Page 15 of Owned By The Cowboy
“Sometimes. Depends on the job.” He glances up at me, and our eyes meet for a second before he looks back at the machine. “You want to watch so you’ll know how to do it next time?”
“Please.”
He starts walking me through the process, his voice low and patient as he explains each step. I try to focus on what he’s saying, but I keep getting distracted by his hands. They’re big and calloused from work, but surprisingly nimble as they guide the thread through the various parts.
“Now you feed it through here,” he says, “and around this little hook…”
I lean closer to see what he’s doing, and suddenly I’m very aware of how close we are. Close enough that I can smell him again, clean soap, aftershave, and an undercurrent that’s pure male pheromones. God help me… I’m close enough to see the small scars on his knuckles, close enough that if I shifted just a little, my body would brush against his.
“You got it?” he asks.
“What?” I look up and realize he’s been explaining something while I was staring at his hands like a hormonal teenager.
“The thread guide. You need to make sure it goes under this little piece here.”
“Right. Under the little piece. Got it.”
He gives me a look like he knows exactly where my mind went, but he doesn’t say anything. Just continues with the demonstration until the machine is perfectly threaded.
“Want to test it out?” he asks, stepping back.
I sit down at the machine and press the foot pedal. It hums to life, stitching a perfect straight line across the scrap fabric I’ve been using for practice.
“It works!” Annalise cheers from the doorway, where she’s been watching the whole time.
“It does,” I say, smiling at my girl, before looking up at Blayne. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”
“Wasn’t a big deal.”
But it was a big deal. To me, anyway. He didn’t have to come over here. He didn’t have to help me with something that has nothing to do with construction or maintenance. He did it because… why? Because he’s nice? Because he wanted to see me again?
“Mama, can you make me a dress now?” Annalise asks.
I laugh. “Maybe later, baby. I need to practice a little more first.”
“I want a purple one. With sparkles.” One-track mind, this one.
“We’ll see what we can do.” I wink at my daughter.
Blayne picks up his toolbox and walks to the door. I don’t want him to leave. I want him to stay and let me look at his hands some more while he explains things I probably already know how to do.
“I should check the rest of the house,” he says. “Make sure the plumbing’s holding up.”
“Of course.”
We spend the next twenty minutes going through the cottage while he checks faucets, tests outlets and it feels like he’s finding excuses to stick around… Annalise follows us everywhere, chattering and asking Blayne about a thousand questions.
“Do you have kids?” she asks while he’s examining the bathroom sink.
My eyes grow wide, and I almost admonish her, but I’m curious too. Wow, this is what I’ve been reduced to. Using my daughter’s insatiable curiosity to satisfy my need to know everything about this man.
“No,” he responds with a smile and another kind gaze aimed at my mini-terror.
“Why not?” she insists.
“Annalise!” This time I can’t let it slide.
“It’s okay,” Blayne chuckles. “I just never found the right woman, I guess.”
