She gave him a flirty smile as she sidestepped into the door, mindful of the doughnuts and coffee. Her purse was slung over her shoulder, and her tiny heels clacked on the wooden floors of the house as she went into the kitchen. Once there, she set the box of doughnuts down and immediately started to make coffee. The back of her neck prickled, and she knew Hank was standing in the doorway, watching her.

He always watched her. Every morning.

Sometimes he’d talk to her, but most times he’d just watch her. She couldn’t decide if he was irked that she’d shown up again or if he didn’t trust her. In her secret heart of hearts, she hoped he was noticing her like a guy should notice a woman. So maybe she swung her hips a little more as she walked, or bent over really low when she pulled something out of the fridge. Maybe her sundress showed a fair amount of cleavage.

It didn’t matter. Hank never made a move, and after he’d turned her down flat? Becca wasn’t about to ask again. But he could look at her and see what he’d turned down, and so she did her best to be as sexy and put together as she could even if it meant waking up far, far too early in the morning.

That was all right. She had nothing to do at night except go to bed early, anyhow.

In the last month, she’d become familiar with the ranch house, and she tugged the big bowl of eggs toward her on the counter. “You want breakfast? Or are you heading out to the barn?”

Hank grunted.

She . . . wasn’t entirely sure what that response was. “Three eggs or four?”

“Four.”

It was a start, at least. Becca started cracking eggs and scooped a pat of butter into the skillet. Her father had been a cowboy, and she knew they could eat, and eat, and eat. The doughnuts she brought every day were gone by the evening, and no matter how much she baked, they cleaned the fridge out within a matter of hours. So she’d make a big mess of eggs and bacon for everyone. She got to work, beating eggs and humming and . . . Hank was still behind her.

Okay, it was going to be one of those mornings. She glanced over her shoulder at him. “When does Libby’s class start? Do I need to take her in for paperwork in advance?”

“Not yet.”

She nodded absently.

“Uncle Ennis—Doc—gets his boot off today.”

She glanced over at him. “Oh, good. I bet he’s more than ready—”

“And the puppies aren’t needing bottles anymore.”

She paused, then turned to look at him.

Hank had his arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable. “Calving’s slowed down, too.”

Oh.