Page 28 of Horn of Plenty
Was he getting ahead of himself? Possibly. But he knew better than anyone what the city could do to a person. She’d made it back to Elverna in one piece, and every fiber of his being wanted to keep it that way.
His heart pounding, he dialed up his walk to a light jog, scanning the people strolling down Main Street. He’d almost decided to double-back when he saw her, standing next to a shiny Mercedes-Benz and laughing with another man. Tall with dark hair and an athletic build, the guy wasn’t terrible to look at—maybe someone would consider him handsome. Who was he to know? It wasn’t like he went around assessing the handsomeness of other dudes. Hell no!
“Mabel!” he called, startling her as he sprinted her way.
“Cal! What are you doing here?” she exclaimed, spinning around as her little purse smacked him in the leg.
He steadied himself, then stared the guy down for a good five seconds before turning his attention back to her. “What do you mean, what am I doing here?”
She glanced down the street toward the town square. “I thought you were with your grandmother.”
“She was tired, and your dad and Claudine offered to bring her home.”
“Oh,” she replied.
The nerve! Did she not know that he’d come to her rescue?
He schooled his features. “What’s going on here?”
Mabel pressed her hand to her chest. “Sorry, let me introduce you two. Cal, this is Preston Brockton. He’s from Chicago.”
Cal threw the man the broodiest glare he could manage. “What do you think you’re doing with Mabel?”
“Conversing?” the man replied, looking quite thrown.
Good! He had the jumpy jackass right where he wanted him.
“About what?” he bit out.
The man swallowed hard. “Food,” Preston Brockton answered before throwing Mabel an anxious look. “Is your friend going to hit me?”
“That has everything to do with why you lured Mabel away from the square and over to your car,” Cal growled, answering for Mabel, who shot eye daggers at him.
“Cal!” she exclaimed.
He waved her off. “No, these city people need to know that they can’t roll into town, wolf down our casserole, then act like they’re better than everyone else.”
Confusion bloomed on Preston Brockton’s face. “I don’t quite understand what’s going on here. I assure you. I paid for the casserole. I even left a tip.”
Mabel shook her head as another possibly handsome man joined them.
“Is everything okay?” this new guy asked Preston.
“I think this big farmer might be confused about something,” Preston answered, taking a step back.
“Oh, this big, broody farmer is confused, all right,” Mabel replied, crossing her arms.
“We’re chefs from Chicago. I’m Logan, and this is my husband, Preston,” the new guy said.
His husband? Ah, shit!
Now Cal was the one swallowing hard. “You guys are together?”
“For twelve years,” Logan answered.
Mabel cocked her head to the side and threw one hell of a broody glare. “No one is hitting on me, Cal.”
“I never thought that…” he trailed off. Okay, he totally thought that. Actually, his thoughts were far worse. In his head, he had her in the passenger seat of that Mercedes already halfway to Chicago.
