Gone Country (Rough Riders #14)(16)

“Time. If they can’t get started until spring, then that means I’ll have to move into the cabin because I’m sure you don’t want me living with you and Sierra indefinitely.”


The immediate fierceness in his eyes made it hard to breathe. “Now who’s making assumptions?”


There wasn’t any sign of mild-mannered Gavin. In fact, she’d begun to wonder if that easy-going man had just been a figment of her imagination—a pencil-pushing pushover she’d never be attracted to, therefore she could keep him at arm’s length. But this Gavin? No pushover. All man. All the time. And her attraction to him kept getting stronger every day.


“Listen to me. You are not staying in that cabin unless living with me is so heinous that you want to kill me in my sleep.”


“It’s not, I mean, you’re not,” she assured him.


“Good. So we’ll stick to the original plan. Because I think it’s been working great.” He grinned. “So, pity a poor bachelor. What’s for lunch?”


Rielle growled and smacked him playfully with the basket. “You’re such a mooch.”


But she made him lunch anyway.


Chapter Seven


Gavin strolled into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of iced tea. Then he peered over Rielle’s shoulder, waiting for her to acknowledge him.


In the past few weeks he’d gone out of his way to pester her—not that she considered the attention of a smart, funny, sexy man a chore. Gavin was interested in everything she did workwise and asked a million questions. So Rielle returned the favor whenever possible. Showing up in his office to chat. Since the man lived on the phone, she got to hear him acting all professional and business tycoon-y. But he hadn’t complained about her impromptu interruptions either.


“What’re you doing?” he finally asked.


He stood so close the deep timbre of his voice vibrated against her skin and she fought a shiver. “Updating my notes on the new vegetable varieties I planted this year.”


“Bad year for squash?”


“Which one? There are four genuses of squash: C maxima, C mixta, C moschata and C pepo.”


“That’s what I get for trying to be funny.”


“Squash is no laughing matter. So what’s up?”


“Have you ever done something under…duress and wished you hadn’t?”


That was random. But typical for Gavin. She kept typing. “Like telling a stranger she can live in your house until spring?”


“Funny, Ree. But I’m serious.”


“All right. What did you say under duress? And who’d you say it to?”


“Sierra. And I kinda, sorta, maybe promised…to buy her a car.”


Rielle looked up from her laptop. “Are you kidding me?”


“Ah. No.”


“And you’re telling me this…why? Because you want the parent-to-parent lecture on not rewarding your child’s bad behavior? The girl gets herself arrested and you’re buying her a car?”


“Yeah.” Gavin distractedly scrubbed his hands over the razor stubble on his face.


She squinted at him. He always bounded down in the morning dressed and clean shaven. It was afternoon and he looked like a bum—a hot bum, but nowhere near his usual put together self. “Gavin. Are you okay?”


“I don’t know.” He sighed. “This whole buying her a car business might seem sudden, but I had planned on buying her one in Arizona, I just hadn’t told her. Then all that shit happened with her arrest. So as we’re driving across country, I’m encouraging her to talk to me, and she broke down completely. Crying about her mom leaving and how abandoned she felt, how stupid she felt that her new friends avoided her and her old friends dumped her, and berating herself for letting her grades drop. We were finally really talking about that long overdue emotional stuff…and it just slipped out.”
 

“Nope. He was nineteen. Old enough to know better, as he constantly preaches to me.” Boone winked at her. “Which is why I usually avoid the temptation of being alone with hot females.”


Was he saying she tempted him?


Get real, Sierra.


On the front porch, Sierra waited as Boone dusted off his clothes and kicked off his heavy soled boots. “Where can I wash up?”


“The kitchen sink is fine. Follow me.”


Sierra pulled out a package of roast beef, sliced smoked cheddar, yellow mustard and lemon basil mayo. She turned around, getting an eyeful of the muscles in Boone’s back working beneath his tank top as he thoroughly scrubbed his arms and face. Her gaze dropped to his incredibly tight butt—thank you, Wrangler jeans. He didn’t notice her guilty look or flushed face when she handed him a towel.


“What can I do to help?” Boone asked.


“Tell me if you want tomato and arugula on your sandwich.” She sliced thick chunks of Rielle’s homemade herbed oatmeal bread.


“What’s arugula?”


“Peppery lettuce.” She gestured with the knife to a pile of greens. “Try some.”