Hitched(32)

They’re not even in the same book.

So I force a smile and say, “Of course not. Friends should be good to each other. And I’m glad we’re becoming real friends again. Truly. I need all the friends I can get.”

He winks. “Think you can squeeze the word ‘friends’ in there one more time?”

I laugh beneath my breath. “Later, friend,” I say, heading for the door.

“I’ll be here,” he replies.

Like I can count on him.

I’m starting to think this is real. That I really can count on him. Maybe for more than being a fake husband.

And isn’t that a scary thought?





Thirteen





Blake





* * *



I linger inside just long enough to finish my coffee and put our few dishes in the sink. If I were at my place, I’d put them off until I had to do them, but I don’t want to leave a mess for Hope.

Not when she keeps everything else so tidy.

I want to be a help, not a hindrance.

Dean is still watching us—seriously, does the dude never sleep?

Not that I mind right now, because it gives me an excuse to go find Hope before I leave.

There are a half dozen dogs dashing around the pasture amidst a few extremely plush-looking sheep, who don’t seem fazed at all by the activity. A cat is perched on a fence-post, licking its hindquarters, and Chewpaca and Too-Pac are both grazing in the next fenced-in pasture over, standing guard over about a dozen frolicking baby goats.

Hope’s still in the barn, finishing up the milking. “Hey, pretty pumpkin-poo,” I call.

She uses her forearm to push hair back out of her face and laughs, which feels like a home run.

“So pretty pumpkin-poo is on the keeper list?” I ask.

She grins wider. “Nah. But the nicknames in general are starting to grow on me, monkey buns. Did you forget something?”

“Just to kiss my wife goodbye.” I smile at her, and add in a softer voice, “In case someone’s watching, of course.”

Her eyes go momentarily wide, and then she gives the mama goat a quick pat. I feel a surge of guilt when I remember fighting with her right here, over the goat milking station, barely a year ago.

“Lucky me,” she says, but the words are more breathless than sarcastic, and I high-five myself for finally doing the right thing here.

I smile at her. “And then you won’t have to worry about so much as looking at me for hours and hours,” I promise as we meet halfway between the milking station and the barn door.

“Looking at you isn’t exactly a hardship,” she confesses in a whisper.

“Don’t spare my ego. I know you’d rather look at Dildo Shaggins.”

She smiles, and I couldn’t resist kissing her if my life depended on it.

So even though this is technically for the cameras and the detective and the sake of her alpaca, I enjoy every moment of my mouth capturing hers.

The way she threads her fingers through my hair.

The feel of her curves under those tight pants.

The taste of coffee on her lips.

The tickle of her breath on my skin.

A man could drown in a kiss like this.

Happily.

“Wow,” she murmurs against my lips.

“Not bad, eh?”

“Passable.” She giggles again while I chuckle. I consider going in for just one more, but she pokes me in the chest. Though, when she speaks, she still sounds as dazed as I feel. “Go on. Get out of here and get your work done.”

Or neither of us will be getting any work done, I silently add.

I want to toss her over my shoulder and carry her back to her house and not get anything but her done today, but we both have commitments, and more importantly, I’m not going to rush this.

She’s worth waiting for.

And I want her one hundred percent, no doubts, all-in ready before I make love to her.

The fact that she’s willing to let me go says we’re not quite there yet.

Disappointing as it may be.

“I’ll miss you, boopsie-boo,” I call as I exit the barn.

“Not like I’ll miss you, honey nuts,” she calls back, and I can’t help laughing.

Ten minutes later, as I push through the door to my little cabin on the edge of Jace’s property, Hope’s still dancing through my thoughts. Half my brain is back in the barn with my wife. That’s the only excuse for why it takes a full thirty seconds to realize I’m not alone.

But the three men scattered around my small living room, drinking my coffee and taking up all the space on my second-hand couch and favorite La-Z-Boy are being weirdly quiet.

Almost like they’ve been lurking in wait to shout— “Surprise,” a deep voice rumbles from the couch, lifting his mug my way.

“You little shit,” I say, my smile splitting my face.

Ignoring Ryan and Jace—those two are always up in my space—I tackle my baby brother. His military buzz cut is shorter and his neck even thicker than when he was in town for the wedding, but he looks good. Happy and healthy and practically busting the seams of his Marines tee shirt.

“Watch the coffee, asshole,” Clint says with a grin while he dodges me.

Jace has my back, and he leaps on Clint with an uncharacteristically happy, “Dog pile!” and soon all four of us are wrestling on the ground like we’re kids again.