Page 87 of Just Say When

Essie:

Gotta go! Don’t wantto be late for work! ;)

My wife was wearing leggings.

Not just leggings. She had paired them with a cropped tee shirt that barely covered her midriff, much less her commando ass.

I knew this because the second I had read her text this morning, I had seen fit to clear the rest of my schedule and spend the day at Lodestar, and told my secretary to take the afternoon off, as well. Now I was leaning against the rail of the training ring, watching Essie work her magic with a barrel racer.

Damn. There were few things I enjoyed more than watching Essie in her element.

It was one of those glorious days of sixty-degree sunshine that made a person feel like spring was just around the corner, even though in reality we were two weeks before Christmas. Birds chirped, horses pranced, and even my grumpy older brother smiled.

And my wife was wearing leggings.

I picked up the rope I had left slung over the rail. Ben had asked me to teach him a few tricks, and I’d been happy to oblige while Essie was otherwise occupied. One day Ben was going to be a star on the rodeo circuit, I’d bet my boots on it.

Essie raised her arm to get the rider’s attention, and her shirt pulled up, revealing a stretch of pale, tautstomach. My gaze snagged there on her exposed skin. I worked the length of rope through my hands, rubbing my thumb over the twisted cotton fibers, and bided my time.

“Bring him to a walk and cool him down,” Essie called. “You want some water?”

“I’m good, thanks,” her client, and up-and-coming barrel racer, said. She swung her right leg over the horse’s back and dismounted gracefully. “I’m going to untack him and walk him in the pasture out back. It’s too nice out here to cool down walking circles in the ring. Is that ok?”

“Sure, go ahead,” Essie said. The rider clucked her tongue and led the horse back into the barn.

Essie sauntered over to where I stood at the fence. “Hello, husband. What brings you to the ranch on this fine day?”

“I think you know, hellion.” I stroked the rope again.

She hinged at the waist and grabbed the green water jug at my feet before straightening again. “Haven’t a clue.” She took a sip, her wide blue eyes never leaving mine.

“Is that right?” I asked. She cocked her head. “I seem to recall telling you not to wear leggings to the ranch. Did you forget about that?”

Her eyebrows went up. “Oh, I remember. In fact, I have a little something saved just for this occasion. She held out her fist to me. “Behold, my last fuck.” Sheopened her fingers, revealing her empty palm. “Oh, wait, it’s gone. Guess I spent it somewhere else.” She grinned.

“God, you’re such a brat,” I muttered.

She planted a smacking kiss on my cheek. “You love me.”

“You’re fucking right, I do.” I gripped her chin and pulled her face closer to kiss her on the mouth. “So damn much.”

“Mm.” She smiled up at me, her eyes happy and dreamy. I had kissed the brat right out of her.

Not for long, I hoped.

“I need to take care of a couple things, but then I’m free for the next hour. I have another client coming at three,” she said, turning to go.

“How about you change into these jeans first?” I suggested, nudging a paper bag with my boot.

She looked down at the bag and frowned. “You cannot be serious.”

“And yet, I am.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I’m not doing that. Give me fifteen minutes, okay? Then I’m yours.” She ambled away, giving her hips a suggestive swing, then called back over her shoulder, “Look, daddy, no panty lines.”

I grinned, knowing she couldn’t see me.

The brat was back.

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