Buckhorn Beginnings. Lori Foster

       He sat across from her—a deliberate choice so he could watch her. Gabe sat beside him, Casey sat beside her, with Morgan and Jordan at the head and foot of the table.

       She’d been all round eyes and female amazement as she’d looked at the house on the way to the kitchen. Her appreciation warmed him. Most women who got through the front door were bemused with the styling of the house, all exposed pine and high ceilings and masculine functionality. The house wasn’t overly excessive, but it was certainly comfortable for a family of large men. It had been his father’s dream home, and his mother had readily agreed to it. At least, that’s how she liked to tell it.

       Sawyer grinned, because in truth, he knew there were few things his mother ever did readily. She was a procrastinator and liked to think things over thoroughly. Unlike his guest, who’d barreled through his fence and landed in his lake and then proceeded to try to slug him.

       Sawyer noticed Morgan staring at him, and he wiped the grin off his face.

       He returned his gaze to Honey and saw her look around the large kitchen. They never used the dining room, not for daily meals. But the kitchen was immense, one of the largest rooms in the house, and the place where they all seemed to congregate most often. For that reason they had a long pine table that could comfortably seat eight, as well as a short bar with three stools that divided the eating area from the cooking area. Pots hung on hooks, accessible, and along the outside wall there was a row of pegs that held everything from hats and jackets to car and truck keys. The entire house had black checked curtains at the windows, but the ones in the kitchen were never closed. With the kitchen on the same side of the house as his bedroom, there was always a view of the lake. His mother had planned it that way because, she claimed, looking at the lake made the chore of doing dishes more agreeable. After they’d gotten older and all had to take their turn, they’d agreed. Then they’d gotten a dishwasher, but still there were times when one or more of them would be caught there, drinking a glass of milk or snacking and staring at the placid surface of the lake.

       Honey shifted, peeking up through her lashes to find a lot of appreciative eyes gazing at her. She glanced back down with a blush. She was an enticing mix of bravado and shyness, making demands one minute, pink-cheeked the next.

       He liked seeing his shirt on her, this one a soft, worn flannel in shades of blue that did sexy things for her eyes. And he liked the way her heavy hair half tumbled down her nape, escaping the loose knot and braid, with silky strands draping her shoulders.

       She didn’t look as chilled, and he wondered if her nipples were still pebbled, if they pressed against his shirt.

       His hand shook and he dropped his fork, taking the attention away from Honey. To keep his brothers from embarrassing him with lurid comments on his state of preoccupation, he asked Honey, “How come your car was filled with stuff, but no clothes?”

       She swallowed a tiny bite of chicken and shrugged. She’d drunk nearly a full glass of tea but only picked at her food. “I left in a hurry. And that stuff was already in my car.”

       Sawyer glanced around and saw the same level of confusion on his brothers’ faces that he felt.

       Morgan pushed his empty plate away and folded his arms on the edge of the table. “Why was the stuff already in your car?”

       She coughed, drank some tea, rubbed her forehead. Finally she looked at Morgan dead on. “Because I hadn’t unloaded it yet.” She aligned her fork carefully beside her plate and asked in her low, rough voice, “Why did you decide to become a sheriff?”

       He looked bemused for just a moment, the customary scowl gone from his face. “It suited me.” His eyes narrowed and he asked, “What do you mean you hadn’t unloaded it? Unloaded it from where?”

       “I’d just left my fiancé that very week. All I’d unloaded out of the car were my clothes and the things I needed right away. Before I could get the rest of the boxes out, I had to leave again. So the stuff was still in there. What do you mean, being a sheriff suits you? In what way?”

       Her question was momentarily ignored while a silence as loud as a thunderclap hovered over the table. No one moved. No one spoke. All the brothers were watching Sawyer.

       He drew a low breath. “She’s not engaged anymore.”

       Gabe looked surprised. “She’s not?”

       “No.”

       “Why not?” Morgan demanded. “What happened?”

       Before Sawyer could form an answer, Honey turned very businesslike. “What do you mean, being a sheriff suits you?”

       A small, ruthless smile touched Morgan’s mouth as he caught on to her game. He leaned forward. “I get to call the shots since I’m the sheriff. People have to do what I say, and I like it. Why did you leave your fiancé?”

       “I found out he didn’t love me. And what makes you think people have to obey you? Do you mean you lord your position over them? You take advantage?”

       “On occasion. Did you love your fiancé?”

       “As it turns out…no. What occasions?”

       Morgan didn’t miss a beat. “Like the time I knew Fred Barker was knocking his wife around, but she wouldn’t complain. I found him drunk in town and locked him up. Every time I catch him drinking, I run him through the whole gambit of sobriety tests. And I find a reason to heavily fine him when I can’t stick him in jail. He found out drinking was too expensive, and sober, he doesn’t abuse his wife.” He tilted his head. “If you didn’t love the guy, why the hell were you engaged to him in the first place?”

       “For reasons of my own. If you—”

       “Uh-uh. Not good enough, honey. What reasons?”

       “None of your business.”

       His voice became silky and menacing. “You’re afraid to tell me?”

       “No.” She stared down her nose at him. Even with dark circles under her red-rimmed eyes and her hair more down than up, the look was effectively condescending. “I just don’t like being provoked. And you’re doing it deliberately.”

       Morgan burst out laughing—a very rare occurrence—and dropped back in his chair. The way Jordan and Gabe stared at him, amazed, only made him laugh harder.

       Sawyer appreciated the quick way she turned the tables on his dominating brother. It didn’t happen often, and almost never with women. Evidently, Morgan had been amused by her, too, because he could be the most ruthless bastard around when it suited him. Sawyer was glad he hadn’t had to intervene. He wouldn’t have let Morgan badger her, but he had been hoping Morgan could get some answers.

       He found Honey could be very closemouthed when it suited her. It amazed him that she could look almost pathetically frail and weak one moment, then mean as a junkyard dog the next.

       Gabe waved his fork. “Morgan does everything deliberately. It’s annoying, but it does make him a good sheriff. He doesn’t react off the cuff, if you know what I mean.”

       Jordan looked at Sawyer. “Not to change the subject—”

       Morgan snorted. “As if you could.”

       “—but do we have anything for dessert?”

       “Yeah.” Sawyer watched Honey as he answered, aware of her new tension. She wasn’t crazy about discussing her personal life, but he had no idea how much of it had to do with her claimed threats or the possibility of a lingering affection for her ex. His jaw tightened, and he practically growled, “Frosted brownies.”

       Jordan sat back. “They’re no good?”

       “They’re fine. And in case none of you noticed, there’s a new pig in the barnyard.”

       Honey started, the tension leaving her as confusion took its place. “A pig?”