Page 176 of Mad As Hell

Ms. Flounders sniffed and turned away. “I like things a certain way, and I’ve never heard you complain, young man.”

“Nor will you,” he vowed, placing a hand over his heart before winking at me. “Dinner at seven, right?”

Ms. Flounders nodded as she stirred something on the stovetop. “Yes.”

I glanced at the clock hanging above her. We had less than thirty minutes, and I was hoping I could clean up a bit. I could smell the scent of horses and hay clinging to me.

Ryan’s hand found the small of my back and nudged me forward. “We’ll be back in time.”

“Nice to meet you all,” I called as I was ushered down the hallway. We passed several rooms—a library, a formal sitting room, a den with a large television, and a massive dining room. A few doors were closed, and it felt like we’d walked the length of a football field by the time we made it to a staircase I hadn’t seen yet.

“I’m gonna need a map,” I muttered as I started trudging up.

Ryan chuckled at my back and took the opportunity to slap my ass.

I squeaked and whirled around, two steps above him and finally a smidge taller. I glared down at him.

He flashed me an innocent smile. “What? It was right there, Mads.”

Huffing, I jogged up the rest of the steps and paused at the landing, not sure where to go. There were three doors, and then the hallway curved to the left.

“This is the east wing,” he explained. “The live-in staff are in these rooms.”

“How many people live here?” I asked as we kept walking.

“Eloise, Ms. Flounders, and Mrs. Beechum. Mrs. Beechum’s husband, too. There’s a separate bunkhouse and cabin for the stable hands, and then there’s another set of cabins and bunks out by the vineyard and orchard.”

We turned the corner. “This is the guest wing,” he explained. “The guys and Bex are all sleeping here and here.” He pointed to a narrow staircase that went up to the third floor.

Two more turns, and my head was spinning.

“This is where the family stays.” He pointed at a door. “Cori’s bedroom.” He sighed at the next door and pushed it open to peer inside. “This was my mom’s room when she was a kid.”

I glanced around inside. It looked like the room had been suspended in time.

Delicate floral wallpaper with lavender and pale pink flowers covered the walls. There was a white, four-poster bed against one wall, and a matching white armoire and dresser along with two end tables on either side of the bed. A writing desk was tucked into the far corner with stationary atop it like it was waiting for someone to sit down and write a letter. There were paintings of horses, and two shelves of the bookcase near the desk were full of trophies and ribbons.

There was a large window seat that overlooked the backyard. From across the room I could see the stables, the paddocks, and the vineyard in the distance. Endless rows of greenery crawled across the countryside and disappeared down the hill.

“Wow,” I murmured, looking up to see Ryan staring sadly at the space. I touched his hand, drawing his attention back to me. “You miss her.”

He nodded and closed the door, then pointed down the hall to a set of double doors. “Grandpa’s room.” He hooked a thumb at another door. “Our room.”

I couldn’t help the playful smirk that tugged at my mouth. “Ours, huh? What if I wanted my own room?”

His lips pressed into a firm line as he shook his head. “Sorry, baby, but we’re out of rooms. It’s either sleep with me or bunk in the stables.”

I pretended to think it over. “What about the bunkhouse? I’m sure one of those guys would let me crash in their bed.”

“Maddie,” he began with a heavy breath, “do you have any idea how hard it is to find and train people to do what ours do so well?”

I frowned. “Uh, no?”

He crowded me against a wall with a growl, bracing his hands on either side of my shoulders. “Extremely difficult, and I’d rather not have to hire and train a whole new group because they touched you.”

A laugh exploded from my chest. “You’re insane.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Only because you make me that way,” he replied before leaning in and kissing me slowly.

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