The Angels' Share (The Bourbon Kings #2) - J. R. Ward Page 0,141
with them.
So, yes, a workout was exactly what she needed—
The sight of a Red & Black truck pulling up behind the nearest barn had caught her eye. And when Edward had gotten out and gone inside without seeing her, she’d been torn.
In the end, she had walked over to the front bay in spite of the rain.
With the light coming in from behind her, she had seen a woman standing by a stall down farther than halfway, talking with somebody … and Edward had stopped and was staring at her, his arms linked over his chest, his body leaning against the opening’s supports.
The expression on his face …
Well, it was nothing Sutton had ever seen before. Warm. Tender. Slightly wistful.
And all of that made her refocus on the female. She was short and built very strong, her thighs tightening her jeans, her boots worn, her blondish hair pulled back in a practical ponytail. It was hard to judge the features from just a profile, but her skin had been kissed by the sun and she positively radiated youth and health and competence in her environment.
From time to time, she turned to the man next to her.
She didn’t seem to notice Edward.
Edward certainly didn’t notice Sutton—
As if he had read her mind, his eyes shifted and he straightened. And at the same moment, the woman and the man she was with discovered they were no longer alone and got all startled.
Sutton ducked out the open bay so fast she nearly lost her footing, thanks to her stilettos—and wasn’t that a reminder that whereas the woman in front of that stall was clearly in her element, Sutton was lost out here, no more capable of riding a horse in her current Chanel suit than mucking out after one in her Louboutins.
And this was Edward’s new life. He’d always had an interest in horses, but now he was breeding and racing his stock in earnest.
That woman, that naturally beautiful, physically fit woman, was perfect for the farm. Perfect for the new him.
Sutton, with the Mercedes she was heading to, and her board appointments and her corporate strategies, was everything about his old existence.
She shouldn’t have come.
“Sutton!”
As he called her name, she was tempted to go even faster for her car, but she was worried he’d try to follow her and hurt himself.
Stopping in the rain, she almost couldn’t bear to turn around: She had been thinking about him non-stop since they had been together, but meanwhile, he had been out here, with that woman—and even if he wasn’t currently “with” her? Going by that look on his face? He was going to be.
Squaring her shoulders, Sutton pivoted on the grass. And for a moment, she was taken aback.
Edward’s coloring was good, his skin not the gray cast it had been, but flushed with—
Well, hell, maybe he was just embarrassed that he’d been caught. Except he hadn’t been doing anything wrong, had he. She had only discovered him in a private moment, and they were certainly not in a relationship.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have come.”
He stopped in front of her. “It’s raining.”
“Is it?” As he looked at her strangely, she waved a hand. “I mean, of course it is. Yes.”
“Come on inside.”
As he took her elbow, she shook her head. “No, honestly, it’s fine—”
“I know. But come inside. There’s lightning—”
The flash and violent CRACK! of a bolt of electricity hitting something made of wood made her feel like God was determined to teach her a lesson. For the life of her, though, she didn’t know what it was.
Oh, who was she kidding. She needed to let this whole Edward thing go. That was what she had to get through her thick skull.
“Come on,” he prompted. “Before we get killed out here.”
Heading over to the cottage, she remembered the Governor of the Commonwealth volunteering to be her rebound date, and you know, that didn’t seem like such a bad idea, after all.
Once inside, Edward turned on the lights, and the wall of silver trophies gleamed.
“Let me get you a towel.”
“I’m fine.” Really? Was she really fine? “Honestly, I shouldn’t have come.”
Guess that was her refrain, wasn’t it.
Ignoring her protest, he passed her something that was the color of raspberries. Or had been before it had been washed a hundred times. The terry cloth was as soft as chamois, though, and as she pressed it to her face so she didn’t smudge her eye make-up, she decided her expensive Matouk towels weren’t as good.