Shotgun Vows Read Free Page A

think of a more boring or lonely way to make a living. In fact, she might even feel sorry for him—if he was anyone but Dawson Prescott.
    She glanced one last time in the mirror, and sighed as she noticed the blond wisps of hair that curled around her face. No matter how hard she tried, her hair had a mind of its own. So she’d quit trying to make it do anything other than braid. Was it her imagination, or did her eyes look a deeper gray than usual? Must be the anticipation of that poker game, she thought.
    Mattie made her way to the kitchen. The floor of the large room was tiled with Mexican pavers. A distressed-wood table with eight ladder-back chairs stood in a cozy nook at one end of the room. At the other end was a center island work area, a counter cooktop set into the cream-colored tiles, and a built-in oven. Not to mention the largest side-by-side refrigerator she had ever seen.
    That was where she now saw Dawson, half bent at the waist as he scoped out the contents. She noticed that his gray slacks pulled tight across his legs, revealing muscular thighs. She wondered how he managed to produce all those muscles while poring over numbers all day.
    â€œSee anything good?” she asked.
    â€œLily and Ryan said to make myself at home,” he answered, as he continued to study the interior.
    Then he looked at her, and she thought his gaze lowered to just about her knees. No doubt he was trying to think of something to say to cut her off just about there. She resolved not to rise to any bait hemight set out. She would be the lady her mother always scolded her into trying to be.
    She pointed to the open door. “I think pot roast and mashed potatoes were on tonight’s menu. If you’ll allow me?”
    He backed away with an outstretched palm. “Be my guest.”
    â€œActually, I believe you’re my guest.”
    â€œLook, Matilda—”
    She held her hand up, palm out. “Stop right there, buster.” She tried to add a teasing note to her voice. “My aunt expects us to keep each other company for this meal. That implies making conversation. To do that you need to get my attention. Especially if I have my back turned. I’ll answer to ‘Hey, you,’ or ‘Yo, babe.’ You can even grunt if you’d like. But I despise being called Matilda. I let my family get away with it sometimes. But never ever, under any circumstances, call me that. Mattie is fine. Tildie will do. But if you call me Matilda, life as you now know it will cease to exist.”
    â€œTilde?” He stepped back so that she could pull the leftovers from the refrigerator. “That funny little sideways squiggle used in words to indicate nasality? Or in logic and mathematics to show negation?”
    She was pulling two leftover dishes out, but stopped to shoot him an impatient glance. “I thought you had more to do at work.”
    â€œHow’s that?”
    â€œYou must have a lot of time on your hands if you can remember such useless, insignificant information. How do you do it?”
    â€œIt’s a gift,” he said with a shrug. “But I could askyou the same thing. How do you do it? Training horses is a lot of work.”
    She thought about that as she took two plates and put meat, potatoes, gravy and string beans on them, then put them in the microwave to warm. Then she turned to look at him. “I can’t explain it. I just love animals—especially horses. I study their body language and mentally file away their disposition and character. They have traits, you know. Just like people.”
    â€œSo you sort of do what I do. Tuck information away in your head. Some of it useless, some of it not,” he said.
    Damn the man. He had her there. Aunt Lily was right. Pride did indeed go before a fall. Her mother was right. She should behave like a lady and be gracious. She would eat a lot less crow that way.
    â€œI guess you’re right,” she said as