Colton's Cowboy Code. Melissa Cutler

set a hand over hers and squeezed. “She’s alive. In a coma. The doctors aren’t sure she’s going to make it, but we have to hold out hope.”

      Brett’s relationship with his mother was the most complicated in his life. They’d never seen eye to eye and clashed more often than they were at peace. His deepest regret was that their last words to each other were angry, cruel. She wasn’t an easy person to love, but she was the only mother he had and the thought of losing her hurt him something awful.

      Hannah turned her hand over and threaded her fingers with his. “I’m so sorry. Did they catch the man who did that to her?”

      “Yes. They have a suspect in custody. If you accept my job offer, and I sincerely hope you will, I want you to know that the ranch is safe. You don’t have to worry about that.” God, he hoped that was true. But there was no need to worry Hannah with his private doubts that the police had captured the man responsible for the assault, not when there was no evidence beyond his gut telling him that there was more to the robbery and attempted murder than everyone else thought.

      Mistrust—or was that her pride rearing its head again?—pushed through her worried expression. “I don’t remember you making me an official offer yet.”

      Their food arrived in a clatter of plates on Janice’s massive serving tray, the smell so delicious that Hannah’s stomach gurgled like crazy.

      “I was just about to. Come work for the Lucky C, Hannah. It’s what the ranch needs, and it’s what you need, too. I’m prepared to compensate you with a competitive salary, health insurance, housing—”

      “Housing? Isn’t that a little unusual?”

      She was a hard nut to crack, this one. Far harder than her sweet, soft voice and kind smile suggested. He summoned his most charming smile onto his lips, hoping that a little buttering up would help his cause. “Maybe, but then again, I’ve never met an accountant as pretty as you, so I’d say this situation is mighty unusual any way you cut it.”

      Sure enough, the mistrust in Hannah’s eyes softened. And was that a hint of a smile on her lips? She poked her spoon through the air in his direction. “You can’t flirt with me if you’re going to be my boss.”

      “Then you’re accepting my offer?”

      “I said if.”

      He slid the plate of bacon toward her. When charming failed, bacon often had a way of coming to the rescue. “Eat.”

      Desire shone in her eyes, jogging another memory of the lust he remembered seeing on her face that night at the club, then later, at her apartment. He remembered the way her every emotion played on her face without artifice or pretense. At the time, he’d appreciated that quality of hers only because it had made her easier to seduce, then easier to bring pleasure to in bed. He supposed what he was doing this morning still counted as seduction, but now, he was wholly focused on her needs instead of his.

      To his relief, her fingers closed around a crispy slice of bacon. “I wasn’t going to eat your food, given your enormous rancher’s appetite, but that smells too darn good to resist. One little piece...” She crunched into the bacon, her eyes closing with the bliss of it.

      He watched her face, riveted anew by the ever-shifting nuances in her expression.

      Yet he forced his wayward thoughts aside. There would be time enough to marvel over Hannah, but he was a man on a mission, and he would not be deterred for anything. “Our chef cures and smokes her own bacon, harvested from our ranch’s livestock. I wake to the smell of it frying in the kitchen every single morning. You could, too.”

      Her eyes jolted open. “I’m not moving in with you.”

      Time for the next step in his seduction. He liberally spread butter on his stack of flapjacks, then drizzled it with warm maple syrup. He sliced off a hearty wedge, then held his forkful across the table for her.

      She backed her face up, eying the flapjack bite suspiciously.

      “When was the last time you had pure maple syrup and real butter?” he crooned.

      She reached a finger out to his plate and swiped at a drop of syrup, then brought it to her tongue.

      Mercy. Just like that, Brett felt every one of the nineteen weeks of his self-inflicted abstinence.

      “You, Brett Colton, are as slippery as a snake-oil salesman.”

      He brandished the fork under her nose. “I prefer to think of myself as stubborn and single-minded. Not so different from you.”

      The suspicion on her face melted away a little bit more. She guided his hand toward her and closed her lips around the fork in a way that gave Brett some ideas too filthy for his own good.

      He cleared his throat, snapping his focus back to the task at hand. “When my parents remodeled the big house, they designed separate wings for each of their six children, but I’m the only one of the six who lives there full-time. Me and my father. My younger sister passes through sometimes, but you would have your own wing, your own bathroom with a big old tub, and plenty of privacy.”

      For the first time, she seemed to be seriously considering his offer. Time to go for broke. He handed her another slice of bacon, which she accepted without a word.

      “Where are you living now?” he said. “Can you look me in the eye and tell me it’s a good, long-term situation for you and the baby?”

      She snapped a tiny bit of bacon off and popped it into her mouth. “It’s not like I’m living in some abandoned building. I’m staying with my best friend, Lori, and her boyfriend, Drew. It’s not ideal. Actually it’s far from ideal—I mean, I’m sleeping on the sofa—but with the money from this job, I’ll be able to afford my own place.”

      “And until that first paycheck, you’ll live at the ranch.” He pressed his lips together. That had come out a smidge more demanding than he’d wanted it to.

      Their gazes met and held. “Are you mandating that? Will the job offer depend on me accepting the temporary housing?”

      Oh, how he wanted to say yes to that. “No. But you should agree to it, anyway. Your own bed, regular meals made by a top-rated personal chef, and your commute to work is down a set of stairs and along a short dirt road to the ranch office. The only traffic you might run into would be some overly excitable ranch dogs.”

      She popped the rest of the bacon slice into her mouth, then washed it down with orange juice. “I know why you’re doing all this, and I still don’t fully believe you about the reason you’re hiring an accountant on the sly, but I really am grateful for all you’re offering—the job and the accommodations. In all honesty, this went a lot better than I thought it would.”

      “The job interview?”

      “No, telling you about the baby. I thought you’d either hate me or propose to me.”

      Brett didn’t miss a beat. “I still might.”

      “Which one, hate me?”

      Leaning forward, he gave her a look full of commitment and honor. “Ask you to marry me. I haven’t taken that option off the table yet, either.” At the flush of pink to her skin, he added with a knowing smile, “For the record, I don’t think there’s a person on the planet who could hate you.”

      “There’s a whole congregation of them over on Grand Avenue and Fourth Street.”

      “That’s your church?”

      “The Congregation of the Second Coming. My parents’ church, not mine. And it’s more like a cult than a church, truth be told. Even before they excommunicated me because of the pregnancy, I was done with that place. I’m still a Christian, but I doubt there’s room for that church’s closed-minded judgment in the kingdom of heaven.”

      “Then you’re better off without them.”

      She drew