CHAPTER 12
“I don’t care how good you are with melons or peaches. You, Hunter Kane, are not charming your way into my kitchen. Or anywhere else, for that matter,” Mackenzie said sternly—to her closed bathroom door.
It was the only quiet place she could find to think, since after their impromptu shopping excursion Hunter had set up shop in the kitchen—where he was currently cooking up a cozy supper for two.
Muttley gave a little whimper, and Mackenzie stroked his head. “I smell it too, buddy.”
The tempting scent of Hunter’s aunt’s famous corn bread baking in the oven wafted under the door. Mackenzie’s mouth watered at the thought of a home-cooked meal. Her stomach fluttered with nerves, and a few irritating butterflies, at the idea of Hunter doing something so domestic in her space.
“That is what you should have said to him when he strolled into your house as if he owned the place.” With a frustrated huff, she slipped off her jeans, still damp from the rain, and pulled on a pair of leggings and a sweatshirt. “Stop being a pushover and start taking charge of your life.”
Attitude thoroughly readjusted, Mackenzie stepped into her fuzzy pink house boots and opened the door. But when she bent down to pick up her dirty clothes, she noticed one of her tennis shoes was missing.
“Muttley,” she groaned, but she could already hear him jingling his thieving little butt across the bedroom. “Give,” she said and marched over to his doggy bed. It took less than a second before she felt a wet nose and shoelaces nudge her hand.
“Good boy. Now lie down.” She gave Muttley the sign to sit in his bed and think about what he’d done. He gave an argumentative little huff but curled up as told.
That wasn’t so hard,she thought as she leaned down to give him a good-boyruffle of the ears. Except instead of his soft fur, her hand met leather. Drool-coated leather.
While she’d been giving herself a pep talk, it seemed Muttley had made short order of a cowboy boot, turning it into his own personal chew toy. An expensive, leather, Kane-size cowboy boot. Which Hunter had left by the front door when they’d arrived back at her house.
She gave a disapproving tsk at the canine-size holes in the buttery leather, but this time Muttley didn’t back down.
Nope, he barked, proud protector pride strong in his tone.
“No steak bone for you tonight,” she chided while searching for the other boot—which stubbornly stood at the foot of her bed, next to a duffel bag. A big, manly duffel bag that had no business being in her bedroom.
Sitting pretty, as if it belonged.
“Oh hell no.” She threw her hair in a ponytail, snatched the boots and duffel, and headed down the hallway—his crap in tow.
One overbearing male dealt with, one to go.
Feeling all kinds of confident, she entered the kitchen and tossed his duffel across the floor. It skidded to a stop. “I found that in my room.”
“I am sensing a pattern here,” Hunter said casually. “Next time you’re going to throw something at me, could it be silk or lace?”
“You’re lucky I didn’t throw these.” She held up the offensive boots.
“What did those boots ever do to you?” he asked, taking them from her, injury in his voice as, she assumed, he inspected the bite marks.
“They crawled under my bed.”
“They didn’t crawl,” he explained. “Everything around here seems to have its own place, and I wasn’t sure where you wanted my stuff, so I set it in your room to make sure it was out of the way until I could ask.”
That had her pausing, long and hard.
“Wow, uh, that was incredibly”—thoughtful—“observant.” A complete one-eighty from the guy who used to simply leave his things wherever they landed.
“You don’t need to sound so surprised. I may have gotten a bit caught up with all the hype back then, but I wasn’t a complete asshat.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Yes, you did, and it was probably warranted.” He didn’t sound hurt, more accepting of the statement. “But I’ll have you know, when I traded in my bachelor status for something more domestic, it was because I was done with life in the fast lane. In fact, when we’re on tour, I usually opt for a condo over a hotel suite, so I can spend my downtime someplace grounding. Like a kitchen.”
“I’m glad you found your big-boy pants, but I’m not sure your staying here is going to work.” He hadn’t even been there an hour and already her carefully crafted schedule had been abandoned.
“All I’m asking is for you to give this a chance,” he said.
