“Quit your crying. Aren’t cowgirls supposed to be tough? The peaches are in ice water, so they’ll be plenty cool enough now.” He gave her ponytail a gentle tug. She tensed, but not much, and she kept right on skinning peaches for their cobbler. Warmth melted through him that had nothing to do with the steam off the stove. Encouraged, he let his hand drift down to rest on her shoulder.

“What are you doing now?” She asked it on a sigh, as if he were a puppy whose antics she tolerated with much complaining and maybe a little bit of affection.

“Using your shoulder to prop up my hand—what does it look like? Trust me, if you had to haul around the weight of these great big arms all day, you’d get tired, too.”

“Think it might be your ego that’s tipping the scale, friend.” Her voice was light, but her eyes strayed from the peaches toward the open front of his shirt.

He just smiled, one thumb idly rubbing her shoulder as he watched her work. He missed hugs, but he didn’t want to push his luck. In the South, every woman for seven states around was a hugger, and most of the men, too. Did Andra miss hugs? He worried that she might.

This Sunday’s meal at the main house hadn’t been any less awkward than the last couple. She’d come late to dinner, left early, and barely said a word in between, even when Stacia and Rachel started snarking at each other and it escalated into settling a bet with a leg-wrestling match in the living room. Stacia’d won a week’s worth of gas for her motorcycle with a neat little leverage trick she wasn’t about to explain to Rachel.

Among her boisterous family, Andra still existed in a bubble of silence no one seemed to know how to cross.

She finished with the peaches and hip-checked him right out of their cozy little moment. LJ laughed. “What’s wrong with a simple ‘excuse me’?”

“I’ll find my manners about the time you put some clothes on.” The comment was offhand, but he smirked when her gaze snagged on his abs for an extra moment. She coughed, reddening, and spun on her bare feet to get a mixing bowl off her open barn-wood shelves.

LJ frowned and glanced away from them. They looked nice enough, but nobody who’d ever fought paint prices and paycheck cycles to keep a house sealed from the weather would think that rain-grayed wood was a natural choice for decorating.

“Tell me what to mix up.” She gestured him toward the cutting board. “I’m tired of doing all the grunt work around here.”

His eyebrows shot up, but he smoothed his face before she could turn around and notice.