Page 6 of The Secret of Emerald Cottage

Green eyes the color of the Irish moss that crisscrossed Aunt Lilly’s front-walk pavers narrowed a hair, a nuance with which he was rapidly becoming familiar. “I said fast, hearty, and nutritious, bucko, so two out of three’s not bad.”

She flipped the biscuit in the air like he had, deftly catching it before chucking it into the microwave with a slant of a smile. “Especially for some strike-out king who assaults women while they’re sleeping.”

“For your information, Sleeping Beauty, I never strike out.” He ambled over to the coffee pot with a cocky smile, lifting it to take a sniff before pouring a cup. “Secondly, you asked for it, lass, so I was only following orders. And thirdly”—taking a sip of the coffee, he scrunched his nose in distaste—“I hope and pray Jimmy Dean makes biscuits better than you brew a pot.”

Punching in the time for the microwave with no little force, she slapped her arms in a familiar fold while that indomitable chin edged up, completely ignoring his dig. “What’s that supposed to mean—that ‘I asked for it?’ Ohhhhh, wait!” Apparent comprehension came with a slow nod and an open-mouthed smile that quickly resorted to a sexy tug of her lip. “You mean that given your reputation, any woman in a bed is ‘asking for it,’ right?”

It was his turn to burn her with a lidded gaze as he leaned against the counter, legs crossed at the ankles. “No, little Miss Sassy-mouth, I mean that you asked me to kiss you.”

Ding!

“I did no such thing!” she said with a stomp of her foot, jerking the microwave door open to hurl the biscuits onto plates before slamming it closed again. She clunked both on the table.

“You most certainly did.” Strolling over, he sat down and reached for his plate, staring at the cellophaned biscuit with no little hesitation. “You said, ‘just kiss me, please,’ so I did.”

“In my sleep!” she shouted with sparks in her eyes, “while I was dreaming! Under the influence of cold medicine, I might add, which I’d have to chug a whole bottle of before I’d ever consider kissing a pompous player like you!” She jerked the chair out and sat down, eyes as thin as her patience as she sniffed and opened her biscuit. “With any luck, you’ll get my cold.”

He grinned. “That’s quite a combustible temper you have there, lass, which doesn’t bode well for our sharing a house, now does it?”

She blinked wide, as if suddenly realizing she’d just nuked him along with the biscuits. “Oh, I am so sorry,” she said with a hand to her face, slowly sinking into her chair while she punished that amazing lip with her teeth. “I don’t usually act like this, truly, but I’m at the tail end of a cold that makes me touchy. Plus I just got burned by a player, so I guess you bring out the worst in me since, well”—she gave a shrug—“you’re a player too.”

“Was a player,” he emphasized with a rip of the cellophane, holding the biscuit up to study it with wary eyes. “I’ve turned over a new leaf, so that’s part of my past.”

“Oh, really?” Removing her “breakfast” from the cellophane, she proceeded to slather what looked like strawberry jam beneath the top portion before pinning him with a flutter of lashes. “Since when—last night when I pulled a gun on you?”

“Exactly.” Chuckling, he followed her lead and reached for the jam to dress his biscuit with some taste. “So … you actually know how to use that thing?”

Her shoulders bounced with an off-handed shrug as she bit into her biscuit. “Used to be a nurse in the Navy.”

“Ahhh, star of the sea. How appropriate.” He took a bite and chewed, thinking Jimmy Dean wasn’t half bad. “So, that’s why you were hired as a caretaker and companion.”

“Exactly.” Her nose crinkled. “What do you mean, ‘star of the sea’?”

He smiled. “Your name—Molly. Means star of the sea in Gaelic.”

She grunted, causing his smile to grow. “Yeah, well it means ‘bitter’ in Hebrew, at least since I’ve been out of the Navy, so trust me, that’s a wee bit more appropriate.”

She tossed back a gulp of her coffee, and Brec winced, thinking it had to be burning all the way down, but she just dabbed at her mouth with her napkin and took another drink. “Being Miss Lilly’s caretaker and companion is the best job I’ve ever had, so I have Chase to thank. After your aunt sprained her ankle falling down the steps—”

He almost choked on his biscuit, taking a quick glug of coffee to clear his throat, but it just scalded all the way down. Kind of like her comment. “She fell down the steps? When?”

“About two months ago, which is when Chase”—she paused in a squint—“you know him, right? Miss Lilly’s self-appointed caretaker, the son she never had, who lives here at the lake and sees to her every need?”

Brec bit back a scowl, albeit not too successfully. “Yeah, I know him,” he muttered, remembering all too well the kid who vacationed with his family at Lake Loon every year. Nice kid, but he got on Brec’s nerves over how much Aunt Lilly fawned over him.

“Well, he’s my associate pastor and a good friend—”

Brec blinked. “Wait—he’s a pastor?”

“Yes, and Miss Lilly’s too.” She dipped her brows as if he should have known that, and guilt niggled because he didn’t know much about Aunt Lilly’s life or the people in it. “You see,” she continued, “Chase and I were Navy buddies when he was a SEAL—”

“He was a SEAL?” Brec stared, biscuit dangling mid-air, his jealousy ramping up a notch. Blimey, the bloke was a bloomin’ superhero! He bit into his biscuit too hard, nearly gouging his tongue.

She gave a slow nod, as if he were having trouble keeping up. “—soooo he asked me to move in with Miss Lilly to keep an eye on her while she was recuperating”—she distracted him when she swiped jam off her lips with her tongue—“which ended up being a win-win for everybody since Chase needed somebody to care for Miss Lilly, and I needed a place to live.”

He paused mid-chew, then swallowed hard. “You needed a place to live?”

A smile fidgeted at the edge of her lips while she finished her biscuit. “Mmm … part myna bird and part panther. Whoops!” She licked her fingers with a silly grin before she wiped her hands on her napkin. “Sorry—we called a truce of sorts, I think, so, strike that last tease, Striker Boy.”