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buttons for a change. The smirk was gone, all right. Her delicate brows were knit, and under them her eyes had gone dark and hot.
    “Damn it, Brian. What’s the problem?”
    Deftly, he ladled batter onto the heated waffle iron. “I don’t have a problem.” He slanted a look at her as he closed the lid. Her color was up and her mouth was thinned. Spitting mad, he thought. Good.
    “What do I have to do?” She slammed her coffee cup down, sloshing the hot liquid onto his spotless counter. “Do I have to stroll in here naked?”
    His lips twitched. “Well, now, that’s a thought, isn’t it? I could raise the rates around here after that.” He cocked his head. “That is, if you look good naked.”
    “I look great naked, and I’ve given you numerous opportunities to find that out for yourself.”
    “I guess I like to make my own opportunities.” He opened the refrigerator. “You want eggs with those waffles?”
    Kirby clenched her fists, reminded herself that she’d taken a vow to heal, not harm, then spun on her heel. “Oh, stuff your waffles,” she muttered and stalked out the back door.
    Brian waited until he heard the door slam before he grinned. He figured he had come out on top of that little tussle of wills and decided to treat himself to her waffles. He was just flipping them onto a plate when the door swung open.
    Lexy posed for a moment, which both she and Brian knew was out of habit rather than an attempt to impress her brother. Her hair was a tousled mass of spiraling curls that flowed over her shoulders in her current favorite shade, Renaissance Red.
    She liked the Titian influence and considered it an improvement over the Bombshell Blonde she’d worn the last few years. That was, she’d discovered, a bitch to maintain.
    The color was only a few shades lighter and brighter than what God had given her, and it suited her skin tones, which were milky with a hint of rose beneath. She’d inherited her father’s changeable hazel eyes. This morning they were heavy, the color of cloudy seas, and already carefully accented with mascara and liner.
    “Waffles,” she said. Her voice was a feline purr she’d practiced religiously and made her own. “Yum.”
    Unimpressed, Brian cut the first bite as he stood, and shoveled it into his mouth. “Mine.”
    Lexy tossed back her gypsy mane of hair, strolled over to the breakfast bar and pouted prettily. She fluttered her lashes and smiled when Brian set the plate in front of her. “Thanks, sweetie.” She laid a hand on his cheek and kissed the other.
    Lexy had the very un-Hathaway-like habit of touching, kissing, hugging. Brian remembered that after their mother had left, Lexy had been like a puppy, always leaping into someone’s arms, looking for a snuggle. Hell, he thought, she’d only been four. He gave her hair a tug and handed her the syrup.
    “Anyone else up?”
    “Mmm. The couple in the blue room are stirring. Cousin Kate was in the shower.”
    “I thought you were handling the breakfast shift this morning.”
    “I am,” she told him with her mouth full.
    He lifted a brow, skimmed his gaze over her short, thin, wildly patterned robe. “Is that your new waitress uniform?”
    She crossed long legs and slipped another bite of waffle between her lips. “Like it?”
    “You’ll be able to retire on the tips.”
    “Yeah.” She gave a half laugh and pushed at the waffles on her plate. “That’s been my lifelong dream—serving food to strangers and clearing away their dirty plates, saving the pocket change they give me so I can retire in splendor.”
    “We all have our little fantasies,” Brian said lightly and set a cup of coffee, loaded with cream and sugar, beside her. He understood her bitterness and disappointment, even if he didn’t agree with it. Because he loved her, he cocked his head and said, “Want to hear mine?”
    “Probably has something to do with winning the Betty Crocker recipe contest.”
    “Hey, it could