Easy Kisses (The Boudreaux Series Book 4) - Kristen Proby Page 0,47

left him to take the blame?” Sarah asks incredulously while the rest of my family is wiping tears from laughing so hard.

“I didn’t want to get into trouble. His grandmother was a mean old thing.” I glance up at Simon to find him also laughing. “It’s dumb, but I thought for sure I was going to get my ass whooped for that. I lied to Mama, I broke someone else’s property, and I was out with a boy. Alone.”

“Yeah, you would have gotten into trouble for sure,” Van says when she could breathe again. “I’m just happy to hear that you made some mistakes.”

“Oh, I’ve made my share, sugar. Trust me.”

“Okay, now let’s talk about all the trouble Declan used to get into.”

“Good idea,” I reply and prepare to pay my baby brother back.

Chapter Twelve

~Charly~

“It’s beautiful here,” Simon says quietly from the passenger seat next to me as we drive out to my sister’s inn. “It’s hard to believe we’re only a few minutes from the city.”

“We go from city to boonies very quickly,” I agree and smile when he takes my free hand in his and gives it a squeeze. I’ve quickly become comfortable with Simon’s affection. “Thank you for last night.”

“I didn’t do anything,” he replies, surprised.

“You hung out with most of my family for the evening, listened to old stories, and you were a good sport about it.”

“I genuinely had a good time. Your siblings are fun.” He kisses my fingers, then places my hand back on the wheel. “I found out last night that you’re quite the rebel, but let’s keep both hands on the wheel.”

“I was not a rebel,” I say with a giggle.

“Apparently, sixteen was a rebellious year for you.”

“I’m going to kill Declan,” I mutter and turn off the freeway. “Let’s face it, if that’s all my parents had to deal with out of me, they were doing well.”

“Were there other little mischievous acts that no one knows about?”

“No.” I shake my head. “I was always convinced that I’d get caught, so I didn’t try to get away with much. I’m boring, I guess.”

“You’re anything but boring, love,” he replies and tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear, sending shivers down my spine. This man doesn’t just make my knees weak. He makes me forget that I even have knees. Or anything else for that matter, aside from the perpetually wet and throbbing spot between my legs. All he has to do is look at me with those hot, sky-blue eyes and I’m a pile of mushy goo.

Damn him.

“Our property line used to begin here,” I say, trying to get my mind out of the damn gutter. “It was a few thousand acres in the beginning.”

“When was the beginning?” he asks.

“A couple of hundred years ago,” I reply with a shrug. “My family has owned this since the mid-nineteenth century.”

“That’s a long time,” he says with a raised brow.

“Not by European standards.” I look over at him and smile. “We’re a baby compared to stuff over there.”

“True, but for the same family to own a piece of land for several hundred years is impressive. Where does the property line begin now?”

“Not far from the house. My great-grandfather began to sell pieces of the land, and my grandfather continued. We were building ships, not farming anymore, so the farmland was sold to families who wanted it to support themselves. We just didn’t need it.”

“That makes sense.”

“By the time my father inherited, the house was used for summers and holidays. We spent the majority of our time in the city. But I loved coming out here for the summer. We ran all over the place.”

He nods and looks out the window, watching the plantation houses go by, along with tall trees and swamp land.

Finally, we turn a corner, and Inn Boudreaux comes into view, flanked by ancient oak trees and green grass.

“There she is,” I say quietly and slow the car so he can take it in. The house is white, with tall columns and a red front door. The wrap-around porch is deep, perfect for sitting in the evening and watching lightning bugs.

“Wow,” Simon says with wide eyes. “These trees are magnificent.”

“They’re ancient,” I reply, looking at the familiar landscape. “Probably around six hundred years old.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I never kid about trees,” I reply with a straight face, then bust up laughing. “We don’t really know how old they are because they’ve been here much longer than this land was inhabited, but they’re