The Rancher's Baby. Maisey Yates
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They didn’t bother to go into her dining room. Instead they sat at the tall chairs around the island, and Selena looked down at her breakfast resolutely.
“Are you okay?”
“What?” She looked up, her eyes clashing with Knox’s. “You keep asking me that.”
“Because you keep acting like you might not be.”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m alive,” he responded. “As to being okay...that’s not really part of my five-year plan.”
“What’s your five-year plan?”
“Not drink myself into a stupor. Keep my business running, because at some point I probably will be glad I still have it. That’s about it.”
“Well,” she said softly, “you can add replacing my kitchen hardware to your five-year plan. But I would prefer it be on this side of it, rather than the back end.”
He laughed, and she found that incredibly gratifying. Without thinking, she reached out and brushed her fingertips against his cheek, against his beard. She drew back quickly, wishing the impression of that touch would fade away. It didn’t.
“Yes?” he asked.
“Are you keeping the beard?”
“It’s not really a fashion statement. It’s more evidence of personal neglect.”
“Well, you haven’t neglected your whole body,” she said, thinking of that earlier flash of muscle. She immediately regretted her words. She regretted them more than she did touching his beard. And beard-touching was pretty damned inappropriate between friends. At least, she was pretty certain it was.
He lifted a brow and took a bite of bacon. “Elaborate.”
“I’m just saying. You’re in good shape, Knox. I noticed.”
“Okay,” he said slowly, setting the bacon down. His gray eyes were cool as they assessed her, but for some reason she felt heat pooling in her stomach.
Settle down.
Her body did not listen. It kept on being hot. And that heat bled into her cheeks. So she knew she was blushing brilliant rose for Knox’s amusement.
“I’m just used to complimenting the men who make me breakfast,” she said, doing her best to keep her voice deadpan.
“I see.”
“So.”
“So,” he responded. “There’s nothing to do other than work,” he said. “Lifting hay bales, fixing fences, basically throwing heavy things around on the ranch. Then going back into the house and working out in the gym. It’s all I do.”
Well, that explained a few things. “I imagine you could carve out about five minutes to shave.”
“Would you prefer that I did?”
“I don’t have an opinion on your facial hair.”
“You seem to have an opinion on my facial hair.”
“I really don’t. I had observations about your facial hair, but that’s an entirely different thing.”
“Somehow, I don’t think it is.”
“Well, you’re entitled to your opinion. About my opinion on your facial hair. Or my lack of one. But that doesn’t make it fact.”
He shook his head. “You know, if I had you visiting in Jackson Hole I probably wouldn’t work out so excessively. Your chatter would keep me busy.”
“Hey,” she said. “I don’t chatter. I’m making conversation.” Except, it sounded a whole lot like chatter, even to herself.
“Okay.”
She made a coughing sound and stood up, taking her mostly empty plate to the sink and then making her way back toward the living room, stepping over her discarded high heels from yesterday. She heard the sound of Knox’s bare feet on the floor behind her. And suddenly, the fact that he had bare feet seemed intimate.
You really have been a virgin for too long.
She grimaced, even as she chastised herself. She hated that word. She hated even thinking it. It implied a kind of innocence she didn’t possess. Also, it felt young. She was not particularly young. She had just been busy. Busy, and resolutely opposed to relationships.
Still, the whole virginity thing had the terrible side effect of making rusty morning voices and bare feet seem intimate.
She looked up and out the window and saw her car in the driveway. “Hey,” she said. “How did that happen?”
“I told you I was going to take care of it. Ye of little faith.”
“Apparently, Knox, you can’t even take care of your beard, so why would I think you would take care of my car so efficiently?”
“Correction,” he said. “I don’t bother to make time to shave my beard. Why? Because I don’t have to. Because I’m not beholden to anyone anymore.”
Those words were hollow, even though he spoke them in a light tone. And no matter how he would try and spin it, he didn’t feel it was a positive thing. It seemed desperately sad that nobody in his life cared whether or not he had a beard.
“I like it,” she said finally.
She did. He was hot without one, too. He had one of those square Hollywood jaws and a perfectly proportioned chin. And if asked prior to seeing him with the beard, she would have said facial hair would have been like hiding his light under a bushel.
But in reality, the beard just made him look...more masculine. Untamed. Rugged. Sexy.
Yes. Sexy.
She cleared her throat. “Anyway,” she said. “I won’t talk about it anymore.”
Suddenly, she realized Knox was standing much closer to her than she’d been aware of until a moment ago. She could smell some kind of masculine body wash and clean, male skin. And she could feel the heat radiating from his body. If she reached out, she wouldn’t even have to stretch her arm out to press her palm against his chest. Or to touch his beard again, which she had already established was completely inappropriate, but she was thinking about it anyway.
“You like it?” he asked, his voice getting rougher, even more than it had been this morning when he had first woken up.
“I... Yes?”
“You’re not sure?”
“No,” she said, taking a step toward him, her feet acting entirely on their own and without permission from her brain. “No, I’m sure. I like it.”
She felt weightless, breathless. She felt a little bit like leaning toward him and seeing what might happen if she closed that space between them. Seeing how that beard might feel if it was pressed against her cheek, what it might feel like if his mouth was pressed against hers...
She was insane. She was officially insane. She was checking out her friend. Her grieving friend who needed her to be supportive and not lecherous.
She shook her head and took a step back. “Thank you,” she said. Instead of kissing him. Instead of doing anything crazy. “For making sure the car got back to me. Really, thank you for catching me when I passed out yesterday. I think I’m still...you know.”
“No,” he said, crossing his muscular arms over his broad chest. “I’m not sure that I do know.”
Freaking Knox. Not helping her out at all. “I think I’m still a little bit spacey,” she said.
“Understandable. Hey, direct me to your hardware, and I’ll get started on that.”
Okay, maybe he was going to help her out. She