Page 92 of Dusty Spur Ranch Cowboys

“I found flour,” Sadie explains. “Then eggs and chocolate chips.” She turns, spots me in the doorway, and lights up. “Arizona!”

She jumps off the chair, runs across the kitchen, and throws her arms around my waist before taking my hand.

“Come with me. I’ve got to show you…”

I let Sadie tug me toward the back door while Emmett rescues what’s left of breakfast behind us, telling myself staying until morning only happened because leaving in the middle of the night would’ve been awkward.

It sounds believable enough that I almost convince myself.

Sadie marches me across the yard with my hand wrapped in hers, chatting the entire way about Cinnamon’s busy morning. Apparently she’s already eaten breakfast, chased three butterflies, and nearly become the fastest racehorse in America before deciding running was exhausting.

“Cinnamon gets distracted,” Sadie says with a thoughtful sigh.

“By what?”

She shrugs. “Whatever she’s looking at.”

“I think we might be related.”

“I told her to focus,” Sadie says. “She forgot.”

The upside down feed bucket waits beneath the fence where she left it yesterday, covered in wildflowers and a fresh drawing of Cinnamon sporting six legs, eyelashes that belong on a movie star, and a cowboy hat balanced proudly between her ears.

“Cinnamon cleaned up nicely.”

Sadie nods. “She’s meeting people.”

“Big day.”

She crouches beside the bucket and pats it fondly. “Dad says she isn’t a real horse.”

“That sounds like your dad.”

“I heard that.”

I glance over my shoulder as Emmett heads toward us carrying two mugs of coffee. Freshly showered, clean shaven, and wearing a faded flannel, he looks far too awake considering he sprinted into a smoke-filled kitchen in nothing but jeans twenty minutes ago.

He offers me one of the mugs. “Peace treaty.”

I wrap my fingers around the warm cup, catching his smile before either of us remembers we probably shouldn’t be smiling at each other quite so much.

Willy strolls across the yard balancing a sack of feed on one shoulder while finishing an apple. “Morning, campers.” His grin finds me first. “You’re here early.”

“Er, yeah, it seems like I am.”

He tosses the apple core toward a bucket. It clips the rim and bounces into the grass. “That went exactly where I planned.” He finally notices the matching coffee mugs, then flicks a look between Emmett and me. “Well, well.”

Emmett sighs before Willy even speaks. “Don’t.”

“I haven’t said anything.” Willy grins wider. “I leave you two alone for one evening and suddenly you’re sharing coffee. Next thing I know you’ll be discussing curtain colors.”

“It’s coffee,” Emmett says.

“Every great love story starts with a hot drink.”

I lift my mug. “Mine usually start with whiskey.”

Willy winks at me before heading for the barn, laughing to himself, and I let out a small breath as he disappears through the doors because he’s only having fun and hasn’t figured out where I spent the night.