line on me. But give me a couple days, all right? I want to be, you know …”
She trailed off, but Grant understood. She wanted to be ready and not ready at the same time.
Grant hated to let her walk out. If he was into that tying-up bondage shit, he’d have her tethered to the bed already, waiting for him to get back from talking to Carter.
That image had his cock hardening and sweat beading on his forehead. Damn, he should not think about things like that.
Grant swung the door wider and kissed Christina quickly on the cheek. “Drive safe.”
Christina gave him a startled look then nodded. “Good night.”
“Night.”
Christina drew a breath, squared her shoulders, and strode out.
Grant flipped on all the outside lights and came out and watched her walk to her car—in case coyotes ambushed her or something, he guessed. Or jackrabbits. There were a lot of those in the open field behind his house.
Christina got into her truck, cranked it on, and turned on the lights. A couple of jackrabbits raised their heads at the beams, then took off, rustling back into the grass.
Christina turned the truck and drove past Grant, giving him a look but not a wave, heading around the drive to the road.
Her taillights flashed as she braked, then faded as she drove from dirt to asphalt. A rush of engine, and she was gone.
Grant watched her, hope in his heart, as her truck’s lights winked out on the other side of the hill.
Then he realized. “Aw, shit!”
Carter expected him at the house, but Grant’s truck was already there, since he’d ridden with Tyler from the ranch to the train and then back to town with Karen. He was stranded.
Damn it to hell.
He could call someone at the house to come get him, but they’d laugh their asses off. Probably already were.
Grant went inside, redressed, combed his hair, then set off the couple of miles to the ranch on foot.
Carter Sullivan was working through dinner in the ranch’s office at the stables, when a plate of sandwiches landed next to his elbow, along with a frosty glass of iced tea.
He looked up to see Grace Malory, her green eyes warm, taking a step back.
The high-ceilinged office had walls of polished wood, the one lamp on Carter’s desk throwing a small glow in the big room. Grace stood in the shadows, light catching in her dark hair.
“Thought you might like something,” she said. “Your mom made only enough dinner for Faith and herself tonight, since everyone else was out.”
“Yeah.”
Carter fought the sudden shyness that welled up inside him, the same shyness he’d battled as a kid. He used to go out and get himself into trouble to compensate for how it made him feel. He’d conquered the shyness a while back, or so he’d thought, except whenever Grace Malory walked into a room.
She was an astonishingly beautiful woman. And untouchable to someone like Carter, born on the wrong side of the tracks. Hell, those tracks were in entirely the wrong town.
Grace Malory was from an old ranching family who owned whole sections of land in River County. She’d been a debutante in a pretty white dress, then gone to college to major in culinary arts. She’d grown up clean and wholesome, while Carter was exactly the opposite—a foster kid, in and out of juvie, adopted by the kind Mrs. Campbell, still rough about the edges as an adult, with tatts and an attitude.
Hence, Carter was brusque and tongue-tied around Grace. Didn’t explain why he wasn’t the same way around her sister, Lucy, but whatever.
“What are you doing here?” he asked abruptly.
Grace didn’t look offended. “Helping out with some baking. Your mom wanted to send a bunch of stuff to Faith’s youth group at church for their bake sale, but she ran out of time. Since I’m one of the overeducated and underemployed these days, I decided I could make a bunch of cupcakes and cookies for it. I’d have brought you a cupcake, but they have hot pink icing, really girly. Chocolate, though.”
“Okay.” It was all that would come out of Carter’s mouth followed by a gruff, “Thanks.”
Grace’s nose wrinkled. “Your mom said you’d probably starve yourself out here, so I thought—sandwich. Easy to eat while you’re working.”
Double-decker, toasted bread, with lots of meat and cheese, and not too much lettuce. The woman must be able to read his mind.
“Thanks,” Carter said again, trying to loosen his tongue. “You didn’t have to.”
“I know.” Grace shrugged.