It Started with a Cowboy

by Jennie Marts

  “I can’t imagine what. You’ve already helped so much.” Chloe studied him as she ladled soup into mugs. What was Colt still doing here? He did say he liked to help people, but come on. Everything he’d done today—from giving her a ride to arranging for her car to be taken in to putting out a fire in her neighbor’s house—seemed like more than a regular guy would do.

  Colt James was proving to be more than just a regular guy.

  She handed him the platter of sandwiches as she picked up the mugs of soup and passed them to the kids. She carried the last two over, then slid into the empty seat he’d left between him and Maddie.

  Charlie reached for the platter of sandwiches as his sister bowed her head. He glanced sheepishly at Colt but followed suit when the man also bowed his head and clasped his hands together.

  Maddie’s small voice filled the kitchen. “Dear God, thank you for my family, even my brothers. Thank you for not letting our house burn down. Thank you for Miss Bishop and her friend Mr. Colt. And thank you for this good soup and these yummy sandwiches.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “And please help Momma to get better, and bring Jesse home safe. Amen.”

  “Amen,” Colt repeated, then passed the platter to Charlie.

  Chloe took a sip of water to quell the burn of emotion building in her throat. She took a napkin and focused on spreading it neatly across her lap, trying not to imagine this as her family, her kids and her husband. Trying not to think about how it would feel to sit down to dinner every night with them, to listen to them laugh and say their prayers, and to tuck them in at night, then crawl into her own warm bed next to Colt.

  Oh geez. Criminently. What was wrong with her tonight? She wasn’t usually this sappy. Okay, she was usually pretty sappy, but not over her own life. She got teary-eyed over sentimental commercials and could go through a whole box of tissues weeping over a great book or a heartbreaking movie, but she didn’t usually let herself get mushy over her own circumstances.

  Her life was what it was. She was happy. The kids in her class brought her joy, and she had Agatha to come home to every night. And the cat did occasionally seem glad to see her.

  So what if she didn’t have a man. Her dad had repeatedly reminded her she’d never be pretty enough or good enough or thin enough—or whatever “enough” he fancied at the moment—to catch a husband anyway. As if she were trying to lure one on the end of a fishing line with her wiggling around on the hook as bait.

  “…and then the car exploded,” Jake said loudly, spreading his arms and drawing Chloe’s attention back to the group just as his hand hit his glass and sent it sailing across the table.

  Maddie shrieked and grabbed her sandwich as water splashed onto her plate and dripped over the side of the table.

  “Sorry,” Jake said, trying to sop up the water with a handful of napkins.

  “It’s okay. It’s just water.” Chloe grabbed a towel. Maybe having kids and a family wasn’t all sunshine and roses. Kids were messy. She didn’t need that kind of chaos in her life.

  Yeah, keep telling yourself that, sister.

  The rest of the meal went off without a hitch, or a spill, or anything catching on fire. Chloe stood to clear the table. She couldn’t believe it was already past seven. “I’d better get you guys home. Give you time to take showers and finish your homework before bed.”

  Colt rested a hand on her arm. “Why don’t I do this while you take the kids back and get them settled in for the night?”

  “You don’t have to. You’ve already done so much.”

  He squeezed her arm reassuringly, and she felt the heat of his palm through her sweater. “I want to.”

  “Why? This has got to be a crazy night for you.”

  “Nah. I grew up with a single mom and two older brothers. A fire and something spilling or breaking was just a normal Tuesday night for us. This is nothing—just par for the course.”

  It made sense now how he was so unfazed. She didn’t realize until much later that he hadn’t answered the question of why.

  * * *

  It took Chloe longer than she’d planned to get the kids settled in for the night, and she fully expected to see Colt’s truck gone by the time she slipped out of her neighbor’s house and trekked across the driveway toward her own.

  What she didn’t expect was to open her kitchen door to the heavenly scent of chocolate in the air and the sight of a ridiculously hot cowboy standing next to the counter licking cake batter off the side of a beater.

  He offered her a sheepish grin as he held the other beater out to her. “I saved this one for you.”

  She shrugged out of her coat but was so stunned she didn’t even hang it up. Instead, she just tossed it on the chair and took the offered beater. “I don’t get it.”

  Although the evidence of the warm stove, the smell of chocolate, and the mixing bowl soaking in the sink were all in front of her, she couldn’t believe Colt had made the cupcakes.

  “You did say you had to make two dozen cupcakes tonight for the bake sale tomorrow, right?”

  “Yes, but I never dreamed you would make them for me.”

  He shrugged and licked another dollop of chocolate from the side of the beater. Watching his tongue dart out and lick up the batter was doing funny things to Chloe’s insides, and she was getting tingly in spots she hadn’t felt tingles in a long time. “It was no big deal. It’s not like I made them from scratch. All the stuff was sitting on the counter, so I figured this was the one you wanted to make. And your kitchen is so well organized, it was pretty easy to find the rest of what I needed. I finished cleaning up and figured I’d get them in the oven for you. I hope that’s okay.”

  She leaned back against the counter next to him, still holding the beater in her hand. “It’s more than okay. I think it’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

  His eyes widened. “Lord, I hope not. All I did was toss a few eggs and some oil into a bowl and mix it up. If that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for you, old Huge needs to step up his game.”

  She let out a bark of laughter, then clapped her free hand over her mouth.

  He laughed too, and suddenly Chloe couldn’t hold it back, the events of the day swirling in a crazy haze around her. She’d started her morning with cat yak between her toes, then wrecked her car into a cute cowboy who had put out a fire, washed her dishes, and just made a batch of cupcakes for her. It all seemed too ridiculous, and a gush of laughter bubbled out of her.

  She held her stomach and bent forward as she tried to catch her breath. “This day has been something else,” she wheezed as her laughter finally died down.

  “Sometimes all you can do is laugh about it,” Colt said. “And you have a great laugh.”

  She shook her head. “Stop it. My dad always told me that my laugh sounded like the bark of a seal.”

  His eyes widened. “That’s crazy. And mean. And just plain wrong. You have an awesome laugh. It makes your whole face light up.” His gaze dropped to her mouth.

  She caught her breath, suddenly imagining how it would feel to have his lips pressed to hers. Would she be able to taste the chocolate of the cake batter on his tongue? Would his lips be as soft as they looked?

  “So, are you ever gonna lick that?” he asked, his voice huskier than it had been before.

  She blinked and swallowed, moistening her lips as her mouth went dry. “What?” she managed to croak.

  “The beater. You know, the one you’ve been holding in your hands for the last five minutes. Aren’t you going to lick it?”

  Oh, for the love of cake. Every time he said the words lick it, flames of heat shot down her back. “Uh no,” she said, passing him back the beater.

  His forehead creased as he took it. “No? Why not?”

  “I don’t really eat many desserts. Too many calories.”

  “In a
lick of cake batter?”

  She shrugged. “It all adds up. And sometimes it’s better not even to try it. Then you won’t know what you’re really missing out on. And you can just imagine it was awful and you didn’t miss something great.”

  “What kind of crazy philosophy is that?”

  One she’d lived for most of her life. And one she was trying to remind herself of now—and not just about the chocolate. “When you grow up as a chunky kid, you learn all sorts of crazy philosophies and tricks to keep you from eating.”

  His gaze traveled over her body, and she could almost feel the heat of his inspection. “You’re not chunky now. You’ve got a great body.” Pink flooded his cheeks. “I mean, you look great to me. Like, you know, just right. You’re not chunk…er…heavy.” He slapped his hand to his forehead. “Please save me from saying anything else.”

  She laughed, although she could feel the heat in her own cheeks at his compliments on her figure. Why had she just told him she used to be a chunky kid? He had to think she was a total dork. Although, maybe this was the kind of thing friends talked to each other about, so maybe he thought it was normal. So why was he blushing? And why did her skin feel like it had just been skimmed over with a light caress? “Okay, okay. I could easily argue, but I’m happy changing the subject too, so I’ll just say thank you and let’s go back to talking about the chocolate.”

  “Yes, chocolate.” He grinned, then dragged his finger across the beater, scooping a dollop of batter onto the end, and held it out to her. “Come on. You’ve got to at least try it. Just one taste. Otherwise you really are missing out.”

  She peered down at his chocolate-smeared finger and swallowed again. There was no way in heck that she was licking that batter off the end of his finger. It was too intimate, too personal. Too freaking sexy. Just imagining it had warm currents of heat swirling between her legs.

  This was not her. She did not lick things off men, especially gorgeous men like Colt James.

  Why not? her inner vixen asked. What would it hurt? He offered. His hand was held midair, his finger extended, the smear of cake batter glistening on its tip. All she had to do was lean forward and lick.

  Otherwise you really are missing out, he’d said.

  How many times had she missed out, just because she was afraid to try, to put even a toe out of her comfort zone? Although it wasn’t a toe. This was her tongue, and possibly her heart.

  Shoving that thought aside—she certainly wasn’t letting her heart get involved with Colt—she took a deep breath, gathered every ounce of courage she could muster, then leaned forward and wrapped her lips around the end of his finger and sucked the batter into her mouth.

  Chapter 5

  The burst of flavor hit her tongue, and Chloe moaned softly at the delicious chocolaty taste. She glanced up at Colt. This time, it was his turn to swallow as the teasing gleam in his eyes darkened to a flash of hunger—and not for chocolate. For her.

  Oh boy.

  “Good?” he asked, his voice low and deep.

  Caught in his gaze, all she could do was nod, and that was only the barest movement of her head. “Yes,” she whispered, and knew she was answering more than his query about the chocolate.

  “You’ve got a little…” He reached up and ran his thumb along her bottom lip, presumably to catch an errant smudge of chocolate.

  She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, as heat and want surged through her veins. It had been so long since a man had touched her lips, and the soft pressure of his thumb against her chin felt more delicious than a thousand tastes of chocolate.

  He leaned forward, just the slightest bit, his gaze locked on her lips.

  Her nerve endings stirred and tingled as a swarm of butterflies swooped and swirled in her stomach. Was he really going to kiss her? She could feel her lips trembling, even as they parted in anticipation.

  Closer still—his breath warm on her cheek as he tilted her chin up to meet his. He smelled like chocolate and soap and some kind of musky, manly aftershave that seemed to wrap itself around her like a warm cloak.

  Another bit closer—she could almost feel the pressure of his lips against hers.

  Her eyelids fluttered, ready to close for the kiss, then popped open wide when the loud beeping of the timer rang through the silent kitchen.

  Colt pulled back, shaking his head as if to rouse himself from a daze, and turned to press the timer button on the stove. Chloe grabbed the edge of the counter to steady herself, her knees suddenly gone weak.

  He opened the oven, and chocolate-scented heat poured into the room. “Do you…” His voice cracked a little, and he cleared his throat as he shoved his hand into an oven mitt and pulled the rack toward them. “Do you want to check these?”

  “Yeah, sure,” she answered, her voice a little unsteady as well. She pulled open a cupboard next to the stove, grabbed a toothpick from a box inside, and then leaned in next to him to poke a cupcake with the pick. The heat of Colt’s hip as she brushed against it seemed as hot as the oven—or maybe that was just her body’s reaction to anything of hers touching anything of his right now.

  Pulling the toothpick free, she examined it for batter. “They’re done.” She reached around him, opening the cupboard next to the oven, and pulled out a couple of cooling racks and placed them on the counter.

  He removed the two muffin tins and set them on the racks. “Now we just need to let them cool, then we can frost them.”

  Which would mean at least another hour of Colt James being in her kitchen. The thought had Chloe’s knees turning to jelly again. Get ahold of yourself. She was acting like a silly schoolgirl, not a full-grown woman who was, in fact, the person who taught those silly schoolgirls. And boys.

  Which reminded her she still had papers to grade. Which would take at least a little bit of concentration. And all hers was currently being taken up by the cowboy in her kitchen.

  “Colt,” she started to say, then got caught on the sound of his name in her mouth. How could she be on intimate enough terms with him that she was saying his name with such familiarity? Like they were actually friends. How could this night even be real? “Really, you’ve done so much already. And I’ve still got papers to grade. You don’t have to stay.”

  But please say you will. Please stay. Stay for an hour, stay for the night, stay for our whole lives.

  She clamped her lips together to keep herself from saying the words.

  “I want to, but I don’t want to get in the way if you need to work.” His voice rose a little at the end of the sentence, almost like he was asking her a question, or asking if she really wanted him to go.

  She didn’t want him to go. Ever. But she knew she was kidding herself. He’d said it himself—he liked helping people. All kinds of people. And she knew he was the go-to guy for a lot of people when they were in a bind. He’d spent the last month filling in at The Creed—the local pub and burger house—for the owner, whose wife had delivered their first child. And Chloe had seen him just last week shoveling the walk of his aunt’s house when she’d driven down her street. Half the town owed him favors because he was always pitching in and helping friends out.

  That’s what friends are for. His words echoed in her ear, and she convinced herself that the moment before, the moment she’d thought he was going to kiss her, had just been in her imagination.

  She glanced at the clock on the wall, surprised to see how late it was. “It’s already past nine. I’ve kept you long enough. Even though I absolutely appreciate everything you’ve done, I think I should probably finish up on my own.”

  His shoulders slumped just the slightest, but he kept the smile on his face. “Oh yeah, sure, of course. I’ll let you get to it then.” He nodded to the overflowing trash bin next to the counter. “Least I can do is take this out before I leave. You keep your trash cans in the garage?”

  “Yes
, but you don’t have to…” she stammered, her heart crashing against her chest at the mention of the garage.

  “It’s no big deal,” he said, pulling the bag from the container and striding through the door connecting the house to the garage.

  Chloe hurried after him, sweat erupting across her lower back as she waited for his reaction to the mess, waited to hear his judgment on the stack of boxes she should have thrown away a year ago.

  “I can see why you can’t park your car in here.” He shimmied around the side of the boxes to get to the large trash receptacle. Lifting the lid, he dumped the bag in, then surveyed the stacks of stuff.

  She twisted her hands together, holding them so they didn’t flutter to her face. “I know it’s stupid. It’s just a bunch of old junk. I’ve been meaning to get rid of it. None of it matters. I’m just busy and haven’t had time to arrange to get it hauled away.” She was rambling, the words tumbling out of her mouth faster than she’d meant them to. Trying to explain it—or in this case, avoid explaining it—to Colt made her chest tight and her palms itch.

  Why couldn’t she just let the stupid boxes go? The recliner was threadbare and probably had a family of mice taking up residence in its hollow center. She would never sit in it again. The boxes were filled with junk. Old clothes, worn-out shoes, stained and useless kitchenware, things she would never need or use. She hadn’t opened any of the boxes in years.

  All it took was making one phone call to Happy Hauling, and they’d pick everything up and take it away. But she’d made that call before. Several times. And always followed it with another call frantically trying to cancel the pickup.

  “I get it. You’re busy. I have tons of stuff I need to get done at my place and can’t seem to find the time to get to.” Colt circled around the stuff and started to lower himself into the recliner.

  “Don’t!” Chloe took a step forward, her hand outstretched, unable to bear the image of Colt, a good man, sitting in the chair of her father, who could be a good man but could also be a monster.