Page 25 of A Cowboy Home for Christmas
My poor daughter stands in a pool of eggs and flour with her arms stretched out like a scarecrow. She’s coated head to toe in raw egg and white powdered flour. I’m not sure how this has happened, but an egg carton and empty bag of flour sit at her feet among broken eggshells.
I cover my mouth with my hand, so they don’t see my smile.
Clara looks like she’s at the edge of tears. “Lark dropped the eggs on my head and then threw the flour at me.”
“I did not throw the flour at you.”
“Yes, you did.”
“I accidentally kicked it off the cupboard. I’m sorry, Clara.”
Barker kneels in front of Clara. “How do you make a pancake grin?”
Clara scowls at him.
“Butter it up.” He slides a lump of butter down Clara’s nose. He also drags a lump of butter down his own nose. By the time his finger reaches the tip of her nose, my daughter is grinning.
“Did Pawpaw give you a joke book, too?” Clara giggles.
“Pawpaw is a walking joke book.”
“I want some.” Lark squeezes beside her uncle and sister.
“If you insist.” Barker slides his finger down Lark’s nose.
My heart melts at the scene.
“I’m a pancake, too.” Lark reaches to hug Clara. I open my mouth to object. I’m too late. The two girls collide. They smush their bodies together until I can’t tell where the raw egg begins and ends.
Barker rises to his feet and comes to my side. “It’s a food fight ... of sorts.” He chuckles. “You want to be a pancake too?” He holds his buttery finger up.
“No,” I laugh, swatting away his hand. “I’ll pass.”
The girls scoop handfuls of egg from the floor and smack it on each other.
“Now I have two little girls to scrub egg goop from.”
“But they’re laughing.” He nudges my side with his elbow.
I smile at him. “I guess you’re forgiven. I’d forgive you quicker if you hose them off.” I nudge him back.
“Not going to happen.” He leans into my ear. “But I’d hose you down anytime.”
I feel red rush up my neck and to my cheeks. “I should go get them cleaned up.”
He licks his lips as he leans back. “Alright. You do that and I’ll clean this.”
But we don’t move. Our eyes don’t break the intense stare between us. I’ve never felt my body get so hot by simply staring at someone. But hell yes, my body is heated to full degrees.
“Mommy, now my tummy is growling.” Clara stomps egg reside on the floor as she walks to us.
“Freeze!” I hold up my hands. “Let’s get those feet wiped off and then up to the tub.”
Thirty minutes later, because nothing is fast with two six-year-olds, the girls are bathed, teeth brushed, hair done, and ready for the day. I still look like a hot mess. What else is new. No time for a quick shower, so there was no point in changing my clothes either. I’m thankful I got a brush through my hair and splashed water on my face.
Barker is sipping freshly brewed coffee when we finally make it back to the kitchen. Damn, the man is a rodeo cowboy god. I especially enjoy this morning’s rumpled look. Hair disheveled. Shirt wrinkled. Sexy smirk like he got lucky last night.
The girls climb the stools placed in front of the island counter. Pancake ingredients sit beside measuring cups and whisks.
