Page 10 of Cowboy Elite 2: Mike

Liv pressed her palm flat against the counter. Steadied herself.

We take care of our own.

Problem was, she wasn’t his. And the kind of trouble she was in might well be too dangerous, even these military elite cowboys.

3

The kitchen clock read 5:15 a.m., and Liv's hands moved through biscuit dough like they had their own memory. Sift, measure, cut. The pastry blender clinked against the ceramic bowl in a rhythm that usually settled her nerves.

This morning, it wasn't working.

Bacon fat popped in the cast iron behind her. Coffee burbled in the industrial pot. And somewhere outside, that damn rooster was winding up for round two.

Mike moved quietly across the kitchen, covering yesterday's bread with a cloth, piling onions onto a cutting board, checking the smoker temperature out back. He was all business this morning. Tall, broad, frustratingly handsome, and moving like the kitchen was an extension of his own body.

Liv caught him glancing her way across the steam-coated window, his blue eyes quiet with questions.

She hadn't said more than four words since entering the kitchen today, and she knew he'd noticed.

The side door opened without a sound.

Liv's hands stilled. She didn't hear footsteps, just the faint shift of air and the smell of hay and leather.

Kenny Watkins crossed to the coffeepot like he'd been there the whole time.

"Morning," Mike said with a nod.

Kenny gave a slight grunt in response, unsmiling. He filled his insulated cup with coffee, then his eyes flicked toward Liv. Stayed a beat too long.

Liv turned back to her dough, but her shoulders had gone tight. Kenny Watkins didn't say much. Didn't smile much. But he seemed to notice everything. And right now, he was noticing her.

"Want a scone?" Mike asked his brother casually.

Kenny hesitated before nodding, then plucked one from the tray cooling on the counter. He walked out without another word, his boots thudding softly across the wooden floor.

Liv exhaled.

"You all right?" Mike asked softly.

"I'm fine."

"Liv…"

She shook her head. "I'm used to kitchens being busy. It's just quiet here right now. That's all. And I don't think your brother likes me."

Mike laughed. "You'll get used to Kenny. He's like that with all of us. He was special ops in the service. Came home…different. He's never talked about it with any of us. So don't take his moods personal."

She nodded.

Mike studied her for a long beat but said nothing. Instead, he stepped closer, reached over for a mixing bowl behind her, and gave her shoulder the lightest bump with his. "And we're never quiet for long. Especially with the goats."

As if on cue, a sharp laugh drifted through the screened kitchen windows. Liv looked out in time to see a tan-and-white colt skidding along the gravel toward the barn at a full gallop while Lyle and Heather chased after it with a lead rope flapping in the breeze and two border collie pups yapping at Heather's heels.

Liv let out an accidental snort.

Mike grinned. "Looks like they could use a hand. Wanna go help wrangle our future rodeo star?"

Liv took a step toward the door, then hesitated. She looked down at her apron, then at the lively chaos unfolding beyond the porch. "I think I'll stay like Switzerland for now. Neutral kitchen territory."