Page 54 of Saddled in Secrets
Me: Any rumors?
There’s a long pause. Probably pissed him off right along with his sister. It’s not like he gives a shit about gossip. But thanks to me, his family is involved too.
Brody: Paisley just told me a woman was asking about you at the farmer’s market.
Me: What woman?
Brody: How the fuck should I know?
The creak of hinges followed by footsteps distracts me. Bianca descends the stairs in a skip that I feel in my chest. The energy instantly lifts with her chipper approach. Her lilac scent is fresh, wafting over to me like a peace offering. When she smiles at me, every worry washes away and I can breathe.
“Rise and shine,” she chirps.
I sag into the oversized kitchen island. “Hi.”
“Holy shit.” Bianca slams to a halt near the fridge. “Are we expecting company?”
My mouth slides into a frown. “Brody didn’t say when they’re coming.”
Her forehead creases before she waves at the large surface currently keeping me upright. “That’s a feast for a whole family.”
It’s only then I remember there’s an assortment of food cluttering the counter. “Thought you’d be hungry.”
She creeps forward to inspect the options. That gives me a moment to openly study her. A thick braid hangs over oneshoulder, still damp from the shower. Another burst of lilac greets my deep inhale and I’m intoxicated all over again.
After a pleased rumble, my hooded gaze sweeps over her face. She doesn’t have a stitch of makeup on. I stare at her flawless skin, itching to feel the satin on my calloused palm. Her tight jeans and pink shirt are last for me to admire, but definitely not least. The standard riding outfit tells me that we’ll be headed to the barn after breakfast.
“Hello?” Bianca waves a hand between us.
I’m slapped back to reality as if I snapped the elastic on my wrist. “Huh?”
“Did you get all this delivered somehow? Or did you leave me unguarded”—she gasps dramatically on that word—“to grab takeout?”
“I cooked.”
“No way,” she blurts.
The urge to grin twitches my lips. “Want to check the dishwasher? I can pause the cycle.”
“You know how to make”—her gaze scours over the brunch items—“Eggs Benedict?”
My shoulders straighten at the awe in her voice. “There are fluffy biscuits with extra creamy gravy too.”
Her jaw drops. “Who are you?”
“Yours,” I answer automatically.
Bianca studies me for several seconds. “Quite impressive, Stalker. I’ll need to confirm it’s edible before making a final judgment on this grand gesture.”
“Can I fix you a plate?”
“I can do it.”
“So can I,” I insist.
“Okayyyy.” She gives me a strange look as if I’m not making sense.
“Take a seat.” I lift my chin at the table surrounded by six chairs.
