Free River's Edge (Unlikely Gentlemen, Book 1) by Gem Sivad Page A

tracks.
    “Miss Prescott, what in hell are you doing here this time of morning?”
    She swung around in time to see the man she’d come to visit lower his gun to his side. He was in longjohns, his chest bare. She didn’t know what to say. It hadn’t seemed that early when she’d left home; but looking at the dew still on the ground and his clutch of chickens perched here and there in trees, she realized it wasn’t much past dawn and too early for socializing.
    It didn’t help any that he didn’t say a word, waiting she guessed, for her to answer his question. She didn’t have an answer. She’d never behaved so foolishly before. Her cheeks burned as she walked to her bicycle, untied the basket of bread, carried it to where he stood, and thrust it at him.
    “I’m out sketching today,” she told him, waving at her satchel. “I brought you fresh bread.” The two things had nothing to do with each other. She was a nincompoop.
    “Guess I’d better put the coffee on.” He folded back the napkin covering the loaves, leaned close smelling the yeasty scent, inhaled deeply, and let the stern line of his mouth curve into a smile. “You do have a way of catching me without my pants on, Miss Prescott. I think I’d better get dressed first.”
    River knew her face couldn’t get any redder without bursting into flames. He disappeared into the barn while she fidgeted, feeling more stupid by the moment. I should get on my bicycle and leave. But her feet felt rooted to the ground. Buckling his belt but fully dressed, he re-emerged from the barn.
    “You’re full of surprises, Miss Prescott. Let me see if I can find something to go with the bread you’ve brought me.” Nonchalantly he carried the basket to the cooking pit he’d fashioned and set it on a bale of straw where, normally, he must sit and eat.
    “Maybe you can get the coffee going while I gather eggs for breakfast.” He opened a trail box and rummaged inside before bringing out a grinder, a pot, and a tin of coffee beans.
    And just like that, he put her at ease and she stopped feeling like an idiot. Glad to have something to do, she followed his suggestion and made coffee. Then, she pulled out her sketch pad and began sketching him as he searched for hidden eggs.
    “It might be easier to find them if you train your chickens to nest in a box,” she advised him when he returned wearing a sheepish grin and carrying breakfast in the form of eight eggs.
    River resisted the urge to slap her hand over her mouth as soon as she made the suggestion. Men hated it when a woman pointed out a better way of doing something. It occurred to her even as she berated herself, that it had been a long time since she’d cared what a man thought.
    Squatting next to the portable cookstove, he scrambled the eggs, then scooped half from the skillet onto her plate. “I’m not used to company at meals. We’ll have to make do with the eating equipment I have. I’ll eat out of the skillet.”
    “Don’t be silly.” River held out her plate for the rest. Looking puzzled, he scraped all the eggs onto the platter. “We’ll share,” she told him, keeping the spoon and handing him the fork.
    They sat side-by-side on the bale of straw eating from different sides of the plate. Edge slathered fresh made butter on his bread and closed his eyes, groaning after he took a bite.
    “What’s wrong?” River asked anxiously.
    “Tell me I’m not dead,” he growled still with his eyes shut. “Cause when I took a bite just now I was pretty sure I’d died and gone to heaven.”
    She snickered, so relaxed the tiny giggle bubbled into laughter at his teasing. A silly grin remained plastered to her face when they finished the eggs together and Edge set the plate aside.
    “That was an unexpected treat this morning, Miss Prescott. Now are you going to tell me what brought you here so early in the day?”
    It was now or never. River had been awake all night thinking about the possibilities. She