Lily and the Lawman

So he’d allowed himself to have his arm twisted and then, on top of that, he’d let April browbeat him into going into the kitchen to fetch the missing guest of honor, although why one of the others couldn’t do it was beyond him.

Looking at her now, he wasn’t all that sorry he’d been sent.

“I drew the short straw,” he said in answer to the question she’d fired at him. He nodded toward the door that led into the saloon. “They sent me in to get you.”

“‘They’?” It couldn’t have been Jimmy or Alison. They knew better.

“Alison, Jimmy, Luc, April.” He shrugged, wondering how many names she wanted. “‘They.”’ He had to admit the aroma coming from Lily’s general vicinity was tempting. He couldn’t decide if it belonged to her or what she had cooking on the stove. “Everyone’s outside, waiting to meet you.”

He meant the people in the bar. She glanced back at the two giant iron pots she had simmering. Had she made enough?

“How many in an ‘everyone’?”

The question and the tone behind it surprised him. Was she being shy? He wouldn’t have pegged her as that, but then, he supposed bravado was the flip side of shyness. Maybe she had just been putting on a show earlier, though God knew it hadn’t been for his benefit.

He shrugged in answer to her question. “Right now maybe about a hundred and fifty people. That’s about all the Salty can really accommodate at one time.” And even so, they were fairly stuffed in as it was. Made maneuvering around tricky. Max grinned as he considered the thought of her being shy. Shy like a cobra, probably. “Don’t worry, they won’t bite.”

She paused to stir the closest iron pot in front of her, then dipped her ladle in for a taste. Lily blew on the tip of it, then took the tiniest bit on her tongue. Damn it, she was right. It did need cayenne pepper and that mousy little man Luc had left to help her had disappeared on her.

“They’d better,” she informed him, looking around to see where Isaac had gotten to, “after all the trouble I’ve just gone through.”

The din from the saloon was leeching into the kitchen, making it impossible to hear her. Max came closer, tilting his head slightly. “Come again?”

Was he a complete idiot? What did he think she was doing here, wearing an apron and stirring? “The sauce.” She indicated the two giant pots. “Luc said he was going to make spareribs for tonight and he wasn’t happy about the sauce.”

She frowned as she glanced back at the unopened jars of common barbecue sauce that took up two of the pantry shelves. No wonder there wasn’t any room for cayenne pepper. Luc was a terrific guy, one of the few who were, she could readily testify, but his taste buds were tragically plebeian.

She snorted distastefully. “He had a reason not to be happy.”

Max crossed to the counter and picked up one of the jars. He read the label before putting it down again. “What’s wrong with this? I use it myself.”

She looked at him as if he’s just admitted to polishing his boots with bear grease. Without realizing it, she lifted her chin and slanted her eyes as she looked at him.

“That doesn’t surprise me.”

The woman’s tone was nothing if not smug. He had a sudden urge to drain the smugness from her. Instead, he shoved his hands into his pockets and continued regarding her.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Moving past him, she began to rummage through the pantry herself, hoping to unearth the elusive cayenne pepper—if there was such a thing to be had up here. She’d temporarily forgotten where she was.

She lifted a shoulder carelessly in response to his question and let it fall again. “You don’t exactly strike me as someone with discerning taste.”

Coming closer, Max gave her a long look that made her very aware of the fact that her T-shirt could have been a lot looser. She could almost feel his eyes traveling over her.

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