Stick in the Mud Meets Spontaneity (Meet Your Match, book 3)

by Rachael Anderson

  Her father smiled. “Looks like I passed on some of that brilliant wisdom to you.”

  “Just don’t be surprised if I help myself to your stash on occasion.”

  “Only if you promise to leave the Peachie-Os alone.”

  “Deal.” She snatched her phone and reopened Colton’s text, ready to respond now.

  SAM: I’m in. But only if you come to dinner first. I’m cooking tonight and lemon meringue might be on the menu.

  COLTON: Sounds risky. Want some help?

  SAM: Warning: My parents will be here. Maybe even the Mackies and Granthams. Still want to come?

  COLTON: The more the merrier. The Mackies already love me.

  SAM: As do my parents.

  COLTON: Sweet. Seven down. Two to go.

  SAM: Who’s the seventh?

  COLTON: You… right?

  SAM: Definitely. But you forgot the twins, so four to go. Good luck winning them over. They pull hair, scratch, and steal food.

  COLTON: Bring it. See you soon.

  Sam smiled at the phone. She’d only just turned down this road, but the view was already lovely.

  Colton rang the doorbell and scuffed his Vans against the doormat. Even though they were a few years old, they still looked almost new. That’s how often he traded in his boots for regular shoes. Samantha had texted him an hour earlier saying that everyone was coming, so come prepared for a pick-up game of kickball or soccer. Cowboy boots and hats didn’t work so well on a playing field, so he’d left both on the passenger seat in his truck, ready to throw on later.

  The door opened, and Sam appeared in a breathless frazzle. She wore a green and white polka-dot apron that had been dusted in flour, and there were a few smudges on both of her cheeks—one bright red, the other not so much.

  “Wow. You look like a half-ripe tomato after a snowstorm. What happened?”

  Her palms flew to her face as though she’d forgotten about the burn. “I fell asleep in the hammock, and—” A beeping sounded from somewhere inside the house, and she turned and ran back the way she’d come, her bare feet leaving a dusty trail across the dark wood floors.

  “Come on in,” she called over her shoulder.

  Colton followed the path of footprints to the kitchen, where he found Sam standing in front of an open oven, her expression a mixture of confusion and distress. The house smelled like lemons and sugar cookies.

  “What happened?” she cried, jabbing a finger at whatever baked inside. “I did everything the website said I should do. I made sure there was no yolk in the egg whites, I whipped it until it was stiff, and it’s not a humid day. It should have worked. Why didn’t it work?”

  Colton had no idea. He’d never attempted to make anything involving meringue. But the kitchen already felt like the inside of a barn on a warm summer’s day, and the open oven door wasn’t helping. So he grabbed a flowery hot pad and removed two shriveled pies from the oven, dropping them on top of the counter before slamming the door closed again.

  “They’re not supposed to weep or shrink.” Samantha glared at the pies as though they were to blame.

  “Weep?”

  She pointed to small puddles that looked like melted butter. “That’s called weeping, and it’s a problem.”

  Before now, Colton had no idea pies could cry.

  “I don’t understand what happened. I followed the instructions perfectly. And I mean perfectly. Do you have any idea how long those took me to make?”

  Judging from the way the kitchen looked, with various ingredients scattered around and flour everywhere, Colton assumed a long time. He watched her nervously. “Are you going to weep too?”

  Her eyes narrowed—at him this time. “No, I’m not going to weep. I’m going to take those stupid pies and throw them at… something.”

  “As long as that ‘something’ isn’t me.” He offered a sympathetic smile. “If it makes you feel any better, it smells amazing in here. They probably still taste good.”

  Sam leaned against the counter and let out a breath. “This day isn’t going very well. Half of my face is sunburned, the kitchen is a wreck, and now I have no lemon meringue pie for dessert. I promised everyone lemon meringue pie. My dad is going to be so disappointed. It’s one of his favorites.”

  Colton opened a few drawers until he found the silverware, then he grabbed a spoon and scooped up a dollop of pie. He blew on it a few times before shoving it into his mouth. The meringue had a decent flavor, but it tasted like the sugar never dissolved, and it stuck to his tongue like melted taffy.

  “It’s gritty and sticky too, isn’t it?” she said.

  “And tasty.”

  “Liar.”

  He chuckled and pulled her into a hug, running his fingers up and down her back. Her hair smelled like lemons today. “I happen to know how to make a different kind of pie,” he said.

  “Does it involve homemade crust or egg whites? If so, no thanks.”

  “It involves one of those pre-made Oreo crusts, mint chocolate chip ice cream, hot fudge topping, and whipped cream.”

  She pulled back to look at him. “That sounds good.”

  “It is.” His hands continued to travel up and down her arms. “I could run to the store, be back in ten, and have it in your freezer in twenty. What do you think of that?”

  “That you’re my knight in shining armor. Where have you been my whole life?”

  He smiled, and his thumb removed some flour from the unburned side of her face. He wondered if her lips would taste like lemon too. “Do me a favor, will you? The next time you decide to take a nap outside, put up an umbrella first. This looks like it hurts.”

  “It does.” She brushed some flour off the front of his shirt. “Now I’ve made you all dusty. Sorry.”

  “If there’s one thing I’ve learned from living on a ranch, it’s that I clean up just fine.”

  “Yes, you do.” Her gaze rose from his chest to his face. “Very fine.”

  It wasn’t the first time a woman had said something like that to him, but coming from Samantha the words sounded honest and sincere, like a genuine compliment imbedded in playful banter.

  Unable to resist, Colton gave her a light kiss on the forehead. “Be back in ten.”

  He was back in twelve. She informed him of that the moment she opened her door. She still wore the polka-dotted apron, but there was no trace of flour anywhere—not on the floor, not on the kitchen counter, and not on her. It was like she’d wiggled her nose or snapped her fingers and everything went back to its rightful place. The only evidence that lemon meringue pies had been made in this kitchen was the lingering smell.

  “How did you clean up so fast?” He set the grocery bags on the counter. “Do you have little mice helpers hidden somewhere?”

  She shuddered. “You’re the one with the mice, and from what I could tell, they weren’t very helpful.”

  Colton laughed. “No, they weren’t. Still aren’t.”

  She shuddered again.

  “Is that why you haven’t dropped by since I’ve moved in?”

  “No.” She grabbed a bag of what looked like marinated chicken out of the fridge and set it on the counter. “I haven’t dropped by because I haven’t been invited.”

  “You don’t need an invitation. You’re family.”

  Standing in front of the pantry, she looked over her shoulder. A slight frown marred her expression. “You mean like a sister?”

  His lips twitched. “No, not like a sister.”

  She nodded and returned to her perusal of the pantry. “Good. Because what I feel for you is definitely not sisterly.”

  She said it in a no-big-deal way, like she’d just made a comment about the weather or a Rocky’s game. But Colton suddenly became very interested at the turn this conversation was taking. He moved to stand behind her, letting his hands find her waist. “How do you feel about me, exactly? Motherly?”

  Her body stiffened, and her blond curls swayed with the shake of her head.
/>   “Grandmotherly?” he guessed again, leaning over her shoulder so he could see her profile.

  “No,” came her breathy reply.

  “Then what?”

  She turned around, clutching a box of pasta like a shield in front of her heart. In her beautiful green eyes, he saw something he’d never seen on her before—uncertainty. The pasta box rose and fell against her chest.

  “I feel… smitten,” she said finally.

  Colton’s heart began to pound, harder and harder, and the too-warm kitchen became a tropical paradise. Slowly, he took the pasta and set it on the counter to the side of her. Then he re-captured her waist. The fingers of her right hand closed around the baubles on her silver necklace while her left hand fiddled at her side. His gaze was drawn to the exposed skin at the nape of her neck and her lovely collar bone, then rose to her full lips and striking eyes.

  “Are you nervous?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Aren’t you?”

  He didn’t answer, but his heart continued to pound. This wasn’t his first kiss or his second or even his tenth. He wasn’t a novice who didn’t know what to do or where to go from here, and yet he’d never been more petrified to act. This went beyond playful experimentation and into something that really mattered. It felt as though his world teetered above him, wobbling in a precarious hold. One word, one move, one touch and everything would either collapse around him or…

  “It’s crazy, right? That I’m nervous.” Samantha’s voice was as shaky as her fingers. “I mean, it’s only been three weeks. We’re still in that having fun, getting-to-know-each-other phase. This shouldn’t feel this big yet—this… monumental, you know? It should still feel light and fun and—”

  “Samantha.”

  “What?”

  “Know what my Daddy always says?”

  Her head shook again.

  “Never miss a good chance to shut up.”

  She swallowed. “I’m shutting up.”

  He leaned in slowly and his mouth hovered over hers long enough to smell the lemon on her breath. Then his lips pressed lightly against hers. He tasted something sweet and not sour at all. Her arms wound around his back, pressing against his shoulders, and her body melted against his. The too-warm kitchen became an inferno.

  It went against the grain for Colton to move this fast, or to kiss her like this so soon. All his life he’d been taught to tread lightly and carefully. Good things come to those who wait, his father had reminded him over and over again, whenever he’d reached the limit of his patience with an animal, a friend, or his brothers. The night after Colton’s first break-up, his father had said it again, reminding Colton that it had taken two years to woo his wife.

  Be patient. Give it a little more time. Just wait. Nothing good comes in a hurry.

  And then Samantha zipped into his life, stirring up feelings the way her car stirred up dust on the lane.

  It’s too soon! You’re going to regret it! his thoughts maydayed the warning. But Colton didn’t want to listen. Wasn’t patience about waiting on someone else’s timeline? If a horse was ready to let you ride, you rode. If a brother was begging for a lesson in manners, you taught. And if a girl was ready to be kissed, you complied.

  And boy was he complying. His mouth moved right along with hers, and she responded, clinging to him with refreshing, open honesty, holding nothing back.

  Maybe that was the difference. Samantha had never held anything back. There was no patiently waiting for her to open up. No need to gradually gain her trust. With her, you didn’t need to earn it. She gave it willingly. All Colton had to do was keep it.

  “I see you skipped dinner and went straight to dessert,” a deep voice intruded.

  Colton sprang back and met the unwavering gaze of Samantha’s father. Oh boy. Nothing like making a great second impression.

  Samantha recovered first. She smoothed her fingers down her apron and cleared her throat. “Hey, Dad. I thought you were helping Kevin with his sprinklers.”

  “All fixed.” He held up two muddy palms to show that he had, indeed, been working in the dirt. “They’re running right now if you two need to, uh… cool off.”

  Colton felt the sudden urge to scratch his neck. Samantha, on the other hand, laughed.

  “Oh, stop it, Dad,” she said. “I guarantee you kissed your fair share of ladies back in the day.”

  “I might have, but good luck proving it. I never got caught.”

  “Maybe not kissing,” quipped Samantha. “But Mom’s not going to be happy when she sees that.” She gestured to a trail of muddy footprints her father had left behind.

  He looked down at his feet and quickly removed his shoes. “Tell you what,” he said. “I’ll keep this little… episode between the three of us if you clean that up for me.”

  “Only if you throw in that bag of Peachie-Os.”

  Her father pointed a finger at her. “Don’t push it. It’s not easy to get contraband inside this house.”

  “Fine.” She waved a hand at him. “Go get cleaned up, and I’ll mop the floor. Again.”

  He started up the stairs then paused, looking from Colton to his daughter. “No more shenanigans while I’m gone. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir,” answered Colton.

  “We promise to wait until you get back,” said Samantha.

  Colton tried to hold back his chuckle while her father rolled his eyes and muttered something about how she got her cheekiness from her mother.

  As soon as he disappeared, Samantha pointed her finger at Colton and attempted to imitate her father. “No more shenanigans.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me your dad was across the street and could walk in on us any second?”

  “Because then you wouldn’t have kissed me.” She reached around him to grab the box of pasta off the counter. “And I wanted you to kiss me.”

  “I still would have kissed you. Just… not until later.”

  She smiled and rose up to her tiptoes, giving him a light peck on the lips. “Now’s always better. But I’ll take later too.”

  His lips tingling, Colton had to fight the temptation to grab her waist and pull her back into his arms. He felt an undoing of all the years he’d worked so hard to learn patience. One kiss, and he’d hopped on board the Right Here, Right Now wagon.

  “Just so you know…” She paused by the sink, the uncertainty back in her eyes. “I made a promise to my mom a long time ago that kissing is as far as I’ll go before I say ‘I do.’” She hesitated, twisting a dishrag around her fingers. “I just… wanted you to know up front because a few guys I dated weren’t too happy with me when it came out later.”

  Colton studied her for a moment, wondering how anyone could not be happy with Samantha. She had some sort of inner brightness that lightened everything around her and everyone who came in contact with her. The sun could go down, the lights could go out, but darkness didn’t exist near Samantha.

  With his hands in his pockets, he moved forward and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek. “Then they were jerks,” he whispered.

  The uncertainty disappeared and light filled her eyes. “They were jerks.”

  She had never looked more kissable, and Colton would have caved to temptation if he didn’t hear footsteps coming from the floor above. He forced his feet to take a few steps back and dragged his gaze to the bag of groceries. “We should probably get those pies made before the ice cream completely liquefies.”

  “Oh, right.”

  They spent the next hour making grasshopper pies, grilling chicken, chopping vegetables, cooking a creamy sauce, boiling pasta noodles, tossing a salad, slathering butter and spices on French bread, and finding any excuse to touch, sidle up next to each other, steal a few quick pecks.

  At some point, her father trotted back down the stairs, freshly showered, and added more butter to the bread. The Mackies showed up next, with two excited little girls who couldn’t wait to tell Samantha and Colton all
about the movie they’d seen. Then came the Granthams, followed close behind by Sam’s mom.

  The bread came out of the oven, all toasted and glistening with butter, and Sam declared, “Let’s eat!”

  Right away, Colton felt comfortable. He managed to win over the twins by tossing them in the air. They giggled and smiled and wiped gooey fingers all over his shirt, but he didn’t care. As he told Emma after her fifth apology: Shirts wash, people wash, and not-so-little babies wash. It’s all good.

  The kickball game started, and Samantha managed to talk her way out of getting tagged out on first.

  Colton rolled his eyes from the pitching mound and called to Kevin, who was manning first, “You’re seriously going to let her use the twins as an excuse for taking her time getting to first?”

  “What can I say?” Kevin shrugged. “They’re adorable kids. Anyone would be distracted by them.”

  “She’s playing you, man.”

  He tipped his baseball cap at Samantha and said, “Well played.”

  Samantha grinned in a triumphant way, remaining on first base, and Colton shook his head. The woman had everyone wrapped around her finger.

  Eventually, Colton slid into home plate and came away with a nice grass stain up the side of his jeans. But when Kajsa and Adi tackled him because they’d just won the game, it made it all worth it. When it came time for everyone to head home, they hugged him goodbye like he was already part of the family, and as Colton watched them leave, he realized that the only place he’d felt more at home was at home.

  Samantha closed the front door and collapsed against it, eyeing him up and down. “I’m not sure we’re in the best condition to go country dancing. What do you say we snuggle in the hammock instead?”

  There was only one problem. “How will your parents feel about that?” Colton asked, nodding in the direction of the kitchen where her parents were still cleaning up.

  “Let’s go see.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him down the hall.

  Colton dragged his feet, thinking he didn’t feel that “at home” yet.