Page 42 of Kentucky Nights
“You’d better hope Romeo didn’t hear you.”
I stop dead in my tracks in the middle of the doorway. “Are you serious?”
“He has vampire abilities too. I’m sure he heard you.”
Panic grips me again. I catch myself on the wall, my head becoming dizzy with violent images of his damn horse running me over, or worse, eating me.
“Hey, whoa, Darlin’, look at me.” Kentucky’s touch brings me back to reality, away from the mess of my mind, and I’m left staring into his chestnut-colored eyes, the vampire red vanished from his irises.
Why do I miss looking at them already?
“I was joking. I’m sorry. It was too soon to make a joke like that. He isn’t going to hurt you. He isn’t paying attention to you anyway. He is hunting in the woods right now.” Kentucky’s hand finds my lower back, the gentle guide easing me down the hallway. “I’m sorry to scare you like that. Forgive me?”
“Only if you tell me what he is hunting,” I murmur.
“Squirrels, rabbits, deer, small bears, animals like that. He doesn’t eat humans. That I promise.”
Kentucky’s answer settles the worry I had because if I lived through all this and ended up dying by a damn vampire horse, I’d be pissed.
“That’s a relief.”
He grins. “Forgive me now?”
I wave him away, pretending not to notice the first-place ribbons on the wall for barrel racing. “Don’t worry about it. I’m still getting used to a horse being a vampire. He scares me.”
“He’s nothing but a mush, believe me.” The baritone of his voice is so soothing, calming my racing heart.
The fragrant smell of bacon has my mouth watering when we enter the kitchen. This is the room that is lived in the most. He has a top-of-the-line antique stove that is royal blue with gold knobs. Hashbrowns are sizzling in the pan, the steam rising high above the skillet.
Kentucky pulls out a high, leather-cushioned barstool from under the kitchen island. “Come on.” He pats the seat. “Let me take care of you, Darlin’.”
Take care of me? I can’t remember the last time someone took the time to be so thoughtful. Why does Kentucky care? Why does it matter to him if he feeds me or is kind to me? Why won’t he hurt me like the other vampire?
I have endless questions, and I hope he will answer them.
I sit down in the chair, and he pushes me closer to the countertop.
“Your kitchen is gorgeous, Kentucky.” I run my hands over the wooden countertop, noticing more hand-carved details. Wild horses are running through a field with long grass under the night sky. There is a thick, clear coat of epoxy to protectit. “Did you carve all this? The door to the bedroom, the coffee table, and now this countertop? They are beautiful.”
“I did.” He throws me a confident smirk over his shoulder. “Thank you for noticing. I like to do it in my downtime. I’ve been woodworking for more years than I can count. I don’t keep track of time.”
“Makes sense given how long you have lived. These carvings are so impressive. You could sell these. You could open up a shop in town or something.”
He slides me a mug steaming with delicious coffee. On the side it reads, ‘I Love Dead Man’s Ranch.’ I giggle, wrapping my hands around the cup. “The big bad vampire has merch?” Sipping my coffee, I moan at how perfect the coffee-to-creamer ratio is. It is sweet, meaning there is more creamer than coffee. “It’s perfect.”
His eyes are red, and he spins around, hiding himself, hunching over the sink. The muscles in his back become tense, popping the veins in his arms from how hard he must be gripping the edge of the counter.
“You can’t be making noises like that, Darlin’. I’m already on edge. You smell so good, and controlling myself is…difficult.”
I sip my coffee, a twinge of guilt eating away at my empty stomach. Just a twinge because I find I actually like knowing I drive him so crazy. “I’m sorry, Kentucky. I didn’t know.”
“Why would you? It’s one of the things I want to talk about. And don’t ever apologize. I’m not sorry for wanting you.”
I sit there, debating if that’s an invasion of privacy. I’m not able to hide anything from him. He can smell it. No secrets are safe, but the better question is, do I want to keep secrets from him?
He grips the skillet handle, his skin sizzling from the heat, to flip the hashbrowns.
“Kentucky!” I scream, spilling my coffee all over the counter.
