Page 39 of Huckleberry Hill
“Socks, right.”
“Speaking of socks, which pair are you wearing?”
“The ones with the donuts,” I said, fighting a smile.
“Cute.”
He came back out and sat on the couch to put on his socks. “I didn’t expect you to be up this early.”
“Habit,” I stated. “But also, my sleep is erratic from the time difference.”
“You woke up this early in New York? Well, of course you did. The horse stables.”
I blinked. “Yeah. That’s right.”
He cocked his head to the side. “You like it, though. Getting up super early. Maybe before the sun is even up. When it’s just you and a cup of coffee. And the silence.”
I held up my hands. “You have me figured out.”
Declan smiled. “I imagine it’s hard to find a quiet moment in a city of eight million people.”
“Eight point three,” I remarked.
“That’s insane.”
“You said it.”
He got up from the couch and went to the hook on the wall that had his jacket on it. He threw it on, grabbed his felt cowboy hat, and gestured for the door.
I stood on the porch as he pulled on his boots. “So I guess that means you don’t like big cities?”
“I don’t even like big towns that could fall into the category of small cities,” he explained.
We headed in the direction of the chicken coop, our jackets brushing every now and again.
“Where did you grow up?” I asked.
“Bonner’s Ferry.”
“Ah. So you’re basically Canadian,” I joked.
He laughed. “Thirty minutes from British Columbia. It was closer to go there than to look for trouble in Coeur d’Alene.”
“You like trouble,” I concluded. “Shocker.”
“I ride a motorcycle and worked the rodeo, and now I wrangle cattle for a living. Did you really think I wasn’t trouble?” He flashed me a flirty grin.
“I’m not looking for trouble.”
“You look like you could use some trouble,” he said. “Besides, I’m the good kind of trouble.”
“Innuendos begone.” I waved my hand at him.
“Innuendos? Get your mind out of the gutter, Hadley.” He shot me a wink that had my cheeks burning.
We arrived at the chicken coop and Declan picked up the basket hanging on the fence and handed it to me. I took it and he opened the latch of the gate. After he stepped in behind me, he closed it.
“You’re such a flirt,” I accused, maneuvering around the chickens to the back of the coop.
