His grin widens. “Mama signed you up already. Said if she left it to you, you'd conveniently forget.”
Of course she did. The Taylor family efficiency at work. “Is there anyone in town who doesn't know about this?”
“Probably that hot city girl you helped at Wellington yesterday,” Christian says casually, stirring batter. “Amanda mentioned you were acting weird around her.”
I nearly drop the bowl I'm holding. “Amanda needs to mind her own business.”
Christian's eyebrows shoot up. “Oh damn. You like her.”
“I don't even know her,” I protest, too quickly.
“But you want to.” Christian points the batter-covered spoon at me. “I haven't seen that look since Jessica Wagner in high school.”
“There's no look.”
“Oh, there's definitely a look.”
“Drop it, Christian,” I warn, but my voice lacks conviction. “She's just passing through town. Got her flights mixed up or something.”
Christian wiggles his eyebrows. “A woman of mystery. No wonder you're intrigued.”
“I'm not—” I start, but catch myself. Why am I denying it? “Fine. She's interesting. Different. Doesn't give a damn about the Taylor name or rodeo championships.”
“Sounds terrifying,” Christian says, pouring batter into donut molds. “No wonder you're smitten.”
“I'm not smitten,” I argue, though something in my chest tightens at the thought of her. Those sharp aquatic blue eyes. That unimpressed look when I introduced myself. “She's just... refreshing.”
“Refreshing,” Christian repeats with a smirk. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”
I flick flour at his face. “Shut up and bake asshole.”
For the next hour, we focus on not destroying my kitchen, while making Mama’s favorite maple bacon donuts. By the time Lily returns from sunbathing, we've actually produced something resembling edible food.
“Not bad,” she says, inspecting our work. “They almost look professional.”
“Told you we didn't need your help,” Christian boasts.
I snort. “You tried to substitute salt for sugar.”
“An honest mistake!” he holds his arms up in surrender.
Lily grabs her purse from the counter. “Well, culinary disasters aside, I've got to run. Hot date tonight.”
Christian and I turn at the exact same time, like we’ve been choreographed. “With who?” we ask in unison.
She rolls her eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t get stuck. “None of your business, overprotective brothers. It’s just a guy from somewhere.”
“You could at least tell us his name,” I prod, already sensing this is going to turn into another incident.
“Nope.” She pops thepdramatically. “Last time I introduced someone, you ran a background check.”
“Dad helped,” Christian says with a straight face, like dragging our retired rancher father into FBI-level recon is somehow exonerating.
“Not helping your case,” Lily shoots back, grabbing her keys.
I raise an eyebrow at Christian, who just shrugs, totally unapologetic. “Look, I called in one favor. One. And it was with a guy I served with who now works for an agency that specializes in tracking people. It's not like I waterboarded the guy.”
Lily spins back toward us. “You found out he had a pet tarantula named Beyoncé and collected Victorian-era baby teeth.”
