Kentucky Home

by Sarah Title

  “Hey,” he said to Mal now before she could open the car door. “Let’s go riding tomorrow.”

  “Horseback riding?” She looked surprised—not as surprised as he was, though. What was he thinking?

  “Yeah. You said you’ve never been, and you’re leaving soon, right?”

  “As soon as Luke can take me.”

  “So let’s do it. Tomorrow.”

  She smiled at him and this was why he should have stopped to think about taking her riding, because if he had known she would smile at him like that and if he had known what it would do to his heart, he never would have asked. It felt amazing, and it hurt a little, too. “Tomorrow,” he said, then climbed out of the car to pull Peanut off the door so Mal could get out.

  Chapter 17

  Mal could feel Keith watching her and it was making her nervous. She was trying to decide if it was making her more nervous than being several feet off the ground on a creature that could kick her skull in when Keith said, “Relax, Mal. You’re making him nervous.” Which made her even more nervous. What happened when a horse got nervous? A horse named Bullet? Sure, Keith said the name was a joke, that he was old and slow, but still. Would Bullet bolt? Bolt, then bite, then . . . the alliteration of her paranoia made her giggle.

  Nervously.

  “Hey.”

  Keith had ridden up next to her and placed his hand over hers, which were squeezing the life out of the reins. Bullet turned his head and tried to bite Blue, the horse Keith was riding, which made Mal gasp and squeeze harder. She would never survive a horse fight.

  “Mal.”

  She looked up from where Bullet and Blue were engaged in a fierce battle of wills (aka trying to ignore each other) and looked over at Keith. His cowboy hat sat low on his forehead, shielding his face from the late morning sun, but his eyes still found hers. He was so sure and confident on Blue. He squeezed her hands on the reins, and in his eyes she saw, “You can do this.”

  So she closed her eyes, took a deep breath and, with the reassuring pressure of Keith’s big hands on hers, she relaxed.

  Keith could feel it the minute Mal let go—the fear, the tension, whatever it was that had her sitting ramrod straight and pulling poor Bullet to a stop while telling him to go. Of course, her eyes were closed, so he wasn’t sure how to tell her to get moving.

  “Ready?” he asked, leaning back into Blue’s saddle.

  “Not really,” she replied, opening her eyes and looking ahead with determination. “But OK. Let’s go.”

  She had grit, he thought suddenly. She was scared, but she would cowboy up.

  She was made to be out here.

  And he was mooning over a woman who was married. Almost not married, the voice in his head reminded him. But still, technically, married. But then she turned around to face him, her brown eyes strong and focused, not on her fear, but on the adventure. They were practically sparkling with it.

  “I’m ready.”

  All told, she followed directions pretty well. Bullet responded to her tugs on the reins, although he was less inclined to speed up with her halfhearted kick to his sides.

  “Mal, he’s never going to go if you don’t kick him a little harder.” They had pulled up to a stop again while Bullet munched on some tall grass off the trail.

  “I don’t want to hurt him!”

  “You won’t hurt him. It’s like using a firm voice to give a command. If you don’t kick him harder, he won’t know you’re serious about wanting him to stop eating every five steps.”

  He thought he heard her mutter “command, confidence,” and then Bullet was off. At a mildly fast walk, at least.

  “It worked!” She turned around in her saddle and beamed at him. She looked so bright and surprised. She was glowing under the brim of the old cowboy hat she wore.

  Dammit. Keith was a goner.

  “Good work,” he said, and pulled up to take the lead. Beyond the fields, they would pick up the old horse trail, then follow the creek up the hill a bit. It was a ride he had taken many times, usually to show the property off to prospective boarders.

  He had no business being away from his work for several hours. Sure, the horses needed exercise, but there were more efficient ways to do that, ways that did not keep him out of his office when he had a pile of paperwork to deal with.

  Then he heard her breathe, a deep, happy sigh that carried over the sound of clopping hooves. He looked ahead and smiled. The fields were laid out before them, and the hills were practically glowing in the distance, that mix of orange and yellow with a few spots of bright red. The colors rolled on, past the edge of his property line, past where they could see.

  He had looked at those hills every day for his entire life and he always felt the same about them. He let out the breath he was holding, mirroring Mal’s happy sigh.

  Mal wasn’t sure when she’d ever been so terrified and happy. She was not the sort of person who sought out adventure, and generally preferred her adrenaline levels normal and steady. Still, the quick ratcheting of her heart when Bullet finally decided to move—at her command—she could see why people were drawn to horseback riding. As she rode behind Keith, her focus shifting between the ground (far away) and Keith’s strong back (also far—knock it off, Mal), she could feel herself learning Bullet’s movements. When she sensed him wanting to linger over a tuft of grass, she swept her legs along his sides. When he nickered and let his gaze follow a bolting rabbit, she pulled the reins and set him back on course. As if he could sense when she most needed it, Keith would occasionally turn around and offer some terse advice or a nod of encouragement. Probably he was just checking to make sure she hadn’t fallen off. As the morning rolled slowly into afternoon, she felt less nervous on Bullet and more in control.

  It was not a feeling she was used to.

  Eventually, Keith led them off the well-worn trail and they began to follow a stream. It was clear and wide in places, and Mal looked longingly at the grassy patches that blended into the creek bed. Riding was exhilarating, but her butt was getting sore.

  So when Keith jumped off Blue and parked her in a small patch of grass, Mal was almost too grateful to be concerned about getting off the horse. Almost.

  “I figure we can have lunch here,” he said as she gripped the reins and looked over Bullet’s side.

  “You getting down?”

  “Yes. Sure. Lunch.”

  “Do you need a hand, Mal?”

  She looked over, expecting Keith to be laughing at her. She was probably five feet off the ground and she couldn’t figure out how to get down. But he just reached one hand over Bullet’s neck to steady him and put the other hand on the back of her saddle.

  “Just take your right foot out of the stirrup. Good. Now lean over to me and swing that leg around.”

  As she did, Bullet moved a little and Keith grabbed her by the waist, saying “whoa” softly, and hopefully to the horse, and lowered Mal to the ground. He didn’t move his hands right away. Mal didn’t really mind.

  Bullet and Blue were chomping happily in a small clearing as Mal spread out the blanket on the grassy bank. Keith unhooked the basket from Blue’s saddle and looked hungrily at what Libby had packed. Some cold fried chicken, her famous potato salad, more oatmeal cookies than they could decently eat, and something wrapped in foil in a side pocket—candy? Libby was not a candy person. No.

  Holy—

  Libby had packed them condoms.

  Where the hell was Miss Libby buying condoms?

  “Anything good in there?” Mal asked as she kicked off her shoes.

  “Uh.” Keith shoved the condoms in his pocket and went over to join her on the blanket. It was one of the last warm days before winter started thinking about showing up, and Mal had set them up in a sunny spot. He pulled off his flannel shirt and let the warmth seep in through his T-shirt.

  They ate, they made small talk. He found it easy to talk to Mal, and he didn’t find it easy to talk to anyone. But as they passed the con
tainer of potato salad back and forth, he found himself not just answering her, but asking her questions. Where she grew up, what her folks were like, how she could possibly be almost thirty and never have been on a horse.

  She laughed. He did love when she laughed.

  “Have you ever been on a subway?”

  He smiled over at her. “I took a bus in Lexington once.”

  “Hmm. Not the same thing.”

  “I’ve never even been on a plane.”

  “What? Not even on your honeymoon?”

  He stilled.

  “Sorry,” Mal said quickly. “I didn’t mean to—”

  “No, it’s OK. We didn’t fly. We drove. To the Greenbrier in West Virginia.”

  “You honeymooned in West Virginia?”

  “It’s nice there. Too nice, really. We lasted one night, and then we rented a cabin in the state park.”

  “That sounds really nice, actually. Very romantic.”

  “That was sort of the idea.”

  A moment passed. Keith reached for a piece of chicken.

  “So where was your honeymoon?” he asked.

  “The Bahamas. We took a plane.”

  He smiled. “Sounds nice.”

  “Yeah, it was nice.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Oh, no. It was nice. It was a beautiful resort, white sand beaches, amazing food. I think I gained five pounds.”

  “But?”

  Mal picked at her cookie. “Well, I’m not much of a beach person. I mean, it was gorgeous and luxurious, like out of a magazine. But there was nothing to do, you know?”

  “You couldn’t find something to do on your honeymoon?”

  She threw a crumb at him.

  “It was just, I don’t know. It didn’t feel right.” She took a bite of her cookie. “I guess I’m just not cut out for marriage.”

  Keith knew he shouldn’t be asking the woman who was masquerading as his brother’s fiancée when she was already married to another man any more about her views on marriage. “Why not?”

  She snorted. “I’m just not that good at doing what someone else wants, I guess. I have to be free!” She flung her arms out, knocking her hat back.

  “Marriage isn’t about one person being in charge.”

  “No? You weren’t the breadwinner? The man of the house?”

  “No. I mean, yes, I was the man, but it was more like a partnership. Vanessa was good at some things, I was good at other things, and we made a life. Trust me, I was not in charge.”

  He looked over to see her looking at him funny.

  “What?”

  “Keith Carson, I do believe you are a romantic.”

  It was the last thing he expected anyone to say about him—ever—and he barked out a laugh and rolled onto his back.

  Mal leaned over him. “You laugh, but it’s true. I can see it. You pretend to be all gruff and serious, but you’re secretly polite and kind. You pretend to be all hard and business, but inside you’re just a softy.”

  He knew what she was saying was true, but he didn’t want to hear it, not from her. He didn’t want to know how well she knew him.

  So he did what he thought was the most expedient way of quieting her. He reached behind her neck, pulled her toward him, and kissed her.

  Mal could feel the instant Keith started thinking. His lips, at first warm and soft, froze, and the hand at the back of her neck relaxed its gentle pressure.

  She liked that pressure.

  She liked those lips. And, dammit, she liked Keith. Whatever battle he was fighting with his conscience, she wanted to end it, preferably with his lips going back to warm and soft.

  She raised her head a little and opened her eyes.

  “I’m so—”

  “Don’t you dare apologize.”

  Keith looked stunned.

  “If you’re really sorry for kissing me”—Mal punctuated her anger with a poke to his chest—“then just shut up about it. A woman doesn’t like to hear a man’s regrets.”

  “I don’t—”

  “But I’m not sorry. I wasn’t sorry the other night and I’m not sorry now. I like you, Keith. I like how you make me feel. I like that you try to act like a jerk but you’re hopeless at it. I like your hat and I like how you fill your jeans.”

  Keith raised his eyebrow. Mal ignored him and soldiered on.

  “I know being here is not right and that this fairy tale Luke dropped me into is not going to last.”

  “You think mucking stalls is a fairy tale?”

  “I do. I mean, not all of it. The details are not important, Keith. I’m talking about this place. I’ve never seen any place so beautiful.” She swept her arm around her. “And Libby’s cooking and the horses and the way all the men are so handsome. It’s like this place is enchanted. And I know I have to leave soon, to go back or go . . . somewhere, I don’t know. But I’m here now and I like the way you kiss, so please, please don’t apologize out of politeness to me because I’m. Not. Sorry.”

  Mal was a little breathless and as he continued to stare up at her, she could feel a blush work its way up her neck and into her cheeks.

  He was just staring. She couldn’t stand it.

  So she braced her hands on his chest, leaned down, and kissed him.

  Keith was through with thinking. He knew that Mal’s speech gave him permission to do what, he had to admit, he had been thinking about since he first saw her on Luke’s arm. Such a short time and already she had invaded every part of his life.

  But thinking prevented him from feeling her kiss, the pressure of her small hands on him, the rise and fall of her chest against his.

  He brought his hand up from her neck to the back of her head, twining his fingers through her hair and pulling her even closer. She made a sound—Surprise? Pleasure?—and he deepened the kiss, welcoming her curious tongue and making his own sounds as she shifted to a better angle.

  He liked her where she was, sprawled on top of him, so he moved his hand to her waist to keep her there. But then that wasn’t enough, so he slid his hands down, over her bottom to the back of her knee, which he hitched up to his hip, opening her on his lap.

  She raised her head with a little gasp of surprise, then one corner of her mouth lifted in a smile.

  Keith couldn’t have formed a rational thought if the house was on fire. That little smile from her, and his heart told him, yes, finally, take what she’s giving.

  Growling, he rolled her over and pinned her underneath him. Her lips found his again and he felt her arms go around his broad shoulders. He kissed her, her lips, her cheek, her jaw. When he kissed the pulse at her neck, she let out a little gasp. He smiled into her skin, so soft, and licked her there.

  Chapter 18

  It was just her neck, no big deal. So why was she writhing under him like a snake? As Keith shifted his lips from one side of her neck to the other, she ran her hands over his shoulders and back. She loved the solid feel of him, the way his shoulders worked with the effort of holding himself up. But she wanted him closer. She sought his mouth again. Closer. She wriggled one of her legs from under his and brought it up to his hip. Closer. The word pounded an insistent rhythm in her brain as she shifted her hips beneath him, feeling his hardness against her. Closer, dammit. Closer. She ran her hands down his sides—he was so solid—and over the back of his jeans, then up to his waist, where she maneuvered a hand under his T-shirt. The skin of his back was hot; he had the same fever she did. She ran her hands up his back, feeling each muscle twitch under her fingers.

  He sat up abruptly and she started to protest—don’t you dare apologize now—but he looked at her, his green eyes dark with hunger, and tore the shirt over his head. She immediately reached for him, running her fingers over the dark hair on his chest, loving the sensation of rough hair over solid muscle. And he was solid. Her hand spanned across one pectoral in awe. Thank God for farm muscles. She ran her hands over his chest, over the roundness of his shoulders, drawing a line with her
finger where his tan started. She’d had no idea a farmer’s tan could be so sexy.

  But then she was distracted by the feel of Keith’s fingertips on her chest, slowly working the buttons on her shirt, gently brushing the skin between her breasts. He breathed out a word that sounded like “beautiful” and kissed her there, his tongue following his fingers as he pulled open her shirt, baring her bra to the sunshine. He ran his hands gently over the silk and lace, then moved his hands around to unclasp her bra in the back. It didn’t work one-handed, so he used both. Mal sat up a little to give him more room. He wasn’t getting it. And he was starting to curse, and Mal didn’t want to risk losing the mood, so she slapped his hand away, unhooked her bra, and threw it across the blanket. They sat there for a second, half naked in the sunshine, and then he was on her again, pulling her close, gasping at the sensation of skin on skin.

  Closer, she thought again, and reached down for the clasp of his jeans. He did the same for her, and soon they both had their jeans around their ankles, too foggy with lust to figure out how to get them over their shoes. Mal just gripped Keith’s shoulders tighter, held him closer. He pulled back for a second and reached into his pocket. In no time, the condom was on and Mal pulled him back to her, lifting up one knee to let him in. It was awkward, their legs tangled in their bunched-up jeans, but not so awkward that Keith couldn’t find his way to the center of her, taking it slow and easy until she was full, and then, as her nails started to dig into his back, faster, harder, higher. She cried out his name as she went up and over, shaking, gripping his back. He dug his fingers into her hips, buried his face in her hair, and followed right after her.

  What the hell had he just done?

  Had they done, really?

  Mal shivered in his arms. He ran his hands through her hair, down her back. He wasn’t sure if she was cold or crying or what. He couldn’t tell anything with her head buried in the crook of his neck. She felt good there, like she fit, but he didn’t want to get too comfortable because what if she was upset? He thought probably she had enjoyed it as much as he had—enjoyed was an understatement—but now that he couldn’t see her face, he didn’t know. Did she regret it? Already? Jesus, what kind of animal was he—he found out she wasn’t engaged to his brother and he waited, what, three days before he jumped on her? Yes, of course, he wanted her—from the moment he saw her he’d wanted her—but come on. He wouldn’t blame her if she hated him.