Page 75 of Falling for the Grumpiest Protector

I spent the next forty minutes checking irrigation lines and pretending that smile hadn't followed me all the way across the east field.

It had.

By the time I finish, Hart has disappeared into the training barn with Emma, and I head for the kitchen to work on the sauce I've been experimenting with for the farm-to-table menu. Cooking should help. Usually, it does.

Twenty minutes later, I'm standing over the stove, and for once my attention is exactly where it belongs. This is why cooking is useful. Food makes sense. If something is off, there's a reason. Too much acid. Not enough salt. Heat too high. Flavors out of balance. You adjust. Taste again. Problem solved.

People are considerably less cooperative. Especially Madison Hart.

I stir the sauce and taste it. Better. Still missing something. I've been refining this recipe for three days, using tomatoes from the south field, roasted peppers, garlic, herbs, and enough cardamom to add warmth without announcing itself.

I lower the burner and reach for the spice jar on the prep table. Empty. There's another in the pantry off the back hall. I'm gone less than two minutes.

When I come back, I stop in the doorway.

Hart is standing at my stove. With my spoon in her mouth. One hand rests on the counter, her eyes closed as she tastes whatever she has stolen from my pot.

I should probably be annoyed. I'm working on it.

I lean against the doorframe.

"Do you like it?"

Her eyes fly open. She turns. And freezes. The spoon is still between her lips.

For one second, I forget why I said anything.

Her eyes widen. Mine drop to the spoon. Then her mouth. Bad idea. Especially after Tuesday. I drag my attention back to her eyes. Concentrate, Martinez. She is standing in your kitchen. Eating your food. Without permission. That's the problem. Probably.

Hart slowly pulls the spoon from her mouth.

"This is delicious."

Not an apology. Of course not. I push away from the doorway.

"Good to know."

She glances at the pot.

"What is it?"

"Something I'm working on."

"What kind of something?"

"The kind you're eating without permission."

Her mouth curves.

"I was tasting it."

"I noticed."

"For quality."

"Very generous of you."

"I thought so."