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I kept talking, not exactly answering his question but letting my thoughts spill off my tongue. “Chicago is so big and busy. It’s easy to be anonymous. Slip through the cracks. Here the whole town cares about my sex life. I don’t understand why.”
“Small town, I guess. You’re new. Your brother is kind of a big fish in this little pond, too.”
“Oh my God!” I grabbed his arm as understanding dawned.
He jerked the wheel, instinctively startled by my outburst. “Rae, only do that if I am about to hit a deer or something.”
“It’s you they are interested in, not me. They were pumping me for information to add to your legend.”
“No.”
“Yes.” I squeezed his hard bicep. “You’re the gruff, dirty-talking cowboy of almost any woman’s dream.”
“Almost?” He was fishing for compliments in the middle of my realization. How uncool.
“I don’t think Harley or Annabelle would be interested, but then again, I could be wrong. Trust me, at bunco, they absolutely spoke about you like the delicious hunk of man candy you are. Wilson too; Wanda is the president of his fan club.”
“You’re good for my ego when tipsy.” He patted my hand where I’d left it curled around his arm.
“The ladies of Elmer are dying for a juicy Atley tidbit.”
“If you say so.”
I wanted to say more about his minor celebrity status in Elmer, but an enormous yawn interrupted my words. I tucked my feet under me and leaned my head on his arm.
“I do say so.” I nuzzled closer to him. He smelled good, like fabric softener and horses. Not a combo I’d ever thought to try, but it was better than Old Spice. Maybe if I failed at the wine marketing, I’d bottle this scent and sell it to lonely city girls dreaming of hot cowboys.
We turned a corner and the afternoon sun slanted in my window, warming my back and bare legs despite the AC in the truck. It was lovely, the soft hum of the road under the tires and some country music station barely audible. I closed my eyes and relaxed into the soft, welcoming arms of my old friend: tequila.
I vaguely recalled Atley scooping me out of the front seat and holding me to his chest. More asleep than awake, I murmured Georgie’s name a few times as Atley tucked me into bed. Then I was dead to the world, lost in a tequila-induced nap.
Chapter 18
Atley
Georgie snuggled next tome on the couch, and under the coffee table where my laptop rested, Major was snoring. I worked updating a ledger with invoices from feed store deliveries that came this week. The price of grain for the horses had gone up again. I know the saying goes only death and taxes were inescapable, but I think they should add inflation to the list.
“Hey, what time is it?” Rae, barefoot and rumpled from her very late afternoon nap, stood outside my spare bedroom. The lines from the pillow were still etched on her cheek. She ran a hand through her tousled hair, trying to smooth the flyaways. Everything about how she looked made me want to take herright back to bed. Slow and languorous sex would be a perfect way to wake her up.
I closed my laptop with a snap and cleared my head of the thoughts. Sex after dinner, if things went well, was my tentative plan. Our non-relationship was a bit of a minefield; nothing was a guarantee. The day at the swimming hole went so perfectly, and I wasn’t sure how to recreate that magic. It was why I’d not called or texted her Sunday. What could I have said that didn’t sound like a booty call? At our age, that was wrong on so many levels.
Georgie jumped off the couch and rushed to her, his long white hair making him look more like a hovercraft than a dog as he skimmed across the floor of my living room.
“Almost seven.”
“Wow, that’s a serious nap. I blame the tequila.” She kneeled to pet Georgie.
“How’d you get here?” she asked the dog.
“I hope you don’t mind, but Major and I rescued him from the guest house. No dog wants to be alone all day.”
She looked up, a grateful smile on her lips. “You’re the best bunco DD slash dog sitter I’ve ever had.”
I couldn’t stop my short bark of laughter at her answer.
A knot of concern that I’d overstepped loosened. Driving back to the ranch, I’d planned to wake her and walk her home. But when we arrived, she was out cold. You don’t wake up a snoring woman. My nod to our weird situation was not giving into the temptation to put her in my bed.
“It gets better. Are you hungry?”
