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Yeah, yeah.
Once we’re safely inside his car, I correct him—“It’s Ms. Jones.”
He gives me a questioning look.
I raise my eyebrows and wait.
“Oh, right.” A chuckle. He shifts the car into drive. “That’s the best you could come up with?”
Not the most creative, I admit. “When put on the spot, yeah.”
We circle the roundabout, and I notice there are only three cars left from the party. It makes me feel better about ditching them. Not that Magnolia probably doesn’t understand with what happened to my hand.
He tips his sunglasses down to give me a humor-filled look. “You’re a journalist. You should be used to that.”
“I put people on the spot,” I remind him. “It’s usually not the other way around.”
He does a nod-shrug as if to say fair enough.
We reach the second roundabout in less than a minute, and I expect him to take the first exit toward the gate but instead he takes a second toward the stables.
The stables?
Oh no.
Horses.
I shift in my seat.
The ride to get to the stables doesn’t take as long as the one to get to the main house; we’re there in seconds and he pulls into a dirt parking area that’s been neatly squared off and trimmed with boxwoods. “Ever been on a horse?” he says, unbuckling.
As I stare at the side of the huge red barn, I say, “I have.” And I try to say it evenly. It’s been awhile. Since I was sixteen, to be exact, and I got bucked off and broke my tailbone. Haven’t been on one since.
But I refuse to tell him any of that for fear of…well, for fear of him taking the opportunity to make another sex joke. You gotta hold on tight, muffin, if you want to enjoy the ride. Or, don’t worry. If you hurt your ass, I’ll look at it for you.
I snicker at the last one.
“Good,” he says, patting my leg. He allows his touch to linger before he enthusiastically exits the car. “Let’s take a ride, then.”
Great.
I get out of the car with less gusto.
We shut our doors at the same time, and then he turns on the heels of his boots to make his way there. I hurry to catch up. Think of a reason why I can’t. “I, um…you really think I should do this with a hurt hand?” I cringe at how desperate I sound. It was more of a plea than a question, and it makes him pause. Pivot to face me, soles grinding over dirt.
He slides his sunglasses down again to assess, and I really need him to quit doing that if I have any hope of the fluttering to stop.
My gaze lifts to the main culprit—his cowboy hat.
It needs to go bye-bye.
“I thought you could ride with me.”
Oh, hell no. No, no, no. I can’t be that close to him, pressed against him, for a lengthy period of time. I’ll be done for. The only reason I lasted for so long with him holding me was because of the blood. And the queasiness. Not exactly an aphrodisiac.
“You all right?” His country accent comes out more with all right. A hint of a smile plays on his lips.
I snap out of it, because apparently, I was deep in thought about being that close to him, so who knows what he saw in my expression. “I…I’ll…” Get it together. “I actually think I’m good to ride on my own.”
