Knox (The Boundarylands #12) - Callie Rhodes Page 0,21

turn of the handle proved there was no damage done.

"Yep," he said, getting the much smaller grinder off the shelf and pouring in fresh beans. "I trade with a brother a few miles from here for wheat and barley."

"And that thing…"

"…is how people ground coffee before there were fancy kitchen shops," Knox confirmed, holding up the small square wooden box with the attached handle for her to see. "I found both of these in an old collapsed cabin at the northwest end of my land. Cleaned 'em up, and they worked great."

As best as Knox could tell, the place had been built by homesteaders in the early twentieth century long before the Boundarylands were established on the surrounding land. He'd discovered all kinds of interesting things in the decomposing wreckage of the place, and what he couldn't put to use, he tossed on the pile of parts and scraps in the corner of his shed that he saved for future creative projects. His alpha brothers tended to give him shit for his more artistic enterprises, but nearly every alpha appreciated the kind of craftsmanship that went into old tools—which was one of the reasons so many of them drove ancient trucks and kept an eye out for salvaged building materials and old appliances.

"I, um, had a little trouble with the percolator, too," Josie admitted sheepishly, ducking her chin in such a way that the long strawberry blonde hair she'd piled in some kind of complicated knot on top of her head threatened to come loose. "It's got to be fifty years old at least."

"Probably older. And I hate to break it to you, sugar, but whatever happened here, it wasn't the coffee pot's fault."

Underneath his teasing tone, Knox wondered what the hell had gotten into him. If any of his brothers had served him crap like this so-called coffee, he wouldn't have pulled his punches, and to hell with their feelings.

But it was different with Josie.

Maybe it was because she was trying so hard. Just like with her tip-toeing around the house, she was giving it her best effort—which apparently mattered to him.

"Oh, come on. At the very least, it was a willing accomplice," she laughed. Damn, he liked that sound. "But I guess you're right. I should just stick to my French press back home."

"Or I could teach you," Knox offered.

Her eyebrows arched briefly with interest, then fell. "No, you can't. We can't both be in the kitchen together, remember. It's too cramped."

Shit—for a moment there, Knox had forgotten. He covered his dismay by rinsing out the percolator.

"You should be careful." Josie's voice was closer now. "That stuff might kill whatever it splashed on."

Turning, Knox found her peering around the arched entry to the kitchen. Technically, her feet were still in the other room, but she was still only a few feet away.

"You change your mind about staying as far away from me as possible?"

"Do you mind? It, er, didn't seem fair to leave you with all the kitchen chores while I'm here."

Knox shrugged. Josie had warned him that she wasn't the kind of girl to sit around and stare out the window. But if she intended to keep getting up at dawn and messing around in his kitchen, she was going to have to learn her way around it before she did any more damage.

"There was nothing fair about what you did those innocent coffee beans," he growled and was rewarded with a giggle as he turned back to the stove.

"So teach me, oh wise one," she said brightly.

It had been so long since Knox had engaged in this kind of banter with a woman that he'd almost forgotten how good it felt. The Boundarylands was his true home, and though he would never admit it, he'd do anything for his alpha brothers. But they did tend to come up short in the humor department.

Knox had been called a joker plenty of times before his nature awakened, and he still thought of himself as one from time to time—but maybe that was why he didn't mind having Josie in his house. Comfortable—that was the word that came to mind. Like an old pair of boots or the vintage bowling shirt that one of the prostitutes altered to fit him as a gift when she retired.

"Quirky, just like you," she'd told him with affection at her retirement party at the roadhouse.

Josie was kind of like that shirt, come to think of it. Well made, with every indication that she'd