Page 23 of Cowboy

“Grilled steak and Brussels sprouts are tonight’s specialty,” a feminine voice answers me, and I glance across the kitchen to find a gorgeous woman with raven black hair and deep blue eyes. “Hi. I’m Carly.”

“You’re stunning,” I admit, not holding back. Her face pinkens at my direct compliment, but when someone is beautiful, it needs to be stated. She has movie-star good looks with high cheekbones and sultry lips. Brushing hair over one ear, she mutters her gratitude at the comment while another person enters the room wearing a ballcap. Nearly as tall as Carly, the body is of someone young, and I surmise this is Canyon’s child.

“Aw, Carly. I hate Brussels sprouts,” the teen whines. I squint a bit, trying to decipher if this child is a boy or a girl with his or her back to me. The solid shoulders and loose jeans suggest a boy, maybe, but the high voice hints at a girl.

“They’re good for you,” Carly argues, slapping at the bill of the cap, lowering it over the teen’s face.

“Since when?” the teenager argues before glancing over a shoulder at me. “Hey, who is this? This the woman shacking up in your place, Uncle Bull.” The kid hitches a thumb at me while addressing Bull, and I’m a little taken aback at the description.

“Joey, mind your manners,” Bull warns. “Who said such a thing?”

Joey. Boy.

“Uncle Blade said you met another damsel in distress and brought her home with you. She from one of those dating apps you were on?”

Bull rolls his eyes, but I immediately react. “What dating app?” Bull reaches behind his neck, scratching nervously at it.

“Oopsy,” the child states, hand flying upward to cover thin lips, but the shadowed facial expression shows no sign of remorse. “Uncle Bull is the bull of DatingDairy.”

“Joey, make yourself useful and set the table,” Carly interjects, placing hands on the teen almost taller than her and redirecting Joey to a room off the kitchen. “And no hats in the house.” Carly tugs at the cap, and a tumble of ginger-colored hair flows from the headgear.

Oh. Girl.

“Joey?” I choke.

“Josephine Elizabeth. My brother Canyon’s daughter. She’s thirteen.”

“Ah,” I groan as if that explains everything.

“She’s also being raised by a gaggle of men, and she’s taking on characteristics of being one,” Carly states. “I apologize on her behalf. I’m trying to do my best.” Her eyes lead to where the girl disappeared into the dining room, and Bull shakes his head.

“You’re not her mama,” he states, making me question where the girl’s mother is. Bull mentioned Canyon just showed up one day with the child next to him.

“I know,” Carly whispers, and sorrow fills her voice. Looking up at Bull, I’m curious as I thought he said Blade was the one in love with Carly. Was Carly in love with Canyon?

Oh, this has all the makings of a good love triangle, but I have my own issues.

“Tell me more about this dating app.” I intend to sound teasingly intrigued, but jealousy lingers beneath the surface. With Bull’s head in my lap the other night, I wanted desperately for him to lift my skirt and nuzzle his face between my thighs, restoring us to who we’ve been together. But I’m the one who set the limits. I’m the one who said we should wait until we have an answer because I don’t want to be unfair. However, I’m dying a slow death over my attraction to him. I want to touch him and have him touch me. I want our mouths to meet and explore like they did during our night together. Fighting off the urge to throw myself at him like I did in the Busy Bean’s bathroom is a constant battle.

“It’s just something I’ve done in the past,” Bull mutters and steps over to Carly to avoid further explanation. “What can I help you with?”

Giving me a sympathetic glance, Carly nods at a large bowl with a salad as she answers Bull. “Take that to the dining room and then maybe fill glasses with milk.”

“Oh, I don’t drink milk,” I state. Like a screeching car crash, everything in the kitchen halts. Carly stares at me. Bull rounds to face me.

“Excuse me?” he asks, brows raised high.

“I don’t . . .” My voice trails. I’m on a dairy farm, but I don’t ingest the product. I’d like to argue lactose intolerant, but that isn’t the explanation. I just haven’t drunk milk since I was a child. I don’t like it, but I can’t say that.

“Blasphemy.” A deep tenor breaks the sudden silence, and I turn to my side, watching a man with long hair tucked into a man bun stride into the kitchen from the outside door. He gives me a smile and then winks.

“Canyon,” Bull greets his brother. Canyon Eaton should come with a warning of his own. Compared to his brother, he’s just as broad and sturdy, yet Canyon has an edgy and artistic side. He has former musician written all over him despite dirty hands and something smudged on his shirt.

“Off with her head,” he continues to tease, stepping up to me and playfully wrapping an arm around my neck. He presses an unexpected kiss to my temple before releasing me as quickly as he embraced me. Bull’s eyes narrow on his brother.

“Keep your hands to yourself,” he warns Canyon.

“Or what? According to you, Red here isn’t yours,” Canyon teases. “And I like me a redhead.” Seeing the dull color on his daughter’s hair, I’d say her mother was a redhead, as Canyon’s hair is dark brown. However, I’m focused on the fact that Bull’s mentioned I don’t belong to him, making me sound available to everyone else. I am not liking that assessment.