His voice was deeper, but he sounded soothing, not stern. “Come here, little kitten.”
Sarah left the small computer desk with the antiquated desktop and padded barefoot around the couch to sit on the other end, leaving an empty cushion between them. “It’s fine.”
Muffintop was lying unconscious on the back of the couch, her legs hanging down like a tiger on a branch. She’d immediately cozied up to Blaze as soon as Sarah had released her into the house.
Very suspicious. Maybe Abigail had given Sarah the wrong cat, one that liked people instead of her own beast still recovering from kittenhood barn trauma.
From the other side of the couch, Blaze held out his hand, palm up, and looked pointedly at his hand and then back to her eyes.
She reached over and dangled her fingers, tapping his palm.
His hand closed around hers. When he tugged on her arm, Sarah followed, crawling over the couch with one hand captured in his until he’d pulled her across and settled her in his lap.
His thick arms scrunched her into a ball on his thighs, her knees tucked up and her head resting on his heavy shoulder. When she inhaled, the scent of soap and his shampoo filled her nose because he’d showered before they’d eaten supper. He rumbled, “I asked, what is wrong?”
Her inability to run her parents’ farm shamed her. “It’s nothing.”
“Don’t lie to me, little kitten. What were you looking at on the computer that has you so upset? You weren’t on social media, were you?”
“Oh,no.I haven’t been on any of my socials since you showed up on my farm last week, and I understand why we shouldn’t. ‘Loose lips sink ships,’ and all that. It was just farm stuff.”
“Farm stuff like how?” he asked.
“You know, just farm stuff. Never you mind.”
“You looked terrified. Did one of your friends see someone suspicious in town?”
“Nah, Abigail would’ve called me if someone was poking around. Our group text is on high alert for any weirdos in town. That’s what I told her:weirdos.That’ll encompass everyone from hippies to mafia gangsters to the IRS.”
“Then tell me what the matter is, kitten.”
“Nothing.”
His voice dropped lower, and so did his hand on her hip. “Do I need to turn you over my knee and spank this luscious bottom of yours, or are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
A tremble of a different sort started in her stomach. “It’s nothing.”
“Tell me.”
“I don’t have to tell you.”
“Oh, kitten. Now you’re just asking for it.”
“You can’t make me.”
With a quick movement of his hands, he flipped her over on his lap so that her bottom was up.
“Oh!”
He caressed her bottom with one hand while he held her by the back of her neck with the other. “Such a pity to spank this lovely bottom of yours.Tell me now.”
Every bit of her attention was riveted on the warmth of his hand resting on the back pocket of her jeans and the sharp look in his blue eyes as he watched her.
The rest of it—the red numbers and the White Russians—faded away, and nothing mattered but there and then.
Her voice lilted with a snarky tone. “IsaidI didn’t wantto talkabout it, and Imeant—”
With a sharp flick of his hand, he swatted her backside with acrack.
