Page 35 of Rocky Mountain Devil

“Your sister has the constitution of a bull elephant. She’ll be fine.” Her mom bustled around, popping vegetables into bowls and adding seasonings. “Or at least that’s what I keep telling her. She’s not allowed to miss choir. She has a solo.”

“It’s just choir, Mom. The congregation will sing louder.” She couldn’t resist. “Or, I bet Mrs. Pfeiffer would jump at the chance to fill in.”

Her mother didn’t swear, but she certainly made a rude noise under her breath. “We’ll have to send up lots of prayers so that doesn’t happen.” She swung instantly toward Laurel and shook a finger. “Don’t you repeat that in public.”

Laurel snickered.

Her mom gave her a mock dirty look before pointing at the pot. “Aren’t you supposed to stir when you’re making gravy?”

She bit down her amusement and turned back to the stove. “Yes, ma’am.”

Masculine voices floated in the background, too low to be clearly heard, but so far everything seemed to be going okay. Laurel eyed the clock and estimated how long it would be before she and Rafe could escape.

Her mom was in full kitchen-commando mode. “David,” she called. “I need you. Come carve the roast.”

“On my way.” Her father’s answer came instantly, the familiar rumbling tone rolling through the house like an echo, comforting and right.

“Jeff.” Her mother waited until he rounded the corner. “I need your help as well. Will you mash the potatoes for me, please?”

That request wasn’t nearly as comforting and welcoming.

“Love to.”

The room was about to get a whole lot more crowded. With her hands occupied, Laurel was stuck standing over the stove and whisking rapidly as she poured hot drippings into the pot.

Jeff brushed past her as he entered the small kitchen. His reflection was mirrored in the kitchen window as he rolled up his shirtsleeves to reveal strong forearms. His dark hair perfectly in place except for that one spot that always stuck up a little, making him look more human.

The man was attractive, she’d admit it, but it was the sight of Rafe beyond Jeff that set her body tingling and her heart pounding.

He leaned on the doorframe as he took in the domestic activity. From top to bottom he was one fine sight, long legs covered by crisp new jeans, his thigh muscles challenging the fabric. His dark-blond hair was long enough to curl at his neckline, and she was tempted to reach over to slip her fingers through it. He’d put on a dressy shirt, no tie, and the material stretched over broad shoulders, firm muscles pressing the fabric as he folded his arms over his broad chest.

Yup, she was staring, but the view was too good to ignore.

His eyes sparkled at her, and he winked before easing to vertical and approaching her mom.

“You’d better put me to work too, or I’ll feel left out. What can I do?” he asked.

“There’s silverware to be laid on the table,” her mom suggested, pressing the utensils into his hands then turning and pushing him into the dining room. “Napkins are in the top left drawer—”

“—beside the placemats. I remember.” He was nothing but polite, but Laurel knew he was holding back from making a comment about how often he’d had dinner at this very table.

Jeff had moved to her immediate left, smiling down as she swirled the whisk through the gravy.

“That smells great,” he offered, applying the potato masher to the pot without looking at what he was doing. He was examining her instead, eyes tracing over her in admiration, the way she’d imagined before Rafe had picked her up.

Only it didn’t seem to be the expression of a man who was counting his losses. It was someone strategizing to make a move.

Which—No. Way.

“My mom did everything. I’m just the unpaid labour,” she offered.

“Me too,” he whispered conspiratorially, leaning closer. “Am I supposed to add anything? I’m only the manpower, literally.”

Laurel got busy as if something vital was happening in the pot in front of her. How was it possible to take this long for gravy to set? “Oh, you’ll have to ask my mom. I’m not sure what she’s got planned.”

“Laurel. You know we love your mashed potatoes. What is it that you always add?” Suddenly her mom stood behind her, reaching around to steal the whisk from her unwilling fingers. “Here, let me take over. You work with Jeff to get those potatoes ready.”

Good grief, if Laurel didn’t know better she’d suspect that—