He could bypass our farm by a few miles and then come in the back way.
“I’d really like that,” I tell him.
“Me too,” he smiles a full smile and places his hand over mine on the doorframe. “I’ll park my truck where no one would see it if they came by. No one will know.”
“Okay.” I smile at him and mentally run through how I left my cabin.
I think there are clothes strewn around and a few dirty dishes in the sink.
“I’ll see you in a bit,” he promises. “I’ll give you a head start and then I’ll be over.”
“See you there,” I say.
Cody steps back and I roll my window up. He retreats into the shadows alongside the house and I roll down the driveway, my heart hammering in my chest and an irrepressible grin on my face.
Chapter 28
Cody
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks.
~ William Shakespeare
My thumbs drumthe steering wheel as I drive past the Buckners’ ranch. My truck nearly steers itself onto the main drive out of habit. I’ve been driving the short space between our ranches ever since I got my license—honestly, before then on ATVs and tractors. Tonight, I’m going a different route.
I take the main road down a few miles and turn left onto Smokehouse Road. It’s named after the place a few miles down where the pork is smoked as bacon, ham or sausage.
The dirt road leading to the back of the Buckners’ is fenced off with a rickety old gate. I hop out of my truck, leaving the engine running and unlatching the gate. Once I drive through, I hop out and shut it behind myself. Then, with my low beams on, I travel the bumpy old dirt pathway to Carli’s cabin. I pull in behind the building, killing my lights and the engine and walking around to the front door.
The door swings open before I even knock.
My smile is instantaneous. “Waiting for me?”
“I heard you pull up,” she says, tucking a piece of her blonde hair behind her ear. It’s a little unruly as it tends to get by the end of a day, so it pops right back out after she lifts her hand away.
“Hi,” I say, stepping over the threshold and turning back toward her while she shuts the door.
“Hi.”
We stare at one another for a moment, exchanging smiles.
“Do you want something to drink?” she offers.
“Maybe later.”
“Okay. Well …” she waves a hand around the living area. “Welcome to my place.”
I glance around. The walls are painted a warm yellow with the one behind the fireplace painted almost terra cotta. The furniture is overstuffed and comfortable looking, two side chairs and a sofa centered around a coffee table and all facing the fireplace. Above the mantel, she’s got a flatscreen TV. Across the room is an island with barstools, and the galley kitchen is behind that.
Everything looks neat and tidy—a little too tidy.
“Did you straighten up for me?” I smile.
“A little,” she admits.
“Hmmm.” I step toward her and pull her into a hug. “I like that.”
“You like me tidying my place for you?”
