Now he laughs. “That’s what Peyton says too.”
I frown. “Why do you keep comparing me to your daughter?” I know I might upset him, just like my earlier comment, but I don’t care. I don’t particularly appreciate being likened to a tween.
He stops, and so does Priscilla. He looks me in the eye, and after an interminably long moment, says, “I’m trying to forget you’re an attractive woman.”
The blunt honesty takes me off guard. I blink twice. “Oh, uh. Okay.”
Warner starts walking again, the horse underneath me moves. But something inside me is moving too, something hot and prickly.
“Actually, no.” I call out, my voice raised. “Not okay,”
Warner stops and turns around. He looks at me, wary. “What’s not okay?”
“It’s not okay with me that you’re trying to forget I’m an attractive woman.”
A pained look creeps across his face.
“You kissed me, Warner, and it was the best damn kiss I’ve ever had. And not to make you uncomfortable, but I’ve kissed the kind of men women the world over would pay to kiss.” Full disclosure, many of those men were terrible kissers. Not the point. “So fine, I get it, you need us to just be friends. And maybe I do, too. I’m not that far out of a relationship either. But please stop trying to look at me and see something else. You don’t have to give in to your attraction to me, but at least stop denying its existence.”
Warner blinks up at me. I realize how ridiculous this looks, me on a horse and Warner holding the reins. Warner opens his mouth to say something, but decides against it. He’s all business after that. He teaches me how to hold the reins and give directions, how to position my body. I tell him about a scene in the movie where the horse spooks and gallops with me on the back, and when he makes a worried face, I assure him there will be a stunt double that day.
When we’re finished, Warner has me lead Priscilla into the stable and put her back in her stall. I remove the saddle and replace it to the spot where I saw him grab it earlier. I finish by brushing Priscilla, just to show him I’m not completely inept.
I’m latching the gate on the stall when he says my name in a quiet voice. I pivot and he is there, all six-feet something of him, broad-shouldered and well-muscled and conflicted as hell. “I’ll stop denying it.”
There’s nothing I can do but nod. I hear him loud and clear. He’ll stopdenying, but it doesn’t mean he’ll start giving in. It’s the best he can do right now, and I like him enough that I’ll take what I can get. Even as strictly friends, I enjoy spending time with him.
I take a look at my watch. “Do you want to come over for a sandwich and a beer? I have a lot of lunch meat to use up.”
“I’d like that.” He ducks his head in the quintessential cowboy way, even though he’s wearing his standard ball cap. “Wes asked me to stop by the homestead, so I’m going to do that and then I’ll be over.”
We go our separate ways. I assemble lunch and realize I don’t have beer. I shoot a text to Warner and he replies telling me he’ll be over in ten and he’ll bring the drinks.
* * *
I’m standingin the kitchen, looking through the back window out toward Warner’s place, when my phone rings. I saw his truck pull up a minute ago, so I know he’ll be along soon. Reaching out to my phone on the counter, I hit the speaker button.
“Hey, Gretchen,” I answer, placing each sandwich on a plate.
“Tenley, hi. Bad news.”
I frown at the phone. Bad news comes in so many forms. “What?”
“It’s about the security guards. No luck. Still.” Her tone is apologetic, not that she has anything she needs to apologize for. It’s not her fault the security agency is fresh out of bodyguards.
Movement out the window draws my attention away from the phone. Warner, in a clean shirt and what I imagine is a fresh pair of jeans, strides across the distance between our cabins, two longneck bottles gathered in one hand. Sunlight turns his dark brown hair the same burnished color as his eyes. God, that man is sexy as sin.
“That’s okay, Gretchen. Thanks for letting me know.”
The back door opens and Warner steps in. He opens his mouth to speak but Gretchen’s voice fills the kitchen and his confused gaze swings to my phone.
“I can’t believe your birthday is tomorrow. I’m bummed. I wanted to make your usual, but obviously we’ll have to wait until you get back home.”
I take the phone off speaker and hold it to my ear. “I’ll be missing yours next month too. Let’s plan a birthday night when I get back. You make my red velvet, I’ll make your lemon coconut.”
We chat for a minute more, then say goodbye. Slipping my phone into my back pocket, I turn around to face Warner. He’s leaning against the counter, his feet crossed at the ankles. One half of his sandwich is already gone.
“You weren’t going to tell me tomorrow is your birthday, were you?”
