“I really don’t think you should leave me alone down here, Grandma.”
She grasped the hand rail before turning back to face me. “There may or may not be a cheater graham cracker crust in the cupboard above the fridge. For days I don’t feel like making one homemade.”
“Bless you,” I said, when there was indeed a store-bought pie crust in the cupboard. I pulled the package out and gasped. Turning to my grandma watching me expectantly from the foot of the stairs, I held out the incriminating evidence toward her.
“Gluten-Free?”
She gave me a sly smile. “The reason it doesn’t hurt his stomach is because I switched it to gluten-free a year ago.”
“He can’t tell?”
“He might have, if his taste buds still worked like they used to.” She winked before making her way up the stairs. “Now if I were you, dear, I’d use a spatula and carefully move the crust to my own pie tin. I’ve kept this secret for a whole year, I’d hate to spoil it now. Maybe rough up the edges just a bit, so it has a more homemade feel. Good luck.”
I found an empty pie plate and carefully scooted the pie crust onto the plate and hid the store-bought evidence deep in the garbage can. I fumbled my way through the rest of the recipe and put it in the oven for thirty minutes. Peeking outside, I saw no trace of the men before I ran upstairs, intent on having my own blessed shower before I sent Dusty off.
Twenty five minutes later, I descended the stairs with freshly washed and blow-dried hair, a fresh coat of mascara, blush, the tiniest hint of lipgloss, and my hair in a stylized messy top knot. The hair happened because I hadn’t bothered to bring anything resembling a curling iron with me for my week at grandma’s. So basically, other than smelling better and wearing jeans and a ribbed t-shirt, I looked pretty much the same.
The pie looked almost as good as something my grandma would have made. Later on, after more card games and the fancy lunch spread fried chicken and mashed potatoes my grandma had been dying to create, the four of us were ready to give it a try. Dusty declared it even better than he remembered. Which was great with me. If he was fine with a store-bought crust, that made my job much easier. I already had plans to make him a pie the next time I saw him. Maybe I was more like my grandma than I had thought. Pretty soon I would be tinkering at the stove, making Dusty fried chicken every time he came to visit. That did have a nice ring to it.
Grandpa guffawed. “That boy is gone on you, Lou.”
Dusty met my gaze and for a long moment we were both lost in shy smiles. All too soon, however, the spell was broken. While Dusty and Grandpa were outside, loading Dusty’s cattle into his trailer, I cut a few large slices of pie and put it on a paper plate for him, wrapping the whole plate with saran wrap. I threw in a plastic fork in case he got hungry on the road, before donning my coat and sneaking outside.
My grandma met my grandpa and Dusty outside, surrounding him with hugs and goodbyes while I leaned against his truck door, trying very hard to act like I belonged there. The snow shimmered on the ground as the blue skies and bright sun made it hard to remember the storm's fury the past couple of nights. The air was crisp. My grandpa gave me a not so discrete thumbs up while my grandma covered a smile and prodded him toward the house.
Dusty turned toward me then, his gaze so intense upon my face it made my breath hitch. He walked toward me, in what seemed to be the speed of a turtle, while my heart rate sped at roughly the pace of a cheetah. An erratic and jumpy seventy miles per hour. My gaze dropped to the ground just before he reached me. With one hand, he reached out and tipped my chin up, my bashful eyes meeting his.
“What are you so scared of?” His voice was soft as his eyes bore into mine.
“You.”
He grinned and edged closer to me, his arms wrapping around my body pulling me flush with his. “For the record, you’re just as terrifying. I didn’t plan on any of this happening.”
My arms were pressed nicely against his chest. “Are you glad it did?”
“Very,” he whispered, holding my gaze.
We stood staring at each other for a long moment. A long moment that was starting to get awkward. It was like he was waiting for something. My brows furrowed curiously.
He rolled his eyes, exasperated. “Good gracious, girl. You’re all talk. I’ve given you fifteen openings to kiss me and you’ve chickened out every time. Let me show you how it’s done.”
He cupped both of my cheeks with his hands. My heart rate spiked as he lowered his mouth to mine, a mere millimeter away from contact. The warmth of his breath on my lips caused goosebumps all down my arm.
“Attaboy, Dust!” my grandpa’s raspy voice shouted, both of us pulling away and breaking into sheepish laughter.
I took a step back, but Dusty’s eyes had me in a trance as he gripped the bottom of my coat and tugged me back to him.
“So...about that kiss?” His low voice made my heart race.
I cast a glance over at my grandparents, watching the show with great interest. No matter how sexy the cowboy in front of me was, it was still going to be much too awkward kissing in front of my grandparents. Especially kissing the way Dusty was probably intending.
Dusty chuckled, moved me over so he could yank open his door, effectively giving us a little privacy. A very little privacy. He poked his head around the door of the truck. “All right, you two peeping Toms. This girl can’t kiss me proper with you spying on us. Now go on about your business!”
My grandma’s hands flew to her face, covering a delighted giggle. My grandpa just laughed and threw us a wave. With his arm around his wife, they made their way back into the house.
This time when Dusty turned to me, he wore the look of a panther, stealthy, smooth, and...attractive.
Hot.
