A Matter of Trust by Susan May Warren

Author:Susan May Warren [Warren, Susan May]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Baker Publishing Group
Published: 2017-07-03T18:30:00+00:00

Brette opened her eyes and tried to get her bearings. Right, the PEAK ranch house.

The last time Brette had woken up in a public place, she’d been following the early presidential campaign of Michelle Bachman, a senator out of Minnesota, vying for a private meeting to pitch her biography.

But even at the Hilton, she’d woken up on the sofa, alone, and not cuddled up to the very safe presence of Ty Remington.

This was much better. She wouldn’t exactly call it cuddling, maybe, because he sat, his long legs propped on a pillow on a straight back chair, his head to the side while she curled in a ball on the rest of the sofa, her head on a pillow next to him. But he had let his other arm drop and settle on her shoulder, as if checking to see if she might be okay.

Maybe she’d been groaning in her sleep, because her stomach still ached.

But not so much that she’d turn down whatever was cooking in the kitchen. She pushed herself up with a moan.

“Are you okay?”

Ty had come alive beside her and was scrubbing a hand down his face. He leaned up.

“Yeah. I think so. How did the movie end?”

He looked up at her, and for a moment, it struck her how incredibly handsome he was. Wavy black hair, dark whiskers, beautiful green eyes. And a little smirk to his mouth that only added that sense of some personal humor, a kind of secret behind his eyes.

She might just be dreaming that part, but she liked it all the same.

“The cowboy saved the day, got the girl, and they lived happily ever after. Just the way it’s supposed to happen,” he said in an easy Montana twang.

She hadn’t realized how much she liked cowboys, really, until this moment.

A bang sounded in the kitchen as the microwave door slammed shut.

She glanced over, a little surprised to see Pete at the helm, holding a flat spatula, his back to them. The microwave hummed. And if she wasn’t mistaken, coffee gurgled in the pot.

“Hey, Pete,” Ty said.

Pete didn’t turn, and when Brette glanced at Ty, he was frowning.

Outside, dawn had barely begun to dent the night. She got up and headed to the window.

Light scraped across the freshly fallen snow, and the wind lifted it in soft layers and drifted it up against the house and fencing in white waves. But it seemed the worst of the storm had abated.

She headed to the kitchen and slid onto a stool. Pete still had his back to her and was now pulling bacon from a cast-iron pan onto a plate with paper towels. “That looks good,” she said.

He glanced over his shoulder at her, then at Ty, who’d risen and was walking upstairs.

“What kind of eggs do you like?” Pete said, looking back at her. He didn’t smile.

“Over easy?”

He nodded and reached for a couple eggs in the nearby carton. Cracked them into the cast-iron pan.

Maybe coffee would help her stomach. She got up and helped herself to a mug from the cupboard, then poured herself a cup.

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