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I thanked him and went to the fridge. It was filled with fresh produce, dairy products, eggs and meat. I fixed my cup of coffee and noticed there was a clean spoon on the counter too.
I smiled at the thoughtfulness.
He’d set the mug and spoon out forme.
I turned and leaned against the counter as I took a sip. The rich taste hit my tongue, and I had to hold back a groan. This was some good coffee. “Wow, this is—”
“Dad gets his coffee from the farmer’s market,” the boy said, looking up at me.
“It’s really good.”
“I hope when I turn eighteen, coffee tastes good to me, because it tastes like dirt right now,” the boy stated.
I choked on my next sip. He didn’t notice and pressed on. “I don’t want to drink coffee, but Mags says every man needs a cup of coffee in the morning and then a glass of whiskey at night.”
“Mags?” I asked.
“Dad’s best friend. He works on the ranch,” he answered as he reached for his cup of red liquid.
Mags was probably the one who avoided me at all costs when I was here. I saw Beau, of course, as well as two men who looked like brothers, and an older gentleman. There was another cowboy, dark, like Denver, and I only ever saw his back.
“What’s your name?” the boy asked.
That’s when it dawned on me.
Denver still didn’t know my name—well, I hadn’t told him my name yet. Beau knew my name. Perhaps he told Denver, so he didn’t bother asking.
“Valerie. My name is Valerie.”
The little boy stared at me for a moment, silence stretching between us. It broke when he said, “Even your name is pretty.”
I smiled into my mug. “Thank you, sweetheart. You are very kind. What’s your name?”
He blinked. “I’m Caleb, but you can keep calling me sweetheart. I like that.”
My lips parted to respond when we heard the front door open.
“Son.”
That voice.
Denver’s voice was stronger and richer than the coffee in my hands. My spine tingled as I listened to his heavy footsteps make their way into the kitchen. When he emerged, my breath caught.
Why did he have to be gorgeous?
Why couldn’t the man who cost me my job be old and fat?
No, he had to be huge, taller than any man I’d ever met. He had to have dark hair and a matching beard. He just had to have intoxicating eyes.
The universe was a cruel bitch sometimes, and she had been fucking me six ways to Sunday for years.
“Good morning,” he said, his deep rumble making my stomach feel funny. He looked at me for half a second before he turned to his son. “Eggs or waffles?”
Caleb looked over to me, his eyes shining as a smile broke out. “What do you want, Valerie? Eggs or waffles?”
“I—”
“Valerie.”
