Free Finally Home by Lois Greiman Page B

deliveries.”
    â€œDeliveries?” Max questioned.
    Emily hugged her arms to her chest, wrapping herself against the brittle cold. “I take pies and stuff to a couple neighbors,” she said.
    â€œDon’t let her fool you,” Colt warned. “Em here supplies half the county with baked goods. She’s a regular Chef Boyardee.”
    â€œNice reference,” Emily said, pulling her gaze from her truck.
    Colt shrugged. “Couldn’t come up with anything better.”
    â€œMaybe your brain’s frozen,” Max said, hunching his shoulders against the cold.
    Colt nodded. “Probably nothing a hot cup of coffee wouldn’t fix.” He glanced sideways at Emily. “ ’Course, if I had a fresh-made sticky bun to go with it, I could maybe remember to talk to Les about Dee’s troubles.”
    â€œDee?” Emily said, and looking into his eyes wondered, not for the first time, what the hell Casie was thinking. If Colt Dickenson had the slightest interest in her, she’d have him hog-tied to her ankle before he’d finished that first cup of coffee.
    â€œI thought I’d state my choice of names for the truck before you called it Ixapos or whatever.”
    â€œEnheduanna,” Emily said and grinned. “Come on in, both of you. Coffee’s on and the rolls will be ready in a few minutes.”
    â€œI’m pretty sure I’m still full from last night,” Max said.
    â€œYou won’t be,” Colt assured him. “Not once you catch a whiff of those rolls.”
    â€œWell, maybe I’ll have a little something now, then eat again later when Sonata’s ready.”
    â€œYou must not be the type to sleep in.” Colt held the front door open for the other two to step inside.
    â€œPretty tough to do when your roommate is pacing your space like a Nazi on morning patrol,” Max said.
    â€œWhat?” Emily turned, toeing off her boots as she did so. “There’s not a problem, I hope.”
    â€œNo. No problem.”
    Emily scowled, worry troubling her stomach. “The temperature was okay, wasn’t it? You weren’t too cold? This is our first winter with guests and it’s hard to—”
    â€œThe temperature’s fine,” Max said and laughed. “S. just isn’t . . .” He made a face as if trying to think of a term that didn’t conjure up thoughts of concentration camps. “Let’s just say she isn’t the kind for cuddling when there are employees to be castigated.”
    â€œBut this is supposed to be a vacation.”
    â€œBelieve me,” he said, “she wouldn’t be happy if she couldn’t be worrying about her business.”
    â€œMaybe I should go get her,” Emily said. “Invite her for rolls and coffee.”
    â€œNot if you want to keep your head attached to your torso.”
    Emily glanced at him.
    â€œShe doesn’t really like to be interrupted when she’s chewing someone out. Why do you think I was out in the cold at—” He stopped and sniffed. “What is that smell?”
    â€œIt’s magic.” Colt winked at Emily as he stepped past Max. His stocking feet were silent on the old linoleum as he made his way toward the scrolled metal stand on the counter. It held six pottery mugs. Each of them was slightly different, except for the fact that they were misshapen. Emily had found them at a garage sale on her way home from a doctor’s appointment. She could only guess that they were somebody’s art project gone bad, but she loved every misbegotten one of them.
    Taking two of the nubby cups in one hand, Colt set them on the counter, poured coffee into each, and handed one to the other man.
    â€œHave a seat,” Colt said and motioned to the chairs.
    Emily sighed softly, beginning to relax. She didn’t know why. It was going to be a crazy busy day and she still had deliveries to make. Dee (she rolled