Page 21 of Devil's Luck

“Those don’t count. I had planned to do this last weekend, but then everything happened—“

“None of that was your fault, Fergus,” I tell him for probably the twentieth time this week.

“I still—“

“No. We already talked about this. Yes, your life was dangerous, but I knew that even before we met. I signed up for anything and everything that comes along with you because it is all worth it to be yours.”

“I love you, mo fhíorghra.”

“I love you, too.” I stand on my tiptoes and give him a kiss. “Now come out of that closet and let me get dressed so we can leave.”

“I’ve already got your outfit covered.”

“Oh really?” I ask with a laugh, hands on my hips. “Do you even know how to do that?”

“Nola, my love,” he starts as he finally opens the door and joins me in the bedroom. “I’ve taken enough of your clothes off of you that I think I can pick out a few things to put on you that you’ll like.”

It takes a few seconds for the fog to clear my brain from the ultra-sexy talk about talking off my clothes, for me to fully take in the even sexier outfit he has on himself. Whooowee . . . my man makes a mighty fine cowboy alright.

Black thigh-hugging jeans—check.

Plain black t-shirt stretched across his mile wide shoulder and chiseled chest—check.

And his signature black cowboy boots finishing off the look—check and check.

“Damn cowboy,” I drawl as I check him out from head to toe. “Do we really have to leave? I don’t want anyone else seeing you in that get up.”

“Yes, we’re leaving.” Fergus pulls me into his arms, and I grab two handfuls of his denim covered backside. “But I’m taking you somewhere private, so you won’t have to share me.”

“Goodie,” I reply and pucker for a quick kiss. “Now tell me what to wear so we can get this show on the road.”

“Your outfit is laid out on the island,” he taps my butt once and gently pushes me into the closet. “Leave your hair down for me please. And no crazy makeup needed. You’re perfect as you are.”

“Yes, sir.” I give him a mock salute as I reach for the white lace panties waiting for me.

After I fasten my bra, I slip on a brand new clover green t-shirt, shimmy into some crisp slim boot cut blue jeans, and pull a pair of brown Lucchese boots that look a lot like Fergus’s onto my feet.

Not that I doubted him for longer than a second, but everything he picked for me is something I would’ve bought myself. Maybe I need him to shop for me more often.

After I convince Fergus to take a selfie with me in our snazzy duds so I can send it to Remi and my mama, we’re in the back of the SUV with Padraig driving us north.

Fergus tries to keep our destination a secret, but it doesn’t take me long to figure it out on my own because I recognize every road we turn on. We’re going to my family’s ranch!

I try to get him to tell me why we’re going there, but he refuses to give me even a single clue. When I pull my phone out of my purse to call my mama and let her know we’re on our way, Fergus gently takes it from my hand, kissing the inside of my now completely healed rope burned wrist, and tells me that she already knows we’re coming. She didn’t tell me that when I talked to her not even an hour ago. Sneaky woman.

Since he seems pretty set in his ways about keeping the reason for our trip to my childhood home hush hush, I decide to let him have this secret for himself just a little while longer. I just sit back, relax, and enjoy the peaceful quietness of the ride.

When we pull up the ranch’s long driveway, I roll down the window and wave to my parents as we roll past the house and head a little further back and stop in front of the biggest barn on the property. Fergus holds out a hand to help me out of the SUV, then tugs on my fingers to get me to follow him inside the barn. We’re met with the snickering of the couple horses closed in their stables, along with my favorite smell on the entire planet—other than my Fergus and his cigars that smell like cinnamon and vanilla—the smell of a horse barn in fall. A mix of hay, dust, and wood shavings, mixed with just a hint of animal sweat . . . there’s nothing quite like it.

“What are we doing here, Fergie?” I ask as he leads me down the center aisle, stopping right in front of Duke. I can’t resist his handsome face and give his nose a kiss and some scratches.

“What would you say,” he pulls me away when Duke tucks his head back into his stall, “if I told you we’re having lunch up in the loft?”

A squeal of glee leaves my lips as I jump into his arms and pepper his cheeks with kisses. “I’d say, you’re the best boyfriend ever!”

“Did I pick a good date, mo fhíorghra?”

“You picked the perfect date, mo fhíorghra.”

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