Brokedown Cowboy. Maisey Yates

would reach his bones.

      It didn’t. But it hit him just then that this was the first morning he had woken up without a hangover in quite a while. He hadn’t had a drink last night. He’d been too focused on what it would mean to bring Liss into the house.

      He opened his eyes and looked at the sun, and his head didn’t hurt.

      All things considered, he figured it would be a pretty good moving day.

      * * *

      THEY’D ATTACKED THE PROJECT of moving Liss much like a barn raising. All hands on deck, finished by the end of the day. Ultimately, nothing was left undone except for a few empty boxes still in need of disposal, and paper plates with the remnants of pizza, along with a few empty beer bottles, stationed throughout Connor’s house. Of course, there hadn’t been much to move into the house itself.

      A bedroom’s worth of furniture, and all her clothes, books and a few kitchen gadgets she hadn’t been willing to part with.

      Everything else had gone into a vacant outbuilding on the Garrett property. Which was going to save her a lot in storage fees. Between letting her borrow space on the ranch, space in Connor’s house and the use of their muscles—including Jack’s—Liss was starting to feel as if she was taking an awful lot.

      And that feeling, that feeling of being in debt to somebody else, always made her feel uncomfortable. She felt as though it forced her to keep a running tally on what she had contributed versus what someone else had contributed. Because she never wanted to be on the wrong side of that balance.

      She took a deep breath and tried to banish the tightness in her chest. The moving crew, comprised of Eli, Sadie, Kate, Jeanette and Jack, had all gone home, leaving her there in her new space, with her new roommate.

      She took a deep breath and walked over to the kitchen sink, looking out at the wall of trees that stood between the house and the mountains. It didn’t feel weird to be here. Of course, she didn’t know why she had thought it might. Well, she supposed it was because she was living here now, instead of visiting. But then, she was much more than a casual visitor. Always had been. Even more so in recent years. Because she was bringing him food, having dinner with him, trying to prevent him from drinking himself into a stupor every night, which she had managed with mixed success.

      It didn’t feel weird at all to be standing here. No, it felt comfortable. This would be comfortable. Yes, comfortable. Like a broken-in pair of boots. Like a late-July afternoon on the hiking trails that wound through the mountains and beneath a canopy of trees.

      That kind of comfy.

      She heard footsteps behind her, and she turned.

      Connor shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and rocked back on his heels. “You need anything?” he asked.

      “No. Still full from the pizza.”

      “I know there’s no bathroom right off your bedroom. But I figure you can have that one that’s nearby in the hall. I only use the one off my bedroom.”

      She’d kept all of her toiletries in her travel case. She just hadn’t felt comfortable unloading makeup and hair-care products all over a common area. There was moving in, and then there was invading. “Only if you’re sure. I don’t mind keeping that stuff in my room.”

      “No way. That’s not practical at all. Just unload it all in there. As far as I’m concerned this is your place, too. I mean, it’s mainly my place, but we’re sharing. Seventy-thirty.”

      She laughed. “Generous.”

      “Yeah, I think so. Come on, though. This place is huge. I basically have a trail worn between my bedroom and the kitchen, and I hardly go anywhere else. I spend most of my day outside working. Of course, that means I barely clean any room in the house, so I’m sorry about that.”

      “Well, I kept my house clean. I have no problem transferring that to here. Honestly, you have no idea how much I’ve been wanting to wipe down your cabinets.”

      A lopsided smile curved his mouth. “That kind of sounds dirty.”

      “Wiping down your cabinets?” she asked, barely suppressing a grin. “I don’t even want to know what that could be.”

      “Do you know what I want?”

      She narrowed her eyes. “What?”

      “Pie.”

      “That had better not be euphemistic pie.” The line of conversation was making her feel strange. A little bit light-headed.

      “No, this is literal pie.” He walked to the fridge and opened the door, pulling out a white bakery box and setting it on the island in the center of the kitchen. “Remember Alison? She made those pies for the Fourth of July thing. You know, then my barn burned down and Eli ran her husband off the property.”

      “Oh, yes, I vaguely remember that night,” she said drily.

      “Anyway, she’s selling pies independently, not just baking for the diner. Because she left her husband right after the thing.”

      “Did she?”

      “Yep. So I hear from Sadie. It’s not the kind of gossip I would keep up on on my own.” He opened the box and shrugged a shoulder. “Still, I figure it’s nice to help support someone starting a new life.”

      Connor being Connor, he was downplaying anything even remotely nice about what he had done. “That’s very thoughtful of you,” she said, moving closer to examine the dessert that was in the box.

      “I got pie in exchange for my good deed. I think that nullifies the good deed. My reward is pie.”

      “And what variety of pie are we talking?”

      “Marionberry.”

      “Excellent reward. Do you have ice cream?”

      Connor looked up at her, handsome face contorted into an expression of horror. “And whipped cream. I know I might seem uncivilized, but even I have some boundaries.”

      “You’re a god among men, Connor Garrett. You have saved me from homelessness—or at least living with my mother—and you’ve given me pie.”

      “You can begin paying me back by getting out some plates,” he said.

      “Will do.”

      She made herself busy getting out plates, ice cream and the whipped cream, which was in the fridge as promised. Apparently, Connor could grocery shop when dessert was involved. Well, dessert or alcohol.

      She brought the plates over, and Connor put one piece on each, a very generous-sized piece, because Connor knew she didn’t mess around with desserts.

      He didn’t even ask if she wanted the pie warm, because he knew better than that. He put each piece in the microwave for about thirty seconds, and when they were done, she was waiting with a scoop of vanilla ice cream for each.

      They both dove right into their pie, eating wordlessly, exchanging looks during bites. “This is good,” Liss said when she was halfway through with her piece.

      “Understatement,” Connor said around a mouthful.

      “I don’t even know why we bothered to put pieces on the plates. We should’ve just eaten straight out of the box.”

      “Because it takes longer to heat up a whole pie?”

      “Yeah, good point.” Liss’s thoughts turned to Alison. “So, is Alison still working at the diner?”

      “Search me,” Connor said. “I just know she’s trying to make a business out of the baking. It’s hard to start over.”

      “You would know.”

      “It’s not really the same.”

      “Sure it is,” she said, taking another bite as if she could stuff her statement