She finally dropped her keys into my hand.
I gave her a nod like she was an assistant who’d just completed a task, but I went to the passenger door and opened it.
She peeked around the back of the SUV. “You’re being, like, weirdly formal.”
“What do you mean?”
“Loading my bag. Driving. Opening doors. I feel like I’m bringing a prom date home, and he’s nervous about making a good impression on my dad.”
Goddamn, that hit too close to home. “I’m bringing you home to my father first.”
Her coppery brows lifted. “You are?”
“We can stop at your house first. That way, I won’t act like such a stranger there after people know.” I’d always be a stranger. I’d been one when I’d grown up. Now that I was married into the local elite, I’d be more of an outsider than ever.
Autumn
Seeing Gideon in my house was a mindfuck. Like a lucid dream. A drop-dead-sexy man was roaming the tiny walls of my home. He took up any extra space and made it feel smaller and plainer than ever.
When I’d bought this place, I’d thought it’d be a starter home. I’d meet someone, maybe we’d live there until we built a bigger home. I wasn’t keen about building on my property not far from Copper Summit. I should be relieved Gideon wouldn’t press me about it like another ex had. Ten years after that guy, I was still living here. Alone.
Except for my cat.
I’d seen Gideon’s place, spent the night on a bed that was like a custom-made cloud, and seen a shower that shouldn’t be possible. I hadn’t used it.
I needed a shower and real sleep.
Being tired didn’t mask the observation that the penthouse wasn’t made for a family. No one who had kids wanted white anything in their home, professional cleaners or not.
Gideon looked around my living room, his gaze scrutinizing the little fireplace at the far wall.
“I have a pile of firewood behind the garage, just in case.”
He cocked a brow.
“If power goes out,” I finished lamely. This stilted conversation was a lot like the drive from Bozeman. I’d say something to fill the heavy silenceor because I thought he’d want to know some things about me. We had a short window, but we had to be a real couple. He’d only give me monosyllabic answers or that damn brow lift—which was fucking sexy. But then, everything about this man was desirable.
Especially his cooking. I could’ve orgasmed over those eggs.
He shoved a hand in his pocket. When his back was to me, I ogled his ass. This material had seen very little of the great outdoors and definitely hadn’t touched a horse or cow. I couldn’t picture this Gideon filling feed buckets for chickens. I couldn’t see him waking up early to do chores or even to go for a relaxing ride that didn’t include rounding up cattle.
A slight sadness settled over me. I couldn’t picture a cowboy hat on his head, dust on his shirt, or the relaxed walk of a guy who loved doing what he loved because he fucking loved ranching. That type of guy was who I’d thought I’d marry, one who wouldn’t put an expiration date on my marriage.
I’d always imagined I’d end up with someone like the guys I’d grown up with. Mark was outside of that box, but he was nothing like Gideon. My husband was older than me, and he’d been raised doing the same, but he’d deliberately left it all behind.
Yet he wanted to keep the ranch. That had to mean something, right? Weren’t kids more to him than having someone to pass his legacy on to? “We never talked about the specifics of the kids.”
“We did, and I said when you’re ready.” He disappeared into the kitchen.
I took a step to follow, then let my temper take over.I wasn’t some landlord while he looked over the place. “I asked you a question. It’s rude to walk out.”
One heartbeat. A second, louder heartbeat. He appeared around the corner, his expression neutral. I couldn’t interpret the glint in his eye. “You didn’t ask a question. You made a statement.”
I had to think for a moment. Dang. He was right. “And you’re avoiding the discussion.”
His eyes barely narrowed, but I caught the discomfort. “I never planned to have kids.”
He’d said that, yet he’d agreed to the deal. “You’re fighting for Percival, but what happens to it after you’re gone?”
