He lifts the lid off, and inside are brown leather boots with pretty detailing all over them. “For a very special city girl who might want to dress up for a barn dance. Or a small town lunch at The Friendly Table. Just as much fun.”
“This feels like a very specific outfit request.”
“I can't say I hate the idea of you in a pretty skirt and those boots, City Girl. I don’t hate that at all.”
I never wanted to be a country girl. But as I look at the gleaming leather boots, I’m painfully aware of how much I want to behiscountry girl.
Zane Kincaid worked some kind of magic on my heart to get me in cowboy boots and a flirty little sundress.
My heart in my throat, I nod. “Tell me more.”
“You like my kisses.”
“Mmm.”
“I could kiss you all over. Kiss your pretty knees. Put these boots over my shoulders and kiss your thighs.”
Whew, this man. I fan my face. “That’s the most country thing you’ve ever said.”
“I’m a country boy through and through.”
“My cowboy.” I grab the front of his shirt and kiss him.
“Your cowboy. I told you, I want to take you to the Raspberry Jamboree.”
“That’seven more country.”
He spins me around. “Go find something pretty that goes with these, and then we’ll sneak out while Bellamy has her hands full.”
In the sundress, I think the belly is a little too obvious.
But when I put on my favourite white linen skirt and slide my feet into the boots, which are a perfect fit, there’s just enough of a heel that my body shifts, and the belly disappears. I top it with a soft suede shirt that matches the boots and the pink dots high on my cheeks.
I look as country as I can get.
Taking a deep breath, I race downstairs to Zane.
He’s waiting at the bottom, and when he sees me, his eyes light up. He changed, too, into clean, fitted jeans and a blue button-down shirt.
“Shall we?” He gives me his arm.
We take his truck, which he’s cleaned out, and something about it feels genuinely special even though it’s just a quick lunch at Mercy’s diner.
Except when we get to town, Zane doesn’t go to The Friendly Table. He turns right and heads toward the waterfall.
“What about lunch?”
He grins. “I packed us a picnic.”
“Clean truck, picnic lunch, romantic destination…” I tick them off on my fingers. “Someone wants to get lucky.”
“I’m already lucky.” He parks, then gestures for me to wait. “I’ll come around and help you down.”
Like I don’t jump out of his truck every day now.
But it’s nice to have him help me down, my skirtsliding against him, his hands strong and warm through my thin suede shirt.
We walk hand in hand into the canyon. It’s different without Bellamy. We can move faster, but also take our time appreciating the quiet shift from the outside world to this lovely hidden escape.
