All of Me by Leeanna Morgan (popular e readers txt) 📖

Tess stared at the cartons of buttermilk she’d left on the counter overnight. By mistake.

She wouldn’t panic. She’d strutted down the runways of top fashion houses wearing haute couture masterpieces. She would not cry over a little sour milk.

Except it wasn’t a little bit. It was her last four quarts. She’d promised the Groovy Grans Motorcycle Club that she’d have blueberry buttermilk pancakes ready for them at seven o’clock. She checked her watch. In an hour and a half, she’d have fifteen unhappy grans standing in her café, wondering what had happened to their breakfast.

She needed buttermilk and she needed it fast. She took a deep breath and grabbed her jacket. Safeway would be open. She could race across Bozeman, buy the buttermilk and be back in fifteen minutes. She’d make the pancakes. Then she’d start on the muffins, cakes, pies and scones that her other customers would be waiting for.

She opened the front door, raced across to her car, then remembered her wallet. She searched her pockets for the keys to her café. She thought she’d left them in her jacket pocket. She looked on the passenger seat, the back seats. They weren’t there. Maybe she’d tossed them in her tote bag.

The one that was sitting inside the café with her wallet.

This couldn’t be happening. It really couldn’t. She turned the handle on the front door, hoping for a miracle. It was locked. She rested her head against the glass and tried to think like a logical, mature, twenty-nine-year-old instead of the ditzy blond that needed to break into her own business.

“Everything okay?”

Tess looked sideways and sighed. Logan Allen, local multi-award winning reporter, and the one man guaranteed to make a good day turn bad, stood beside her.

“Tess?”

“I’m fine.” She let go of the door handle and turned to Logan. He’d been running. Sweat trickled down his face, wet his T-shirt until it stuck to his wide chest and bulging biceps. Not that she was looking. Not much anyway.

Tess refused to find his dark hair and deep brown eyes attractive. She’d spent most of her life around male models that were so handsome they took her breath away. But she’d learned the hard way that those looks could hide a heart of steel.

“It doesn’t look as though you’re fine.” His eyes skated over her blond hair and flushed face. “You look…frazzled.”

“That’s a big word for five-thirty in the morning. You could use it in one of your stories,” she said sweetly.

“Yeah. A homicide. Blond café owner found dead in the street after insulting a reporter.”

“There you go. Another Pulitzer Prize winning story in the making.”

Logan crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Now that we’ve gotten over our first insult for the day, do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

“I need buttermilk for pancakes, except I left my wallet in the café.”

“Let me guess. Your front door keys are sitting in the café, too.”

Tess glared at the smile on his face. “I’ll check my car. My keys might have fallen down the side of the seat.” She crossed the sidewalk and open the passenger door of her trusty Toyota. She hunted under the seat, beside the seat, in the glove compartment, anywhere she could think of.

“Have you checked the trunk?”

Tess pulled herself out of her car. “Why would I leave them in the trunk?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you opened it to stash a dead body inside. Or maybe you left your groceries in there like the rest of us mere mortals.”

Tess kept her lips clamped tight. She didn’t have time to bicker with him. She opened her trunk and dropped her car keys into her pocket. “What is it with you and dead bodies. Has something happened that you’re not telling me about?”

“There’s lots I don’t tell you,” Logan muttered as he started hunting through the mess in her trunk. “You’ve got an entire closet full of clothes in here.”

“I have not. It’s my emergency gear. You know, if I need a change of trousers, a jacket or a sweater.”

He pulled out a slinky evening dress. “This is an emergency item?”

Tess snatched the scrap of pale pink silk out of his hands. “I forgot to take it inside,” she muttered.

“Looks like someone else has things they’d sooner not share.” He moved a pair of sneakers and grinned. “The keys to your café wouldn’t have a coffee cup on the tag would they?”

“You’ve found them?”

He dangled the keys in front of his chest. “What are they worth?”

The smile fell off Tess’ face. “What do you mean?”

“I like your buttermilk pancakes—especially the ones with bacon and maple syrup.”

It must have been the early morning air, but she felt disappointed that the keys were going to be hers so easily. Knowing how Logan’s mind worked she’d expected something more challenging, more daring. “You don’t need to tell me how much you like pancakes. You eat enough of them to sink a ship.”

“I’m flattered you’ve noticed.” He stepped forward, until their noses were almost touching. “I’ll trade the keys for a high stack. Ten pancakes, crispy bacon and a side bowl of syrup.”

Tess lifted the keys out of his fingers. “Fine. But unless I get to the store and back in ten minutes you won’t be eating anything.”

“I could buy what you need.”

“What do you mean?”

He held out his hand. “Give me your car keys. I’ll go to Safeway and bring your groceries back here. You can start the other things you need to bake.”

“I don’t…I mean…” Tess stared at him. She was sure there must have been a catch in his offer somewhere.

“Say, ‘Yes, Logan. You’re such a wonderful person that I’ll throw in as much coffee as you can drink when you get back.’”

Tess had never said yes to Logan, and his sparkling brown eyes and lopsided grin wouldn’t change her mind. “You need a shave.”

Logan looked down at her mouth. “Say yes.”

She took a step backward and passed him her car keys. “Thank you.”

He frowned and dropped the keys to the café into her outstretched hand. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Wait. I’ll give you some money.”

“You can pay me back later. How much buttermilk do you need?”

“You’d better buy five cartons. Get the organic buttermilk. It’s with the other milk at the back of the store.”

“Organic buttermilk. Five cartons. Anything else?”

Tess was holding the front door keys so tight that they dug into her fingers. “Are you sure you want to do this for me? You’re hot and sweaty. You haven’t warmed down. You’ll get cramps.”

Logan scowled at her. “I’ll be back soon.”

And then he folded all six-foot-five inches of sweaty man into the front seat of her Toyota Corolla. Tess didn’t hang around to watch him. She had things to do, food to bake and a coffee machine that needed to be turned on.