I wake up to birds singing obnoxiously outside my window. I have to get to the brewery soon. The pressure of maintaining the same output day after day weighs on my chest as if I’m breathing through a straw.
I sit up and rub a hand down my face. Blinking, I trudge to the window. The big Escalade hasn’t moved since last night. Calder’s probably still asleep. I’m tempted to stomp around and disrupt his slumber, but he essentially fed me last night after working nearly an entire shift. And we talked. A real conversation without hostility. Going to bed with his “night, Meredith” in my ear wasn’t terrible. In fact, it was entirely too pleasant.
Yawning, I shrug into my robe on the off chance he’ll venture upstairs to see how I’ve flipped his old room from earth tones and horseshoes to orange and pink hues. My comforter resembles the horizon after a clear summer evening’s sunset.
I wash up in the bathroom, hoping I’ll wake up. No such luck. I need a day off, but my next one is for the funeral. After that, I might have all the days off I want.
When I’m done, I head downstairs. The house is quiet. I can enjoy breakfast in peace and go to the brewery withoutthe mental strain of Calder in business clothes with a beer in his hand. In the fridge, there’s a fresh carton of eggs, piles of fruit that weren’t there yesterday morning, a drawer full of veggies, milk, and juice, and someone has taken out a package of hamburger from the freezer. When did he manage to find time to grab groceries between the funeral home and parking himself in Ransom’s office?
More importantly, is he willing to share?
I close the fridge door. He replaced my calzone. Does that mean I have to reimburse him for any food I have? My stomach grumbles.Damn.If I don’t have what he bought, I’m stuck with toast. There’s nothing to pack for lunch unless I swing by the grocery store to see if they have any ready-made sandwiches left.
The front door opens, and I frown. If Calder’s still sleeping, who’s here?
Heavy boot thuds resonate through the room, growing closer. My pulse quickens. Carlos always knocks.Oh god.Is it another brother? Is he going to give me that unimpressed once-over while looking like he walked out of a cologne ad?
But the guy who enters the kitchen is holding an old cowboy hat that has seen better days. His dark hair is tousled around his head in a way I didn’t know was possible, and his legs, clad in crisp blue jeans smudged with dirt and mud, are hard to look away from. But I do—only to admire his massive chest in a too-tight green shirt that makes his biceps appear gigantic.
“Oh, it’s you,” I say on an exhale. Calder, he’s…hawwwwt. So damn fine there’s probably drool running down my chin. My hormones remind me I haven’t taken time for myself in a while.
He holds his arms out to look down at himself and gives me even more of a gun show. I’m staring. Gawking and drooling and lusting. All three are highly inappropriate.
“You scared me.” There. He’ll never know what I’m really thinking.
He nods as if he finally understands, and he’d better never catch on to how jumbled my insides are. I thought I could be immune to a slick businessman, yet the country boy returning to his roots will be my undoing. He’s going to kick me out and change the locks once the will is read, and I’ll thank him and beg for more.
“Sorry. I tried to be quiet,” he says.
“Impossible with those big clodhoppers,” I say, gesturing to his boots while my insides quiver. I’m barely winning the battle against my libido. Barely. “Where’d you find them?”
“Downstairs. I went looking for any of my old stuff last night so I could give Carlos a hand this morning. The boots and the hat work. My old jeans didn’t, and the shirt is good enough until I get to Ritter’s.”
Aw, hell. He’s actually willing to get his clothes from the farm supply store? And he got up early to help with the chores? He’s making it hard to hate him.
“I’m sure Carlos was surprised to see you.”
“Shocked, just like you.”
No, not just like me. At all. “Did he have to remind you which ones are the horses and which are the cows?”
“After he explained the difference between straw and hay.”
I snort, unable to suppress my grin. It’s not fair that he’s funny too—and he manages to do it without cracking a smile. The man is like a glacier, but I still want to cozy up to him.
I peek in the fridge one more time. “I’ve gotta get going so I can pick something up for breakfast.”
“You don’t like anything I bought?”
“I’m not going to take your food.”
His lips thin. “You get the next round of groceries if it’s a big deal. It’s too much of a pain to separate out the food.”
Oh. Another thoughtful gesture. He’s up three by now. And I’m at zero.
“Even if I buy Ben & Jerry’s and licorice?”
He swaggers closer, and Lord help me, his veins ripple down his arms. “Red or black?”
