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look of mischief in her eyes. Before he could open his mouth again, he felt something moist and sticky hit the side of his head and begin to slowly creep down his face. He feigned a look of anger before turning briefly to hang his hat on the hook by the door. Before he even had a chance to turn around again, he felt something else hit him squarely on his back. On the floor, little Jenny squealed with delight and clapped her hands.
    “Ooh, Daddy sticky,” she laughed.
    “Yes, Jenny Bugs, Daddy’s sticky, and Mommy will be too, in a second.” Jenny squealed again as Dalton took two large steps forward and grabbed the bowl of dough from off the table.
    “Oh, no you don’t, Dalton.” She started to back away and maneuvered herself so that the table stood between them. “You deserved it, you know, for laughing at me.” She pretended to pout. “Here I’ve been, slaving away in this hot kitchen for half of the morning, trying to make something nice for you, and you . . . you laugh!” He could tell she wanted to put her hands on her hips to make her indignation abundantly clear, but she didn’t want to get more of the botched dough on her dress. Instead, she lifted her chin and turned her head to the side and said, “Humph!”
    Dalton smiled to himself. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have laughed.” He forced a serious and penitent look to his face and set the bowl back on the table. “Here . . . truce . . . see?” He raised his hands a few inches higher. Laurellyn tried to look upset, but Dalton could tell by the merriment in her eyes that she was not really angry with him.
    “Now look at what a mess I’ve made of things!” she exclaimed. “I suppose I’ll clean this up while you go wash up for lunch.”
    Dalton raised one eyebrow. “Maybe I should clean this mess up while you go wash up for lunch.” He chuckled softly.
    “Maybe you’re right, Dalton McCullough. I must look awfully horrible.” Unfortunately, he missed the look of mischief that had returned to her eyes. “Come, let’s kiss and make up before I go and try to make myself a bit more presentable.” Laurellyn walked back around the table and stood in front of him.
    Dalton leaned toward Laurellyn. He tried to make sure that the least amount of him might touch her as possible for fear she would transfer her floury mess onto him. Just as their lips met, though, two sticky hands grabbed both sides of his face.
    “Ha!” she shouted in triumph.
     
    Dalton released his hold on the cameo in his pocket and turned back to Miss Grey, strengthened again in his resolve not to think of this woman beyond friendship. She stirred again and moaned softly. He decided to get a cool cloth for her head and a drink of water. She would surely have a headache and be thirsty when she woke.

     
    Jillian felt something cool and wet being pressed gently to the back of her head and then to her forehead. The feel of it both shocked her tender skin and refreshed her aching head at the same time. Her limbs were heavy and weak, and she didn’t dare try to move them yet. She was vaguely aware that she was lying on something hard and uncomfortable and that there was a tender spot on the back of her head. She was grateful for the folded cloth underneath it. It had an unfamiliar but pleasant scent of leather and soap that tickled her nose. She willed her eyes to open.
    The light that assaulted her eyes immediately triggered a throbbing in her temples. She grimaced, closed her eyes again, and, despite the pain, tried to sit up.
    “Whoa, Miss Grey, hold up there. You shouldn’t try to sit up just yet. Take it easy awhile longer. I have a glass of water for you.”
    At once, Jillian felt a pair of strong but gentle hands push tenderly against her shoulders, forcing her to lie back down. She kept her eyes closed; the darkness was soothing. She tried to collect her thoughts. Who had spoken to her? His voice was vaguely familiar, but how had he known her name?