Emilie Rose - Wedding His Takeover Target / Inheriting His Secret Christmas Baby

“You won’t need to water down your coffee,” Pops said. “Gavin made it instead of me.”

The territorial invasion made her hackles rise. The man had been messing with her coffeepot.

The perfect excuse to avoid Gavin came to her as she stirred sugar into the liquid. “Your joints are a pretty accurate weather gauge, Pops. Maybe we should postpone repairs until after the front passes.”

“No, ma’am,” Pops snapped. “You’re the one all fired up to get through this list. Best to start now and have spare time at the end than to be pushed to work ‘round the clock before our guests arrive.”

True, but that didn’t make it any easier to work with her new handyman.

“I can go with you,” Pops offered grudgingly, “if you’re afraid the job’s too big for you.”

Her spine snapped with indignation. She was practically running the inn single-handedly now. “Do you really believe I can’t handle the shopping?”

“I don’t know, girlie. The maintenance on this place is a daunting job.”

She didn’t like the sound of that. “It’s a job I love and do willingly. I lack a few skills, but I’m learning every day.”

Gavin rose and crossed the kitchen, invading her space and making her move out of the way. He casually refilled his mug as if he weren’t a guest. Pushy bastard. “I borrowed a pickup truck from The Ridge, but it’s a single cab. The bench seat will hold the three of us, but it’ll be a tight squeeze.”

And she’d be sandwiched between the man she loved the most in the world and the one she wanted to avoid at all costs. One who’d stirred up all kinds of dormant feelings she’d prefer to leave sleeping. No more passion for her. No passion meant no pain. She liked it that way.

She tipped her head back to glare at Gavin. “I can do the shopping. In fact, I don’t need your help.”

“Your van isn’t going to carry twelve-foot timber, and I can’t loan you the truck because of liability issues.”

She clenched her teeth in frustration. Did he have to be logical? “I’ll have the order delivered.”

“You’d lose several days’ work time waiting for the materials.”

He had an answer for everything, she fumed silently, and it didn’t help that he was right. “Fine. I’ll ride with you. Pops can stay here.”

Instead of returning to the table, Gavin leaned a hip on the counter right beside her. She scalded her tongue on her first, hasty sip of coffee.

“Did you know our grandfathers were friends?” Gavin asked.

“Best friends,” Pops added. “‘Til your grandpappy stiffed me with a bum mine. He claimed he’d found silver chunks the size of a goat’s head in there, but that was bull.”

“I’ve never found anything that large,” Gavin confirmed, “but I still do a little digging and look for a vein each time I come home.”

The comment instantly carried her back to the seclusion and intimacy she’d discovered in the mine—not a mental journey she wanted to revisit. She pivoted away. “What would you like for breakfast today, Pops?”

“Y’might want to ask our guest that since you’re gonna put him to work.”

She bit the inside of her lip. Gavin wasn’t a guest. He was a temporary employee and a pain in her backside. “Gavin?”

“Henry’s been bragging about your blueberry pancakes. Might as well see if he’s all talk.”

“And bacon,” Pops added without a trace of guilt. “Crisp.”

She glanced from man to man. They’d been discussing her? Why? Surely her grandfather wasn’t matchmaking? He knew better. And he knew what kind of man she preferred—one like Russell. Generous, smart, loyal and fearless, as an army medic her husband had been willing to put his life on the line and even die for any member of his unit—a point he’d proven by throwing himself on a grenade to save his team.

Egotistical jerks who swaggered around being excessively bossy and sneaky did nothing for her.

She narrowed her eyes on Gavin. He gave her a half smile. “If you don’t have the ingredients, I could always take you to breakfast at Jarrod Ridge.”

No way. She’d walk barefoot over broken glass to get what she required before she’d have breakfast with him on his turf. It was bad enough he’d forced his presence on her for the shopping trip and chores, but if she wanted to keep her life flowing in the comfortable groove she’d carved for herself since moving to Aspen, avoiding additional one-on-one time with Gavin was a necessity.

“I have everything I need. If you’ll excuse me …?” She made a shooing motion with her hand and waited for him to return to his seat at the table before she pivoted back to the pantry.

She’d made the recipe a hundred times, and she assembled the ingredients by rote. But this time felt different. Her hands were clumsy, her movements awkward as she furiously whisked the egg whites. She realized her frenzied actions were probably giving away more than she intended and deliberately slowed her strokes. She folded the froth to the flour mixture, egg yolks and milk, then ladled the thick liquid onto the hot griddle. The sizzle of butter and batter didn’t drown out the sounds of the men’s voices as they discussed politics, cars and sports. No matter how hard she tried to block them out, she couldn’t escape Gavin’s deep, velvety tone.

Escaping gained appeal by the second, and it seemed to take forever to fry the final piece of bacon and pile the last golden disk on the platter. She carried the plates to the table and turned to leave.

“Whoa, girlie. Sit down and eat.”

“I need to wash the dishes.” She’d done most of the work while cooking, but still—

“I’ll do them while you’re at the store. You’re not hiding in the office like you did last night. These chores were your idea. You need to contribute to the planning.”

Her cheeks burned at being called out in front of Gavin, but again, Pops spoke the truth. Refusing to join them would be both ungracious and cowardly. She retrieved her coffee, a carafe of orange juice and three glasses, stalling, she admitted, before returning to the table.

She had no appetite. How could she when awareness of Gavin made her jittery? Russell had never made her uncomfortable. He’d been dynamic and exciting, but he’d never made her feel crowded, breathless or restless.

She forced down a pancake without tasting a bite. She’d almost finished when Pops pulled his checkbook from his back pocket. She smiled at his old-fashioned gesture. Almost everyone she knew used debit or credit cards these days. No one wrote paper checks anymore—except Pops.

“Pops, I can charge our purchase to the inn’s card.”

“Don’t trust that electronic junk. Too many accounts get hacked.” He made the check out to the store and signed it, leaving the amount spaces blank, then tore it out of the book. She put down her fork to take it, but he passed the check to Gavin.

Tension snarled in Sabrina’s stomach, turning her fluffy pancake into a lead brick. How could Pops be so trusting to a virtual stranger? He’d literally handed Gavin a blank check.

It was up to her to make sure Pops’s trust was not abused. She wasn’t letting Gavin Jarrod out of her sight until this job was done and he crawled back under the rock from which he’d come.

Sabrina surreptitiously checked her watch, willing time to pass quickly.

“Relax and drink your coffee. The cashier said our order would be ready in an hour,” Gavin said from across the table.

She pleated her paper napkin. “I’ve never known them to take so long to pull an order.”

“They only have one guy licensed to drive a forklift working today. Are you sure you don’t want something to eat? You barely touched your breakfast.”