by A. J. Pine
Colt looked back and forth between the couple, his brows raised. He liked bourbon. Though he guessed the kind a son gave his father for a gift was a little nicer than any Colt had tried before. Either way, he could make some room for bourbon.
Robert shrugged. “You don’t like the stuff, and a man doesn’t like to drink his bourbon alone. Plus, it makes doing the dishes a hell of a lot more fun.”
Maggie grabbed the cookies she’d plated along with a quart of milk in a glass bottle she’d packed with ice inside a bucket, then kissed her husband on the cheek.
“You boys have fun,” she said before sauntering out of the kitchen and toward the stairs.
“I can take those,” Jenna said, nodding toward the bags on either side of Colt’s feet.
“Oh,” he said. “Right. Thanks. You sure? They’re kind of heavy.”
She hoisted one over each shoulder, and for a second he thought she might depart with the same gesture as Maggie and her husband. Which was ridiculous, because why would Jenna kiss him? Or maybe the better question was, why did he still want her to?
Instead, she pressed her lips into a firm smile and thanked him. And then she was gone, leaving a trail of her freshly showered scent mixed with the sweetness of the cookies in her wake.
“Hoo boy,” Robert said from behind him, following his words a long whistle.
Colt spun to find him standing, bottle of bourbon already in his hand and two rocks glasses on the counter in front of him.
“What?” Colt asked.
Robert raised his brows. “I may not get out much, Mr. Morgan, but I can tell when a man has his eye on a woman. Don’t forget, I raised a boy not quite a decade younger than you.”
Robert filled the bottom of each glass with an ounce or so of the amber liquid. Neat, just the way Colt liked it.
“Guess I don’t have much of a poker face, do I?” Colt asked, reaching for the offered glass. He had no problem admitting his crush on his road-trip partner. Colt didn’t embarrass easily. It also didn’t hurt that Robert had just compared Colt to his own son. By the time Colt was old enough for serious crushes, he didn’t have a father to call him out or to sit him down and tell him about the birds and the bees.
Oh God. Robert wasn’t about to have the talk with a thirty-year-old man, was he?
Nah. That would be ridiculous—but also hilarious.
Colt laughed softly to himself.
“But it’s a one-sided sort of thing,” he added. “So I’m just going to enjoy the view and leave it at that.”
Robert nodded.
“You’re a good man, Colt,” he said. “I’m sorry if, for whatever reason, she doesn’t see that in you. But when you find the right woman—like I did with Maggie—you’ll know. She’ll not only see the good that’s already there, but she’ll make you want to be better. Just for her.”
Colt thought he’d had that once. With Emma. But she hadn’t wanted the life he did. And while he respected that, it had made him gun-shy to put himself back out there again. Still, five years of gun-shy was finally taking its toll.
He wanted to feel something real again.
“To women who make us better men,” Colt said, raising his glass and hoping they’d change the subject.
“Cheers,” Robert said, tapping the bottom of his glass against Colt’s.
Colt took his first sip. It was sweet and oaky, warm as it went down his throat.
“And now…” Robert added. “To finishing the dishes.”
Colt grinned. That, at least, was a short-term goal he could attain. That woman who made him better, though…
It was a marathon, right? Not a sprint. After half a decade, though, he hoped he didn’t have to run much farther.
When he finally made his way upstairs, Colt was two glasses of bourbon in. He was relaxed, the stress of the morning a thing of the past. And despite how full he was after dinner, he now had a hankering for a chocolate chip cookie or two.
The bedroom door was partially closed when he reached the top of the stairs, a sliver of light poking through. So he knocked lightly before entering, not wanting to wake Jenna if she was sleeping—and half hoping she was sleeping so he could avoid any more awkwardness between them. From here on out, she was a guest at the ranch and nothing more. He’d get over his attraction or whatever he was feeling once he was back in familiar territory tomorrow afternoon.
“Come in!” Jenna said, although the words weren’t entirely intelligible.
He pushed the door open to see Jenna sitting cross-legged on the floor, leaning on the side of the bed, wearing a plain white T-shirt much like the one she’d had on this morning and a pair of soft gray shorts. Practical. No nonsense. Yet she wore it like it was somehow the height of fashion. Or maybe it was just that she was so damned beautiful that anything looked good on her. Her blond hair was piled on top of her had in a messy bun, her face free of any trace of makeup—or whatever homemade mask she and Maggie had been wearing.
Yep. He was still attracted to her. But also, she was eating all the cookies.
“Please tell me you saved me a few of those,” he said, striding into the room and dropping down next to her.
She swallowed the cookie she’d just finished and then backhanded him lightly on the chest.
“I had one,” she said. Then paused. “Okay, three, but you can’t blame me. You make a damned good cookie.”
She offered him the plate and then reached for the bottle of milk on the nightstand.
“Shoot,” she said. “We forgot glasses.”
Colt shrugged. “I’m good with sharing if you are. Otherwise I can head back down…”
But she’d already unscrewed the top and started chugging.
He gently elbowed her. “Hey there, thirsty. Sharing means you actually leave me some.”
She lowered the bottle from her lips and laughed. “Hold your horses, cowboy. I was just taking a few sips.” She laughed again. “It’s funny ’cause it’s a saying, but you really are a cowboy.”
He shook his head, trying to ignore how adorable she was.
Cookies. Cookies were a perfectly reasonable short-term cure for her adorableness.
He popped a whole one in his mouth, then let out a small moan as his teeth sank into a just-crunchy-enough bottom before hitting the soft, gooey center.
“See?” she said, offering him the milk. “You make a damned good cookie.”
He washed the damned good cookie down with the damned good fresh-from-the-cow milk and leaned his head back against the bed.
“Guess that means I’m good at following directions, huh?” he asked.
She knocked her knee against his, and he tilted his head up to look at her. Those blue eyes of hers could knock him on his ass if he wasn’t already sitting. But he’d keep that observation to himself.
“Things aren’t weird now, are they?” she asked. “I don’t want them to be weird, especially if I’m spending two weeks at your ranch.”
And another few hours in the car together tomorrow. And sleeping in this room tonight.
“Not weird,” he said. He liked her. A lot, it seemed. But it didn’t mean they couldn’t be friends.
“Good,” she said. “Because sometimes when one person sees another person naked…” Her cheeks turned pink, and he had to bite back a grin.
Had she liked what she’d seen? If she had, then maybe he wasn’t imagining their chemistry, which at least softened the blow to his ego.
She cleared her throat. “I just mean that I didn’t want you to feel bad or embarrassed by that.”
He raised his brows. “I’m not embarrassed,” he said. “But I understand if you are.”
“I’m not,” she blurted. “I mean, you have a very nice…Oh my God.”
She grabbed another cookie and shoved it in her mouth, and Colt laughed.
“I’m going to wash up and get ready for bed,” he said. “I should get out there pretty early to change the tire—providing the rain lets up. If you can spar
e a pillow and the top sheet, I’m good on the floor.”
He handed her back the plate of cookies and the bottle of milk, then climbed to his feet, grabbed his bag from the floor, and made his way into the bathroom before she had time to say anything else.
For him washing up consisted of brushing his teeth and stripping down to his boxer briefs. For a moment, he hesitated doing the latter, not wanting to give Jenna the wrong idea. But all that was in his bag was another pair of jeans and a couple of already worn shirts he’d planned to toss in the wash when he got home. It was either just the boxers or nothing, his usual sleeping attire.
When he reentered the bedroom, Jenna was sitting on the bed, the top sheet in a pile on her lap and a pillow under her arm.
Her eyes widened, but just as quickly as they did, she couched her expression.
“I don’t own pajamas,” he said in explanation. “And I don’t really have anything clean in my bag. I hope this is okay.”
She swallowed and nodded. “Of course. Nothing I haven’t seen before,” she said with a nervous laugh. “I feel real guilty having you sleep on the hard, wooden floor,” she continued. “There are three pillows. Why don’t you at least take two? I don’t need more than one.”
He reached for the pillow and sheet.
“I’ll be fine,” he said. “One pillow is all I need. Always been big into camping. This is nothing.” He dropped the pillow and then spread the sheet onto the floor so it was parallel to the bed, grateful that even though it looked as if the mattress was no bigger than a full, the sheet was clearly a queen and would be big enough for adequate under- and over-coverage. “Just promise you won’t step on me if you wake up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom.
She pressed her lips into a smile. “Promise.” Then she stood. “Guess I’ll wash up too.”
She brushed past him and closed herself into the bathroom, and, like before, he could smell the sugary sweetness of the cookies mingled with cherry almond scent of Maggie and Robert’s shampoo. Damn if that weird flutter in his belly didn’t happen again.
“No more cookies,” he said aloud, then stretched himself out on the floor. Which was definitely cold and hard, but he was exhausted enough not to care.
The pillow was soft, and the bourbon had done its job. He barely had to close his eyes before sleep took him away—most likely to dream of a blond, cookie-eating beauty who wasn’t the woman for him.
Chapter Seven
Jenna heard the sound before she was truly awake and thought it was something out of her dream. A drip, drip, dripping sound, like water hitting an unpeeled orange. Had she been washing fruit in this dream? Really, slowly washing fruit? Eyes still closed and feeling like she was halfway between conscious and not, she tried to concentrate on the noise.
Until she heard, “Shit!” in a whispered shout. It was a man’s voice.
Her eyes flew open, and she found Colt standing, his body illuminated by flashes of lightning as he stared up at the ceiling while streams of water trailed down his chest.
If the storm hadn’t kicked in again and the ceiling wasn’t leaking, she might have been taken aback by the sight of him. She might have stared longer.
“Oh shit,” she said, echoing Colt’s words.
She sprang out of bed and, quickly remembering the bucket from the bottle of milk, grabbed it and ran to the bathroom to dump the water from the melted ice. She was back in seconds, kicking Colt’s soaked pillow and sheet out of the way and placing the clear plastic bucket in their place. Then she flipped on the bedside lamp.
Splat. Splat. Splat. Splat. The drips came in such fast succession now that it was almost like a stream.
“What time is it?” she asked. “Should we wake Maggie and Robert?”
By tomorrow morning, this poor couple would probably be doing cartwheels after she and Colt finally left. Not that the leak in the ceiling was their fault.
Colt crossed his arms over his wet chest and surveyed the situation.
Stop thinking about his wet chest, Jenna. And stop looking at it too!
He shook his head. “Nothing they can do tonight other than what we’ve already done. Can’t patch up a roof in the rain. I can offer to help in the morning,” he said. “But that will get us on the road even later than changing the tire will.” Colt grabbed his phone from where it was piled on top of his duffel. “And it’s eleven thirty-seven,” he added.
Jenna didn’t care if they were stuck here all day tomorrow helping Maggie and Robert, not after the hospitality the couple had shown them. But she was also itching to get to Meadow Valley. Ever since it sank in that she had two weeks to herself—well, herself and Lucy—to soak in the summer sun atop a horse and roast marshmallows around a bonfire at night, she couldn’t wait to get there. And to maybe put more space between herself and a young cowboy for whom she didn’t want to feel the things she was feeling.
Like her pulse racing.
Or heat radiating through her every time she looked at him whether he was naked or fully dressed and wearing those sexy-as-hell reading glasses.
A different kind of warmth filling her heart when she watched him talk about his sister.
“So you obviously can’t sleep on the floor,” she said, trying to maintain her cool. Because she knew what the alternative was, and it was the complete opposite of putting space between the two of them.
Colt scratched the back of his neck. “I can head downstairs to the couch.”
Her eyes widened. That was not the alternative she’d been considering.
“Don’t be silly,” she said, unable to stop herself from vomiting out the words that came next. “We can share the bed. I’ve got two pillows up here and a nice quilt. You don’t even know if there’s a blanket downstairs.”
“I don’t need—” he started.
She cut him off. “Plus, that bucket’s going to need to be dumped at least a couple of times overnight if this storm doesn’t let up, and if you think I want to sleep with one eye open and take care of that all by myself, well then, you’ve got another think coming, mister.” She let out a nervous laugh. Then she slid back to the far side of the bed that nearly touched the window on the wall beside it. She patted the pillow next to hers. “There’s plenty of room for two.” If neither of them moved in their sleep. “I should have offered this in the first place, but…” But I was nervous about you being so close. Not because I don’t trust you, but because I don’t trust me.
“Are you sure about this?” he asked. Then he narrowed his eyes. “Wait, if I’m on the outside of the bed, that basically means I have to keep an eye on the bucket, doesn’t it?”
She groaned. “I’ll take the outside if that will prove my offer to be a genuine one.” Lightning struck, and thunder shook the room.
Jenna gasped.
She’d been fine for years living on her own, but if there was one thing she truly hated, it was being alone during a thunderstorm.
“Hey there,” Colt said, a teasing lilt in his tone. He sat down on the edge of the bed. “You’re not afraid of a little storm, are you?”
“No,” she lied.
Another bolt of lightning was followed by another shake of the room.
This time she yelped and yanked the quilt over her head. “I mean, yes,” she whispered, rolling her eyes at herself.
She felt the mattress dip and then Colt’s strong hand rubbed her back over the blanket.
“It’s okay,” he said softly, and even though she knew he had no control over Mother Nature, Jenna believed him.
She peeked over the top of the blanket.
“So you’ll stay?” she asked, feeling like a scared child simply posing as a forty-year-old woman.
He nodded. “I’ll stay. And I’ll even take the outside, but only on one condition.”
She let out a shaky breath, her shoulders relaxing.
“Name your terms, cowboy,” she said.
He tugged at the quilt that was basically piled in its entirety on
top of her. “No hogging the blanket. If I’m getting the chance to upgrade from a cold, wet sheet to the real deal, I want the whole package.” He raised his brows, and she laughed.
“Sorry,” she said. “That’s what happens when you live alone in a place that rarely gets the rain it needs. When it finally storms real good, it scares the pants off me. Figuratively speaking, of course,” she said, feeling her cheeks grow warm. “My shorts and panties are still right where they’re supposed to be.”
He chuckled and gave the quilt another light tug, and she realized she still hadn’t loosened her grip.
“Right,” she said, finally relinquishing Colt’s share. “No blanket hogging.”
He threw the quilt over his lower torso and legs, then reached behind him and turned off the lamp.
“I’ll keep an ear out for the bucket,” he said. “But we should try to get some sleep. Got a lot to do tomorrow before we get back on the road.”
It was a full-sized bed, so there was room for two. Barely, but there was room. Judging by the huge gap between her and her bed partner, though, Jenna could tell that Colt was balancing on the edge.
“Colt?” she said.
“Jenna?”
“You don’t need to risk falling off the bed.”
“Right,” he said, then scooted himself slightly more toward the center.
“Thanks for staying,” she said softly, her lids growing heavy.
“You’re welcome, Jenna,” he said.
How she did like the way her name sounded in his soft, deep voice.
Lightning crashed with a simultaneous boom of thunder, and the next thing Jenna knew her arms were wrapped around Colt’s neck, her legs entwined with his, and though it was dark, she was close enough to see his eyes as wide as saucers.
“Sorry!” she said.
But she wasn’t letting go.
She didn’t want to let go.
She wanted to be held by someone she trusted.
She wanted to kiss a man who made her feel safe.
Have a vacation fling.
