Page 7 of Cowboy Elite 2: Mike

Mike turned then. Studied her like she'd just suggested putting kale in his chili. "When'd you do that?"

"Last night. Couldn't sleep. New place." She shrugged. "This one's got a molasses glaze. And a hint of lavender."

His brows went up. "Lavender." Not a question. An accusation. "You trying to get me run out of Texas?"

"I'm not frothing foam for cappuccinos," Liv shot back. "I brought my own spices. These'll rise four inches and make your heart sing."

"I've met too many biscuits that sing soprano and fall flat in your mouth."

"Was that your experience yesterday?"

He conceded with a wave of the spatula which had now become a prop in their kitchen drama.

Arletta looked up from her onions, eyes streaming but sharp as ever. "Y'all flirting or fighting? Best make up your mind before the guests come down."

Joe nearly choked on a swallow of coffee.

Mike sighed. Paused longer than was polite. Then he stuck out his hand. "All right, Cookie. Let's have a bake-off."

Liv smiled. First real one that morning. "Deal."

Thirty minutes later, the kitchen smelled like heaven had opened a bakery.

Two trays of biscuits sat cooling on the counter. Mike's were golden, soft, yeasty. The kind that made you think of Sunday dinners and your grandmother's table. Liv's were taller, with delicate cracks running through the tops and a faint sheen from the glaze.

The kitchen crew gathered, each grabbing a biscuit from each tray. Silent chewing commenced. Serious nodding.

Mike looked at Arletta. He'd known her since he was knee-high to a fence post. She didn't lie, and she didn't sugarcoat. He'd hired her recently to help out in the kitchen a few hours a day along with her two teenage sons, who frankly, would much rather be out wrangling and leading trail rides than serving food and doing kitchen duty. "Well?"

She licked her fingers. Took her time. "Yours are comfort food, honey. Solid. Dependable." She paused, popped the last bite of Liv's biscuit into her mouth, and closed her eyes. "But hers? Well I declare, that biscuit's so good it makes me wanna slap my mama and holler hallelujah."

Liv blinked. Arletta's face said heaven. Her words said violence.

"Is that... good?" she asked carefully.

Joe snorted into his coffee. "Darlin', that's the highest praise you'll ever get in this kitchen."

Mike shook his head, grinning despite himself. "Fine. But if anyone complains about lavender in a biscuit, that's on you."

"Noted."

Joe raised his mug in a lazy salute. "Welcome to the Bear Valley breakfast wars, Liv Ramsey."

A small voice piped up from the direction of the mudroom. "Can I have the one with the cracks?"

Charlotte stood in the doorway, one cowboy boot on, one dangling from her hand. Her dark braids were half undone, and she had the look of someone who'd been helping with something she probably shouldn't have been.

"The cracks are the best part," she announced, solemn as a judge.

Liv felt something in her chest go soft. She’d learned last night that Charlotte’s parents had been killed in a car accident last year and Lyle had left his veterinarian practice in Montana and returned home to Texas to assume guardianship. Liv didn’t know many men who would take on that kind of responsibly at the expense of their own goals. And from what she’d witnessed so far with this family, parenting Charlotte was a group effort, giving her a glimpse of what every single one of these men would be like as fathers.

Her gaze skittered briefly to Mike and something inside of her yearned.

She plated the tallest biscuit, the one with the most dramatic crack running down the center, and held it out to Charlotte. "Then this one's yours."

Charlotte took it with both hands like she was receiving something sacred. Bit in. Her eyes went wide.

"You're a really good cooker," she said, mouth full, crumbs tumbling.