“Sounds like you’ve both done stepped in a fresh shit pile.” Gladys laughed. “But it will be good for you.”

“One of those things that makes you stronger if it don’t kill you?” Jill asked.

“Something like that. Now get some sleep. Y’all meet me at the barn at eight tomorrow, and I’ll show you how I want the feeding chores done.”

“Yes, ma’am. Good night, Aunt Gladys. And thanks for the job.”

“Honey, it’s only a job until I’m dead, then Fiddle Creek is yours. Good night and good-bye. See you kids in the morning.”

Jill said good-bye and poked the “end” button, but it was a while before she went to sleep.

* * *

Sawyer awoke with a start, sun warming his face through a dingy window and the smell of coffee filling the bunkhouse. He sat straight up and inhaled deeply. It took a few seconds to get his bearings. He hadn’t slept past daybreak in years, much less until seven o’clock, but then he hadn’t gone to bed until three that morning. He fell back onto the pillows, pulled the clean flannel sheets and down comforter up to his neck, and listened to the sounds of a lonesome old coyote howling somewhere outside.

The aroma of coffee drifted under the door. Evidently, Jill was already up and around, which meant she’d gotten into his stash, since that was the only thing in the kitchen. There wasn’t even a stray ice cube in the refrigerator freezer, much less a quart of milk and stale doughnuts. That also meant she’d used his coffeepot.

He sat up, slung his legs over the side of the bed, and his feet hit the cold tile floor all in one motion. He might tolerate someone dipping into his stash of dark-roast coffee, but nobody messed with his pot. Not even if she was cuter than a bug’s ear, with that faint sprinkling of freckles across her nose.

He made a mad dash for the top drawer of the dresser and yanked out a pair of warm socks first and pulled them on as he tried to keep from putting his entire foot on the floor. The room was so cold that ice had formed on the inside of the window. He glanced up at the ceiling to make sure the vents were on, but there were no vents. Evidently, the only heat in the place came from that wood-burning stove in the living area, and the fire he’d built when he arrived the evening before had gone cold. He’d have to remember to leave his door cracked from now on, which meant no more nights of sleeping in the raw.

He jerked on a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved, oatmeal-colored thermal shirt, and stomped his feet down into boots. He shivered as he shaved, brushed his teeth, and ran a comb through his thick black hair. He needed a haircut, but it could wait another week.

Warm air rushed into the cold room when he opened the door. A burning fire crackled in the cast-iron stove. On top, a chipped blue granite pot gurgling away as it boiled coffee. Sawyer hadn’t had a cup of campfire coffee in ages, and it sure smelled good.

He rounded a corner into the kitchen area, and there was Jill coming right at him, head down, with an empty coffee mug in her hand. He checked the cup out carefully. It wasn’t dark brown with writing on it, so she hadn’t stolen his cup as well as his coffee.

She looked up a split second before stopping so quick that her boots made a high-pitched squeak on the tile floor. “Don’t sneak up on me like that,” she said breathlessly.

“I didn’t, and who gave you permission to use my coffee?” he asked.

“Hey, you woke up to a warm living room and coffee. Quit your bitchin’, and I might share. I woke up to a cold house because a tall, dark—” She stopped shy of saying handsome. She faked a cough and went on. “A cowboy didn’t bank the fire, and there’s not a single thing to eat. I’m grouchy when I’m hungry, and I bite before I have my morning coffee. So stand aside and let me pour a cup. And from this standpoint, Sawyer O’Donnell, you don’t look like you wake up in a good mood either, so pour a cup and let’s talk.”

“It’s my coffee, so you don’t have any say-so about sharing it,” he said.

“It’s my pot, so don’t argue with me. Didn’t you hear that part about biting? I haven’t had rabies shots, either,” she shot back over her shoulder, her green eyes dancing with mischievousness. “Much more of your whining, and you can brew a cup in your sissy pot and leave my real stuff alone.”

Sawyer poured a cup, tasted it, and nodded. “Delicious, madam barista.”

“Don’t give me a fancy name. I can’t even run that prissy pot you’ve got sitting on the cabinet. If it’s more complicated than putting coffee in one place and water in another, I’m lost,” she admitted.

She bent over to set her blue granite cup on the stove, and the way she filled out the butt of those jeans made his mouth drier than the damn Mojave Desert. She straightened up and dragged the second wooden rocker across the floor to the other side of the stove, sat down, and reached for the metal cup.

“Ouch!” she said, quickly wrapping the handle in her shirttail.

“Got a little warm, did it?”

“Oh, yeah!” Her smile was bright and honest. “Aunt Gladys left me a voice message. She’s got the feeding chores done, and we’re supposed to meet her at the bar. I vote that we go to the bar early and have breakfast there. There’s always bacon and eggs in the refrigerator and bread for toast on the shelf. Then we’ll stop by the store and get a week’s worth of supplies after we talk to the aunts,” she said.

“Sounds like a plan to me, but I thought Polly only fired the grill up for dinner and supper,” Sawyer said.

“You said you could cook, cowboy. If I’m stealing the food, surely to God you can make breakfast for both of us.” That sparkle was back in her eye that said she liked to banter.

* * *

The mug cooled enough that she could handle it, and the hot liquid warmed her insides while the old woodstove took care of the outside. She stole glances at Sawyer with his long legs stretched out, black hair falling down on his forehead, and sleep leaving his big brown eyes. It should be a sin for a man to have lashes that long and a smile so damn bright that it could put the summer sun to shame.

Never before had she been attracted to the tall, dark, handsome man. She’d always gone for the blond-haired, blue-eyed guys. Being a cowboy had always been a plus, but it had never been a necessity. But it would be just downright wrong to start up anything with Sawyer. They had to live in the same house and work together. Friends might work…but that was as far as it could go.

“Aunt Gladys will fire your lazy ass if you sleep until seven every morning,” she said.

Sawyer drew down his eyebrows and tucked his chin to his chest. “For your information, come Monday morning I’ll be out there with the cows at five o’clock. That means I’ll be up at four to make my breakfast.”

“I know ranchin’, Sawyer. I’ve been doin’ it my whole life. One set of my grandparents had a little spread down near Brownsville. That would be my mama’s folks, but Daddy’s lived close by on the outskirts of town. Mama remarried after Daddy died, and we moved to Kentucky, but I got to spend summers and holidays in the area until they passed on a couple of years ago.”

“Your dad’s folks been gone long?”

“They both died within a year of each other when I was in high school.”

“And then?” he asked.

“I completed a bachelor’s degree in business agriculture, and I went to work full-time on a ranch. Now I’m here.”

“You ready to go raid the bar’s refrigerator?” Sawyer asked.

“Oh, yeah, I am.”

“Are we going to have to add breaking and entering to a felony conviction of stealing bacon and eggs?”

She frowned. “Well, dammit! I hadn’t thought of getting inside. Aunt Polly has always been there. We may have to eat peanut butter sandwiches after all. The store should be open now, though, so we can get some food there, I guess.”

“I don’t like peanut butter.”