I glance at Kannen. But why does he have to look that rugged? Why does he have to be that fit? Look that strong?
He’s seated across from me at a small table inside the mobile office trailer. We divided the list of tasks associated with the rodeo and we’ve been making phone calls for a little over two hours now. I’ve had to fight to keep from looking at him the entire time and my no sex determination is taking a beating.
Finally, though, I’m halfway through my list of vendors who’ve agreed to be part of the event. My fingers ache from all the note writing. I forgot my laptop at home and Kannen didn’t bring one either.
I massage my hands to ease the ache, and the movement makes him look up.
His face is well sculpted, his jawline hard, but his eyes are soft, filled with concern. “You okay?”
Other than my sisters, I can’t recall the last time anyone else asked me that question.
“Too much writing,” I say.
“Holding something warm might help ease the ache.” He gets up and I look at how he’s filling out his jeans. Dammit. I duck my head as he walks to the end of the trailer where the coffee pot sits.
“Coffee or cocoa?” he asks.
“Beer,” I say. “Lots of cold beer.” To cool my heated body.
He grins over his shoulder at me.
And the attraction doubles down and slams harder into my willpower. This isn’t good.
I drop my attention back to the paper and scan it again even though I’ve read the list enough to know it by heart.
“Stormy.”
I look at him.
“What do you want?” he asks.
The fluorescent light in the center of the ceiling emits a low hum. Same, light, same. My body is humming, wanting to tell him precisely what I want and give locations, but that could lead to emotional complications. My heart needs to be protected and I’m the only one who can do that.
“Cocoa. Coffee will keep me up.”
He turns back to coffee pot and waits for the hot water cycle to finish running. His shirt is short sleeved, his forearms tanned and muscled. So muscled.
I swallow and try not to look at his ass in those snug jeans but it’s a losing battle. Then he turns and I’m left staring at his zipper.
“Marshmallows?” he asks like he didn’t notice.
“No.”
He finishes making it, then sets the cup in front of me. “It’s ready,” he says.
So am I. I force myself not to look at his zipper again and search my brain for something to steer my thoughts away from the track they’re on. “Did you hear anything else about which one of the Richfords might be your brother?”
Kannen shakes his head. “Not yet.”
Kannen’s grandfather recently let it slip that he was adopted as a child. After he confronted his adoptive parents, they told him he has a brother he never knew. The only information they would share is that they discovered his brother had spent years at what was known as The Gentle Children’s Home.
From what I’ve heard about the place, there was nothing gentle about it. It was a place of nightmares for the children who were there.
“You could just ask all the Richfords to take a DNA test.”
“I was going to but changed my mind. I don’t want to do a DNA test yet. My folks said they kept the information from me because of what my biological parents were like. They wouldn’t tell me anything else about them.”
His face tightens and I can only imagine the sense of betrayal he experienced finding everything out years after the fact.
