What a sight! She liked watching him walk toward her with the dogs in tow. Freshly shaven, he was in blue jeans, a long sleeve white shirt, a beautiful leather vest, and, of course, that hat and those moccasins. An authentic cowboy. Or was he a mountain man? She’d learn more today. He had a big smile and was carrying something in his hand. Hmm, the very best men showed up with a hostess gift. His mother raised him right.
She’d debated hug or no hug and had decided against it, but when he approached, she basically lost her mind, walked right up and gave a modest hug, pressing her breasts into his chest and feeling the tight muscles in his back. He looked a little surprised, but was still smiling. The dogs were gone in a flash, headed for the woods, their masters chuckling at the scene. Those dogs had some important business.
Bart tendered a small handmade leather pouch. She took it and studied it carefully before opening it.
“Did you make this?”
“Last night.”
“It’s beautiful.” She gently pulled the tiny leather strings and the pouch opened. She looked inside and pulled out a tiny woven leather bracelet. She was enthralled. “You made this, too?”
“Last night. I wanted to bring you something for the nice evening and today’s breakfast and didn’t have much. Kind of fashioned that together.”
“You’re a leather worker?”
“Lifelong hobby, the kind of thing you learn growing up on a ranch.”
He took the bracelet back, wrapped it around her wrist, and tied it, testing to see that she could slip it off with a little pressure. “There, you won’t have to tie it again. It should just slide off and on.”
“Where’d you get the beads?”
“Oh, I have a little kit I carry with me. Just happened to have some beads. It adds some color and a Native American influence.”
“It’s beautiful, and thoughtful.”
She couldn’t help herself; she leaned forward and gave him a light kiss on the cheek, then gently pushed back, keeping her face close, looking in his eyes. Molly felt the blood rushing up her neck into her fair Scottish face that flushed too easily.
The heat felt good in her face, and below.
They walked together to the kitchen.
“Have a seat while I put the finishing touches on breakfast. Coffee?”
“Sure.”
“A little nudge?”
“Sure.”
She poured two cups of black coffee and added a shot of bourbon to both.
She poured half a dozen scrambled eggs into a sizzling cast iron skillet. The bacon and sausages had been cooked and were under cover on the stove. The biscuits were browning in the oven.
“And how does a man fresh out of the mountains who’s staying in a tent at the campground show up freshly shaved and in nice, clean clothes?”
“They do have a shower there, and I always bring fresh clothes for business in town. But this is it. One pair of jeans and a white shirt.”
“The shirt looks pressed.”
“I have my systems.”
“So did you make the hat, vest, and moccasins?”
“Yes, how’d you guess?”
“I can tell homemade. You can’t buy stuff like that in a store. It’s really beautiful and authentic. You know what you’re doing.”
“In the mountains, I’m head to toe in leather, but when I come to town I wear jeans, mainly to fit in. I’m not into drawing attention to myself. A pure mountain man draws attention.”
