Page 22 of Stolen for Keeps
A couple of guys assembling tables looked up as I approached. One of them jerked a thumb toward a corner. “Dinnerware goes there.”
“Got it.”
I set the stack down carefully, willing my hands to stop feeling weird. The broken ones could wait. I’d let Claire and Elia know, and hopefully, it wouldn’t turn into a whole thing.
I’d left the city life behind, thinking I’d spend my days ranching, breathing fresh air, and being a solid uncle.
Instead, I was breaking dishes, walking into half-naked women, and fumbling over a zipper like it was a goddamn bomb wire.
Just a little off track.
But hell, if I’d once survived live-tweeting a billionaire’s dog’s birthday party, complete with a personal sushi chef and a security detail for a poodle?—
Then yeah, I could get through this.
“Hey, wanna help your uncle out?” I asked Dylan.
His grin said he was in.
I snapped a wefie.
Having this pint-sized outlaw on my lock screen would keep my priorities straight. Though the wedding tent in the background would make sure I never forgot what today was really about.
I glanced down at Dylan. “Well, buddy…looks like we’re still losing this one.”
5
MAYA
Mercy on a cracker!
Noah Lucas. His eyes had caught me first—glassy blue-gray and stunned like a man watching his favorite daydream come to life. And yet, I was the one asking him to come back.
I hadn’t expected much. Maybe some gruff ranch hand with two left thumbs who smelled like saddles.
Instead, I gothim.
Tall, broad, and built to bring women to their knees. There was polish beneath the grit, but it was the scent of sawdust that scrambled my better judgment. His jaw was all hard lines, his stubble caught the light gloriously, and his hair looked wind-tousled in a way that shouldn’t have worked, but somehow did. But then there were his eyes, set beneath a strong brow, expressive yet unexpectedly gentle. They should’ve felt like sin. Instead, they made trouble feel like an invitation. Even when they lingered a second too long after walking in on me half-naked.
And the baby?
My God.
I wasn’t even the baby-loving type, but something aboutthe way that little guy was strapped to Noah’s chest, kicking his legs while Noah fumbled his way through a full-body crisis? Totally uncalled for.
A guy like that shouldn’t be allowed to look hot while holding a baby.
I rushed out of the tent with my head mostly down as I crossed the field toward the ranch’s long, winding driveway. Every step felt stretched out and exposed. Still, some part of me kept wanting to look around.
But he was nowhere in sight.
And God help me, was that disappointment?
Get a grip, Maya Belrose!
I didn’t have time to nurse a semi-crush on a man who’d accidentally seen me trying to cover my spilling boobs.
I had work to do.
