Natalie started to correct her daughter and he held up a hand.
“It’s all right, Natalie.” He knelt in front of the toddler. “I like pastry. I hope you’ll save some for me for breakfast.”
Margie crossed the lawn to join them and tugged one of Lexie’s curls lightly. “Show him to his room, Natalie. I’ll keep working with Miss Molly and watch these two.”
“Thank you, Margie. That’s very generous of you.” A blush heated her cheeks. Margie continually went above and beyond what was required of her during these training sessions. When she wasn’t training dogs, Margie was part of a search-and-rescue team. A woman in her sixties, she had spent her whole life helping other people.
Margie waved a hand, a tough hand with a scar she’d gotten from a dog bite long ago. “Go on. I’ve got this under control.”
Natalie nodded, motioning for Max to follow her up the porch and into the B and B.
“I’ll show you to your room, Mr. S—um, Max.” Her tongue had tripped as she remembered he insisted that she call him Max. The lack of his last name made her feel unsettled, put them on a more familiar setting, as if they were old friends or something. As if the boundaries between them were already dissolving...
It was a dangerous thought, one she could not risk.
“Your dog is quite friendly—your daughter, too.” The smile in his voice felt genuine as she opened the door to the B and B, the immediate scent of cinnamon filling the
air.
She appreciated the homey scent, which grounded her. It was something to focus on aside from the strong male presence beside her.
“I apologize if she talked your ear off.” Lord knew, Lexie could talk for hours without much effort.
He paused in the threshold, eyes scanning the area, seeming to scrutinize and process what was before him. She followed his gaze, noting the quirks of this place that she had started to love. Like the wooden knob on the staircase that popped off occasionally. “This is a bed-and-breakfast. I expected the family-style approach.”
He clicked the door behind him, making the space seem smaller just by being there.
“I’m curious why you took me up on my offer. Surely you’re used to more upscale accommodations,” she said, moving through the hallway, her feet soft on the plush vermillion patterned carpet.
“Did you want me to say no?” He cast a sidelong glance at her.
She felt that curious stare even as she kept her eyes forward on where they were going. They passed the door to the bright white-and-yellow kitchen, the room she seemed to always be in. “I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t mean it.”
They turned the corner and climbed up the second staircase in the house. The stair corridor was lit by sconces on the walls. The bath of golden light always made her think of some grand Regency-era novel. The Cimarron Rose was not the size of an estate, but this particular passage in the house always felt stately, like it belonged as a backdrop for some other time period.
“Do you need the space for paying customers? I don’t want to take business away from you.” His offer echoed in the stairway, accompanied by his determined footfalls.
They reached the landing and she moved away from him, a fierceness entering her voice. “I have another open room if someone needs to check in.”
“I didn’t mean to sting your pride.” He sounded sincere. He paused again and looked at his surroundings, eyes fixating on a landscape portrait of a sunrise on the plains. Horses darted across the painting, free of all trappings of humanity. She’d bought that painting upon moving to Texas, feeling a kinship with the unbridled herd.
“You’re fine. You’re just being thoughtful, to me and the whole town. I want to do my part to say thank you and this is the only way I can contribute.”
He laughed, a rich sound like caramel. His hand touched her wrist, the scent of his spiced cologne dripping in the space between them. “Then I’ll gladly accept the room and the pastries, too.”
Her stomach did back flips as she arched an eyebrow his way. “How do you know they’re any good?”
“I did my research.”
“Don’t you let anything in life be a surprise?” She opened the door to his room. Late-afternoon sun streamed in through the old, warped glass window, casting shadows over the bed and threshold.
“Not if I can help it.” He took a step closer to her. The light from the room seemed to pierce through his T-shirt, showcase his well-maintained chest. He leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms, the muscles flexing.
The electric pulse of his smile sent her reeling. She watched the way his lips folded into a smile. A spark. No—ten thousand sparks danced in the air. “I need to get back downstairs.”
She took a step back, stumbled a little.
“To your children,” he said with a knowing look in his eyes.