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Cloe placed a hand over her swelling cleavage and looked stricken. “I know. They’re too big. All my sisters got medium-sized or little boobs and I got these.”
He shook his head. “No, I didn’t mean holy shit in a bad way.”
She looked confused. “Then what way did you mean it?”
Realizing there was no way to explain it without coming off as a boob-crazy jerk, he shrugged. “I was just surprised. I didn’t realize you were so . . .” He struggled to find the right word. Cloe helped him out.
“Huge. Gigantic. Obscenely mammoth.”
He sighed, knowing he was just going to have to come off as a jerk. “None of the above. While you might think they’re too big, most men would agree that there’s no such thing as too big when it comes to women’s breasts.”
She lowered her hand. “So you like them?”
He glanced down. Like was too mild a word for what he felt about the bountiful beauty before him. He cleared his throat. “Umm . . . well, yes. They’re nice.”
She frowned. “Nice?”
He decided it would be best to leave things right where they were. “I’m going to go get you that bottle of water. If you tell me the name of the guy you were meeting, I’ll let him know you’ve had a little too much champagne and he’ll have to take a rain check.”
“The guy I’m meeting?”
He glanced around. “The guy you set all this up for.”
A big smile lit her face before she started to laugh. He’d never seen her out-and-out laugh with her head tipped back and her eyes twinkling and two cute little dimples winking. As he watched her, a strange feeling settled in his stomach. A feeling that only could be described as a . . . tummy tingle. He shook his head and turned for the ladder.
As he was grabbing a couple bottles of water from a cooler by the refreshment table, he ran into Belle.
“Cloe’s fine,” he said. “She’s in the hayloft.” He left out the part about the seductive scene and her inebriated state. He figured Cloe wouldn’t want her family to know about either. “I think she just needed a break.”
Belle smiled. “That sounds like Cloe. She never has enjoyed big parties.” A commotion broke out on the other side of the barn and she shook her head as she hurried off. “I wish I could hide in the hayloft.”
When Rome got to the top of the ladder, he discovered the lanterns had been turned off. The only light came from the moonlight shining in the open hay hatch doors.
“Cloe?”
His only answer was a gentle snoring. He followed the sound and found her wrapped in the comforter like a burrito with only the top of her head peeking out. He couldn’t help but smile at the sight.
He should leave. It looked like the guy she had planned to meet had stood her up and he figured Belle would be checking on her soon enough. But for some reason—probably because he didn’t like big parties either—he didn’t leave. Instead, he set down the water bottles, took off his hat and his jacket, and moved to the open hatch door.
The Holidays’ big farmhouse stood only yards away from the barn, its windows warmly lit and its front door decorated with a heart wreath. With its huge porch and blooming flower gardens, it looked like it belonged in a country home and garden magazine. Rome wouldn’t be surprised to hear John-Boy’s voice ringing out, wishing his family a good night.
In comparison, the Remington’s house was cold and sterile. Of course, it had never known a woman’s touch. His mama, Glorieta Remington, had left when Rome was only four. So if she had left her touch, it was long gone by the time Rome had gotten old enough to notice. And Emily had never taken the time to make the house her own. It was like she had known her marriage to Rome wasn’t going to last.
If he had owned his own place, would Emily have left? It couldn’t have been easy to live with three arrogant men. Emily had never gotten along with his father or brother. Rome could understand not getting along with Sam. Few people could. But everyone got along with Casey. And maybe they would have gotten along if they hadn’t had to live together. Maybe things would have been different if Emily had had her own home.
Although she still would have been on a ranch. It was the isolation she’d hated the most.
Something Rome loved.
He pulled his attention from the house and looked at the wide expanse of land behind it.
He loved looking out on miles and miles of grazing land without one house or building to take away from its natural beauty. What would it feel like if all this land belonged to him? Land that he could do with what he wanted without running anything by his father? Sam was a smart businessman, but some of his beliefs were antiquated and he had no desire to change them. He refused to even consider new ranching techniques. But if Rome owned his own ranch, he could try solar-powered property monitoring and precision agriculture. He could move out from under the shadow of his father and prove himself.
A soft snoring pulled him from his thoughts and he turned away from the open hatch door and looked at Cloe. She had pushed down the comforter and moonlight fell over her face turning her skin to creamy buttermilk. Long lashes rested against high cheekbones that were flushed a soft pink. Her button nose boasted a sprinkling of freckles. Her lips weren’t full, but they weren’t thin either. They had a cute bow with just enough plump to make him wonder how they would feel pressed against his.
People had always referred to Cloe as the Plain Jane of the Holiday sisters. Rome hadn’t joined in on the gossip, but he’d silently agreed. Now he realized they’d all been wrong. While she wasn’t as gorgeous as Liberty or Belle, or as cute as Noelle and Hallie, or as pretty as Sweetie, Cloe had an understated beauty. A beauty that snuck up on you. Like the soft pink of dawn long before the sun peeks its head above the horizon. Or the calm stillness of a lake on a windless day. Or crystal snowflakes drifting down from a dark night sky.
Her beauty was understated and peaceful.
