipation stealing over him. Oh, yes, he remembered this. Very vaguely. That crackle of possibility that sizzled over your skin when you were near somebody that you wanted. When you wondered if you were going to have them.

      It had been a long time. But he still remembered that.

      And he wondered where all his common sense was. That common sense that told him he needed to steer clear of a woman who was so involved in his daughter’s life.

      But then, flirting wasn’t sex.

      It had just been so long since a woman had looked at him like that. With color in her cheeks. Since he had felt this kind of excitement. Since he had wanted.

      “I hope she’s better for you than she is for me,” he said, not really meaning to lead with mention of his daughter. But then, he supposed that was a pretty fitting metaphor for his life. Violet came first. No matter what. Even when he would rather just be a man, just talk to a beautiful woman, he couldn’t really. Because he was a father. First and foremost.

      His ex-wife might have forgotten that. But he hadn’t. He never would.

      “She’s fine, honestly. I don’t know what’s going on between the two of you, but with me she’s fine.”

      “Normal teenage stuff, I guess.” he said, making his way over to the fridge and opening the freezer. There were several meals that had been premade by Lane there, ready for them to heat up when necessary. “Did you like your parents when you were a teenager?”

      “No,” she said. “Not even a little bit. But I don’t like them very much now either.”

      “That...isn’t encouraging.”

      “Do you have a better relationship than that with your parents?”

      He laughed. “Hell no.”

      “Right. Well, then.”

      “Do you have a food preference?” he asked. “It looks like there’s pasta, pot roast and...meat loaf? All made by Lane Jensen.”

      “Then all of it will be good,” Alison said. “Lane is one of my best friends, so I’ve eaten most of her food.”

      “Right,” he said, “I know that she’s a good friend of yours. She talks about you a lot. And she kind of helped Violet get the job at your bakery, right?”

      “Oh,” Alison said, leaning against the island in the kitchen, tucking a stray curl behind her year. “Right. What else has she... She talks about me?”

      She looked concerned by that. Which seemed strange to him. “She hasn’t told me anything.”

      “Okay. Good to know.”

      “I’m voting for pasta,” he said lightly, taking a metal pan out of the freezer. “I had a long workday.”

      “Have you always been a rancher?” she asked. “I mean, Lane did tell me a little bit about you. Or, I mean about Violet. But I applied some of it to you.”

      “Right. Well, then you know we just moved here from Texas. And yes, I have always been a rancher. I sold the spread back in Dallas. That was beef, this is different. But I like different. Violet not so much.”

      “Well, you know what they say. You can please some of the people some of the time... But you can’t please teenagers ever.”

      He laughed, making his way over to the oven and sticking the pan of pasta inside. “True. Very true.”

      “Really