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Opening the medicine cabinet door, she reached inside for the small bottle of scent she used, only to come up empty-handed. Bending, she looked inside on the shelf before pulling out the drawer beneath it.
There it was, along with her missing comb.
Shaking her head, she pulled the perfume free, spritzed it over her body, then placed it back on the shelf before pulling the comb free and placing it back on the small silver shelf on the sink. She knew she had searched that drawer the other day for the comb.
Which reminded her, after dinner she was going to have to find her dress. It had to be in the washroom somewhere. How she had managed to misplace it she couldn’t figure out.
After pulling on a white lacy thong and a matching bra, Keiley dressed in a pair of light cotton summer pants that went over her hip bones and a loose-knit top with a dozen small wooden buttons holding the edges together. It was sleeveless but loose and comfortable.
She didn’t have the nerve to wear the low-riding snug cutoffs and short t-shirts she normally wore around the house in the summer. She had learned the day Mac took her against the tractor exactly what those clothes could do to his libido. Not that she hadn’t wanted to tease him, torture him a little for missing the surprise dinner she had planned. But she had a feeling that tonight wasn’t the night to push his hunger. Or Jethro’s.
With her feet encased in light socks, and a bit more relaxed than she had been earlier, Keiley moved from the bedroom and headed back downstairs. No doubt Mac was back outside working somewhere, which would give her a few hours of peace to get dinner on and finish a few things around the house.
Maybe it would even give her time to repair the break in her own defenses that Delia Staten had caused. She couldn’t excuse the rumors to coincidence. Delia had been too gloating, too certain.
But she wasn’t a child anymore, she told herself. And she wasn’t breaking the law or bringing humiliation down on an innocent family. This was her marriage, and it was her business.
As she straightened the house and ran the sweeper she let the pros and cons of this changing relationship whip through her mind. At the end of the day it came to one thing, though: Mac had made her curious. His and Jethro’s touches had made her more aroused than she had ever thought possible. When it was all said and done, she knew that in the end, it was going to happen. And what happened from there she had no idea.
One thing she was starting to believe to the bottom of her soul was that Mac was definitely going to make it an adventure.
“Wes,” Mac called out to the trainer as he entered the shadowed interior of the stables and looked around with narrowed eyes. He knew he had seen the other man step in here moments ago.
Wes Bridges, the trainer, he had hired for the Thoroughbreds he raised on the farm, was a solitary person, but he was a damned good horse trainer.
“Wes!” The snicker of the horses was his only greeting for long moments.
“Mr. McCoy?” The stout little man stepped from the tack room, a frown creasing his face as he wiped his hands on a damp rag and stepped into the wide center aisle of the stables. “Can I help you, sir?”
Dark brown hair fell over his creased brow, nearly hiding his matching eyes. Everything about Wes was dark, from his hair to his sun-baked leathery skin.
“I have a buyer coming in from Kentucky in the next few days to look at Storm Wind. He’ll want you to be available in case he has any questions. ” Wes had a bad habit of disappearing whenever buyers arrived.
“I’ll have her ready. ” Wes shifted nervously as he usually did whenever he talked to anyone other than the horses.
“Make sure you’re here with her, Wes,” he ordered. “Disappear on me again and we’re going to have words. ”
Wes blinked back at him. “I’ll be here, sir. ”
“Good. ” He nodded as he stared around the neat stalls and the glossy, well-cared-for animals.
Wes was a stickler for keeping the stables in perfect condition. He frowned on anyone messing around in them, even Mac.
“Is that all, sir?” Wes asked. “I was cleaning tack in the back room, if you don’t need anything else. ”
“That should be all. ” Mac nodded shortly as he stepped over to the stall that held his favorite mare and rubbed her neck gently.
Grace had been his first buy, and her first foal had made him a mint. She was graceful, fast as the wind, and as graceful as her name implied.
“Mr. McCoy, have you noticed any strange goin’-ons around here?” Wes asked nervously as he started to turn back to the tack room.
Mac paused, his palm pressing against Grace’s neck as he frowned back at the trainer.
“Such as?”
Wes scratched at his grizzled cheek. “Well, that dog of yours, Pappy?”
Mac frowned. Pappy was the farm dog, a mutt of undetermined heritage who had made the farm his home just after he and Keiley had taken up residence. Mac suspected there was some shepherd in the rangy animal, but he couldn’t be certain.
