having a house full of people this afternoon.” She cocked her head, and her ponytail swished.
“ ’Scuse me. I need to hit the head.” He staggered past her and into the bathroom, where he fumbled around until he found the ibuprofen and knocked back three. Cupping his hands under the water, he gulped down ten or twelve mouthfuls before raising his head and looking at himself in the mirror.
A sorrier sight he’d never seen. His lip was swollen out to there. The shiner was impressive, to say the least. He felt the back of his head. Yeah, the knot there was still tender to the touch.
Shoot, he looked like he’d been on a three-day bender.
How in the hell does a sober man end up looking like this on the day of his uncle’s funeral?
He stared at himself, replaying every humiliating moment of the previous night. His heart bumped against his rib cage as he recalled Savannah helping him up the stairs. She’d thought the worst of him, hadn’t she? And all the while, he was getting kind of turned on by the way her hair smelled, and the pressure of her warm, soft curves against his bruises.
Well, that was just the AA celibacy talking. Because having sexy thoughts about Savannah was ridiculous. All of Aunt Miriam’s friends might think that Savannah was sweet. But Dash knew the truth. Behind that facade, she was meaner than a junkyard dog.
His first summer in Last Chance, she’d come waltzing into his world and immediately run her mouth about all his private business to all her friends. She’d tried her darndest to turn her friends Rocky and Tulane Rhodes against him. She’d made his life miserable. She’d made him feel small and insignificant and unworthy.
He let go of a deep breath. All that had happened a very long time ago, and he needed to grow up. He had choices now. Choices he could control. And right now he was choosing to shower off the beer that Roy had splashed all over him and to stay the hell away from Savannah Reynolds White.
“Damned woman,” Dash muttered. “It’s gonna be a long few days until she goes back where she came from.”
Forty-five minutes later Dash stumbled into the kitchen, where he found Savannah brandishing a coffeepot like a Viking queen flaunting her sword. The field of battle was so spotless, the shine off the linoleum floor hurt his eyes. Did the woman stay up all night housecleaning?
“Coffee sounds good,” he said.
“How do you take it?”
“Hot and naked, please.”
Color rose right up Savannah’s high cheekbones. Score one point for him in this lopsided battle. She was a sight to behold when she blushed like that.
“Naked?”
“That’s right, princess, naked. That’s the way I take my coffee and a lot of other stuff.”
She turned and poured the steaming brew into a jadeite mug and handed it to him. “You just sit yourself down, Dash. What can I make you for breakfast?”
She was talking too loud and smiling too perfectly. And then it occurred to him that she thought he was hung over. She probably expected him to turn green and run from the room. Ha! He was going to call her bluff. He was betting the princess had no idea how to cook.
“You make omelets?”
She blinked. “You want an omelet? Really?”
“Yeah. You know how to make a real western omelet? With onions and green pepper and ham and hot sauce.”
“You want hot sauce?”
“Yes, princess, I don’t eat naked omelets.” He sat himself down at the kitchen table and grinned at her.
“I’ll, uh, see if we have the ingredients.” She headed toward the fridge. And she kind of bustled like she knew her way around a kitchen. Which surprised the heck out of him.
It had been a long time since anyone had bustled in this particular kitchen. And then he remembered that Savannah had spent a lot of time cooking with Aunt Sally. Which meant she probably did know how to make omelets. And if they were anything like Aunt Sally’s, then Savannah might be a useful houseguest after all.
Just then Miriam shuffled into the kitchen. She didn’t look good. Her hair was kind of all over the place, like she’d had problems getting it braided right.
“I heard y’all talking real loud,” she said as she sat down. Savannah poured a cup of coffee for her. She took a sip. “My, but you make good coffee.”
“I would hope so. I have a part-time job as a barista.”