The door to the café opened, the cold wind slamming it against the wall. The restaurant grew quiet with the sudden entrance, and Eugenia turned to see who was making such a racket.

Wyatt Jones stood in the doorway, his muscular frame filling the opening. His cowboy hat sat at an angle on top of his head, and his large brown eyes scanned the room.

In his hand, he carried a duffle bag.

Eugenia tried to ignore the big man as he strolled through the doorway and removed his Stetson.

Their gazes locked across the room, and he smiled, his full lips turning up in a grin that made her body soften and her heart give an extra little ca-thunk. He spoke to the waitress, but his gaze never wavered from Eugenia.

Uh-oh. A tingle of nerves zinged through her bones. This couldn't be good.

His boots made a rhythmic thump, thump, thump on the wooden floor as he walked with a determined stride straight toward her, his bag in hand, his spurs jingling. Nervously, she licked her lips.

Myrtle's back faced the door, and she continued to blather about something. But Eugenia couldn't seem to focus on the words. All she could see was this handsome cowboy walking her way. She couldn't stop staring at him. She knew he was coming for her.

She'd already sent several women his way, and she didn't think he was here to thank her for curing his loneliness.

Wyatt stopped at their table, touching the rim of his hat as he glanced at Myrtle. "Morning Mrs. Sanders. Nice to see you."

He pivoted to Eugenia, his brown eyes dancing with merriment. Staring into those earthy eyes, a warm flush settled over her like a blanket. He opened the bag, withdrew a casserole dish, and laid it on the table. He took a second dish out and placed it alongside the first one, and then another, and another.

Oh dear.

When he finished, six clean, empty casserole dishes sat in front of her.

His mouth turned up in that slow, lazy grin that burned a sizzle along her spine. Why did this man make her feel like she'd raced her grandchildren around the yard and couldn't catch her breath? Why did this man make her more nervous than a virgin on her wedding day? Why did this man have her wondering how his lips would feel against her own?

"Eugenia," he said in that deep drawl that sent shivers skittering over her. "You've been mighty busy, sending women out to my house. You've kept me and my men well fed the last couple of weeks."

"Glad I could help," she said, her voice sounding breathy and soft.

He leaned in close and put his hands on either side of her, effectively pinning her in the chair. She felt the urge to jump up and run, but resisted. She sat there, stared him in the eye and refused to back down. No longer would she back down to any man. Never again.

"While I appreciate the effort, I'm not taking the bait. There's only one woman in this town that I'm interested in pursuing to become my wife." The deep timbre of his voice was low and commanding.

"And pray tell, who would that be?" she asked, knowing she would have him hitched as soon as possible.

"You, Eugenia Burnett. You."