Her Dearly Unintended Read Free Page A

equilibrium. “Have you been spying on me, Katie Ellen?”
    Guilty memories pricked her conscience. Angry at herself, she threw the door open, forgetting his naked threat, but his shirt and trousers were still in place.
    â€œYou can go down the bluff,” she said.
    â€œThat’s quite a walk back around to my place, and it’s long past dinnertime.”
    On cue, her stomach grumbled. Traitor. But she had no reason to send him away. None besides he’d hurt her feelings three years ago. Yes, sir . . . hurt feelings. It sounded better than a broken heart. Besides, she’d passed a fair number of evenings alone of late, and she had a whole pot of poke salad boiling. Way too much for one.
    â€œI suppose you did try to help with the cattle.” She’d probably regret inviting him in, but they were adults. Surely she could handle a simple dinner. If he got fresh, she’d toss him out on his backside before he knew what hit him. He stood at the doorway, already barefooted and waiting for word from her. With a confident nod she made her decision. “Wait right here.”
    She hustled through the house, as always her eyes searching for anything out of place, but as usual finding nothing. At the pine chest, she bent, lifted the lid, and grabbed out a stack of thin cheesecloth towels. How to get him to the kitchen without making an even bigger mess? Beneath the towels her sleeve pressed into her wrist and she was surprised to feel dampness there. She’d thought that she’d stayed dry. Well, considering the downpour, maybe that one spot was forgivable.
    When she returned, she found he’d disappeared. Frowning, Katie Ellen stuck her head out the door and looked both ways,but no sign of him. Then her eyes followed the trail of water across the main room to the kitchen. She forced her breath out her nose, dropped to her hands and knees, and mopped her way forward.
    â€œI was worried about coming in,” he said. “Didn’t know if you’d booby-trapped this place or not.”
    â€œMa doesn’t allow my inventions inside,” she huffed as she flipped the towel over to find a dry spot. “But what’s your worry? They never kept you out of my tree house.”
    â€œThey’re the selfsame reason I went to your tree house—to see what you’d concocted.” He scratched at his chest. “By the way, Isaved some of the boards from your bridge. Caught them hung up downriver.”
    She should thank him, but being irritated at him was much safer. “What are you doing in here?”
    â€œYour pot was boiling over.”
    So was her temper. Sopping up the last of the rainwater, she bustled to his side. “I don’t like sharing my kitchen.”
    â€œYou cooked for us when Ma was ailing.” He lifted the kettle with a hot pad and set it on the table.
    â€œNot on the tablecloth . . .” Visions of a scorched white cloth flashed before her eyes. She could use vinegar to get the mark out, but it’d never be same. She reached for the kettle, but he got it first.
    â€œWhen did you get so particular, Katie Ellen? You ain’t no fun at all anymore.”
    Her gut twisted. What he said was true, but she had her reasons.
    â€œI grew up. Now, give me that kettle. The greens need to be rinsed again.” She reached for the hot kettle, but he raised it over his head and out of her reach.
    â€œLet me help you.” His deep voice broke through her thoughts of ruined tablecloths, and his light touch on her shoulder felt like it would scorch her shirtsleeve instead. Brushing off his hand, she grabbed for the kettle.
    Except she forgot about the hot pad.
    Her hand knew she’d been burned before her brain figured it out. The kettle crashed to the floor, strewing dark green poke salad everywhere with splashes of it sticking to the calico covering that hung from the kitchen counter.
    Katie Ellen glared at him, her