Page 47 of 11 Cowboys

Jaxon swipes at his shirt, and so slowly, I almost don’t register it, flicks a small pinch of flour back at me.

It hits my cheek.

My jaw drops. “Did you—?”

He almost smiles. Almost.

I grab a handful of flour, and he takes a half-step back. Lennon lifts a spoon. “If you throw that, I swear to God, Grace—

“What, Lennon. Will you take me over your knee?”

His eyes flash, but when he wets his lips, I can’t tell if he’s mad as hell or as aroused as I am.

He inhales, broadening his already wide chest. “You’ll be doing inventory for a month.”

I drop it and grin. “Buzzkill.” Then I raise my eyebrows. “Anyway, I’m not staying that long.”

His mouth returns to its serious line, but there’s a definite flicker of amusement at the corners.

Jaxon brushes past me to grab the mixing bowl, but this time, he moves close enough that I feel the heat of his body.

We finish cooking in a rhythm that doesn’t feel awkward anymore. Jaxon swipes a roll. I swat his hand. He does it again to see if I’ll smack him harder. By the time the others come stomping in, smelling like horses, sweat, and laughter, the tension has morphed into warmth and companionship.

Lennon declares the food acceptable, then corrals the kids and rounds up plates. I hang back for a second, leaning against the counter, trying to catch my breath.

Jaxon leans his tall frame against the opposite counter, arms crossed, head tilted as he studies me. The hard lines of his jaw soften in the warm light, and for once, he doesn’t look away when I stare straight at him.

“Not bad,” he says finally.

My brow arches. “The food?”

He gives a small shrug. “All of it.”

His eyes hold mine a beat too long, and I swallow hard, my pulse kicking up, and I smooth my hand over my mouth to wipe away the smile that’s ready to break. “We make a decent team.”

Jaxon’s lips curve as something thoughtful flickers behind his guarded expression. “Maybe.”

I don’t know what to say to that. The air between us stretches again, heavy with all the things we’re not saying.

“Let’s eat.” I push off the counter and brush past Jaxon. He doesn’t stop me, but I feel the weight of his gaze trailing me as I go.

Beau’s nails click softly across the floor as he follows at my heels, my loyal shadow.

I take one last glance back. Jaxon is still leaning there, still watching, his thoughts an utter mystery. I shake my head and smile to myself as I join the chaos.

I should know better. I should want to leave before it gets any messier, but if I’m being honest with myself, the craziness of this home is growing on me, and these men are so intriguing that the prospect of walking away before discovering more of their hidden depths isn’t an option. I’ve had most of my life to practice holding people at arm’s length and only sharing the parts of me I’m willing to let them touch. I can handle a couple more days of cowboy temptation.

***

The house has finally quietened. The only sounds are the occasional creak of old wood, a soft snore from somewhere down the hall, and the steady hum of the ceiling fan overhead.

I sit cross-legged on the window seat in my room, laptop warm against my thighs, with Beau curled up like a giant cinnamon roll at my feet. I run my fingers absently through his fur as the cursor blinks on the blank document.

I type and delete the title three times before settling on something half-joking, half-true:

“Eleven Cowboys. One Woman. What Could Possibly Go Right?”

I stare at the words for a long moment, considering alternatives. Then I start to type.