Page 68 of Huckleberry Hill
“It never gets old,” I said with a satisfied grin. “Especially when everything goes according to plan.”
“Mirabelle is a champion,” Declan said as I helped him clean up.
“I earned a shower—and a drink,” I said as I looked at my clothes. “But I’m also starving.”
“I’ve got a bottle of fifteen-year-old bourbon I haven’t opened yet,” he said. “And I make a mean quesadilla. You can shower while I make food.”
“Oh, that’s not a good idea?—”
“You want to wake up the entire household tromping in at two in the morning? I’ve got a shower and spare clothes.”
My stomach rumbled.
“Let’s go,” I said with a smile.
We checked on Mirabelle and the foal one more time and then left the barn.
Declan’s porch was devoid of light, and I nearly tripped up the stairs. He reached his hand out and caught me before I fell.
“Thanks,” I muttered.
His grip was firm, but then suddenly it was gone and I wished it wasn’t.
Declan opened the front door and flipped on the porch light. We took off our boots and left them on the mat outside and then we headed into the small guest cabin.
“Sorry it’s cold in here,” he said, immediately going to the thermostat. “I keep it at sixty-four. I run hot.”
I rubbed my hands together and wisely kept my thoughts to myself, remembering all too well the warmth of his skin.
“Let me get you a towel and some clean clothes to change into.”
“Thanks,” I said. I stood by while he gathered what I needed and set them in the microscopic bathroom.
“Save some hot water for me, yeah?” he asked with a wink.
“Will do,” I said, feeling my cheeks turn pink.
I closed the bathroom door and turned on the shower. As it steamed, I quickly shucked my clothes and scooted them into the corner with my toes.
My hair was tied back, and I kept it out of the water. I washed quickly, using Declan’s sandalwood-scented soap. I didn’t linger—my stomach continued to rumble in demand.
I shut off the water and quickly wrapped myself in a faded, soft towel and then I pulled on the clothes Declan gave me. It was reminiscent of the first night we’d met.
I gathered up my soiled clothes and wondered what I was going to do with them when I stepped out of the bathroom. The scent of butter and cheese hit my nose, and I began to salivate.
“Do you have a plastic bag or something I can put these in?” I asked Declan.
“Yeah, under the sink.” He stood at the stove and flipped a quesadilla.
I grabbed a grocery bag and stuffed my clothes into it and then set it down by the front door. “That smells incredible.”
“Sit,” he commanded.
I perched on the couch. He turned off the burner and slid the quesadilla onto a plate. After grabbing a fork, knife and a napkin, he brought the food to me.
“Thank you,” I said.
“Sure thing. Let me get the bourbon.”
