Chapter 4
PJ couldn’t sleep. Usually she was one of those people who put in a hard day of work, fell into bed exhausted, and slept well all night. Rarely had she ever suffered insomnia. But now her thoughts were in a whirl, tormenting her with confusion.
Who was Ethan Prescott?
Oh, she knew he was Belle’s secretary, but who was he to her? No one. And that was what made her reaction to him all the more baffling. He was a stranger. He had a girlfriend. He wasn’t her type. He lived in New York. He was old. Those were all valid reasons why she should have nothing to do with him, but, despite all that head knowledge, she was intensely attracted to him and had been since the second he looked up at her in the airport.
His dark brown eyes were large and expressive, filled with a sparkle of humor and intelligence. He was tall, taller than her, well-dressed, and cultured. His hair was a dark chestnut color and artfully arranged so it skimmed his brows in the front, a sharp contrast to most of the cowboys she knew who constantly had a sweat ring around their heads from their Stetsons. Her second reaction after her initial attraction had been defensiveness. Surely someone who looked so refined would have to be a snob; his girlfriend certainly was. But Ethan wasn’t a snob. He seemed to see their ordeal as an adventure, and PJ liked that. She enjoyed optimism. Life was hard enough without bad attitudes making everything worse. Ethan didn’t have a bad attitude. He was pleasant and kind, with a hint of roguishness behind his gentle exterior. He had to be a little bit of a rogue; why else would he be flirting with her when his girlfriend was right next to him? And he had been flirting, hadn’t he? PJ thought so, but she didn’t have much experience with male/female relationships outside of friendship. Most of the men she knew considered her to be one of the guys. Ethan was the first man in a long time who looked at her like she was a woman and not a grease monkey.
And he was definitely the first man PJ had looked at in a long time. Eons ago when she was a kid, she’d had a huge crush on Coy King. All the girls had liked Coy. PJ had always felt special because he took her riding when she went to the ranch with her father. One day when she was sixteen, he had helped her down off her horse and for the first time she thought he might kiss her. But he hadn’t. Instead, he had let her down gently and told her he wasn’t interested.
Far from being offended, PJ had been gratified by his easy letdown. Save your kisses for someone who deserves them, he had said, and she had taken those words to heart that day. For some reason his advice had meant more to her than anything she had ever heard about dating, maybe because it came from someone she adored and respected, but she really thought about his words as she and her father drove home that day.
All around her, girls were dying to give themselves away. A late bloomer, PJ had only recently become interested in boys. Coy had been her first crush. But she didn’t want to be like the other girls; she didn’t want to give herself to someone unworthy who didn’t care about her. She wanted to love someone who would love her in return, someone who would treat her well and look at her the way she had seen Coy look at Ivy.
For a few months, she had turned the words over in her mind, deciding to be careful with her heart and not hand it to some boy on a platter because she was desperate for love. But then her father had died. Her life was turned upside down, and everything except survival was pushed to the back burner for PJ. Who had time to date when there were bills to be paid?
Enter Ethan Prescott.
Why was it that she worked with cowboys and ranch hands on a daily basis and gave none of them more than a passing glance, yet a fancy stranger with a girlfriend shows up and she’s suddenly a sixteen-year-old with a crush again?
Eventually she fell into a fitful slumber, tossing and turning until dawn. She woke, straining to hear any sounds in the house, but there were none. Her guests were still asleep. PJ couldn’t lie there anymore, but neither did she want to wake Ethan or his obnoxious girlfriend. Instead, she bypassed the main portion of the house and went outside to the garage to begin work. There was nothing like hard work to make a girl forget her troubles. Or so she thought.
The sound of metal on metal woke Ethan from a peaceful slumber. Despite the fact that he was folded like a pretzel on PJ’s too-small couch, he had slept comfortably and dreamed vividly. Of PJ. He didn’t remember specifics from the dream except that one of them had included a sleigh ride. Why he should dream about a stranger he had just met was beyond him.
The hammering sound continued, reminding Ethan of what had woken him in the first place. Darkness still hovered outside, but a quick glance at his watch told him it was seven New York time. Usually he woke at six, but he was feeling jetlagged and exhausted from his late night with PJ. He tiptoed to Chrissy’s door and pressed his ear to it, listening, but all was quiet within. Not that he actually thought the hammering sound was coming from her room. He was relieved to find she was getting some much needed rest. Hopefully her mood would be better after she woke up.
Having assured himself that Chrissy was still sleeping, he followed the hammering sound to the attached garage. Last night he had absently noted that the garage was the size of the house, and this morning he saw why. Far from being a container for cars, this garage was a work zone, complete with tools he didn’t recognize, metal bars, a giant anvil, and a furnace.
The furnace was burning brightly, making the room toasty warm despite the fact that it was below freezing outside. PJ had her back to him, wearing a tank top, pair of jeans, and leather apron. In her hand she held a pair of tongs as she extricated something from the fire. Whatever it was, it was glowing bright red. Ethan stood back, conflicted. He didn’t want to skulk in the shadows, watching without a sound, but to move or make his presence known might alarm her and he didn’t want to risk having her drop the molten metal onto her foot.
He needn’t have worried, though. She set the metal on the anvil and looked up at him with a welcoming smile before picking up her hammer to pound. Taking her smile as an invitation, he walked over to where she stood to get a closer look. He watched, captivated, as she expertly pounded the straight piece of metal into a heart-shaped horseshoe.
“Why the heart shape?” he asked when she was finished working.
“The horse in question has laminitis. Sometimes these shoes can help. I thought I would try before taking more drastic measures.”
He nodded as if any of what she had just said made sense to him. “So you’re a blacksmith.”
“I’m a farrier. Farriers are blacksmiths; it’s part of the trade. Never know when you’re going to have to make a shoe on the fly.”
He tapped the waist-high anvil. “I’ve only seen these in cartoons.”
“They’re pretty much the same in real life except if a coyote drops one on your head, you don’t walk away.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said seriously. He was quiet again while she picked up the hammer and pounded nail holes in the shoe. Watching her work was a fascination in itself. Except for the gas-powered furnace, he was glimpsing a craft that hadn’t changed much in hundreds of years. Like everything she did, her movements were graceful, almost poetic in their economy. She only moved as much as necessary, twisting her back to the fire in order to avoid taking steps. The routine was so practiced and fluid it was like watching a dance—tongs into the fire, tongs out of the fire, pound the metal and repeat. Over and over she performed the little ritual until she was satisfied with the result. By that time, she had developed a sheen of sweat on her shoulders and arms from the exertion and Ethan couldn’t look away. Watching her was becoming like a drug to him.
She set down her hammer, turned off the burner and reached for her apron. “I think that’s enough work for this morning.” When she began to tug at the knot on her apron, Ethan practically tripped over himself in his eagerness to help.
His hands shook like a teenager as he tried to untangle the knot and he was glad her back was to him so she couldn’t see. Finally, the knot gave way and Ethan
lifted the apron over her head and tossed it onto the workbench. And then they just stood there, frozen as tension bounced between them. At first they were self-conscious, each wondering if the other was somehow aware of what the other was feeling. Then they realized they were both feeling the same thing. Ethan’s fingertips lightly brushed her waist, and she sucked in a breath.
“I’m a decade too old for you,” he whispered. “I live in New York. I have a girlfriend.”
PJ swallowed and squinched up her eyes. Her mind told her to run, far and fast. But she didn’t. Taking a deep breath, she turned to face him, pressing her palms flat on his chest. “I know,” she whispered. He looked at her, trying to search her face. Was he trying to give her another out? But PJ didn’t want an out; she wanted Ethan. Alarming as the thought was, she didn’t allow herself to dwell on it. If he wasn’t going to make a move, then it was up to her.
Ethan watched, mesmerized, as her hands slid up to his shoulders. She stood on her toes and tipped her face up, waiting, her eyes closed. All rational or protective thoughts fled when he took in her pose. He had the sense that PJ wasn’t one to make herself vulnerable, yet here she stood in his arms, awaiting acceptance or rejection. He cinched her slightly closer and lowered his head when the handle on the door started to turn, sending them both into a panic.
PJ jumped away from him and spun toward her workbench, staring at the now cold furnace. Ethan leaned casually against the bench and faced the door, his arms crossed over his chest, trying to calm the rapid beating of his heart.
Chrissy stepped into the room, frowning, but Ethan thought her expression had more to do with distaste than suspicion. “Are we leaving soon?” she asked.
“I just need to grab a shower,” PJ said. She fled the garage, practically sprinting in her haste to get away.
Chrissy watched her go before turning back to Ethan. “She’s weird.”
Ethan remained mute. He was afraid if he tried to disagree his defensive tone would give him away. How had he gotten himself in this awkward situation? It wasn’t as if he had never cheated on a girlfriend before, but then he had been young and stupid. The last couple of years, he had matured, or so he thought. Not only had he started looking for a potential wife, but he had started acting like a potential husband, erasing all of his immature bad behavior.
And now this. Was he simply a bad person? All signs were pointing that way. Now he was feeling as anxious as Chrissy was to get to the King’s. What he needed was space to clear his head. The ranch was large. Even if PJ came to do work, Ethan probably wouldn’t see her. He simply had to get through this morning and the madness would be over.
Christmas With the Kings, Kings of Montana Bonus Book Page 4