fork and pulled the toast to the edge of the rack before sliding it onto a waiting plate.
Greer got a glass down, handed it to her and took her plate to set it down on the bar. After pouring milk,
she slid onto a barstool across from where Greer stood buttering his toast.
“I never could understand how anyone could eat that,” he said as he eyed her concoction.
She took a careful bite so as not to burn her lips and sighed in contentment.
“It was always Sean and mom’s favorite.”
She swallowed and nodded, willing the food not to get stuck in her throat.
“He made it for me,” she said softly.
Greer turned his attention back to his toast and then tossed the knife into the sink.
Uncomfortable silence stretched between them. Emily ate mechanically, trying to savor the comfortable
taste, but the more she chewed, the more difficulty she had forcing the gooey peanut butter down.
She chased the first piece down with half a glass of milk and shoved the saucer away, giving up on
finishing. Whatever spark that had ignited her hunger was doused by the memory of Sean standing in the
kitchen licking peanut butter off the knife as he made her toast.
“What are you two doing up?” Taggert asked as he ambled into the kitchen.
Her gaze tracked down his torso at the faded T-shirt and well-worn jeans that clung to his body, outlining
his lean hardness. If she remembered right, he was still wearing what he had on the night before, which
meant he hadn’t been to bed.
A glance at his tired eyes confirmed her suspicions. He and Greer both looked tired. And worried.
“Emily was hungry,” Greer said. “We came down before Buck took over and barred everyone from the
premises.”
Taggert grunted and took a seat next to Emily. He glanced sideways at her saucer. “You gonna eat that?”
She smiled faintly and slid the plate along with her half-full glass of milk at him. She stole a look at Greer
as Taggert wolfed down the toast. There was an impatient set to his stance as if he was being held up and
didn’t like it.
Before, in the bedroom, when she’d looked into his eyes, she’d found the courage to speak up, to state the
need for them to talk, and she’d had every intention of asking the questions that burned in her mind. But
now, faced with both of them, her courage waned.
Another peek at Greer told her that he was as ill at ease as she was. The least she could do was meet this
head-on and quit hiding. She’d done enough of that in the last year.
She cleared her throat, swallowing some of the soreness away, and then she massaged it with her hand,
more in a gesture of nervousness than an attempt at comfort.
“We need to talk.”
She glanced sideways at Taggert as she spoke so he’d know she was including him.
He set the now-empty glass down in front of him and turned those dark eyes on her. There was cautious
reserve set deep in the brown pools. Almost like he was building himself up for what was coming.
Now that she had their attention she had no idea what to say. She licked her lips and opened her mouth,
but nothing came out.
“I—”
The back door slammed, and she jerked around in her seat to see Buck standing there, his eyebrows up as
he looked at her and then the others.
“What in Sam Hill are y’all doing up at this hour? Breakfast won’t be on the table for another hour.”
Taggert looked guiltily down at the empty saucer in front of him then hastily shoved it toward Greer.
Emily’s shoulders shook. Taggert looked like an errant child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
“I can still eat,” Taggert said.
Buck snorted. “Of course you can. You’ve still got one hollow leg to fill. It’s a wonder your parents
didn’t go bankrupt trying to feed you boys.”
Emily stole another peek at Greer, who looked even more annoyed. His gaze told her that the interruption
was not welcome, that he was seething with impatience, that he was tired of waiting.
Buck’s appearance was a welcome reprieve to her.
“You going to eat?” Buck asked her as he dug into the cabinets for the pans he needed.
She started to shake her head but stopped when she met three disapproving stares. “Uh, okay,” she
agreed. More wouldn’t kill her, and who knew, maybe it would go down better than the toast.
Buck puttered around the kitchen, efficiently preparing a breakfast large enough to serve the half dozen
hands that lived on the ranch. Emily avoided the gazes of Greer and Taggert. She needed all the courage
she could muster, and she wasn’t going to waste it on a few stolen glances.
The hands filed inside just as the first rays of light filtered through the kitchen window. The foreman