Notes in Love

by Hetherington, Megan

  “I was only going to offer to do this.” His hands slowly slide to my shoulders, and he gently nudges me away from the sink. He lifts the scrubber from my hand and water dribbles down my wrist as I let him take it from me. I take two steps back while I get ahold of my feelings. A heat lingers where his large hands gripped my arms, and I rub my knuckles over the tingle on my chin.

  “That brownie was something else.” He smiles at me, over his shoulder. “Thank you.”

  I relax somewhat and slide onto a stool.

  He’s dressed in a fresh shirt, loose at the waist, his hair still damp and uncombed from his shower. I watch his back muscles move up and down as he scrubs at the pots in the sink.

  “I can make more brownies if you like. I took the rest to the ranch office this morning, and they were all gone by lunchtime.”

  “It’s okay, you must be beat. You should be relaxing, not knee deep in chores. Amber told me how well you’re doing with Mom.” He turns to look over his shoulder at me. “I appreciate that.”

  A warm sensation pumps through my chest. “Thank you.”

  I relax on the stool and watch him more. The appreciation this family shows me for the things I do for them is unparalleled. And all the time it’s me that benefits the most. Having free run of this house, a warm bed to lie in, and as much food as I care to eat. And for what? Spending time with a lovely woman and doing the odd domestic chore. It hardly seems like a fair deal.

  “Instead of brownies, I can make white chocolate melt-in-the-middle dessert, and a butterscotch sauce,” I say enthusiastically. “It’s easy to make.”

  He gulps and licks his lips in a way that makes me laugh. “Well, if you insist.” He rumbles, a vibration that lands somewhere in my core.

  I wipe my hands on a dishcloth and hop over to the bookshelf where I saw a book that had the perfect recipe earlier.

  “Where did you learn to cook like this?” he asks.

  I shrug. “I haven’t really, I’m just practicing on these recipes.” I laugh. Again. My face flushes and it’s not because it’s hot in here. It’s because I’m aware my manner has a flirty edge to it. One I’m unable to control. Or perhaps I can, but I choose not to.

  “Guess I’m lucky to be on the right side of all that practice.” He shakes the suds from his hands into the bowl and wipes them on the back of his jeans. My eyes follow his move. His backside is firm and perfectly shaped. My heart rate speeds up at my shallow observation.

  I shoo Colt to one side with my hips and take out what I need from the cabinets. Flattening the cookbook open, I rest it up against a pan stand on the island. I measure out the ingredients and hook the bowl under my arm and start whisking.

  He laughs.

  “What’s funny?”

  With a lazy gaze, he pouts his lips for a second. “Just the way your whole body rocks when you go at that bowl.”

  I pause and flash him a mock glare. I’m pleased that my episode last night hasn’t completely knocked the edge from his banter, but I’m also shooting a warning that I’m still not a pushover.

  He slides onto a stool at the island, his bare, tanned toes curling over the footrest. His leg jiggles as if he’s nervous, and he clears his throat as if he’s having trouble swallowing. “Last night. I’d like to explain.” His expression is serious, and I catch my breath as he continues. “I thought it was Amber singing, then when I saw you in a world of your own, I got kinda hooked on watching you.” His head hangs from his neck. “I shouldn’t have.”

  The openness of his apology rocks me, and I don’t know how to react. So I turn my back and finish whisking, glancing over my shoulder to catch him staring at my backside.

  I slacken my mouth in a mock show of distaste. Hypocritical much?

  He holds his hands up in a guilty admission. His openness makes it all seem so harmless.

  Quickly, I spin around so the smile that blossoms on my lips isn’t noticeable and only turn back when the mixtures is smooth enough to tip in to four sugar-dusted baking pots.

  After sliding them in the oven, I lean over the island. “So, you not going out tonight?”

  He huffs. “No. And think I’m gonna give it a break for a while.”

  “Oh?”

  He swipes his hand under his nose.

  “I’m kinda questioning my motives right now.”

  I’m not sure what that means and I don’t want to pry, so I stick my head in the refrigerator and search for some cream.

  “Lacey, sorry I’m a little awkward at all this, I kinda steer clear of talking to women, as a rule.”

  I nibble on my lip. “Why?” I ask with such a quiet voice, I’m not sure if he hears me. And won’t be offended in the slightest if he chooses not to answer. In fact, if I could suck the word back in again I would, because it’s intrusive, and that’s the last thing I want to be with him. But I am kind of intrigued why he abides by that rule.

  I look at him apologetically and, for a moment longer than is comfortable, he stares back. “Not sure, to be honest.”

  It seems difficult for him to explain, and it seems wrong that I know the answer already and keep it to myself. “Amber told me about Ellen.”

  His face stiffens, and I wonder if I’ve overstepped the mark.

  “That’s good. It needs no more explaining then.” His face shows his relief at that.

  I smile, and my heartbeat slows to a normal rhythm. Normal enough for me anyhow. I’m relieved that I’m able to admit something honestly to him. I need to find a way of not hiding so much from these people.

  I stir the cream into the melted sugar and take it off the heat, ready to pour on the white chocolate puddings when they are baked.

  “And you?” Colt asks.

  “Me?” I laugh, somewhat falsely. “I don’t have any problems talking to women.”

  He chuckles and shakes his head. “You know I didn’t mean that.” He rakes his fingers through his still damp hair. “Men. Do you have a boyfriend, an ex, some hang up I should know about?”

  I suck my bottom lip in between my teeth and in my newfound desire to be honest, I answer in the best way I can. “No, Colt. No boyfriend. No ex. And no hang up you need to know about.” Then I still for a moment, phrasing the next question in my head carefully before it blots the air. “Why do you ask?”

  He shrugs. “No particular reason. Just thought I should know. I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable with my…cheeky ways.”

  I smile and appreciate the warming hue of his eyes, the same color as the butterscotch sauce in the pan. “You didn’t, Colt.”

  “Hmm.” He sniffs loudly. “That smells goddamn delicious.”

  The deep moment is over, and I dive to the oven to retrieve the puddings. They’ve risen remarkably and I’m so proud to set them down with an oven-mittened hand onto the granite countertop.

  “You ready for this?” I jest as I pour the sauce over the top of one and nudge it to Colt.

  He picks up a spoon and, with a boyish grin, slurps it up. He groans around every mouthful under my watchful and very appreciative eye.

  So now there are three people in this household that I can truthfully say I care for, and my heart blossoms at the thought. I’ve never felt so hopeful or joyous about my life. I only wonder if it will last.

  Nine

  Lacey

  Smoothing my hands over the beige stretchy fabric that coats my thighs, I crane my neck to study the riding pants Amber lent me. They are a decent enough fit, just… odd. Especially the padded inside knee and the ankle zipper. And what she’s done to my hair. I blow a raspberry over my lips. The braids are stiff and tight on my scalp and stick down in front of my shoulders like two shiny woven ropes. I wonder if she’ll be offended if I turn up at the riding stable with them unwound?

  I spot her through the window exiting the ranch office. I should hurry and accept this odd attire before she changes her mind about this riding lesson. Anyway, this is what a lot of women looked like in town the other day, and
I suppose I am trying to fit in. I scoop my arms into the checkered, brushed cotton shirt she lent me, tying it in a knot at my waist, and rush over to the corral.

  The fog has finally lifted after hanging around for over a week, and I angle my head so the sun heats my cheeks.

  “What are you looking at?” I pretend scowl at a horse whose black eyes follow me like the Mona Lisa as I approach the fence. It whinnies in response and blows out through its hairy nostrils.

  Gingerly, I reach up and it lurches forward, blubbering its lips across my palm.

  “Ugh.” I snap back my hand and go to wipe it on my breeches, remembering just in time the pants are not even mine. I curl my sticky hand and try to banish the feeling of the warm slobber.

  “He won’t bite,” Colt calls out. I halt my breath, suddenly dying to itch at my head where my braids pull at the roots of my hair. I don’t know why it bothers me, but I’m embarrassed that he sees me dressed this way.

  “If you want to be his friend, you need to give him some sugar. He’s a sucker for it.” Colt walks toward me with a saddle hooked over his muscly forearm.

  I raise my eyebrows. Seems males of all species are the same—easily pleased and addicted to the sweet things in life.

  Colt dumps the saddle onto the fence. “Here you go.” He sticks his hand in the breast pocket of his shirt and a button near his neck pops open to reveal tanned, smooth skin. A little distracted, I don’t flinch when he unfurls my hand and places a brown cube of sugar in the middle of it. “Offer it up to him like this. And don’t curl your fingers.”

  Hesitantly, I do as I’m told. My toes tighten when the horse snaffles the cube from my hand. Its large head reaches over the top of the fence and nuzzles into my neck. Its nose is velvety and hot against my neck.

  “See, told you. He’s smitten now.” Colt pats the horse robustly on the side of his neck. “We don’t give them sugar often.”

  “That’s probably best.” I grimace, smudging up my nose at the size of the horse’s teeth and wondering how on earth a horse dentist—if there is such a thing—would cope with dealing with decay of those scary looking things.

  “Are you ready for your riding lesson?”

  “Yeah.” I look down at my outfit and open up my arms. Colt doesn’t follow my self-deprecating motion, instead he focusses on my face.

  “Great, let’s get to it then.”

  “What?”

  “Horse riding. You can’t learn about it from down here.”

  Effortlessly, Colt vaults over the fence and slips some leather straps over the horse’s head. It bites on the metal piece he slinks into its mouth. Teeth chomp noisily against the hard metal and make me anxious.

  “What about Amber?” I turn to search the yard for any sign of her.

  “She’s busy.”

  “But she said…” I trail off because my argument won’t go anywhere. I’m sure Amber has set this up and I’m not sure whether Colt is in on her scheming ways too. I will have to suck it up. And anyway, I’ve warmed to this man and spending some time with him shouldn’t do any harm. In fact, it will probably help with my need to stop being so uptight around men. Especially tall, built ones, with golden, hypnotic eyes.

  In a panic, I turn my attention back to the horse. “It’s kinda small, isn’t it?” I say with a frown. I look from the painted horse Colt is now saddling up to his large black horse, roped to the fence.

  He laughs. “Believe me when I say it’s definitely not small.” Why do I get the feeling Colt’s making fun of me. “Especially your first time. I have plenty of experience and you won’t want any bigger.”

  My face freezes into a strange pout. His quick fired line is loaded with innuendo and the devilish grin on his face backs that up.

  In my attempt not to react in the way I did the other night, I forget how to swallow, choking on a cough as I try to breathe through it.

  He leads both horses out of the corral, and when he reaches me he looks down at the ground for a second before blasting me with those gold specked eyes of his. “I’m sorry Lacey, I didn’t mean it to sound that way.”

  “It’s fine.” I play down my reaction.

  He lifts his hat off his head and runs his fingers through his hair. “Or maybe I did and I just can’t help myself. I’m sorry.”

  “Seriously Colt, it’s not a problem.” This conversation is awkward and it’s making me panic a little.

  “Anyway it is a he and has a name. Pebble.”

  “Pebble.” I murmur, sounds kinda harmless.

  “And my horse is Prince.” Of course it is.

  With one hand on Pebble’s rein, Colt steadies the stirrup and angles his head so he can see me from underneath the brim of his hat. He’s waiting for me to do something. “You getting on, then?”

  I suck in my cheeks. “How?”

  “Here.” He bends and grabs hold of my booted ankle, levering it up, so my leg is high and at an angle it rarely raises to. He sticks my foot into the stirrup and I hop around on the other foot, afraid I might topple over. Reluctantly, I resort to resting a hand on Colt’s shoulder. It’s hard. And the muscles flex under my palm and I resist the urge to massage them and let them mold in my grip.

  “On three. One… two…”

  “I don’t know what you mean?”

  He pushes his hat off his head, letting it dangle on the string around his neck. Then he stands tall, my foot still clenched in his hand. “Surely you’ve at least seen someone mount a horse?”

  I roll my lips and shrug my shoulders to my ears. “Not sure, but I can’t stay like this any longer, my leg is cramping.”

  With that, he wedges my foot into the stirrup, places his hands onto my backside and heaves me up. Instinctively, I throw my leg over the saddle. In shock, I freeze in my new precarious position on top of a live animal, five feet from the ground. The thought of where Colt’s hands have just been is front and center in my mind.

  “There.” Colt mounts Prince. Easily. Scoops up the dangling reins from mine and clicks his tongue at the horse, who walks off dutifully. “Put your other foot in the stirrup and hold on to the horn at the head of the saddle.” He calls over his shoulder as Pebble follows him. I’m sure there’s supposed to be more theoretical instruction than this for a novice rider.

  Cautiously, I lean over to stop the stirrup from swaying away from my foot, nearly losing my balance. And just to add to my wariness, Pebble makes a loud snaffling noise and throws his head up and down.

  “You okay back there?” Colt asks.

  “Think so. I’m just not sure what I’m supposed to do.” The panic in my voice rising.

  “Nothing.” Colt shortens the hold on the reins until I’m level with him. “Just get used to the horse between your legs.”

  I raise my eyebrows at his line.

  “And…” he pauses and shrugs, as if he can’t stop the next words from coming out anyway, “he’ll get used to you riding him.”

  I pull my chin into my neck. “Yeah, thanks for that.”

  “Relax into the movement. Watch me.”

  Reluctantly, I stare at his groin and the way it shifts back and forth with the gait of the horse. His thighs are tight against the leather flaps hanging from the saddle and his back is slightly curved. It’s hypnotic and I find it difficult to peel my eyes from the sight.

  “When we get out into the pasture, I’ll kick up the pace a little. You need to straighten your spine at that point. Stack each vertebra on top of the other and let the saddle bounce you up and down. Don’t resist or slump, otherwise you’ll end up with a sore back.”

  “Okay. You’ll give me plenty of warning when that happens, won’t you?”

  His face softens into a broad smile. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

  The way he looks at me and the twinkle in his eyes makes me nervous. Nervous, not because of whatever he might do, but more the way it makes me feel. Like I want him to have to save me, to scoop me from my horse on to his, and to have his back
side nestle between my legs and his broad back rub against my chest. For me to wrap my arms tightly around him and rest my head on his shoulder. I shouldn’t even have an image of that in my mind right now. But I do.

  “Ready?”

  With not much more than that one second warning, Colt clicks his tongue and both horses increase their pace. Each bounce knocks the air out of my lungs and I feel like I’m lifting from the saddle too much. Bopping up and down against Pebble’s back twice as many times as Colt is on Prince.

  Colt looks across. “Loosen your hips and roll with it.”

  I wide eye him, not wholly comfortable with where he is staring, and he smiles. “You’re doing fine.”

  Eventually, when I’m confident my thong will never see the light of day again, Colt slows us to an amble. “Here.” He flicks the reins over Pebble’s head and pushes them into my hand. “Just a light hold, run the strap between your thumb. He won’t bolt or nothing.”

  It seems hotter up here on this horse and with the reins held tightly in one hand as instructed, I brush the hair plastered onto my forehead off my face.

  “Here.” Colt removes his hat and passes it over.

  “It’s okay.” I shake my head at him, fumbling the reins into two hands again.

  “I insist.” He leans across and places the hat on my head. “Your freckles are coming out.”

  The hat smells of leather and is warm from his head, but the shade it gives my face is welcome.

  “Not that you don’t suit freckles, because you do. They’re kinda… cute.”

  My cheeks heat up even more at his statement. I haven’t had freckles since I was a child. The lack of sun has made them dormant and I’d forgotten that I even once had them.

  Not wanting to mess with the reins again, I leave the hat be and settle into the ride. It seems Pebble just does whatever Prince does and I relax a little, forget about the apparent lack of instruction, and appreciate the country scene and the occasional glance at Colt. As much as I know it’s not a good idea, I find him kinda hot. In fact, there’s no kinda about it. He’s super-hot, and he’s flirting with me. And out here in this alien environment, I feel confident enough to be my true self. But that feeling doesn’t last very long, because Colt asks me without warning, “Doesn’t the sun shine in El Paso?”