“No,” she said at once. “That is, I was just curious.”
The coffeemaker began chugging away, and the thick, rich scent of percolating coffee filled the kitchen. If only it tasted as good as it smelled.
“It’s still pretty early, so I don’t know if they’ve made it out here yet. Main priorities are the major streets, obviously.” He leaned against the counter and glanced out the window. “Of course, it’s sort of a moot point if I don’t get the snowblower out on the driveway.”
The idea of Lucas Wilcox trundling a snowblower up and down his lengthy driveway was so amusing that she barely held in a chuckle. “You, with a snowblower?”
“Well, if I don’t do it, who will? I’ll admit my cousin Darrell is in pretty high demand on days like today, but his parents obviously have first priority. Besides, they live way at the other end of town, so I doubt he’d be able to get here any time soon. I don’t mind blowing snow. It’s kind of relaxing.”
“Can I watch?” she asked, after taking a sip of tea.
“If it amuses you,” he replied. He was smiling, but the way the dark eyes seemed to reach across the room and connect with hers told Margot that he wasn’t entirely casual about the whole thing.
“I’ve just never seen anyone use one before. The main road in Jerome is always plowed because they have to keep the highway open all the time, and besides, even when we do get snow, it’s only a few inches most of the time. Nothing that can’t be handled with a shovel.”
He gave a mock-shudder. “I don’t even want to think about tackling that driveway with a shovel.”
She couldn’t really blame him for that. It was a very big driveway. But first things first. He couldn’t take on that driveway, even armed with a snowblower, on an empty stomach. “I saw you were doing okay for canned goods. What about breakfast? I can make us some eggs and toast or something, if you’ve got the supplies.”
“Anything you could possibly want,” he replied, and opened the refrigerator so she could get a good look inside. And he was right — she saw several cartons of eggs, a package of bacon, another one of ham, and yet another of sausage. She lifted an inquiring eyebrow at him, and he added, somewhat apologetically, “I wasn’t sure which one you liked best, so I got all of them.”
“Okay, now I’m really not worried about starving.” She considered a moment, then said, “Let’s do the ham, if that’s okay. I haven’t had it for a while, and bacon is so messy.”
He fetched everything and brought it over to the stove. “I think I can manage the eggs — ”
“It’s fine,” she cut in. “Weren’t you just saying yesterday you didn’t want to poison me with your cooking? But if you can take care of the toast — ”
“Sure. Sourdough, wheat, or English muffins?”
She wanted to laugh, but settled for replying, “Sourdough? And are scrambled eggs okay?”
“Sure.”
They both went to work — or at least, he put the loaf of sourdough near the toaster oven and then fetched the pans she needed. As she cracked the eggs into a bowl, she reflected that she could get used to this sort of cozy domesticity. Bustling around the kitchen with Lucas was certainly more enjoyable than her lonely ritual of toast and tea…and although she couldn’t deny that he was good to look at pretty much all the time, there was something about the way he looked in the morning, with his hair not combed all the way and his fine jaw shadowed with just enough stubble to enhance the strong bones rather than obscure them.
Once everything was done, they sat down with their food on the barstools that lined one edge of the bilevel kitchen island. Lucas took a bite of his eggs and let out a sigh. “So, are all you McAllister witches good cooks?”
“Scrambled eggs aren’t that difficult, Lucas.”
“You’d be surprised. I may or may not have killed a pan or two in the pursuit of decent scrambled eggs.”
She chuckled. “Well, you do have to pay attention. As to your question, I have no idea, since I’m a long way from sampling everyone’s cooking. But I’ll admit that everything we put out at our Thanksgiving get-together is very good.”
Looking thoughtful, he remarked, “I’d wrangle an invitation from Angela, but she’s obviously staying put up here for Thanksgiving this year.”
“Well, you could go with me,” Margot said, surprising herself. Where the hell had that come from?
Apparently she wasn’t the only one who was surprised, because he replied, his tone gently teasing, “Are you really willing to plan something with me a whole two weeks in advance?”