Page 21 of All in with the Maverick Montana

But the word crush didn’t feel quite right, he decided, as he knocked, peeked inside and spotted Amy. The sight of her smile stole his breath away. It was somehow more than just a simple crush, and that thought made him feel ridiculous. Like he’d jumped into a rodeo ring without ever having learned how to ride a horse first. He felt like he’d skipped some crucial steps somewhere. And yet explaining away his feelings as a simple crush wasn’t possible.

He liked Amy Hawkins.

That much was true.

But he liked her in a way that didn’t make sense to him.

It was too much, too fast.

Only he didn’t know how to undo it. Take it slow, he told himself. Don’t jump into this. Problem was he’d already taken a running leap off the diving board.

She sat in a chair behind a long, wooden desk, holding a granola bar. There was an uneaten apple on the desk. “Hey there, cowboy.”

He leaned against the doorframe. “Not interrupting anything, am I?”

“No.” Amy gestured with her granola bar. “It’s my new mandatory snack break.” Her lips quirked at the corners. “Faith’s been on me since the other day.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. She seems like a stickler for that sort of thing.”

“She worries too much.”

“Because she cares?”

“Remains to be seen,” Amy joked. “So back for more—”

“If that sentence ends in sheep shears you might want to rethink it.”

Amy’s eyebrow arched dramatically. “Careful, cowboy. If you keep swinging by like this for no reason I might start to think you want to see me.”

He huffed. This woman knew damn well he wanted to see her. “Maybe I do.”

Amy hummed thoughtfully. “Can’t imagine why.”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

She shrugged.

“If I get in good with Faith’s sister I might qualify for the friends and family discount.”

Amy guffawed. “Oh, of course. I’m on to your schemes now.”

“Good.”

“You know, you’re less charming when I know you’re just using me for your own personal gain.”

Josh crossed his arms and cocked his head. “Huh.”

“What?”

“You think I’m charming.”

Amy flushed like she was only now just realizing what she’d said. “Past tense,” she muttered. “You were.”

“I don’t think that matters.” He stared at her, and he swore the flush spread down her cheeks to her throat. A place he’d very much like to press his lips. He wanted to see if her pulse fluttered under his kiss. He wanted to—

“Well, I also think puppies are charming and seniors that sing in barbershop quartets. So don’t let it go to your head. Might not be able to get your cowboy hat on anymore.”

“Worried about my ego?”