Change of Hart (Wells Ranch, #3)(43)
I nodded. With more privacy than we’d ever had before, no rush to get back home, and an entire box of condoms—another thing packed after Mom had gone back to the house—I planned this trip with a goal. It was finally the perfect moment, and Blair deserved nothing but perfect for our first time.
I watched her peel off her jeans while I did the same. Then I kneeled on the blanket, unable to breathe, hands shaky as I fought to open the condom wrapper. “You’re beautiful.”
Blair sat up and raked her nails through my hair, pulling me into a kiss that erased every anxious thought. And when she lay back down, she brought me with her, never breaking contact with my lips.
Later, she packed away our belongings, and I pulled a folding knife from the pocket of my jeans to meticulously carve our names in the bark of a towering cottonwood.
“There,” I said triumphantly, shoving the closed knife deep into my pocket. “Now you’ll always be able to remember the exact spot where you had the best time of your life.”
Laughing, Blair wrapped her arms around my torso, and kissed me. “As if I would ever forget.”
Smoothing a hand over her mussed-up hair, I whispered, “You’re okay, right? No regrets?”
“Denver, I love you.” Her lips punctuated each word with gentle presses to my cheek and jaw, until she was brushing them against my ear. “That was better than I ever imagined.”
Blair picked a bouquet of wildflowers, tucking them into her saddlebag while we exchanged glances. We didn’t get back to the ranch until well after dark, and there was no doubt in my mind that I’d be marrying Blair Hart at that exact spot on the mountainside one day.
Denver
Strolling into the big house shortly after eleven a.m., I follow the scent of freshly brewed coffee to the kitchen. Beryl, our kitchen manager and pseudo-mom, is armpit deep in the oven, scrubbing every last speck of grime away.
“Morning,” I say as I squeeze past her to get to the coffeepot.
“Morning, honey. There’s fresh coffee and some scones.” Her voice echoes from inside the oven. “What are you doing bumming around here in the middle of the day?”
My niece, Odessa, and nephew, Rhett, are playing at the kitchen table, Play-Doh and Play-Doh accessories scattered across nearly every square inch of the massive wooden tabletop. Odessa looks up when she hears my voice, sticking her tongue out at me. Naturally, I return the gesture.
“Gonna head to town shortly,” I answer Beryl.
Her head pops up to look at me with confusion, and she drags her wrist across her forehead. “If you need something, Austin and Cecily just went to town for wedding stuff.”
“Oh, no. I don’t need anything.”
A smile creases around her lips and eyes, glimmering as she stands and sinks her hip into the edge of the kitchen island. “Ah, I see. You’re going there for someone, not something.”
Taking a long swig of black coffee, I mumble a yeah into the cup.
“Does someone happen to be a woman? About this tall”—her hand raises above her head—“with gorgeous brown hair and a very lovely personality?”
“It might be.”
She slaps the countertop with a yip that makes me and the kids jump. “Your brother owes me five dollars.”
I pull a face, clunking my cup down and staring at her. “What the hell?”
“Bad word. I get a quarter,” Odessa pipes up, pointing to a mason jar sitting on the china cabinet, covered in bright flower stickers and a Swear Jar label with the E facing backward.
“Hell no. That’s not a bad word.” I shake my head at her, trying not to laugh as she places her tiny hands on her hips in defiance. “I’m not giving you any money.”
“It is a bad word. Just like the S-word, and D-word, and fuck.”
My hand shoots up to cover my mouth in a failed attempt to stop from laughing, and an even worse attempt at keeping the mouthful of coffee from spraying out between my fingertips. Brown liquid splatters across the white countertop, and I cough repeatedly into my elbow. Beryl’s no better, doubling over until her forehead is firmly against the counter, shoulders shaking vigorously. And Odessa’s watching it all with a shit-eating grin on her face. Even if she’s not fully aware why her words were funny, she’s always going to repeat anything I laugh at. She and I can be a bit of a hell-raising duo because of that.
Throwing my head back, I stare up at the white ceiling to compose myself. “Odessa…kiddo…I think we’re even now. Unless you’re gonna put some money in the jar, too.” I risk another sip of coffee, turning back to Beryl. “Now, what in the H-E-double-hockey-sticks do you mean, you bet my brother?”
“The boys were all placing bets, and I decided to get in on the action. It’s been a long time since I’ve done any gambling and, well, I knew I’d win.” She looks awfully pleased with herself, leaning against the counter and wringing her weathered hands together. “I bet Jackson that you’d be dating Blair before the end of the summer.”
“Don’t go buying anything with your big winnings just yet, then. We’re not dating.”
“It’s only June, and you’re driving to Wells Canyon midday to visit her. If you aren’t dating yet, I’d wager you’re well on your way.”