Page 19 of Chasing the Wild
“Shit. Sorry.” He takes me in, looking a little stunned to see anyone standing in his kitchen, and ducks into the laundry area just off the hallway. As he re-emerges, he’s busy buttoning a flannel shirt, before rolling the cuffs to hit midway up his forearms. “I wasn't expecting—” He stops abruptly and shakes his head. Not bothering to finish explaining his half-naked appearance, while I’m busy trying to look anywhere but the direction of his belt still hanging loose at his groin.
For some reason, that sight is winding a curl of heat low in my belly that has absolutely no right to be there.
This is my ex’s dad I’m staring at, as if I’ve never seen a man before.
It’s not even five in the morning.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Hearing the coffee stop running, I quickly grab the pot to pour into a mug from one of the cupboards. Sliding the cup across the counter to him, I figure he looks like a black coffee kind of cowboy.
“Here.” As I look up, I catch a glimpse of his veined hands threading the leather through his buckle and I’m glad for how soft the lighting is in here because my cheeks heat. I’m managing to make this all sexual and shit, while the poor man is simply trying to get dressed. After saving my ass last night and offering me a temporary job, the least I could do is act appropriately.
Christ, if he’s Kayce’s dad, then that means he’s old enough to be my father.
Although, this cowboy looks far younger than his years.
No. Nope.Stop it right now.
He accepts my offering, but as he raises the mug to his lips, he pauses before taking a sip, looking at me over the top with wariness in his expression. “You didn’t spit in this or something, did you? That’s the kind of thing Kayce would do when he’s had enough of my shit.”
I gnaw on the inside of my cheek, shaking my head as I turn and reach up on tiptoes to grab another mug. Putting all my focus into pouring my own.
“No. Just coffee… I don’t really know how else to say thank you for everything yesterday, Mr. Wilder.” Considering I have no money, a busted car, and no way of getting out of here—oh, and add that to the fact he somehow got me through hyperventilating and feeling like I was on the cliff’s edge oflosing my mind. There are about a thousand things I want to say, but I don’t know where to start, and honestly, his sternness and broodiness is kind of intimidating. He’s impossible to read and I don’t know how he’ll be now that we’ve both had a night to sleep on the events of yesterday.
Will he want me gone? I’d barely been here two seconds before he accused me of getting knocked up and coming searching for Kayce like some kind of gold-digging hussy. I don’t know if I’ve forgiven him for how crude he was about the whole thing. But then he solved my financial crises on behalf of his son, and talked me down off the ledge of the worst panic attack I’ve ever experienced, so right now, I’m all at sea with this man.
Like I said, I don’t know what to expect once dawn breaks over Devil’s Peak.
“Christ, call me Colt… none of that Mr. Wilder shit. And don’t mention it.” Sipping his coffee, a long silence hangs in the kitchen while I secretly squirrel away the preening feeling that comes with being asked to call him Colt.
Not Colton.
Not Mr. Wilder.
Just, Colt.
It’s such a ruggedly sexy name, and my knees go a little weak. He’s doing all sorts of wonderful things to my body simply by standing in his kitchen nonchalantly sipping coffee at four in the morning.
Colt is intensely attractive, without seeming to know it.
“If I was a bit rude…” He juts his chin in the direction of my belly, and my already warm cheeks start to flame. One hand reaches for the hem of my sweater on reflex, tugging it down to make sure it covers my high-waisted jeans. Ok, at least he realizes he was an asshole about it, even if his apology skills could use some serious work.
As we stand across the large wooden island from each other, I feel the words bubbling up. Whether I stay here or not is still to be determined, but I can’t have him thinking things about me that aren’t even remotely true.
Plus, I’m already doubting he’s actually serious about any of this.
“Can I be very clear about something? I’m not pregnant and Kayce and I have been over for—well, it was never anything serious.” I set my mug down on the counter and twist my hands in front of me. I hate confrontation and this feels like I’m being the worst kind of imposition. “Look, I understand completely if you’ve changed your mind—”
“You said you are a worker, didn’t you?” He cuts me off and gives me a hard stare. Challenging me in the gray light of this kitchen that now feels about ten times smaller than it did a minute ago.
“Well, yes.”
“As of right now, that’s what I need. A worker. My son isn’t exactly reliable around the place—but I suspect you’ve seen enough of that yourself to know what I mean—and I won’t be able to get in any new help on short notice between the road shutting again and being this close to the start of the year.”
I shift on my feet. Somehow I still feel like he’s doing me a favor, and we haven’t even talked about money, and I just don’t know if this is a good idea.
Especially considering the way I can’t stop staring at his scruffy jaw, or the honeyed tint to his eyes, or barely restraining myself from watching the corded muscles flex in his forearm as he lifts his coffee to his lips.
