Hank gave her a crooked smile, and the gravy caught in the corner made him more endearing. Natural. Real. Stephen had been aware of appearances at all times, and he never would have sat down with dirty clothes and messy hair let alone with gravy caught in the corner of his lips.
Using a big cloth napkin, Hank wiped his mouth. Several minutes later, he shoved away his empty plate. He’d finished it in record time. “Thank ya, Momma. It’s my favorite.”
“I know it is, son,” she drawled without turning from the sink.
“Got any pie?”
She glanced over her shoulder. “You boys devoured it all. I might have some oatmeal cookies though.”
Hank leaned back and covered his stomach with a big hand. “Also my favorite.”
She gestured to the crockery cookie jar on the counter. Hank got up and gathered his and Charlotte’s plates.
Stunned by his manners, she wondered if she’d landed herself in some Old West TV show. Men didn’t act this way where she came from.
As he crossed the kitchen, his sexy swagger caught her gaze. As he scraped Charlotte’s into the trash, she grew fixated on his movements. Each muscle was poetry, flexing in ways she’d only seen at the gym. When he dropped the dishes into the sudsy water, he leaned in and kissed his momma on the cheek.
“Favorite dinner and favorite cookies? You might be spoiling me a bit.”
Charlotte couldn’t resist a small smile.
“Well, who else am I going to spoil when my other boys are—” She broke off, and they both looked at Charlotte.
Oh no. She hadn’t worried much about getting into a strange man’s truck because Hank was so genuinely nice and she’d thought him to be a family man. But she didn’t like the way they looked at her.
She climbed off the stool and clasped her hands. “I’m feeling awfully tired. If you don’t mind telling me where to find my room…?”
“You can’t run off until you’ve had one of my cookies, dear,” Mrs. Dalton said.
“Oh, no thank you. I couldn’t eat another bite.”
The expression in Hank’s eyes was understanding. “I’ll show you to your room.”
“There’s no need. I can find it if you tell me where it is.”
He bit into big, thick oatmeal cookie. From here, Charlotte could smell the cinnamon and it made her rethink her decision not to have one.
“Room’s at the top of the stairs, first door on the left.”
Mrs. Dalton turned from the sink, hands dripping. “You put her in your room?”
Charlotte’s face scorched.
Hank rubbed a hand through his hair. “Well, it’s the cleanest. Don’t worry. I changed the sheets. I’ll sleep in Cash and Beck’s room.”
“You’re right. Who knows what’s in your brothers’ rooms. Especially Witt and Kade’s. You might find a wild animal in there and end up sleeping with horse tack.” Mrs. Dalton crossed the kitchen so quickly she might have been on wheels. “Now you go on up and get settled. I’ll bring you some milk and cookies later.”
“And I’ll get Pa and bring your car home. I’ll take a look at the transmission first thing in the morning.”
“Thank you.” Her head was spinning. All of this was so far out of her reality, she had no response. A woman who brought comfort food to a stranger in bed? A man who gave up his room and changed the sheets for her?
“I’ll show you to the bedroom before I head out.” Hank went before her, a stack of cookies he was gnawing on in hand. As he led the way upstairs, it was impossible not to stare at his hard butt. The corner of one pocket had a ragged hole, as if a screwdriver had poked out.
His big boots clomped on the oak treads, and she wondered that Mrs. Dalton didn’t bend his ear for wearing boots in the house. She was probably resigned to it, living with six men.
When they reached the top of the stairs, Hank pushed open a door. Charlotte’s palms started sweating again. She was going into the bedroom of a man she hardly knew.
Her parents would call her stupid, and she couldn’t argue. Stephen would—Well, who gave a damn what that asshole thought?
Hank waited for her to pass inside, tipping an invisible brim. She looked around his room. Spare and tidy, with only a bed, nightstand and desk. The bed was covered in what looked to be a freshly unfolded blue quilt. It was still creased. Charlotte might feel creeped out to sleep in a stranger’s bed, but it was a lot cleaner than some of the motels she’d stayed at lately.
“This is nice. Thank you.”
“No one will disturb you here. There’s a lock, see? Just in case you’re feeling weird about sleeping in a strange house.” He fingered the doorknob.