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Never in her novels had she written where the hero had close to a quarter cup of frosting blob clinging to his finely chiseled jaw.
Luke lifted one shoulder. “It all gets mixed up once it goes in your mouth anyway. This way, we’re just saving a step.” He offered her a sheepish grin. “You say disaster, I say efficient.”
She laughed and reached to cover her mouth so she didn’t spray him with cake crumbs. “I like the way you think.”
He licked the last bit of frosting from his spoon and dumped it and his bowl in the sink. “I’d better leave you to get settled,” he said, heading for the front door. “I’m sure you’ve got some unpacking and writing to do. Make yourself at home. I’ll be back around six to put together something for dinner. Hope you’re not expecting anything fancy. We’ve got beanies and weenies on the menu for tonight.”
Beanies and weenies?
What the heck did that mean? But it was too late to ask. Luke had already slipped out the door. Kaylee scraped the last of the cream cheese frosting from her bowl—it really was a pretty good cake—and carried it to the sink.
She headed down the hall, the peace and solitude of the pretty pink bedroom drawing her forward like bees to nectar. All she wanted to do was kick off the painful boots and crawl under that wonderful thick comforter and take a nap. But she wasn’t here to nap. Or to sit in her room. She was here to find out what life on a ranch was really like. So, as tempted as she was to retreat to her room—and she wasseriouslytempted; she could practically feel the weight of the comforter on her shoulders—she knew she couldn’t succumb to the temptation. Instead, she channeled her inner Sassy and grabbed a notebook and pen from her backpack and marched after Luke.
She considered changing her shirt, but Faye had warned her that she needed to get her hands dirty. Why mess up another item of clothing?
The air was warm and dry, so different from the humidity-soaked air in Chicago, and she stopped at the bottom of the porch steps to breathe it in. She could hear noise coming from the barn, so she headed that direction, hoping to find Luke.
She paused again inside the barn door, flipping open her notebook and scribbling down notes as she tried to capture the feel of the barn. It was cooler in here and smelled like hay and earth and old leather. Gladys ran in behind her, the dog’s wide fanny wiggling with excitement as she raced from one delicious new scent to another.
Kaylee was sure the corgi was discovering a whole new array of scents other than the few she’d just written down. If only the dog could type.
She had to smile at her pudgy pet, though. She hadn’t seen the dog this excited since she accidentally spilled a bowl of ice cream on the floor last summer. Seriously—she couldn’t even remember the last time she’d seen the corgirunanywhere.
Luke was inside, a pitchfork in his hand as he scooped hay out of one of the horse stalls. Cooper ran out to greet Gladys, and the two dogs zipped around each other like they hadn’t been together in weeks.
Although if she were being honest, her heart was racing at the sight of Luke, who’d stopped his work and was leaning casually on the end of the pitchfork, and she’d just seen him ten minutes ago, too. Back when he’d told her he had work to do and she should go to her room and get settled in, which sounded like a nice way of telling her to leave him alone and let him get his chores done.
“What are you doing out here?”
Did she detect a note of annoyance in his voice?
She took a step back.This was stupid. She’d gotten some good material already. She should just go back to her room and write.
Stop it. She’d only jotted down a few notes. Detailing the leather and hay-scented barn would hardly fill a chapter. She swallowed and forced her shoulders back then walked over to the stall. “I’m here to help.”
Luke’s brow furrowed. “Help with what?”
“With whatever you’re doing.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You want to help muck out stalls?”
“I’m not sure what that means, but if it’s an authentic ranch activity, then yes, I’m all in.”
“Look, I know you’re here to help with your writing, so why don’t you take a nice walk through the fields or sit on the porch swing.” His gaze traveled up and down her outfit. “I don’t think you want to ruin your fancy duds there. This is pretty messy work.”
She bristled. “I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty. And this shirt is practically ruined anyway.” She peered around at the work Luke had been doing in the stall and formed a pretty good idea about what “mucking” entailed, and she fought to keep from wincing at the job. That porch swing idea suddenly seemed a lot more appealing.
Would Sassy sit on the porch swing?No. She would roll up her sleeves and get messy.
“I told you. I’m here to have some authentic experiences, so put me to work.”
He eyed her for a moment—just long enough for her palms to start to sweat—then lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “All right. Suit yourself.” He held out the pitchfork. “I don’t think it’s much of a stretch to assume you’ve never cleaned out a stall before.”
“No, but when I was in fourth grade, I got to bring the class guinea pig home for Christmas break, so I’ve got a general idea of what to do.” She shoved her notebook and pen into her back pocket and took the pitchfork.
Luke chuckled. “This will be sort of like that, except the ‘muck’ you’ll be shoveling out will be about the same size as that guinea pig.”
Eww. She held back a grimace.
