I shook the container at him. “Dawn insisted I bring you some pasta for you and your son. Even though I told her you have an entire cooking staff, she’s convinced you’re underfed.”
He adjusted his cowboy hat. “I swear, I eat the same as I did when I was eighteen, and same as back then, I can’t keep a lick of it on me. Burns off before I’ve put the fork down on the table.”
“Leather and wire,” I said, repeating my description of him from the first time we met.
Kit was right at six feet tall without a spare pound on him. Based on the light sprinkling of silver along his temples and in the roughish scruff along his sharp jaw, I guessed he was in his late thirties. By that age, most of the men I knew had grown into more comfortable bodies—which I tended to prefer—but Kit still had that strong, rangy sort of build that looked fantastic in Wranglers and boots. A classic cowboy silhouette if ever therewas one. He also had the knees of a man who’d ridden rodeo for one too many years.
Focusing on his painful-looking gate, I held out my elbow. “Don’t give me any guff about this, but I’m gonna escort you inside. If you fall on my watch, I’ll never hear the end of it from Stevie.”
His pained grimace showed off the crinkles around his eyes from years of working in the sun. I spent hundreds of dollars of Rich’s money on facial treatments, but I had to admit a little bit of aging looked good on Kit.
“Considering Reed had to nearly carry me inside earlier, I won’t complain too much.”
I cleared my throat but said nothing.
We slowly made our way to his front door, and he used a thumb scanner to let us in.
“That’s new.”
“Some guests get the wrong idea,” he said, then didn’t explain further.
I didn’t want to say, but I knew for a fact that last month he’d walked into his house and discovered a bride-to-be laid out in her full glory on his bed. It turns out he’d helped her get up on her horse earlier in the day, and she took that as a sign to cancel her wedding and start a new life with Kit.
Anyway, he started letting Stevie and the other hands help the less horse-savvy guests, which was how I knew what happened. That girl told meeverything.
As I walked from the foyer into the living room, I sighed. His home had soaring ceilings with thick exposed beams in a warm, driftwood stain that was reflected in the gorgeous hand-scraped wood floors. The entire space was welcoming, with low-slung couches and thick area rugs and a limestone fireplace that gave everything a wealthy rancher-slash-hotelier vibe.
“It’s just a house, Skylar,” he said with a low chuckle, responding to my reaction.
“Whatever. I remain grateful there’s no horseshit on the floor.”
“Oh, I’ve definitely stepped in horseshit, then accidentally dragged it through here,” he said, toeing the beautiful wood flooring. “But I’m pretty quick about cleaning it up.”
“I suppose I’m not shocked that you keep a clean house.”
“Thank you. I think,” he said, and it almost sounded like he was teasing me.
Yeah, right.
Rubbing my hands together, I checked out his stance. “I see you haven’t dug out your knee brace yet.”
“Idid,” he insisted, wrinkling his nose. “It’s on my bed. Too painful to put it on quite yet.”
I gave him an epic side-eye, helped along by the barest wisp of a winged liner. “We’ll work on the pain so you can wear it, but none of that works if you’re not consistent with it.”
He shifted his jaw from side to side. “You’re not gonna let this go, are you?”
“Nope.” He swayed, and I stepped in to hold him up. “Now, I know this is gonna sound like a come on, especially coming from me,” I said, gesturing luxuriously at my perfect quiff, full beat of makeup, high-end clothing draped like butter against my skin, and red-soled stilettos. “But with those tight jeans, the best way for me to look at your knee is if you take off your pants for me, cowboy.”
“Thought you might say that.” Kit accompanied this with the most adorable put-upon sigh. “And as much as I hate to admit it, I might need your help getting my boots off.”
I cursed under my breath. “I swear to the goddess, Kit. If you were anyone else, I’d force you into my car and we’d be going tothe hospital right now. The fact you can’t even take off your own boots is pretty bad. Just saying.”
“I know, I know,” he said, waving me off. “But I’ve got another big wedding here tomorrow, some actor who starred in something ten years ago. So, if I can make it through this weekend, I promise you—swear on a stack of Bibles—I will go to the doctor.”
Given the lack of religious decor, I didn’t put much stock in that particular promise.
“I’ll hold you to it.”
