Page 14 of Rescued By the Mountain Man Cowboy
"Anna." I don't raise my voice. The cabin's small enough. "Come eat."
Bare feet on the floorboards. She's changed out of the sweatshirt into something softer, a long-sleeved shirt that hangs past her hips, the sleeves pushed up to her elbows. Hair down now. It's longer than I figured. Falls past her collarbone in a dark curtain that shifts when she walks.
Her eyes are red around the edges, but dry. She's pulled herself together quietly. Like it's somebody else's job to notice.
I slide the bowl across the counter to her.
"Thanks."
"Sit wherever."
She sits at the small table by the window. I take the stool at the counter, facing her at an angle, close enough to talk, far enough not to crowd.
She picks up her fork. Twirls it. Takes a bite.
I watch her face.
She chews. Swallows. The corners of her mouth pull up in the kind of smile women do when they're trying to make a man feel better about something.
"This is really good."
"No, it's not."
Her fork pauses.
"It's fine."
"Anna. I watched you chew that like it was a mouthful of paste."
Her lips press together. Her eyes drop to her bowl. A little sound escapes her, a huff that might almost be a laugh on a better day.
"I wasn't going to say anything."
"I know."
"The sauce is a little..."
"Sweet. Yeah. It's got corn syrup in it. Bought it cause it was on sale."
She looks at me like she's not sure if I'm kidding.
I'm not kidding.
I get up and open the cabinet over the coffee pot. Pull out the blue tin.
"Got saltines. Want some?"
She actually laughs. Short. Surprised. Her whole face rearranges when she does it, and for a second, I forget what I'm holding.
"Saltines and pasta?"
"Cleanses the palate." I set the tin on the table between us and drop back onto the stool. "Old family recipe."
"The Davis family is very elegant."
"We're known for it."
Her shoulders come down another quarter inch.
