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“Grace!” I yell from a few paces away.
She turns and spots me as I jog down the steps.
“I just brought the horses and Cornelius in for the night. They’re fed and watered,” she says, giving a saucy flip of her gold locks that says accomplished.
Shit, I’d half-forgotten the animals with everything else going on today.
Some rancher I’ll make.
“Thanks, lady. You’re a lifesaver. I just wanted to drop by and say thanks for the Midas touch. You turned junk into gold.”
Her eyes ignite, twinkling pearl-blue stars as she laughs.
“Better not use the j-word around Tobin.”
“Already screwed that up a few times. I’m a better looker than I am a talker when it comes to furnishings, I guess.” I cock my head, mesmerized by her pretty face.
I can’t pull my eyes off her. She’s more than just this sweet wisp of a woman.
She’s adorable, natural, curves in all the right places and a heart that never quits. The urge to kiss her, lay down the law on that strawberry-shaped mouth, hits me like a raging bull.
Hell.
It’s not just her junk-fixing skills I’m thinking about. The thought of doing more than just kissing hits my junk hard.
It’s been awhile, yeah, but I’m not so blue in the balls I’ve turned into an antique myself just yet.
“Um, thanks again. I’m really glad you like it.” She breaks eye contact, glancing at the cabin. “I…I have to get inside, Ridge. Dad’s in the bath, and I told him not to get out until I was inside, in case he’s unstable.”
I don’t want her to go. “He felt good enough to take a bath?”
“Yep, he insisted.” Her chest plumps and then shallows again with obvious relief.
Holy melons. The things I’d love to do to those lush, palm-sized, maddeningly perky—
“Hold up. I’ll come with, see if he needs any help.” It just flies out of me.
I had to say something so I could get my fool brain unglued from her chest.
She grasps my arm. “No. He wouldn’t want that.”
She’s right. Seeing an old man in the buff isn’t my idea of fun, either, but I’m not ready to let her go.
“Grace…”
“Night, Ridge,” she says, releasing my arm and quick-stepping her way back to the guesthouse. “Let’s talk more tomorrow about the designs.”
Damn it. It’s like she can sense the heat ray shooting out of my pants.
The fact that I can’t remember the last time a girl walked away when I was this riled just makes me want her ass under me even more.
But I can’t chase after her. Not tonight. Not ever.
Fuck, chase her? What am I even thinking?
I’ve never chased down a woman in my life, and I sure as hell don’t plan to start with a girl who needs more complications in her life like a hole through the head.
Sighing, I spin around and walk back to the house where I spend one of the most miserable nights of my life with balls bluer than Huckleberry Hound.
I’d kill to be an animated dog and not have to put up with a hard-on that’s got a mind of its own, throbbing under the sheets, waking me several times with these fevered sex dreams involving a deserted island, me, and a blonde mermaid who used to farm sea-pumpkins.
Her name? Gracelyn.
Fuck originality, right?
She’s a hot current in my brain when I wake up the next morning in a sweat—to the sound of my cellphone. One look at the number has me scowling.
Letting the call go to voicemail, which I won’t listen to, I shower, get dressed, and go downstairs where Tobin already has fresh coffee waiting in a Chemex.
He’s watching me oddly.
“What?” I ask, taking a slurp of coffee. “Is my fly unzipped or something?”
“Miss Silk called me this morning.”
“Welcome to the club. Bebe called me, too,” I grumble. “Must be pure desperation if she’s blowing up both our phones.”
“And?” He reaches for the Chemex, refilling his own cup.
“And you already know the rest. I didn’t answer. I don’t care what she has to say or how bad she begs. They’ll have to drag me back to L.A. in a body bag if they want me in a studio again.”
Expressionless as ever, Tobin looks at me. “Don’t you worry it will cause issues?”
“It?” My stomach sinks. Fuck. “What the hell has Bebe done now?”
“Miss Silk hasn’t done anything this time, Ridge.” Tobin picks his phone up off the counter, makes a couple swipes on the screen, and passes it to me. “It seems, well…you did.”
“What? I didn’t even—” I stop, coffee in midair, reading the words on his screen.
A Scandalicious Mag Exclusive! The elusive, reclusive, once famous Dane Barnet has been reported living on a secluded ranch near Dallas, a tiny North Dakota oil boomtown. The tragically fallen star and brain behind several recent what-were-they-thinking Westerns is living, intimately, with a pumpkin farmer from Wisconsin half his age!
