Page 92 of Country Contract

“Sure, they would . . . if they didn’t have a foot fetish.”

“Harlow, stop.” But she doesn’t; she drops her foot from my hands and rubs it over my pajama bottoms. I have already been sporting a semi while looking at her in that robe, but the contact pushes that to what I would call a slight erection.

“See. You’re hard.”

I push her feet off me and check to make sure her toes are dry. Since they aren’t tacky, I believe they are and instruct her to flip over. Over her robe, I massage her in long, sweeping strokes. Harlow’s body starts a little tense, but with each pass, I feel her muscles relax under me.

I know that spas are something women enjoy, but that’s not something we have around here. I’m glad that I was able to give her this, and from what I can tell, she is too.

Chapter 36

Harlow

This land is so beautiful that it rivals Pebble Creek. It’s different from California. We drive down long, tree-lined streets with long fences along them. Pastures with golden grass take up most of the space. Occasionally, we pass gates that hold different crests, some ornate and some as simple as a letter.

Where Pebble Creek has a lot of small-town charm, this town has a different appeal. The land between houses is vast, filled with fields and trees, but the gates look expensive, and the land is perfectly manicured.

“Is this what rich country looks like?” I half-joke.

“You think I’m not rich?” He acts appalled and I shoot him a look that says, “Shut up.”

“Are you?” I ask, appeasing him.

“I wouldn’t want to offend someone actually wealthy by calling myself rich.”

“I won’t be offended by you being rich.”

“Would it please you to know if I was?” I know Harrison is messing with me, but I don’t like to joke aboutmoney being a personality trait or a bonus point. I’ve dated many artists who were full of passion and low on income.

“It wouldn’t matter to me either way,” I answer, and he smiles at me before focusing on the road ahead.

Before long, we are pulling up a long, paved driveway that leads up to a large stable and a small house. I’m surprised to see such a small house next to at least a twenty-horse stable. The fencing lining both sides of the drive is simple and black, similar to that at the Hill Farm, but it’s vinyl or metal instead of wood. The house is a one-story home with a tall peak in the center, dark wood siding, and stonework at the entryway and on the chimney. The stable is a matching deep brown with a black metal roof. It’s well-kept, maybe even new.

We’re about to get out of the truck when Harrison reaches into the back and pulls out a large bag. It’s a simple brown paper bag with white tissue paper in it. I don’t know what I was expecting to be in it, but the bag is light.

When I pull out the tissue paper, I see my own Western hat. Black felt with a pinched front, wide brim with a slight turn up at the sides. If that was the end of the hat, maybe I would figure he just grabbed a black one, but it’s not. Looking closely, I see that there is a black, sea green, and gold braided cord around the hat band, a burn in the felt in the shape of a cat silhouette walking along the band, and a few beads at the ends of the cord.

“This is gorgeous,” I whisper, running my fingers along the braids. Looking closer at the beads, I notice that they’re not typical round beads, but stones.

“Ah, yes, those. They’re amazonite for confidence and self-love, lava rock for passion and creation, black jade for balance and peace, and that last one is amethyst because it’s your birthstone. Or at least that’s what the lady told me, so ifyour hat has a bunch of bad energy, we will get new beads.” His arms are crossed over his steering wheel as he looks over to me, a big, beautiful smile on his face.

“No, no, it’s perfect.” I flip the hat over and set it on the center console between us. “I better start collecting some good luck now.”

Harrison leans forward, reaching for me. He kisses me, his hand at the base of my skull, and then wraps his fingers around my fishtail braid. It’s pulled to the side and before I can ask, he puts my hat on my head and taps my nose.

“Nah, it’s got the stones for that.” Harrison’s smile is broad, bright, and boyish. It warms all the cold parts of me.

He opens my door and leads me to the front of the house where an older woman opens the door, giving us a wide grin. She’s dressed neatly in dark jeans, a blue denim button-up, and a yellow quilted vest. A baseball cap that reads “Bailey’s Stables” sits on her head.

“Ms. Sally,” Harrison states, taking his hat off and offering his free hand.

She walks right past his hand and pulls him into her arms. He hugs her back tightly before she releases him and puts his hat on his head for him.

“My boy, you seem older every time I see you! Where are your folks at?”

“They’re on their way back for the holidays. I think they’re stopping in Colorado for a little bit before making their last trip home.”

“I’m so excited to hear all about wherever your father has whisked your mom away to this time. You tell her to call me the next time you talk to her.”

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