Page 12 of Home to the Cowboy

Minutes later she was back in Ellie’s house. Inside it was cool and quiet. No dogs running around, no laughter, no excited voices.

She’d picked the small table in the living room downstairs as the place where she would work. The room was lovely and welcoming, and when she left the sliding doors open the fragrant summer air breezed in. Working there would be so different from working in the city where everyone seemed to be forever rushing somewhere.

The background sound of her life growing up was loud and noisy and anything but friendly. It had left her constantly feeling on edge, always worrying the next angry voice would be directed at her. She couldn’t wait to find her own place, to have silence when she wanted it. That was part of the reason she loved her work—reading manuscripts also required a quiet room and a quiet mind.

Putting down her bag, she stood undecided for a moment. Was that why she’d left her quiet apartment to come all this way where she’d met this family where everyone talked and laughed and teased and loved loudly and without reservation?

Gradually a strange sound penetrated her thoughts. What was that? Water? Turning her head, she tried to figure out from where the noise was coming from. The kitchen, if she wasn’t mistaken.

As she moved, there was a knock on the front door. It was probably Ellie, checking to see if she was okay. When she opened the door, she didn’t wait to greet Ellie but turned and ran toward the kitchen. “Something’s wrong!” she shouted over her shoulder.

At the top of the steps going down to the kitchen, she stopped. “Oh, no!” she cried out.

What had happened? The whole kitchen floor was flooded with water streaming from the direction of the sink. Fortunately, the kitchen was a level below the entrance hall, and the water hadn’t risen high enough yet to flood into the rest of the house.

As she ran down the steps, she slipped on the last one, fell forward, and skidded in the water toward the sink.

*

The first thing Dylan saw as he looked down at the kitchen, with Daisy at his heels, was water. Then he noticed June’s very cute and very wet bottom. She was on her knees, opening the cabinet below the sink, probably to try and stop the water.

He stepped down and cautiously waded through the water to get to where June was sitting.

“Let me help,” he said as he crouched down next to her.

Before he could reach forward, though, Daisy came charging into him. She’d obviously decided this was a fun game she wanted to join.

“Damn it, Daisy,” he got out as he lost his balance, slipped, and ended up next to June, water streaming over both of them. Within seconds, he was as wet as she was.

Struggling on to his knees, he tried to keep Daisy away from June, but she wouldn’t have any of it. Barking, she playfully jumped up on June’s arm.

June laughed, water running over her face. “You’re not helping, sweetie.”

Dylan moved forward, “Let me try to stop the water.” They were both sopping wet.

“I can do this …” June insisted, moving forward.

“Let me find the shut-off valve stop,” he said.

“The what?”

“The stopcock, it controls the flow of the water.”

Dropping her hands, she moved away at the same moment he bent forward to get to the shut-off valve. She lost her balance and fell forward. Her hands shot out to steady herself and landed on his upper arms. He tried to steady her, but she fell forward, her soft curves pushed tightly up against his chest.

They both froze. The water was still streaming over them, Daisy was yapping and playing in the water, but everything faded until all he could hear was June’s soft breath, all he could see was what a gorgeous shade of blue her eyes were, and all he could feel was how perfectly every inch of her body fit against his.

Daisy chose that moment to jump up against their arms.

Looking down at the dog, June’s mouth twitched, he held his breath. Was she going to cry? He had no idea what to do with a crying woman.

She wasn’t crying, though, but without moving her hands from his arms, she burst out laughing “Look at us, dripping wet again.”

Relieved, he grinned. “I like you wet …” Touching her face, he traced her freckles before he realized what he’d said had another not so innocent meaning as well. “I mean, now I can see your freckles.” Instead of the joking voice he was going for, though, his voice was hoarse.

She swallowed and moved away. “You should probably try to find that stop … stop …” her cheeks turned rosy “… thingy.”

His gaze dropped down to where her wet dress was clinging to her body, the outline of her protruding nipples clearly visible.