here alââ Her voice stopped as she appeared in the kitchen and caught sight of Colt in the apron.
âWhat do you think?â he asked, lifting his arms higher. Heâd rolled the sleeves of his corduroy shirt away from his wrists, which were corded with muscle and ridiculously appealing. Emily squelched a sigh.
âI think you missed your calling.â
âI should have been a chef?â
âYou should have been a housewife.â
He chuckled. The sound, low and fertile, rolled like distant thunder through the kitchen, stopping Emilyâs breath for a moment, but when she glanced at Casie, she realized she wasnât the only one affected. The other womanâs eyes were wide, her lips slightly parted. Emily struggled with her grin and turned away, but Casie found her voice in a moment.
âI thought we were having steak,â she said.
âI thought so, too, but apparently fifty percent of our guests are vegetarian,â Colt said.
âOh no.â
âOh yes,â Emily countered.
âWhat now?â
âColt says he knows his momâs recipe for egg strata.â
â Says I know. Thanks for the vote of confidence, Em.â
âOur reputation rides on these guests. Youâre only as good as your last satisfiedââ
âMan, itâs colder than the ice age out there,â Sophie said and unceremoniously entered the kitchen. Why, Emily wondered, did she always look like sheâd just stepped off the pages of Vogue ? âIs the coffee on or should Iââ She paused as she glanced around. âWhatâs going on?â
âSheâs a vegetarian,â Casie said.
âWho? Bliss?â
âGeez!â Emily said. âEveryoneâs a comedian. This isnât funny.â
Sophie pulled the knit cap off her head and stared at Coltâs frilly apron. âIt kind of is.â
âYou donât like it?â he asked and pirouetted a little.
For a second not a female breath was drawn as their gazes shifted to lower regions.
âWhat?â he asked, scowling as he noticed their expressions.
âNothing!â Casie said, and clearing her throat, turned away, already blushing.
Emily managed to refrain from pumping her fist in the air. âBeat up another egg, will you, Colt? Soph, I need some more Parmesan grated,â she said and scowled. âWhy didnât I learn to make my own cheese?â
âBecause you only have two hands,â Colt suggested. âWell, you know, besides our six.â
For the next ten minutes they worked in concert.
âTell me again why weâre sweating bullets over one guest,â Sophie said. Her hands were covered in flour. A little dusted her hair.
âSo we donât starve to death over the winter,â Emily said.
âOh.â Sophie made a âmakes senseâ expression. âGood reson.â
Ty showed up a few minutes later and set the table as Colt mixed up Lumpkinâs milk. She bleated hopefully from the living room. But true to his gregarious nature, Colt carried her back into the kitchen to feed her. Far be it from him to be out of the action . . . or maybe . . . Emily glanced wistfully toward Casie. Maybe there was something else that brought him back.
Whatever the case, everyone bumped knees and elbows as they passed the chair where he sat. But Lumpkin didnât take long to finish a bottle anymore. In a matter of minutes Colt was rising, stowing the lamb under one arm just as a knock sounded at the door.
Emily let in their guests.
âIt smells terrific in here,â Max said.
âYes, it . . .â Sonata began, but then she caught sight of Lumpkin. âIs that a . . .â
They all waited.
âI believe itâs a lamb,â Max said.
âIn the house?â
âPretty cold outside for newborns,â Colt said, and settling Lumpkin under his other arm, stuck out his right hand. âHi. Iâm Colt