Page 58 of Tempting the King

“Really, that’s it? Count to ten?” He looks like he just got paroled. “No problem, baby. Now, let’s go home. We have some celebrating to do.”

CHAPTER 20

Emee

One week later...

“We look good!” I insist, turning this way and that as I look at the two of us in the long mirror. We’re in one of the bedrooms of the house at River Valley Farm.

The windows are open, breeze that smells like fresh cut hay floating through the room.

“You look fantastic, baby,” King complains, looking at my ass in my tight Wranglers. And I have to say, paired with the cowboy boots, it does look good. “I, on the other hand, look like a fucking asshole.”

“No you don’t!” I tell him, snorting back a chuckle.

He’s wrong.

Well, sort of.

He indulged me with the Wranglers, then the snakeskin boots.

Then, the belt with the platter sized buckle.

And finally. The ten-gallon black cowboy hat.

I hold my expression flat.

Until I can’t.

“See!” He points at me. “I saw that smirk. I look like a fucking clown. I never wore this shit when I lived here before. Owning a farm does not a cowboy make little lady.” He tips his hat on a John Wayne style accent.

Laughter explodes from my chest and throat like a raspberry, and I hold my sides as I give in to belly rolling laughs. “You don’t look like a clown!” I sputter. “You don’t, it’s just… you look like a demented Roy Rogers.”

“Right, that’s it,” he growls throwing the hat like a Frisbee across the room. It hits the wall above the bed and settles on the wood floor. “I’m taking them off.”

“No don’t! Please.” I grab his hands, keeping him from walking away. “Please, I want this. I want you to take me for a walk around the whole property, like you promised. I want the whole fantasy. Farm. Cowboy. All of it.” I pout, adding, “Pleeeease!”

“You know, when you begged with your mouth for me to indulge you with this cowboy fantasy …” He sets his shoulders.

“Pleeeease…”

King huffs. “Fine.”

We’re out of the door, strolling down the long driveway before hopping a gate and marching through a wildflower field.

King explains that after his parents died, he didn’t come back here. He hired caretakers but never wanted to feel the grief of their loss by going inside.

“A few months ago, the neighbor that leased our fields for hay told me he was retiring,” King says as we head for the next field, his fingers squeezing mine as the long grass swishes around our steps. “Selling and moving to Florida with his wife. They have kids, but none of them are interested in taking over the farm.”

“So there will be new neighbors?” I ask, peering at the tips of buildings across the field and behind some trees.

King nods. “It sold last week. A large developer bought it, looking to put two hundred fifty houses on the land. Chop it up into half acre parcels.”

“What?”

“The Nolans were sorry. They didn’t want it developed, but the only other person interested couldn’t put the deal together in time.” He points at a rough stone wall just ahead. “Think you can climb that if I give you a leg up?”

I frown. “Sure, but… isn’t there a gate through to the next field?”

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