It’s not that I’m wearing much more than he is—I’m equally bare-chested with a pair of sleep pants that hang from my hips, but his thin little shorts emphasize everything big and beautiful about him.
My stomach tightens at the miles of pale, freckled skin, his thighs, broad chest, and strong, round belly covered in dark ginger-blond hair. Damn, even his sturdy, freckled feet are turning me on.
At least this thing with Warwick hasn’t killed my ability to appreciate a beautiful man.
He’s still a little sleepy and uncoordinated, but already he's found a hand towel and is soaking up the hot liquid.
“Jesus, Joaquin. Are you okay? Did you get burned?” Colt’s wide, concerned eyes make me feel guilty about the unexpected hit of desire. My eyes go to his large hands clutching the dripping towel, and the dualling emotions intensify.
Get your head out of your ass and your mind out of the gutter.
“Sí, sí, sí. I'm fine, Colt. Don’t worry about me. Sorry to have made such a mess.”
Colts tosses the soaking wet towel into the sink with a shrug. “Life's messy. It's okay.”
God, he really does have freckles everywhere.
Colt scratches his chest, suddenly self-conscious, and oh, how I want to soothe his concern. I admire and adore everything about his strong, tall, cuddly physique. My hands tingle with the things they want to do with him.
Fuck, I'm hopeless.
“Um, I just came for a quick hit of coffee before I got dressed. I'll be right back.”
He backs out of the kitchen, awkwardly making his way across the space and upstairs without another word.
Ten minutes later, he comes back down, face washed, beard brushed, and wearing his unique brand of ranch chic: a T-shirt with the wordsCuddle Monsterstretched across his chest, a pair of broken-in Wranglers over a fat ass, feet stuffed into perfectly aged cowboy boots, and an old baseball cap on his head to complete the look.
Is he wearing that shirt on purpose?
We are on our own for breakfast this morning, and I’ve already sliced some strawberries and scrambled up a pan full of eggs. I remember, belatedly, that the bacon is still going, nearly overcooked from all of the delightful distractions in front of me. I move it off the flame and transfer the pieces to a paper towel-covered plate.
“You made enough for me?” he asks, his face lighting up. Whatever awkwardness we had yesterday isn’t here this morning, and he seems willing to move on from it. For that, I am supremely grateful.
“Yes, of course. I made enough for all of us.”
Seconds later, Abel joins us, and we begin plating up the food for ourselves.
“Damn, that smells good,” Abel says, sneaking a slice of bacon.
“Eh, it’s just a simple breakfast, guys. Wait till I have a chance to make my medialunas.”
They both groan through bites of eggs and bacon, and I translate that as a positive response.
Colt gets about halfway into his food before pointing his fork at me. “I forgot to tell you. I noticed that the gutters around the stables need to be cleaned out. Which probably means every building with gutters on the property needs to be looked at. We’re into wildfire season, and all of those dry leaves are just tinder waiting for any kind of a spark.”
“Excellent. Is there anything that you and Abel need to do this morning, or can you tackle that first thing?”
They both agree that they'll make it a priority.
Abel pipes up, “Hey, I've got a spreadsheet that I started a few months ago with all of the regular chores that need to be done. I have them broken down by daily, weekly, and monthly, but maybe we can add something like a quarterly or biannual tab.”
Colt scratches his chin. “I know that Wyatt has some software for tracking the horses’ estrus cycles. I wonder if we could kludge that to include a chore list.”
Abel nods, shoving another piece of bacon into his mouth. “The spreadsheet’s okay, but I love how easy it is to use that software.”
I pat Colt’s shoulder, just barely stopping myself from squeezing the strong muscles. “Great idea, you two. Talk to Wyatt about it this afternoon—he’ll be here.”
Colt and Abel bump fists and then demolish the rest of their breakfasts.
