The sight of Roan Devereaux milking her cow was not what she’d expected to see this morning. But she’d been properly set back on her heels as she halted in surprise just inside the barn. “Good morning, Katherine.” His voice was low and husky. “Eyes in the back of your head, Mr. Devereaux?” she asked dryly, leaning one arm against the doorjamb. “No, ma’am. Just recognized your step, the way your skirt swished.” She looked down quickly at the telltale garment and frowned. “Could have been someone else,” she argued idly. He turned his head from the task he’d assumed and his eyes flashed a humorless message. “No. If it’d been someone else, I wouldn’t have been sittin’ with my back to the door, waitin’ to be ambushed.” She nodded, accepting the mild rebuke, and stepped closer. “About done there?” “About.” His hands efficiently stripped the udder of its last drops of milk, and he lifted the bucket to one side before rising from the three-legged stool.
