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CROWDS WERE finally thinning when Dylan walked into the café at one-thirty, so he was able to get a table right away. To his surprise, Emily came out of the kitchen personally to bring him a menu. After the events of the previous day, he had suspected she might try to avoid him. He couldn’t blame her; he had done as much this very morning, choosing to eat breakfast on the ranch instead of coming to the café, as usual.
    But then he’d thought about it and decided that was pure foolishness. He was blowing this all out of proportion and really wanted to get back on solid ground with her.
    â€œI don’t need to see that,” Dylan said, determined to keep the exchange as casual as possible. “I memorized the offerings on your menu the first week you opened.”
    And like most ranchers in the area, he had been eating her “cowboy cuisine” frequently ever since.
    â€œYou sure? I’ve put a few new things on the menu, just today.”
    He was sure. But since it seemed to mean so much to her, he opened the laminated menu anyway. A hand-lettered inset offered two new sandwiches and a fried jalapeño-cheese popper appetizer that was a customer favorite at the Cowtown Diner chain. “Competing already?” he drawled.
    He’d figured the sight of the rival establishment would have upped Emily’s competitive spirit.
    Curious to know just how far she would go, he leaned back in the red vinyl booth and prodded, “Or just stealing another restaurant’s signature dish?”
    She ran her hand lightly over the red-and-white-checked oilcloth. “Ha-ha.”
    â€œYou’re better than that. Your food is better than that.”
    Her feisty gaze met his once again. “Says the man with the bottomless pit for a stomach.”
    Well, at least she still had her temper. Enjoying the exchange more than he had a right to, he angled a thumb at his chest. “Hey—you make a lot of money off me.”
    Emily folded her arms in front of her. “Not today, since I assume you are here to collect on my promise of free food for however long you want it.”
    Was it possible that the feisty, inimitable Emily McCabe was actually depressed? Dylan didn’t want to think so, but there was something different about her eyes.
    â€œI’ll have the chicken-fried steak meal with all the vegetables you got, biscuits, a strong pot of coffee and two glasses of water, to start. We’ll see about dessert later.”
    Their fingers brushed briefly as Emily took the menu and insert back. Dylan wondered if she’d thought about their kisses as much as he had last night and today. Not that it mattered, he told himself, since it wasn’t going to happen again.
    â€œAnd be sure you bill me for every last morsel,” he added sternly.
    Emily arched a delicate eyebrow.
    He looked her square in the eye. “No lady pays my way.”
    Emily laughed out loud, ready to challenge him on that and a few other things. “So now you’re calling me a lady?” Her bow-shaped lips curling in an appreciative smirk, she pocketed the order pad in her apron.
    That was a lot less dangerous than calling her “his woman.” Dylan figured they both had to know that.
    He worked to get their conversation back on its usual smart-aleck track. “And a hothead. Not to mention a damn fine cook.”
    Abruptly, moisture gleamed in Emily’s eyes.
    Before he could question her about it, she ducked her head and turned to leave. “Coming right up,” she said hoarsely over her shoulder.
    Five minutes later, Bobby Sue was there with his dinner. It was as hot and fresh and delicious as always.
    Dylan downed it all with relish.
    He was considering whether or not he had time to order dessert before the café closed at two, when Emily’s father walked in.
    Dessert was going to have to wait, because he had business to conduct.
    Dylan stood to greet the elder McCabe, as