Читать книгу The Rancher's Runaway Princess - DONNA ALWARD, Donna Alward - Страница 9

CHAPTER FOUR

BRODY looked up from his breakfast when he heard her steps on the stairs.

And then looked down again, spearing another chunk of scrambled egg on his fork and ignoring the queer lifting in his chest. He wasn’t looking forward to seeing her. He couldn’t be. That was just plain ridiculous.

He’d been crazy last night. Finding her in Pretty’s stall had raised all sorts of alarm bells, but by the end of it…

He scowled. He’d been a fool. A soft touch. He should know better by now. Instead he’d listened to her story and he’d…hell, he’d even touched her at the end. His fork dropped to his plate. Touched her soft, white skin with its faint smattering of freckles.

And he’d thought about kissing her.

Yup. A fool. A fool to forget who she was, where she was from. A fool to be distracted by the sight of tears on her lashes, and a fool for wanting somehow to make it better. He picked up his fork again and defiantly shoved another piece of egg into his mouth. Oh, no. He’d fallen into that trap before.

“Good morning.”

He looked up, schooling his features into what he hoped was a general expression of disinterest. “Good morning.”

Her cheeks were pink and her lips were slightly puffy, as though she’d been chewing on them. “Breakfast was fifteen minutes ago.” He couldn’t resist adding the shot.

He was gratified to see her blush a little before he looked back down at his plate.

“I’m sorry. I…I overslept.”

Yeah. As if he didn’t know why. He stretched out his legs, glad that he wasn’t the only one who was running on short sleep. He raised an eyebrow in her direction.

“I didn’t sleep that well.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” And then felt about two inches tall as he saw the confused, wounded look on her face. He was being a jerk and he knew it.

“It doesn’t matter, Lucy.” Mrs. Polcyk came from the kitchen with a plate in her hands and a smile on her face. “You just sit right up now. Brody’s out of sorts this morning.”

He scowled. There were disadvantages to having a housekeeper that had known him since he’d been a boy in boots too big for his feet. First Martha yesterday and now Mrs. P. Yet he knew the women around here well enough to know they always considered the men their “boys,” thinking that living with them excused lots of things. He looked up at Mrs. P. who merely angled an eyebrow at him. They’d been through hell together, and he had to admit it did excuse a lot. He wouldn’t dress her down for the world. He gritted his teeth but said nothing. He knew he was reacting unreasonably. But he’d be damned if he’d give an apology. It was probably better to keep Lucy at arm’s length anyway. He looked away and grabbed the carafe of coffee from the table, refilling his cup.

Lucy spread jam on her toast and looked up at him. “I thought this morning maybe I could have a look at your files.”

She was speaking directly to him and he was obligated to look at her. He did, noticing how her tongue ran out over her lip even though she tried to make her eyes look brave. So she was nervous. Good. She’d taken enough liberties last night. He folded his hands in front of him and faced her squarely.