Page 6 of Ryder (Heart River Valley: Montana Protectors #3)

Ryder

“That’s not how you measure flour.

I freeze, cup of flour hovering over the bowl. “There’s a wrong way to measure flour?” Dana makes a sound somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “You have to spoon it into the cup, then level it off. Not just… scoop.”

“That seems unnecessarily complicated.” But I can’t help grinning at her exasperated expression. She’s got a smudge of cocoa powder on her nose that’s doing dangerous things to my heart.

“Baking is science,” she says primly, taking the measuring cup from my hands. Our fingers brush, and electricity zings up my arm. “Precise measurements matter.”

“If you say so, sugar.” I lean against the counter, watching her demonstrate the apparently vital art of proper flour measuring. “Though I notice you don’t measure your cinnamon rolls that precisely.”

Her cheeks go pink. “That’s different. That’s… intuitive.”

“Intuitive, huh?” I step closer, drawn by the way she’s flustered. “Like how you intuitively know exactly when I’m going to stop by the bakery?”

“I don’t—” She spins to face me and nearly collides with my chest. “That’s not… I just… you have a routine!”

“Do I?” Another step. She backs into the counter, flour puffing up between us. “Or do you just like having fresh cinnamon rolls ready when I come in?” Her eyes narrow. “You’re trying to distract me from your terrible flour-measuring technique.”

“Is it working?”

Instead of answering, she grabs a handful of flour and tosses it at my face.

The shock of it makes me stumble back, sputtering. When I can see again, Dana’s doubled over laughing, her dark hair dusted white.

“Oh, sugar.” I reach for the flour bag. “That was a mistake.”

Her eyes go wide. “Don’t you dare—”

But I’m already moving. She shrieks and ducks, but not before I get her with a solid handful of flour. She retaliates by grabbing the cocoa powder.

Five minutes later, we’re standing in the disaster zone that used to be my kitchen, both of us breathing hard and covered in what looks like enough baking supplies to stock a small store.

“Your hair is gray,” Dana giggles, reaching up to brush flour from my face. The gentle touch of her fingers makes me forget how to breathe.

“Yeah? Well, you look like you got in a fight with a chocolate factory and lost.” I catch a streak of cocoa powder on her cheek with my thumb. She goes still under my touch.

The kitchen suddenly feels very small and very warm.

“We should…” Her voice comes out husky. “We should clean this up.”

“Probably.” But I don’t move my hand from her face. Can’t, when she’s looking up at me like that, all flour-dusted and beautiful.

“Ryder?” Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, and my brain short-circuits.

“Yeah, sugar?”

“You’ve got…” She reaches up slowly, brushes something from my bottom lip. The touch sends sparks shooting through my whole body. “Cocoa powder.”

The air crackles between us. She’s so close I can smell vanilla on her skin, can see the gold flecks in her hazel eyes. If I just lean down a little…

A timer dings, making us both jump.

“The cookies!” Dana ducks under my arm, leaving me standing there like an idiot with my heart pounding.

I watch her rescue the cookies from the oven, trying to get my pulse under control. She moves around my kitchen like she belongs there, all graceful efficiency even covered in flour and chocolate.

“These actually survived,” she says, carefully transferring perfect chocolate chip cookies to a cooling rack. “Though I’m not sure the same can be said for your kitchen.”

I look around at the chaos. Flour coats every surface, cocoa powder drifts in the air, and there are suspicious handprints all over my cabinets. The floor looks like a battlefield where baking supplies went to die.

“Could be worse,” I say, fighting a grin. “Remember the Great Meringue Disaster?”

She points her spatula at me accusingly. “That was your fault! You can’t just… just stand there looking all…” She gestures vaguely at me with the spatula.

“All what?” I step closer, enjoying the way her cheeks flush pink.

“All… distracting! While I’m trying to work!”

“Distracting, huh?” Another step. Her back hits the counter again, but this time there’s no flour to throw. “Is that why you always have fresh cinnamon rolls ready when I come in?”

“That’s…” She swallows hard. “That’s just good customer service.”

“Really?” I brace one hand on the counter beside her hip. “What about the vanilla beans?”

Her eyes go wide. “You…”

I touch her flour-dusted chin with my free hand. “I’m the one who got them. Asked Rachel to give them to you because I was too much of a coward to do it myself.”

“Oh.” The sound is soft, surprised. Happy? “Why?”

“Because you mentioned wanting them. Because your whole face lights up when you talk about baking. Because I—”

A knock at the door makes us spring apart like guilty teenagers.

“Ryder?” Jake’s voice calls out. “You in there? We’ve got a situation with the north fence.”

I’m going to kill him. Slowly. With his own fence posts.

“Be right there,” I call back, not taking my eyes off Dana. She’s still pressed against the counter, looking deliciously rumpled and flustered.

“You should…” She gestures at the door. “The fence.”

“Yeah.” But I don’t move. Can’t, when she’s looking at me like that. “Dana…”

“Go.” She smiles, soft and sweet. “We can clean this up later.”

Later. The word holds promise.

“Save me a cookie?” I back toward the door, memorizing how she looks all flour-dusted and beautiful in my kitchen.

“Always do, don’t I?”

As I head out to deal with whatever fence crisis Jake’s manufactured while he rolls his eyes at my appearance, I can still feel the ghost of her fingers on my face. Still see that soft smile. Still taste the possibility of later on my tongue.