Page 75 of Awaiting the Storm
Me: Okay.
Case: Sweet dreams, Matty.
Me: Good night.
I tuck the phone under my pillow, sink down into the flannel, and close my eyes.
Sleep comes easy tonight.
And my dreams are sweet, thanks to the sexy cowboy who stars in them.
Matty’s already on the front porch when I pull up to the ranch house at Wildhaven Storm. The sky’s gone soft and pink behind her, the sun slipping lower over the ridgeline. She’s wearing jeans and a long-sleeved blouse, canvas overnight bag slung over one shoulder, her blonde hair loose and wavy. My heart stutters a little in my chest at the sight of her.
She hurries toward the truck, gravel flying under her boots, and I hop out, circling around to open the door for her.
“Good evening, beautiful.”
She arches a brow. “Evening, cowboy.”
I grin. “You packed light.”
“I don’t need much for one night,” she says, her lips lifting into a devilish smile.
I chuckle and reach for the bag, tossing it behind the seat. Leaning in closer, I whisper in her ear, “I might keep you and never let you leave.”
Her eyes soften as she climbs in. I close the door and walk around to the driver’s side. I catch sight of Evelyn and Charli peeking out from the front window, and I wink at them.
Once I’m behind the wheel, I lean in and kiss her. It’s not a quick kiss; it’s the kind I’ve been thinking about since the last time I had my hands on her. She melts into it with a sigh, her fingers curling lightly around the collar of my shirt.
When I finally ease back, I keep my forehead pressed to hers. “Is it okay that I’m stealing you for the whole night?”
She smiles a slow and lazy smile. “Yeah. I made sure everything was handled. Daddy and Grandpa agreed to help Charli with evening chores.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Volunteered, did they?”
She scoffs. “Not exactly. But they have a hard time telling me no.”
I lick my lips. “I can understand.”
She grins. “I also agreed to take over egg-gathering duty for the next two months.”
“Two months? Ouch.” I lean back. “That seems like an awfully long penitence for one night of chores.”
“Grandpa hates the bitter, cold winter mornings,” she says with a shrug, turning her head to look out the window as I back out of the drive. “And I don’t mind them.”
“You’re a good granddaughter,” I note.
We fall into a companionable silence as I turn us out onto the main road. The sky’s deepening into that dusky blue now, the last of the sun barely hanging on over the horizon.
It takes a few minutes before she glances at me and frowns. “You missed the turn.”
I keep my eyes on the road, fighting a smile. “I know.”
She looks back over her shoulder. “Ironhorse is back that way. I thought we were going to your place?”
“We are.”
That earns a raised brow. “Where are we going?”
