didn’t know what it felt like to have a crush. Like she didn’t understand sweaty palms, a racing heart and a tightening stomach.
Except, this was different and deeper, and it felt altogether more dangerous. And she didn’t want to believe that it had anything to do with a crush, because it felt utterly and completely... Well, stupid. She had made a business arrangement with this man. She couldn’t go having it turn into anything else.
As if.
Yeah. This man. Tattooed and bearded and hard, was going to be interested in soft, dull Iris. Who would have done better to be named after a small dowdy bird than a bright, beautiful flower.
It had long been said in their family that Pansy had been given the meanest name. Because she was tiny and tough, and wanted to be a cop, and being named Pansy was an impediment to those things. Rose... Well, her name suited her. Her youngest sister was beautiful, vibrant and full of thorns.
Iris had always quietly felt that her name was a slap in the face. To be named after such a brilliant, glorious flower that couldn’t be overlooked, deep yellows and purples, and all the incredible hues that it came in, being applied to her.
She was plain. And she knew it.
And adding insult to injury she was quite dull.
A little old lady before her time, and she liked it. So what was there to be done about it? She liked quiet. And she liked being at home. And yes, she had felt that she should be wanting more, the desire to make her own space in her own way. But she still didn’t see herself going out on a Saturday night when she had the possibility of binge-watching an entire British detective series while knitting a new sweater.
She just was who she was.
More western meadowlark than an Iris. But nobody was going to name their baby western meadowlark.
And western meadowlarks didn’t attract the attention of big, burly men who seemed to hold the secrets of the universe behind their compelling blue eyes.
End of story.
So she quit staring at him, and chose a leaf that was waving in the breeze to be the recipient of her attention. Then he opened up the gate, and the clanging sound brought her focus back to him. And he led both horses on through, and that was a picture. This man effortlessly guiding the two massive beasts, not with force, but with a gentle hold. His connection to the animals was clear, and even though she wasn’t a horse girl, she found she couldn’t deny the appeal of that.
“All right. Saddle up.”
CHAPTER SIX
HE HAD NO idea in hell why he had invited her to go riding. He really didn’t. But as he watched his plain little housekeeper mount the horse, as he watched a strange satisfaction flood her face and a smile spread slowly over her lips, he found he couldn’t really care less.
Whatever she said, she did want to do this. And she was enjoying it.
Out here in the sun, her brown hair seemed glossier, her eyes more green than brown. He noticed that she had a faint dusting of freckles over her pale skin, and that her lips, while such a pale pink it was hard to notice them against the contrast of her pale skin indoors, were quite full. Soft.
Everything about her was soft.
And he’d lived through a lot of hard, so he found it more compelling than he ought to.
Soft was an indulgence to someone like him. An indulgence he couldn’t afford. Because the soft and pretty didn’t change the shape of the hard and sharp. It only went the other way. He might be a bastard but not enough of one to inflict himself on her.
Her food, though, was enough to make a grown man weep. That was just the truth. That food was filled with flavor and spoke of hidden depths. But then, so had her walking up the mountain and shoving a plate of cookies in his face.
She was a strange little anomaly. And now, perched on the back of a horse, she looked like a pretty damn pleased anomaly.
It was normal, actually. For him to want to give her something when she’d made him nice food. It was like a social contract. She’d done nice things for him, he was happy doing something nice for her.
At least, that was sort of how he remembered social things working.
“This way,” he said, maneuvering Babe onto the trail that