Her eyes round, then she giggles, face going sheepish.
“I’ll be right back,” I say, trying to slide past her. But she rests a hand on my shoulder, stopping me.
“I promise to be more careful this time.”
I exhale slowly, biting the inside of my cheek.
“You take care of me in a thousand ways every day. Let me return the favor.”
I grunt. “You don’t owe me anything.”
“Iwantto,” she answers.
Those words get me.
“You’ve made a royal mess of your hand,” she scolds in the bathroom, close enough that I can feel the heat of her breath. It takes every ounce of self-control not to pull her into my arms and kiss her.
Allie removes my Stetson, and my chest tightens. She sets it on the sink brim up like I would, then, pulls back the handkerchief. “Geez, Austin. This might need stitches.”
I grimace. “It’s fine.”
She frowns, lips pressing together like she’s already planning how to ignore me.
“Got needles and thread in the stable if you know how?” My hand doesn’t need it. But if she insists, I’d take a stitch or two for her.
“I am not using horse first-aid on you,” she gasps, placing a towel over my lap to catch a few stray drops of blood.
“Would’ve stopped by now,” I excuse. “Chopping kept the blood flowing is all.”
“Hold still,” she orders, rustling through the cabinet beneath the sink for peroxide, ointment, and band-aids. My heart warms in my chest, watching how she knows my place now. Almost like it’s hers.
When the cotton ball grazes my knuckles, I flinch. Not from current pain. That, I can bear. But past memory.
“What?”
“Nothing.” I pause. “Just don’t scrub like last time.”
Our eyes meet, her face inches from mine. “Sorry about that,” she says.
“Not looking for an apology. Just soft hands.”
She huffs a laugh. “Soft hands, then.”
I nod, closing my eyes against the feel of her warm, curvy body inches from mine. Her rose-tipped fingers, so gentle this time, sending little fiery trails, like sparklers, the length of my arm.
“Now, the ointment,” she narrates, so close, her exhales warm my cheek.
I keep my eyes closed. Fighting the sugarplum fragrance snaking around me, filling me with a need bigger than the Montana sky.
She doesn’t owe you anything, Austin.
Delicate fingers dab ointment, then band-aids. My heart beats so loud, I’m sure she can hear it.
I clear my throat. Try to stay cool.
That’s when her soft lips cover mine.
“Mmm,” I moan, half-surprised, half-pleased.
