Page 30 of Orphan Girl's Mountain Men

She thinks for a second, then nods frantically and beams. I smile back just as brightly, throwing her dad an arched look.

There. Let's see him try to get rid of me now.

I figure that's what he was about to tell me at the doorway—before his daughter interrupted us.

He scowls at me, then says to his daughter, "Have you finished your breakfast, darling?"

"Uh-huh."

"Even the eggs?"

She wrinkles her nose but nods anyway, sticking her hands behind her back and scuffing her little shoes. Not a very good liar.

Her father cracks a smile. "Don't fib, honey. We both know you didn't eat the eggs."

"They're yucky."

"I know, baby, but they're necessary if you want to grow big and strong."

"I don't wanna be big and strong. I wanna be little so you can always pick me up."

To demonstrate, she sticks her hands in the air, and his face warms all over. It's like looking at a completely different man than the one who met me at the door—this man is full of affection for his daughter.

"I'll always be able to pick you up," he says, walking past me to hoist her onto his hip. "Even if you're as big and strong as the Hulk himself."

"Who's that?"

"You don't know the Incredible Hulk?" He tuts. "Looks like we have some more movies we need to watch."

"Yay!"

They disappear through a door beside the staircase—probably the kitchen, judging by the mouthwatering scent of bacon and eggs.

When they're gone, I breathe a sigh of relief. Despite the frosty welcome, it looks like Lennon's not getting rid of me yet.

Good.

"Well, if it isn't our newest housemate."

I hear a voice from the top of the staircase, partly hidden by a half wall. Footsteps echo as a pair of familiar, silver-tipped cowboy boots clink down the wooden steps.

Reed pauses halfway down, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the banister.

Even though I've already told myself—repeatedly—that Reed and I can't hook up again, especially now that we'll be living together, my stomach still does flip-flops at the sight of him.

He looks so good. Smells good too: freshly showered, hair still damp and curling against his forehead. A hint of spicy, slightly oriental cologne wafts from him, sending my nerves haywire.

Add to that the easy sensuality of his jeans riding low on his hips, the casual weight of his firearm at his side—and that devil-may-care grin, with a glint in his eyes that promises all sorts of wickedness.

Yes, please.

I shake off the thought and manage a semi-polite smile.

"How's it going?"

"Great—especially since Dean told me you're going to be working with us," he says, descending the rest of the stairs, "and living with us. You know where you're going to sleep yet? Because my bed'swaytoo big for me on my lonesome own."

I step back as a new voice joins in from the kitchen doorway.

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