Page 22 of Cabins Cows Critics
“You don’t have to,” I say, and he lowers his hand over my forearm, heat flooding under his touch.
“I had a great time, and I thought maybe…if you wanted to, that is…”
“I want to,” I say before I even know what I’m doing and I can hear the desperation in my voice.
“So tonight, after the horseback riding, maybe we could go for a walk?”
A walk?
“Ummm, sure, okay.”
I thought he was angling for another hookup, but it seems like I was wrong, and somehow that thought has me even more excited for tonight.
Chapter ten
Hayden
CHANNELING MY INNER COWBOY
ThereissomethingaboutConnor that intrigues me. At first, I was sure it was just the instant attraction that had my mind so hyperfocused on him, but when I saw him watching me in the milking shed, it was like he was only watching me, which he could have been. I mean, I was watching him almost the entire time, too, but that part of my brain that had me convinced our neighbor was a serial killer lit up when I saw him. Do I think Connor is a secret killer hiding out on a ranch, burying his victims in the woods? No. Maybe. One thing I am sure about is that there is more to this cowboy than first meets the eye, and I intend to find out everything I can about him.
“Where are you going?” Wendy asks as I pull on my coat. She’s sitting cross-legged on the bed, her phone in her lap, flicking through socials.
“For a walk.”
“Oh, I’ll come,” she says, climbing from the bed.
“With Connor,” I finish, and she laughs.
“Oh, really?” she asks, sitting back down on the edge of the bed and tilting her head to one side as she eyes me, patiently waiting for me to tell her more.
“It’s not what you think,” I say, and she scoffs.
“What is it then?”
“I’m just going to ask him about the ranch, you know, get info for my story,” I say and turn and leave before she sees right through me.
I’m halfway to the cuddle cove when I spot Connor pacing outside his cabin. Connor’s place is built right up against the back of the mini barn. Most of the calves sleep with their mothers, the young kids in the goat pens, except for Cuddles, who sleeps up at the house with Dean, and Lulu, who lives with Connor. He’s mumbling to himself, but I’m too far away from him to make out any of the words.
Then he looks up and spots me.
“Oh, umm, sorry, I was just… I don’t know what I was doing, actually,” he concedes with a sigh, turning his hat over in his hands, and it’s more adorable than it should be.
“You talk to yourself often?” I ask, and he shrugs.
“Yes. No… Maybe. I talk to the animals mostly, but you knew that, too.”
“I did.”
“And yet you still came?” he asks as we make a start along the lit path toward the pool.
“Most serial killers start with animals first, so I figure I’m pretty safe with the cuddle cove cowboy,” I reply, and I’m thankful for the cool night air bringing down the blush in my cheeks.
“Lori Jones was a serial killer in her thirties who killed people who hurt animals, often using the same traps and weapons on them that they used on the creatures they captured.”
“How do you know that?”
He rubs the back of his neck with one hand as if he can somehow massage the tension of the day away. I resist the urge to reach up and take over.
