Honeybun at a Dude Ranch

CHAPTER TWO-2

FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, despite his repeated insistence that she didn’t need to fuss, Heathcliffe found himself in a comfortable chair in front of a roaring fire in the big, farmhouse style kitchen with a steaming cup of coffee in his hands.

He tasted the coffee and closed his eyes in delight. “Oh man, that’s good coffee.”

Nita cut a thick slice of freshly baked bread and settled it onto a plate, slathering it with butter. “I can’t take credit for the coffee I’m afraid. Peyton installed a really nice coffee center for the ranch. All I had to do was push some buttons.”

Her smile stirred feelings in Heathcliffe he didn’t want to examine too closely. He looked away, staring at the fire so she couldn’t work her wiles on him. “So you cook as well as direct activities?”

Her laugh was high and hearty, straight from her diaphragm. It wasn’t the least affected or delicate and, because it was so unique, it slid under Heathcliffe’s resistance, blasting it away. “Oh good lord, no. I can’t heat up baked beans without burning them. But I can bake.” She handed him the plate she’d been preparing. “I’m a darn good baker if I do say so myself.”

The rich yeasty scent spiraled toward Heathcliffe’s nose and he closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. “My mom bakes fresh bread too.” His eyes flew open in horror. He’d shared. He never shared personal information with women. Especially comparing them in any way to his mother.

What had he done?

Her bright green gaze widened slightly. “Are you going to taste it, or just sit there smelling it all day?”

Relief swept him. She wasn’t going to grab the personal information and run with it. Heathcliffe inhaled and his lungs unclenched. “Don’t rush me. Freshly baked bread is a feast for all the senses.”

She sat down in the upholstered chair across from him, leaning back and crossing slim legs encased in leggings. “You’re right, of course. But smelling doesn’t do a thing for the belly.”

Heathcliffe held the bread for a moment longer, drawing it out just to annoy her.

She drummed her fingers on the arms of the chair, her dark pink lips twisting with irritation.

Heathcliffe finally put her out of her misery and took a bite. The yeasty scent went right to the pleasure centers of his brain. He was so overwhelmed he couldn’t even moan. The still-warm bread was dense, chewy, and just the tiniest bit sweet. Despite its heartiness, the bread melted against his tongue, leaving behind a sweet, buttery aftertaste. “Oh. My. Gosh.”

She nodded and stood. “Now you’ve given my bread its due. I was starting to worry that you were a pastry Neanderthal. That would have been disappointing. With a name like Honeybun I had high hopes for you.”

Heathcliffe laughed. “A what? You’re kidding me right?”

She fixed her incredible gaze on him, her thick red lashes fluttering slightly and her wide mouth tightening around the smile she was trying to hold back. “I never kid about my baking. You’d do well to remember that, Mr. Honeybun.”

“I’ll do my best, Ms. Harley.”

“Good. Now that we understand each other. Would you like another slice?”

“Oh God, yes. Thank you.”

“Oh and...never compare me to your mother again.”

“Yeah. Sorry. My bad. I’ll call you firecracker instead.” He grinned.

She laughed. “I can live with that.”

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