Kitabı oku: «Let It Bree», sayfa 3
“Turn out the light when you’re ready,” she said sweetly. “And don’t worry about me if you feel like staying up and reading or watching TV.”
Oops.
Earlier, she’d switched on a local news channel and had watched, openmouthed, as some newscaster reported an alleged bull theft. Bree’s name wasn’t mentioned, but the newscaster described her clothes, right down to her scuffed boots. It had to be because of that damn “implied contract” that the media was insinuating she was a thief!
Bree shoved herself up on one elbow and stared wide-eyed at Kirk. “Uh, nix the TV idea! It would, uh, be too loud, keep me awake.”
“No, I wouldn’t watch TV at this hour,” he answered calmly. “Might read, though.” He rummaged through the stack of old paperbacks on the coffee table. “If it wasn’t so cold out, and if the van wasn’t parked down the road, I’d dash out and get The Priest Kings of Gor, which I left in the glove compartment.”
Bree blinked at him. “The what of what?”
Kirk glanced up. “Book by John Gorman. Science fiction.”
“Oh.” She lay back down. No TV. Life was good.
Kirk rummaged halfheartedly through some books. “What do you like to read?”
“Historical romances.”
“Really.” He flashed her a look, then resumed his rummaging.
“You sound surprised. By which part? The historical or the romance?”
“I…just didn’t envision you as a romance reader.”
“Really,” she answered, mocking his droll tone.
He cocked an eyebrow, obviously catching her mimicry. “You just don’t strike me as the truffle-eating, pink-satin-slipper type.” When she stared at him in silence, he finally asked, “Something the matter?”
“Yours is a typical clueless-male response about romance novels. Double-dare you to find even one truffle-eating heroine in one of those novels. They’re too busy flexing their stamina and intelligence in the face of adversity.”
His eyes glistened with amusement. “I always love a challenge. So, I accept.”
Well, that response took her aback for a moment. She’d never met a guy who’d seemed eager to explore something new and romantic. Well, in a book anyway.
But then Kirk Dunmore was an explorer, she realized now, in more ways than one. A warming feeling washed through her as she realized she was starting to like the guy. Okay, she’d already known he could jump-start her libido with one whiff of his masculine-drenched jacket, but it was a bonus to realize he had an open, intelligent mind with just the right touch of feminist leanings as well.
Was he even from the planet Earth?
“So why the historical part?” Kirk asked, thumbing through one of the books.
“Well, I’ll read about almost any historical era. But my preference would be the Roman era. First or second century B.C.”
He was busy scanning the back blurb on the paperback. “Why?”
“My major was art history, with an emphasis on ancient Roman art. For my senior thesis, I wrote a paper on conserving ancient sculpture, focusing on a second-century statue of Marcus Aurelius.”
“Very interesting,” Kirk set the book down and met her gaze.
“My aunt Mattie doesn’t think so. She’s still stewing that I didn’t study accounting.”
Kirk chuckled. “Well, I must disagree with your aunt because I find your choice of study very impressive. Surprising, but impressive.”
“I found your van rather…surprising, but impressive, too.”
“Surprised me, too. It’s a prewedding gift. My mother-in-law—well almost mother-in-law—is always over-the-top. Too much money and time on her hands. Nice lady. Just too rich.”
He’s getting married, Bree reminded herself. Of course, she’d known, but it didn’t stop a tremor of disappointment rippling through her.
Murmuring she should go to sleep, Bree closed her eyes, determined to think about anything other than him. Like, where was Grams when Bree tried to call earlier? And should she have left the message on the answering machine that she and Val would be back in Chugwater, she hoped tomorrow? With the local news describing Bree’s alleged theft, what if the sheriff or FBI had staked out Grams’s and her home, listened to the answering machine and knew she and Val were on their way back to Chugwater?
She stared up at the ceiling. Sheesh, didn’t anybody in authority check that maybe Bree was the innocent one in this mixed-up fiasco?
Well, I’ll just have to be clever when I get back to Chugwater tomorrow. I’ll pen Val in the south corner of Mr. Connors’s field. Then I’ll sneak into town and, from the back windows of Mary Jane Tock’s hair salon, catch up on the latest gossip. Then I’ll know what steps to take next.
“Thought you wanted to go to sleep.”
She shifted her gaze to Kirk. “Thought you were reading.”
“Couldn’t find any historical romances.”
Kirk liked Bree’s smile. Her big dimples created the cutest shadows in her cheeks. And when she smiled, her gray eyes twinkled as though they housed little stars.
Plus she was pretty without a dot of makeup. Her face had a clear, rosy freshness about it.
Funny, he couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen Alicia without makeup. Or even what she looked like without makeup. For the two years he’d known her, her face was slathered and painted and God knew what else. She even had colored contacts. If someone were to ask him his fiancée’s eye color, he’d have to say either emerald green or cobalt blue.
Not that makeup was a bad thing. After all, Alicia Hansen was a born-and-bred Cherry Creek girl, from the ultraexclusive section of Denver. Maybe Alicia had the money to preen and primp, but thanks to her family’s wealth, she also used her money connections for good causes, like raising money for research and exhibits at the Museum of Nature and Science. Which was where they’d met when she’d hosted a fund-raiser two years ago. Thanks to Alicia’s efforts, the museum had raised the money to build the current replica of the Minotaur’s labyrinth which was gaining national recognition for its study of ancient mythology.
Yes, he appreciated and even admired Alicia. But most important, the two of them shared a common dream to have roots—a family, children—the kind of roots he’d never had as a kid.
He stared at Bree with her twinkling gray eyes and wild mass of curly brown hair. She was just the opposite of Alicia. Where Alicia was polished, Bree looked wild. Untamed, uncontrollable like the elements. Part wind, part sun, all soul and energy. He’d never met a woman like her.
And maybe it was late, but he wanted to know her just a little more…after all, after tonight and tomorrow, they’d never have the chance to talk again.
“So where’d you go to college?” he asked.
“In Laramie, on a volleyball scholarship. Started out as a psychology major, but after attending a traveling tour of Roman art, I switched majors to art history. Loved ancient art. Those ancient carvings were so raw, so passionate…so unlike anything I’d ever seen growing up in little Chugwater.”
“What did you plan to do with the degree?”
“Escape Chugwater. Travel the world, see all kinds of real ancient art, not just pictures in books and on the Internet.”
He’d never escaped anywhere. Never wanted to. Probably because he’d moved so much as a kid, and traveled over half the globe as a scientist, the last thing he wanted was to escape to somewhere else.
“So,” he said, mulling over her response, “are you escaping Chugwater?”
“Almost did,” she whispered. “Still might.”
She was quiet so long, he figured he’d change the subject. “I love ancient art, myself. Leaf art.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Excuse me?”
“I study ancient fossils of plants, especially the period between sixty to one hundred million years ago.”
She emitted a low whistle. “Now that’s ancient. And I was pretty proud to love first- and second-century art.”
He smiled. “My area of expertise is the K-T boundary. The era when the dinosaurs went extinct.” He paused. “Typically I stop here unless I’m chatting with scientists or other leaf whackers. I’m accustomed to other people’s eyes glazing over about now.”
But Bree’s twinkled. “K-T boundary?” she prompted.
He smiled. “It’s the layer of iridium that indicates that an asteroid—about the size of Denver today—hit the earth, which caused the dinosaurs to go extinct.” Her eyes still twinkled. “So, by excavating fossils from that era, I’m also studying the traces of the K-T boundary and pinpointing when, exactly, the dinosaurs disappeared from the earth.”
“Wow! Very cool!”
He grinned. Alicia never got this excited over his work. “Why, thank you. I think so, too.”
“So, what’s a leaf whacker?”
“We—paleobotanists and anybody else who joins our excavations—whack rocks to discover embedded fossils, which typically contain ancient leaves. Hence, leaf whackers.”
“This K-T boundary…where is it?”
“Sections are all over the globe. The challenge is to find the thread, the link-to-link layers of iridium that prove my theory.”
Her eyes grew wider. “Does that mean you’ve traveled all over the world?”
He nodded. “Many places, that’s for sure.”
She clasped her hands together like a little kid. “You are one lucky guy, you know that?”
“Lucky to love my profession, yes. But my personal dreams are more simple,” he said quietly. “I’ve seen the big world. I want the smaller one. I want roots.”
“Not me!”
“So,” he started, piecing together her dream with her current situation, “when do you plan to see the world?”
“Don’t know. Right now I just need to get back home…”
Her eyes moistened and she turned her head away.
When she stayed that way for several long moments, he got up and headed to the bed. Looking down at her, he reached out, hesitated for a moment, then gently patted her hair. He liked how the silky curls spiraled around his fingers.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, not sure why he should be sorry, but wanting to comfort her.
“It’s been a long day,” she whispered. She slid him a glance, her gray eyes filled with such a gentle sadness, he wondered what exactly she and her “pet” had gone through. And why.
Were they running from something?
Up to now, he’d bought her story that they’d been left on the side of the road. After all, this was Colorado, cow—and bull—country. But looking into her eyes, clouded with hurt, he knew, just knew, something more was at stake. Not wanting to dig, or upset her further, he simply stroked her hair, comforting her.
Minutes later, her eyes closed and she fell asleep.
4
“THERE IT IS.” Louis turned off the headlights and eased the trailer down a side street off the main drag of Nederland.
“Dere what is?” asked Shorty, leaning closer to the windshield as though that would help him see better.
“In front of us, forty or so feet,” Louie said, jabbing his thumb at the big yellow truck with Nederlander Highlander Ranch in red and blue doughnut-shaped letters on its back doors. “It’s big and yellow and says exactly what that wino said was written on it.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” Louie said between his teeth. “It’s right frickin’ in front of us or are you frickin’ blind?”
“Don’t need to get so sensitive, Lou,” muttered Shorty. “I sees it.”
“Sorry,” muttered Louie, not really meaning it but needing to say something sorta nice so Shorty wouldn’t go all sloppy sad and blow their chance to nab the bull—which meant nabbing a cool half a mil each.
“Hey, that truck’s so yellow,” said Louie, trying to sound super friendly-like, “it’s like followin’ a moving block of butter.”
“Yeah, a block o’ buttah.”
“You and me, Shorty, we were pretty damn smart getting a big black trailer ’cause we blend into the night.” He didn’t really mean that, the part about Shorty being smart, but compliments usually cheered people up.
“Right now,” Louie continued, sounding as breezy as the winds over the Keys where he’d soon be living, “we’re blending into the night like chocolate frostin’ on chocolate cake. That dude would hafta be glued to his side mirror to realize he’s bein’ tailed.”
“Chocolate frostin’ on chocolate cake,” repeated Shorty as he took a last drag on his cigarette and flicked it out the window. The burning embers flamed in the darkness.
Louis slugged Shorty on the arm. “Nice move. Next time, why don’cha set off a flare?” So much for being friendly-like.
Shorty rolled up his window. “Flare? Wha—?”
“We’re on reconnaissance. We just found our mark—” Louie nodded toward the yellow truck down the alley ahead of them “—and you toss a lighted cig out the window! How many times I gotta tell ya there’s an ashtray in here! But did you use it? No, better to signal the guy with a miniflare that we’re tailin’ him!”
“I’ll use the ashtray next time, Lou.”
“So you’ve said. Now shut up. I’m concentratin’.”
Louie drove slowly, keeping some distance behind the truck.
“He’s movin’ awful fast for hauling a bull,” commented Shorty.
Louis had thought the same thing when he’d seen the truck turn down this side street.
Suddenly, the Nederlander Highlander truck lurched to the right and parked in a well-lit spot between a scooter and a compact car. Louis did an ultra-smooth glide into a neighboring parking lot, conveniently dark with no streetlights.
“Primo lookout spot,” he murmured, killing the engine. Damn, he was good.
They were sweetly hidden in the night gloom. And, between two Dumpsters lined up between the lots like some kinda green metal barricade, they had a clear sight of the parked Nederlander Highlander truck.
Louis breathed a small prayer to Saint Anthony for the strategically placed streetlamp that acted like a spotlight on the truck.
“Why’d he stop there?” asked Shorty, fidgeting with the pack of cigarettes in his jacket pocket.
“Look at the frickin’ flashin’ neon sign.” Over the back door of the brick building that Mr. Nederlander Highlander would probably soon be entering was an orange-and-purple neon sign flashing Ned Head Ed’s with a dancing beer bottle.
“Ned Head Ed’s?” repeated Shorty, squinting at the sign. “What’s a Ned Head?”
“Ned’s an abbreviation for Nederland. If you’d been looking as I was drivin’, you’d have seen Ned-this and Ned-that on almost every frickin’ store we passed.”
“But Ned Head?”
Louie blew out a gust of air. “Ain’t you ever heard of the Dead Heads? Jerry Garcia? The Grateful Dead?”
Shorty was quiet for a long moment. “Oh!” he finally said. “It’s a play on da words Dead Head. Ned Head. Hey, dat’s kinda cute.”
This gig better end soon. Two more days with Shorty and Louis would remarry wifey number three, who not only applied less guilt and asked fewer questions, but figured stuff out faster.
“Dere he is!” Shorty pointed at the ponytailed guy shutting the driver’s door of the yellow truck. With his hands stuffed into his jeans pockets, the guy slouched casually toward Ned Head Ed’s back door and disappeared inside the bar.
The truck sat unattended.
“Go check if there’s a bull in there,” ordered Louie, flicking the overhead switch so the dome light wouldn’t go on when they opened their doors.
“Me and what army? Did you see the size of that mother back at the stock show?”
“Just sneak up and look in the truck’s back window.”
“It’s butt-freezin’ cold out.”
“You gotta coat on.”
“So do you. Leather, too.”
Louie’d known this topic would come up sooner or later. A week ago, when they’d got this gig, he’d had to do some fast shopping for Colorado winter weather. Shorty bought some butt-ugly wool and canvas coat, while Louie went for a fur-lined leather jacket. After they’d got to Colorado and put on their coats, Shorty kept flashing little jealous looks at Louie’s jacket.
But Louie’d been accustomed to such looks all his life. Dudes givin’ him those little jealous glances over his clothes, his cars, his dames…hey, it wasn’t easy being a classy guy.
“I’m drivin’,” Louie said, “You’re sittin’. Now go!” He fisted his hand, ready to smack.
Shorty made a disgruntled sound and hopped out. Hunching over like some kind of chubby troll, he skittered through the opening between the Dumpsters. Just as Shorty reached the yellow truck, the back door of Ned Head Ed’s reopened. The driver and several guys carrying boxes headed toward the truck.
Shorty, about ten feet from the truck, halted midstep as though stung by an invisible cattle prod. Slowly, he straightened, then began whistling and sauntering as though he were out for an evening stroll. Which might be convincing if it wasn’t colder than a meat locker outside.
Louis sighed heavily. “You coulda acted like a wino or hidden behind a Dumpster,” he said out loud, “but no, you act like you’re out taking a frickin’ stroll in a frickin’ parking lot on a frickin’ freezin’ evening.” He slammed his fist against the steering wheel, wishing it were Shorty’s thick skull.
Fortunately, none of the people exiting the building seemed to notice Shorty’s nonchalant strolling act. They opened wide the truck’s back doors.
Louie strained to the left, peering into the back of the truck.
No bull.
He smacked the steering wheel again. “Frickin’ A. We fly all the way out to bohunk Colorado, rent this frickin’ bull-size trailer piece of junk, only to lose what we had stole, clean and clear!” That girl had balls. Stealing back the bull by mounting it and riding it out of the stadium like some kind of rodeo bull queen. And that was the last time Louie paid off a few cops for their “support”—they’d watched, bug-eyed, as she rode away.
Shorty had navigated an elaborate U-turn and was whistling as he sauntered past the truck, heading back to Louie. “Are you frickin’ crazy?” Louie muttered. “Walking right past the people we’re tailin’? Like they need extra help to ID us?”
A few minutes later, the passenger door opened and Shorty hoisted his chunky frame inside. “No bull.”
“No kiddin’.”
“How’d you know?”
“I was sittin’ here, looking at the truck as they opened the back doors. I was also lookin’ at you—” he shook his fist “—walkin’ past them not once, but twice! Why didn’t ya just yell ‘hi there’ and introduce yourself?”
“They didn’t notice me, Lou.” Shorty’s voice was getting all whiney again.
Wifey number three was looking better and better. Louie hunkered down, watching the people stash the boxes in the back of the truck. “We’ll sit here, wait for the guy’s buddies to leave and then we’ll have a little chat with our ponytail friend.”
“What for? There’s no bull.” A match sizzled as Shorty lit his cigarette, carefully hiding the flame behind his cupped hand.
“He might not have the animal in the truck at this very moment, but he knows where he dropped our Mr. Money Bull.”
“Mr. Money Bull,” Shorty repeated, blowing out a stream of smoke.
Louie grinned, enjoying a whiff of secondhand smoke. Enjoying even more the word money. Oh yeah, once this gig was up, life was gonna be sweet.
A few minutes passed as boxes were loaded in the back of the Nederlander Highlander truck, then the guys, except for the ponytailed one, returned to Ned Head Ed’s bar.
“He’s alone.” Shorty made a great show of stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray.
“Let’s go have us a little chat,” said Louie, tugging the collar of his leather jacket up around his ears.
“You carryin’?” asked Shorty.
Louie shook his head no. “Don’t need no gun to convince Mr. Nederlander that all we need is a little information. I have a feelin’ he’ll sing with very little persuasion. Just like a little canary.”
“Tweet tweet,” said Shorty, opening his door.
KIRK YAWNED and blinked open his eyes.
In front of him, like two burnished columns, were a pair of bare legs.
Long.
Shapely.
Sleepily, he gazed up those legs, past the thighs, daring to look farther…
She moved and a blast of sunlight hit him smack in the face.
He squinted, his eyes aching from the white brightness.
She moved again, her body shadowing his face.
He dared to open one eye, then the other, and stared at a very curvy bottom in a pair of creamy pink undies.
She bent over and the very curvy bottom widened provocatively, stretching those creamy pink cotton undies until the pink became sheer…so sheer, the color looked more fleshy than pink.
Kirk licked his suddenly dry lips as his pulse kicked up a notch. That was no fleshy color.
That was flesh.
His stomach muscles bunched. His face flamed hot.
Kirk blinked rapidly, amazed at the physical reactions he was having. He, who prided himself on his intellect. Dr. Dunmore, global expert on the late Cretaceous period, recipient of prestigious paleobotany awards, the discoverer of the new dinosaur species Saurexallopus lovei…
Was suffering from libido fever.
Struggling to breathe, Kirk watched as Bree pulled a pair of jeans over that tan, pink-clad rump.
“Checking me out?”
Caught.
He jerked up his gaze. “No, I, uh, was, uh, watching the sun coming up.” Hell, he was getting married in less than forty-eight hours. Whoever named pre-wedding jitters “cold feet” was too subtle. This was out-and-out body freeze.
She turned and faced him, her hands on her ample jean-clad hips. “You really are from another planet, aren’t you?”
With great effort, he maintained eye contact and whispered hoarsely, “Gor.”
“What?”
He cleared his throat. “Gor, the counter-Earth planet.” Which was pretty much the truth because Kirk Dunmore sure didn’t conform to most of the stupid guy-stuff on Earth. He didn’t play pool, swig beer and had long ago decided “nailing” a woman was despicable and demeaning for both the woman and the man.
So if Gor was good enough for Tarl Cabot, it was good enough for Kirk Dunmore.
Bree flashed him a quizzical look. “Is Gor where you paleo-paleo-whatever-you-guys-are visit to dig up fossils?”
“No, it’s what we paleobotanists say to cover moments when we’re caught gawking at a woman’s body parts. Very lovely body parts, may I add.”
Was she blushing?
His gut did that funny clench again and he wondered for one insane moment, if maybe, just maybe she felt the same things he was feeling.
With a swivel, Bree turned and headed back to the bed where she sat down and began pulling on her socks and boots. “I know we’ve been playing a bit with each other, but the fact is, you’re almost a married man, Kirk,” she said quietly.
Almost married. Kirk could feel that damn body freeze creep from the tips of his hair all the way down to his toes. Okay, okay, his best buddy George, who was blissfully married and had two great kids, had admitted even he’d had a bad case of cold feet right up until the moment he said “I do” five years ago.
Kirk expelled a slow breath. That’s all this is. A little cold feet, or in my case, a complete body freeze.
He reflected on why and how he’d fallen for Alicia in the first place. At the time, his dating life was more in danger of becoming extinct than the dinosaurs he researched. And when he’d talked to her about his recent discovery of the five-lobed Macginitiea leaf from the Tertiary period nearly forty-five million years ago, he’d loved how her cobalt-blue eyes stayed glued on him, immensely fascinated.
And when she’d murmured that she’d always wanted a smart, prestigious man in her life, he figured this Cherry Creek trophy number was hot for him.
After a few dates, when they were discussing their mutual desire to settle down, have roots, family and children, he did the first spontaneous thing he’d ever done in his life.
He asked her to marry him.
And when she said yes, it wiped out his years of growing up as a lonely kid, moving from town to town, calling at least six different men Dad. Finally, Kirk Dunmore was on the verge of having what he’d always wanted—roots, family, children.
And that had all seemed well and fine until…
Well, until meeting Bree.
Waking up in the room with her this morning, looking at Bree’s freshly scrubbed face, and her “naked confidence” as she strode around in those pink cotton thingies, shook him up like he’d never been shaken before.
He didn’t remember ever feeling that shaken up with Alicia. Maybe if she wasn’t always slathering goop on her face or talking on a cell phone that seemed permanently wedged next to her ear, maybe he’d feel more shaken up.
Or maybe it had nothing to do with goop or phones. Maybe it was simply that Alicia didn’t seem to give a hoot about his research anymore. Months ago, he’d chalked it up to her being preoccupied with the wedding plans, but he sometimes wondered what she’d be preoccupied with after the wedding…
“I’m gonna check on Val,” said Bree, interrupting Kirk’s thoughts.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll join you after I think through a few jigsaw pieces.”
Ignoring her questioning look before she exited, he rubbed his eyes. He had a lot on his plate today.
First, he needed to get gas.
Second, he needed to get back to Denver.
Third, he needed to contact George, ask him to give Bree and Val a ride to Chugwater. He’d call George now, but knew George and his family did their shopping on Saturday mornings, so Kirk would wait to phone.
Then there was the dreaded rehearsal dinner at Alicia’s family’s tony Cherry Creek estate. Monkey suits and small talk. Had Alicia said four or five o’clock? Well, one of those times should work. The family never expected Kirk to be punctual, blaming his absentmindedness on his being a scientist. Whether he was late, lost or just plain forgetful, they cooed and excused the “famous scientist.”
He dragged himself off the sofa and staggered into the bathroom where he splashed cold water on his face. Somehow, in the midst of today’s activities, he needed also to check the I-25 excavation site. He sensed he was close to unearthing some rare fossils there. Plus he’d accidentally dug up that strange, exotic engraved stone last week…very unusual, at least two thousand years old. He couldn’t wait to show it to George.
“Hey!” Bree yelled from outside the bathroom. “You comin’ out, or are you gonna primp in there all day?”
He grinned. Kirk, primp? Sounded like something he’d say to Alicia.
A few minutes later, he walked around the back of the lodge to where Val was tethered to a pine tree. The animal had a cozy spot, hidden from prying eyes, between Bree’s lodge room and the back of the forest. Plus Val had plenty of grass and brush to munch on.
Bree was scratching Val’s head, which looked as big as Bree’s whole torso, while she talked to the animal.
“It’s gonna be okay, Hot Stuff. You ’n’ me, we’re gonna get back home today. Maybe I didn’t get to Europe, but that’ll come in time.” She rubbed the bull’s back. “After what you’ve been through, we need to get you home where you can eat all the oats and grass you want in Mr. Connors’s field. Meanwhile, I’ll contact Bovine Best, clear up any confusion over the ’implied contract’ fracas, see if they’re still interested in purchasing you…” She sniffed.
Bree, crying?
Kirk stood, unsure what to do. Should he leave? Let her spend a few moments alone with her animal?
But just as he half turned to go, Bree said sweetly, “Mornin’.”
He turned back. “Good morning.” He observed how the sunlight played tricks with her hair, highlighting strands of gold and maroon in those rich brown curls. Just like Bree, he thought, seeming so solid and strong on the outside, yet inside, harboring such sweet, tender secrets.
“Val, lookee who’s visiting. Our hero, Kirk,” she said in that velvety tone that twisted Kirk’s heart. “Remember how he picked us up last night? Thanks to him, you had this safe, comfortable spot to sleep…and I had a safe, comfortable bed. Come on, let’s say ‘thank you’ to this nice man.”
“Oh, that’s quite all right,” Kirk said, holding up both hands.
But Bree just giggled, a fun, girlish sound that sent a crazy thrill zigzagging through him. “Come on,” she coaxed, “let Val thank you.” She crooked her finger at Kirk in a come-here gesture, those dimples in her cheeks turning him to putty.
He stepped forward, ready to do her bidding.
“Scratch him here,” Bree said softly, taking Kirk’s hand and placing it on a section of coarse fur between Val’s horns.
Kirk tried to concentrate on the scratching, but he was far more aware of the warmth and softness of Bree’s hands. And her fingers. So long, they didn’t just interlace with his fingers, they coiled around them. Even better, he liked how their fingers moved in tandem. So natural, as though they’d done this a hundred times before.
For the next few minutes, he and Bree stood side by side, scratching and stroking Val’s head. Feeling and stroking each other’s hands, accidentally of course.
After a few minutes of bull-loving, Kirk turned to Bree. “I told Alicia I’d call her this morning, let her know when I expected to be in—”
“She must be worried about you, running out of gas ’n’ all.”
“Actually, Alicia doesn’t worry about things like that.” She worried if Kirk would be late. Or not dressed properly. Or had lost his way.
Bree looked at Kirk, her eyes filled with something he couldn’t decipher.
He meant to turn and go, but he wanted a few more moments to see what sunlight did to Bree’s hair, how her skin glowed in the fresh air, the way her lips curved when she spoke. And if he was lucky, maybe he’d get another flash of those killer dimples.
They stood so close, he could almost sense her heat, almost hear her beating heart. And he ached to know how it would feel to take her into his arms, hold her close, mold her body to his…
Something nudged him from behind.
He looked over his shoulder at Val’s massive head, rubbing against his back.
“He likes you,” said Bree.
