Page 17 of That One Night
There was that guilt again. Mixing with the feeling that she was letting everybody down. “Maybe,” she lied.
He winked at her. “I’d better get home. You get this place on the market and get it sold before fall. That way your mom can start building her life before the year is over.”
“That’s the plan.” If they could find somebody to buy it. “Have a good evening.”
“You too, kid.” He wandered over to his old, battered truck and climbed inside. She watched as he drove away. She was just about to walk back into the house when a loud bray came from the rocky lane, making her jump.
A goat –the goat?– was leaning his head over her mom’s fence, his big bottom teeth on display as he called out to her. His eyes – yellow as the sun with a dark slash across the center – followed her as she walked over.
“Are you the panty-stealer?” she asked, keeping her distance because she didn’t trust him not to steal the clothes off her body this time.
He let out a bray, then reared onto his hind legs like a horse, his hooves clattering against the weathered wooden slats of thefence. She was used to highly strung animals – what farm kid wasn’t – but it still made her jump.
“Frank!”
Hendrix came storming out of the cottage and across the lane, a towel in his hand, his hair wet. He was wearing a pair of jeans and nothing else, his feet bare, just like his chest, which was covered in tiny droplets of water.
Everything inside of her clenched.
His eyes caught hers. And yeah, he caught her looking. At least she had the good grace to blush.
Not to be ignored, Frank started pounding his head against the fence.
“You’re gonna have to stop flirting with my goat,” Hendrix said, his voice thick. “He’s getting unmanageable.”
She laughed softly. “He’s the same one then. Frank?”
“This is him. Yeah.” He grabbed Frank by his collar. “I’m sorry if he disturbed you.”
“He didn’t steal my panties this time, so I’m gonna let him off.”
“He ate half of one of my belts yesterday while I was working,” Hendrix told her. “Just wandered into the house and had a feast.”
“He gets into your house?” She frowned. Maybe she should make sure their front door was locked. She didn’t put it past Frank not to sneak up on her mom.
Hendrix shrugged, looking amused. “Yep. I figure him having a nap on my sofa is probably better than flirting with the nanny goats. The last thing this world needs is a bunch of baby Franks.”
It was stupid the way she blushed at the mention of something as natural as Frank mating. But maybe because she was thinking more about the owner than the goat.
He was stupidly masculine without a top on. His chest thick and muscled, his skin tan.
To distract herself, she walked forward and stroked Frank’s face. He let out a low bray and pressed his muzzle against her chest.
“He’s sweet when he’s not stealing clothes,” she murmured.
“He’s sweet because he’s got his face against your body.”
Actually, it was against her breasts. Frank looked delighted at their softness. When she glanced up at him, Hendrix seemed pretty transfixed by them too.
What was it with men and boobs? She’d never understand it. But that didn’t mean she didn’t like the way he was staring at her.
“I should go back inside,” she told him.
“Yeah.” He nodded, his gaze still on her. “And I should probably go put on a shirt.”
That made her smile. And then he smiled back at her and she felt a weird twist in her stomach. It went well with the shivers down her spine.
“I’ll see you around, Emery,” he murmured, pulling Frank away from her chest and walking him back to his own farm.
