The Delivery of Decor (Shiloh Ridge Ranch in Three Rivers #7) - Liz Isaacson Page 0,34

touch of olive oil.

He started cracking eggs, glancing over to the couch when he heard Dot moan. The darkness had ebbed away, but the sun hadn’t fully claimed the day. Ward didn’t think it would either. He’d checked the weather on his phone from his bedroom, and the winter storm warning and high wind advisory had been extended another twelve hours.

He and Dot would most likely be stuck together for another night. He certainly wasn’t complaining about that, though he had beat himself up a little bit last night for not kissing her. Somehow, he wanted the next time they kissed to be more magical than standing in the doorway of the bathroom. That didn’t feel romantic to Ward, though he’d definitely wanted to kiss Dot right after she’d brushed her teeth last night.

“Coffee smells good,” she said, her voice lower and filled with a definite frog.

“It’s ready any time.” He didn’t go too far with the avocadoes, because he wasn’t making guacamole. “I’m trying to decide what you’d like for breakfast.”

Dot rose from the couch and lifted her arms above her head as she stretched. Ward watched her body lengthen, and he forgot himself for a moment. Her eyes met his, and she tugged on the oversized T-shirt though it hadn’t revealed any skin. “What are my choices?”

“You said you didn’t like eggs the other night while we were at dinner,” he said. “But I could make a pretty great omelet with smoked salmon and broccoli. That’s diabetes-friendly. Or I could make you an English muffin with avocadoes. Kind of like avocado toast, but obviously better.”

“Obviously,” she teased. “Because English muffins are far superior to bread.”

Ward blinked, liking the female conversation first thing in the morning. “Obviously,” he said in a dead pan.

Dot smiled and laughed, and Ward looked down at the avocadoes. “But that’s a lot of bread,” he said.

“I’m okay to eat an English muffin,” she said, entering the kitchen to stand beside him. “Those avocadoes smell good too.”

“I do love avocado.”

“Me too.” Dot leaned against his arm. “I told you that you didn’t have to fuss over me.”

“And I told you I like fussing over the people I care about.” He leaned his head down, but she didn’t tip hers back. He felt utterly exposed in the house with her, as he didn’t wear his hat indoors very often and he didn’t have any of his traditional cowboy garb on. When he went out with women, he made sure every piece of himself was situated in exactly the right spot. The hat, the belt, the jeans, the boots. His wallet, his cologne, his beard. All of it.

“I think you’re a very fussy man, Mister Glover,” she teased.

“Am I?” He stepped away from her, though he didn’t really want to. He bent to open the bread drawer, where he took out the package of English muffins. “Do you like yours toasted or barely warmed up?”

“Toasted,” she said. “Especially if you’re putting that delicious avocado mixture on it.”

“Toasted it is.” He split a couple of muffins and put them in the toaster. “I’m fussy?” he asked as he got down mugs and poured coffee for the two of them.

“I maybe snooped while you were bringing in wood,” she said.

Ward reset the coffee pot on the burner and looked at her, his right eyebrow cocked. “What did you find?”

“I’ve always wanted to do that,” she said, gesturing to his eyebrows.

He lowered his and said, “By the way, your phone was beeping, so I plugged it in out here. We have tons of extra cords, Dot.” Ward had felt like an idiot for not suggesting it last night when she’d asked him to get her charger from the truck. He’d been…off yesterday after she’d shown up dripping blood from her fingers.

“Oh, great, thanks.” She didn’t move to go get it from where he’d placed it on the counter. “It seems like everything in this house has a designated spot, and you’ve committed to making sure that item goes there.”

Ward stirred in a couple spoonfuls of sugar to sweeten his coffee the way he liked it. “Mm.”

“You didn’t deny it.”

“Nothing to deny,” he said. “I do like things on the organizational side, I suppose.”

“Do you make your bed every morning?”

“Yes,” he said. “My mother made us. If we left for school without making our bed, she’d come get us out of class.” He lifted his mug to his lips and took a sip. “We didn’t forget but once, and Ace and