Page 55 of Stables

No. Yes?

Damn it. I have no idea what to do.

But when the smell of smoke begins to leak in through the drafty cracks around the windows, I decide to investigate.

He has his truck pulled in backwards and the tailgate dropped with some sort of half-sized hibachi on it.

Leaning against the frame, I stand where Paisley can see me. “That’s fancy.” The one I used to have was just a cheap charcoal grill, barely more than a cone of metal.

This one has a place for briquets, gas, and even an electric rotisserie.

Dixon’s broad shoulders lift and fall in a shrug. “I guess. Let’s see how well it cooks up a couple of steaks though.” He pivots and leans the swell of his ass against the edge, crossing his thick arms.

I swear he finds shirts he has to paint on.

And he’s got his cowboy hat low over his eyes. It makes my belly flip flop looking at him.

I think Libby may be wrong.

It might bemethat has it hard.

“Is she going to be able to stay the next two days?” His clean shaven square chin gestures in the direction of Libby’s fading dust cloud.

“I think so. She said she regrets not shooting Matt in the knee the other day.” The thought makes me smile.

Maybe she could have aimed high enough for him to never be an issue again.

There’s something wrong with me, wishing for harm on him.

Dixon’s deep chuckle is like a heavy comforter straight out of the dryer. It heats up my bones and makes me want to snuggle in.

But I shouldn’t.

Instead, I turn towards the kitchen. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to do anything special for the steaks? I don’t know how you like them?”

The zucchini spears I cut earlier are ready on a pan, drizzled in oil and seasoning. Not knowing what time he’d be back, I’ve just had the oven on preheat until he got here.

A wave of steam makes me blink rapidly as I feed the tray in.

When I turn around, I almost bounce off of his broad back where he stands unwrapping the ribeyes.

“Salt and pepper?” He raises one of his dark brows, crumpling the white butcher paper between his palms.

“Um.” I’m lost watching the cords on his forearms flex and bunch as he works the tightening ball.

Jesus, Char.

Focus.

The small ceramic black and white horse heads clink together when I hand them to him.

“These are cute.” One side of his mouth twitches up, then he flips them over to sprinkle liberal amounts of their contents over the glistening meat.

Even the small steak looks huge.

“They were my grandma’s. Came with the house.” And they’re still warm from his grasp when I take them back.

“Ah, your grandparent’s.” The caramel of his eyes flicks around the room. “So no Belize.”

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