Page 12 of Fix Me Up, Cowboy
On instinct, I wrap my arms around her waist to keep her from toppling over.
In my attempt to keep her from going down, I yank her against me. Her soft body temporarily yields against me and my own goes on high alert. Her light floral scent is nothing like what Samantha used to wear. It’s both sweet and sensual, and not at all in-your-face.
“Careful, Princess,” I growl huskily in her ear.
She pulls away from me. Instead of the pissed-off attitude I was expecting, her cheeks are highly flushed, and she murmurs an embarrassed thank-you.
“Anytime, sweetheart,” I reply.
We make it to the house without any additional stone-tripping catastrophes. Then after some more protesting from Kate about my offer to help her find something to wear from Charlotte’s closet, we go upstairs to her great-aunt’s room.
“Are you staying here or at the hotel?” I ask. Yes, our town of three thousand has a hotel. Well, more like a small inn.
“Here.” Her gaze travels across the room and she cringes.
“Where’s your luggage?” I didn’t notice any downstairs, and if Kate is anything like Samantha, she doesn’t pack light…even for only a few days.
“It’s still in the car. I don’t suppose you could help me with it?” The earlier blush returns to her cheeks.
“Sure. I’ll do that while you’re getting changed.” I walk into Charlotte’s closet and pull out the first pair of jeans I find and a T-shirt, which I hand to Kate. “These will probably fit you. You look like you’re about the same size as Charlotte. You might want to grab some socks from her dresser drawers.”
Because there’s no way in hell that I’m going riffling through Charlotte’s underwear drawer to search for them.
I start walking toward the door, then pause. “I’ll need your vehicle key so I can bring up your luggage. Where is it?”
She narrows her eyes at me. “You’re not going to steal it, are you? Or go for a joyride?”
I shake my head in exasperation and not in answer to her question. “I’m a cowboy, not a criminal. They might start with the same letter, but I can assure you they aren’t the same thing.”
She cringes again, but this time out of embarrassment. “I know they aren’t the same thing. The key is on the wrought-iron table near the front door.”
“Okay, you put those on”—I nod at the pile of clothing in her hands—“while I get your stuff.”
“Don’t forget the bags in the back seat, too,” she hurriedly says as I walk out the door.
Outside, I open the trunk of her rental Cadillac. Yep, just as I expected. It’s filled with luggage, each piece fitting perfectly together like a giant puzzle.
And what didn’t fit in the trunk was placed in the back seat.
One by one, I remove them from the car and stack them on the porch. Then I take them into the house and carry the largest suitcase up the stairs to Charlotte’s room.
The door is open, so figuring it’s okay to do so, I enter the room…at the same time Kate steps out of what I’m guessing is the master bathroom.
The moment I see her frown and recognize Charlotte’s T-shirt, I burst out laughing.
The slightly big-for-Kate, bright-pink T-shirt proclaims in large white print, “Yes, I smell like a horse. No, I don’t consider that a problem.”
Her hair is no longer loose around her shoulders. It’s been pulled up into a high ponytail.
“Nice T-shirt.”
She glares at me. “I can’t go out wearing this.”
“Why? Because you think it will offend Scoundrel and Lady?” I grin. “I really don’t think they’ll care.”
To keep her from returning to the closet to find something else, I step in front of it. “Now, I suggest you get your ass downstairs, or else you’ll have to figure out for yourself how to look after the horses.”
“What about my luggage?”
