Taking Home the Tycoon (Texas Cattleman's Club: Blackmail 9)

What she didn’t add—couldn’t add—was that she also needed to process this whole night. The moment. The spark.

Everything.

She needed to salvage more self-control before she spent any more time alone with Max.

* * *

For Max, the morning crawled. There wasn’t a moment that hadn’t been filled with movement, but since picking up Natalie’s children last night, things with Natalie had cooled.

She’d barely spoken to him.

In her rushed “good morning,” he’d felt her defenses reforming. She avoided his gaze, pushed past him and mumbled something about work.

To be fair, Max knew she was an overachiever—a woman pulled in too many directions. Or at least, too many directions for the hours in a day.

Still, after that dinner and the slow dance...the distance felt calculated. Stress radiated from her as she passed him in the hall, making her way to the craft room. He could see it take hold of her shoulders, enter her stance.

She’d served her B and B guests an elaborate spread of a breakfast picnic. Brie cheese, fresh croissants, an assortment of breads, apple turnovers, grapes and strawberries covered the table on the outside porch. The cool temperatures provided an inviting backdrop for guests as they piled fruit and pastries onto plates, grabbed picnic blankets from the stack and arranged themselves on the lawn.

Sipping fresh coffee that she’d also brewed for the guests, Max found himself wondering how she managed all this. Determined to make a difference for this kind, selfless woman, Max put himself to good use. He’d help her out this morning. As guests finished their breakfasts, they dispersed. Natalie had done a quick cleanup before Margie spent some time playing with the kids and dog, canine socialization more than training.

Chaz and Francesca, a young couple Max had met while standing in line for coffee, began looking a little antsy. Francesca’s inquisitive brown eyes scanned the area, looking for something. Based on Chaz’s glance at his watch, Max surmised they were waiting for Natalie.

Chaz folded and unfolded the receipt, the kind Max had seen Natalie slide under doors of departing guests each morning.

Rather than disrupt Natalie, he took their checkout form, looked it over quickly and confirmed they’d paid. Nothing more needed doing, no need to get Natalie to run payment. He couldn’t help but notice her computer was open, not password locked. He really did need to upgrade her security—internet and building.

After tapping a message into his phone about her system, Max glanced at his watch. It was 11:45 a.m., and he noticed how both Lexie and Colby watched television, sharing a little bowl of strawberries while Miss Molly napped on the floor in front of them. Margie had ducked out a few minutes ago, and asked him to send a shout-out to Natalie. Which he’d decided to delay. He could watch the kids while they sat in front of a television.

And there was another way he could help Natalie, since not many realized he knew his way around a kitchen.

He walked into the common room and stooped to be eye level with the kids. His heart hammered. This was a new space, and part of him couldn’t believe how easy and natural this instinct was. But then again, as much as he didn’t like to address it, kids spoke to him in a way.

His years in foster care had made him more empathetic, more in tune with what people needed. Max supposed it allowed him to literally see the world differently. To be attentive to details, how people interacted. What they weren’t saying. All of this made him a good detective now.

And what he saw when he looked into the TV room was two well-behaved but hungry children.

“Hey, kids,” he called out. “Whaddya say we make some lunch?”

Lexie’s green eyes lit up as she clasped her hands over her mouth. “Yeah! Yes, yes, please, Mr. Max. You cookin’?”

Her squeals and giggles reassured him that he’d made the right decision. Even Colby nodded, a faint trace of a smile forming as he pushed himself off the big red couch.

The trio made their way to the kitchen. Other guests milled around. Snippets of conversation filled the halls.

“I wub pancakes for lunch.” Lexie teetered back and forth as she opened the pantry door, pointing to the pancake mix. She grabbed a jar of s

prinkles from one of the lower shelves. “With this, too.”

With a light nod, Max picked up the pancake mix, and grabbed the sprinkles from Lexie’s extended hand. Not a stretch for his cooking skills, but if that was what they wanted, then he was happy to comply. “What about you, buddy? Do you like pancakes for lunch?”

Colby considered Max’s question. The young kid seemed to hold a microscope up to Max, examining him in that quiet way of his. For a moment, Max felt Colby wasn’t going to answer him, and he’d learned that sometimes the boy refused to talk. And in those cases, there was nothing to be done to force him. In fact, pushing the issue could cause the child to have a meltdown or retreat into hiding.

Just when Max was about to give up, Colby spoke in a small but confident voice. “Yes. But plain. No sprinkles. Three small pancakes. Circle. But don’t stack them.”

“Gotcha. Circles. No sprinkles,” Max replied, pulling out bowls from the cabinet. He opened the fridge and extracted eggs, milk and butter. He found two pans and started heating them up. “We should probably make more than pancakes, though. Like healthy stuff. Do you like bacon or sausage?”

“Bacon,” Lexie said, climbing a three-step ladder by the counter so she could see better. Her blanket trailed from her fist.