Page 35 of Eighteen Bowties and Counting

“Okay, little bird,” he whispered, his mouth right against her ear. The cascading way his breath slinked over her shoulder made her shiver. “So date first. Talking, and eating, and driving.” He lilted to the right, almost dancing with her.

“Yeah.” She swayed with him, glad she’d said something.

“It is a long drive to town,” he said. “And I’ve been playing with the donkeys in the mud, and I’m starving.”

“Can’t have that,” she said as she stepped out of his embrace. She laced her fingers through his and added, “You haven’t introduced me to any donkeys. Where are those? Who takes care of them?”

“They’re mine.” He led her to the edge of the steps, and then turned back. “The door.”

She hurried to close it, and then she joined him again. “You own donkeys?”

“Three of ‘em,” he said. “They’re minis, and I got them from another cowboy. Gideon Walker? He loves ‘em, but he can only have so many.” He chuckled as he led her to the truck. “His wife won’t let him have anymore, in fact.”

Charlotte laughed too, and she got in the passenger seat and buckled her seatbelt. When Beau joined her, she said, “Felicity used to tell Mason that he couldn’t buy another knife, so I get it.”

“Mason’s always loved his knives,” Beau said with a smile.

“They don’t take as much room as miniature donkeys,” Charlotte said. “You never said where they are.”

“There wasn’t room in our stables or pastures. I’ve got them over at Courage Reins, in a nice little paddock with lots of their favorite grass.”

“And some mud.”

“They get a little sloppy when they’re drinking is all.”

“I want to meet them. I can’t believe you’ve been holding out on me with mini donkeys.”

“They’re special to me,” he said. “Not everyone gets to meet them.” He turned onto the highway, and the ride turned smoother.

Charlotte giggled. “Really? You hold back your mini donkeys? Don’t show them to your girlfriends until—when? The fourth date? Fifth?” She laughed again, and she couldn’t remember laughing as much as she had before she came to live with Beau. To strike out on her own. That thought made her sober slightly, and she ducked her head and tucked her hair behind her ear.

She’d straightened it and clipped it back on the sides, but plenty still streamed over her shoulders.

“You don’t reveal everything even on the first date,” Beau said. “Surely you still have something we can talk about.”

Charlotte looked out her window, the evening clouds in the sky as bright as they’d been during the day. Summer nights seemed to stretch on forever, and the sun wouldn’t set for hours still. “I guess,” she said.

“Go on then,” he said.

“I know you’ve seen them.”

Beau looked over to her, pure interest in his eyes. “Seen what?”

“My mismatched socks,” she said. “You’re just too polite to say anything about them.”

He drove the truck for a few moments, and then he chuckled and said, “I’ve seen ‘em.”

“Yeah, you have.”

He squeezed her hand and asked, “Why don’t you match them up?”

“Why do something so futile?” she asked. “That’s what I say. One of them always gets lost, and I just figured, I’d buy a whole bunch of the same kind. Same size. Same brand. All of that. And then, it wouldn’t matter if one was white with purple stripes and one was black with orange. They fit the same, and no one sees ‘em in my boots anyway.”

“Oh, so I’m getting the foot-peep show at home, is that it?” He laughed, and Charlotte enjoyed the vibe in the truck. She enjoyed being with him, and she’d had no idea she could feel so comfortable with someone like him.

She’d honestly thought she’d never get married at all.

“Beau?” she asked.

---