I stopped my struggle and swallowed. “What are you doing?”
“I’m just giving you an opening if you want to make good on your bet right now.” He leaned forward, eyes directly in mine.
I leaned back, heart pounding, which put me at a perfect view of his lips. Full and probably warm. Juicy. UGH. Stop.
“I’m happy to teach you the difference between a kiss and a make-out. If you’re interested,” he murmured, while I debated his offer.
“And then what?”
He tilted his head, curiously. “What?”
“What happens after all that? You’ll go back to Cody and me to Montana. I don’t know if you’re worth the effort.” I was pretty sure he was worth the effort. I was pretty sure I would marry him now if he asked me. But only psychopaths would admit that less than a day into reconnecting with an old friend.
His eyebrows raised. “It’s gonna be that good, huh?” he mumbled, focused on my mouth. “You’re not that far away from Cody. I think we could figure something out.”
There was determination in his last statement. It sounded promising. It almost made me do it. I wanted it so badly my body physically ached for it. For his touch. But my over-active brain had already processed a thousand different scenarios where this went bad. We kiss and then it’s awkward. We didn’t know how much time we had left in the house together. With the power out, we had nowhere to hide. Nowhere to go. Twice I let a man kiss me and I never heard from him again. Of course, that was after I called and left several breezy, not at all psychopathic messages, to check-in and ask if he wanted to meet my parents now that we’d kissed? Maybe go to my family reunion? The neurotic, anxious part of my brain, the part that knows I can ruin a good thing faster than Dusty could make me blush, sent smoke signals to my heart, warning me to proceed with caution. I liked the idea of him too much to barrel forward in the same way I always did. No, I wasn’t going to kiss him yet, but I had to play this right.
Leaning slowly forward, the invitation in his eyes guiding me closer, I raised on my tiptoes, grabbed his face in my hands, lingered near his lips before whispering seductively, “I’ll grab the buckets and meet you at the river.”
Dusty groaned, good-naturedly, but let me go, muttering something about chickens.
That’s exactly what it was. I was a chicken. A big one. He didn’t touch me again, but between his teasing and sweetness, he had me laughing soon after as we filled the two buckets with water, erasing any awkwardness with his naturally friendly nature. I thought about kissing him a dozen times afterward, but the moment was over. The perfect, most delicious moment in a setting to rival anything National Geographic could ever produce, was over.
Dusty drove us home on the snowmobile, driving carefully to avoid the divots and hills on the ride. I sat backward on the machine, so I could hold tight to the buckets of water and keep them from falling. Dusty’s back felt warm against mine, especially compared to the ice-crusted water that kept splashing out of the bucket onto my frozen hands any time we hit a bump.
My mind kept playing back our moment by the river. I had been so worried about what could go wrong, and honestly, with my track record, I had good reason to be nervous. But when Dusty reached behind him with his left hand, clasping my leg to hold me steady on the bumps, I began to wonder if I had jumped the gun. Had I, once again, listened to my anxious mind instead of my heart? There were so many ways it could have gone bad. What if things had become unbearably awkward, both of us stuck on the ranch for who knows how many more days? What if he had wanted to kiss me only because I was available and no other reason? What if I let myself be interested and he never was? What if my heart got broken? I was more invested in Dusty Bennett after one day with him than I had ever been with any other guy I had dated for weeks. But there was one question that kept playing around in my disappointed mind the entire ride back home. The question that had been tormenting me since I rejected what he was clearly offering.
What if it had been great?
9
After three more trips back to the creek to fill up our buckets, we arrived back at the ranch with sore arms and frozen fingers. Well, I had frozen fingers. At least one gallon full of chunky ice and water from the river had splashed all over my hands and lap.
“Sorry!” Dusty yelled over his shoulder, as another splash of water tumbled over the side and onto my lap. “I’m going as slow as I can, but I can’t see when the dips are coming.”
“You’re the dip,” I said, teeth chattering. It wasn’t my best comeback, but it did the job.
“I can’t decide if you’re more or less funny when you're mad.”
“I’m going to tell Grandma to put something special in your chocolate pie.”
“What’s this Grandma stuff?You’rethe one making my pie.”
“I’m praying the electricity never comes on.”
“Now, let me understand this…I get to spend the night on the couch with you if the electricity staysoff, right? Is that what your grandma said at lunch?”
A smile found its way across my face. “Ifthe power stays off. And it’s theoppositecouch from mine. Or you could snuggle up with my grandparents in their bed. They’re the only two places in the house with a fireplace.”
“If I choose your grandparents, do you think I could call dibs on the middle?”
I laughed outright, even though my hands and legs were stinging from the wet cold. When we neared the barn, Dusty passed it in favor of dropping me off right by the front porch.
“Get inside and warm up. I’ll take care of everything out here. Dang it. Looks like Bob’s outside now.”
Me and my frozen limbs climbed awkwardly off the snowmobile. I glanced over to where Dusty was looking and sure enough, saw my grandpa, decked out in at least four layers of worn-out coats and coveralls pitching hay into the manger. Too cold to argue or even get mad at Grandpa for being out in the weather when we didn’t want him to be, I waddled up the front steps.
“Hey, Lucy.”
