CHAPTER 13
Special K
I wait for her to look away, and she does.
Which is probably for the best.
If that energy has a name, I don’t know it. It’s so intense and focused that it could burn a hole through a man if he allowed it to.
I wonder how many men she’s burned in her life.
“You’re not going to tell me about your time as a SEAL?”
The last thing I ever want to do is discuss the details of my military career, how much I loved it, how it was all I ever wanted to do with my life, and how spectacularly I fucked it all up.
I don’t have to justify my silence to her, but for some reason, I do. “I prefer not to talk about it.”
“I respect that. Top secret missions and all that, right?”
“What do you do for a living?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Uh… bartender. Usually.”
“What’s your name?”
“Fawn.”
I see a flash in her eyes that indicates that her name is not, in fact, Fawn. I probably have a better chance of being a Fawn than she does.
“Pretty name.”
“Thanks.” She averts her eyes. “I do appreciate the horse, but you can take her back. I won’t need her.”
“Going somewhere?”
“Not today, but when I do, you can bet your ass that I won’t be leaving on horseback.”
“You don’t like horses?”
Her face softens. I detect a hint of the little girl behind the secretive, suspicious woman. “I love horses. There were horses around where I grew up.”
“Around here?”
“No.”
She shuts down again. I steer the conversation to more neutral territory. “Wood burning okay?” I ask.
“Great.”
“Are you in trouble?”
“No.”
Whoa. The “no” she just threw at me sounds more like an S.O.S. “How can I help?”
“You can’t. Don’t even try.”
This isn’t what anyone would consider a riveting conversation. I’m a dude who doesn’t enjoy small talk, and she’s a woman who has absolutely no intention of sharing the first thing about who she really is and why she’s really here.
Or what she’s running from.
Because Boots is definitely running from something and someone. No fucking doubt about it.
I just sit in silence for a bit, giving her time to relax.
My questions have charged her up and she’s pissed at me for sticking my nose in her business.
She gets up and walks a few steps away from me again, her cat cradled tight in her arms. I can’t help but watch her walk.
She’s wearing those too-short shorts again, and her hips gently sway under my sweater, how her long, athletic legs go on forever, sexy as fuck, even wearing Summer’s old hiking boots.
She’s all woman. Nothing but female.
I like female. I like her variety of female.
Suddenly, she spins and glares at me, her hair flying around her in a golden arc.
Shit. She’s caught me staring. Yes, I was appreciating the buttery soft area between the hemline of my sweater and the crook of her bare knees.
I feel like a shit for doing it. But mostly, I just regret getting busted.
Her mouth pulls into a tight, straight line. She’s threatened. Angry. She’s out here alone, out of her element and afraid of being found, for whatever reason she refuses to share. The last thing she needs is a tongue-tied loner staring at her ass. And her thighs. And calves. Ankles.
She needs my help, but she keeps fighting against it. At least she’s wearing my sweater—which is so long it covers her shorts—and the boots. This leads me to believe that she’s lying when she says she doesn’t need me.
I suspect I’m about to get a dressing down—I can feel it. But just as she opens her lips to put me in my place, her cat jumps out of her embrace and bolts toward me, still on the long leash.
“Sorry!” Boots cries, while her cat sails through the air, right toward me.
I straighten as it jumps onto my lap. I lean back. It stares at me. It’s all black with piercing yellow-green eyes. It’s a strange encounter. It almost feels as if he’s checking me out to see if I’m friend or foe.
“Uhhh…” I don’t normally have these kinds of interactions with cats. All the cats on Yosemite Ranch are barn cats, happily keeping the rodent and lizard population at bay. They’re not pets.
Boots is scowling down at me. I don’t know what to do with my hands. Do cats like to be touched? Will it claw my eyes out if I make any sudden moves?
“Here.” Boots holds out her arms for the cat.
“It’s okay,” I tell her, though I’m not sure it is. The cat is still watching me, and his bony little paws are digging into my quads. Eventually, the animal decides I’m not a threat. It curls up in my lap and begins to purr.
“Uhhh…” I say again. “What does he want?”
“She.”
Boots returns to her spot on the tree stump. She’s monitoring the cat, making sure it’s safe with me. She seems puzzled that he even likes me—she even likes me. I’m puzzled too, to be perfectly honest.
I laugh. I startle at the sound of it. I’m not used to laughing.
“What’s so funny?”
I shake my head and keep my thoughts to myself. It’s always the safest route.
“Go ahead,” she urges. “It’s impossible to offend me. I promise.”
“All right.” I look up at her. “I was thinking it’s been a while since I’ve had some sweet pussy in my lap.”
She tilts her head and peers at me, her blond hair spilling over the sagging shoulder seam of my sweater. There’s no indication she’s even heard what I said, and if she did hear, she doesn’t look the least bit entertained.
I knew I should have kept my mouth shut.
“She not just some sweet pussy.” Boots raises both eyebrows. “She’s the sweet Pussy around here. With a capital P.”
I bite my tongue for as long as I can, and then I figure, why the fuck not? I’ve already said too much. It’s not like this conversation can get any stranger than it already is.
I lean toward Boots. I think I might be smiling, but I can’t help myself.
“Oh, I doubt that,” I say.