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But his mind kept going back to the way she’d said those words, the touch of awe in her voice at the bits dropped here and there about his family. It made him wonder what her family must be like for such simple things to be amazing to her.
“I have a question for you,” he said abruptly. She looked up at him then, as wary as a rabbit with a coyote in the neighborhood. “Why didn’t she ask what I was smiling at?”
She gave him a shrug. “Probably because she assumed you were smiling at her. Men do.”
He wasn’t sure he liked being lumped in with that generic group, but he couldn’t deny what she said was probably true. Jillian Jacobs was the kind of woman a man instinctively smiled at. Beautiful, sexy, and capable of turning on the charm. It was the capable of turning it off part that made him wary.
But was that what had put him so on edge he’d nearly blown up this meeting practically before it had even started? Or something else? She did remind him a bit of Chelsea, but he thought he was past blaming people just for looking like his ex.
But was he past the type? Or was he still that stupid guy who fell for the gorgeous looks, the practiced allure?
Damn. Maybe that was what this was all about. It was impossible to ignore how beautiful she was. And that she was—most would agree—just his type. Maybe he’d gone on the attack to keep distance between them. Maybe he’d gotten good enough at avoiding the Chelsea type that it had become automatic. That was good.
The thought that maybe he was still attracted to the type, not so much.
Chapter Eight
Kaitlyn was upsetwith herself. Not an unfamiliar position for her.
Her thoughts took off running as they stepped inside the spacious barn, the bigger of the two here close to the house. On another level she was aware of the feel of the place, the scent of the hay, the sound of movement in the stalls. She noticed that a couple of equine heads had popped out through the open upper portions of the stall doors as they came in. But the greater part of her mind was processing those racing thoughts.
Ry had answered her when she’d dared to ask him questions now—as she’d said, strictly personal, things she had simply wanted to know—yet she knew she hadn’t mistaken his frown when she’d dared ask one at the house. And there was only one thing different. The presence and absence of Jillian. So it was okay for her to ask something when she didn’t distract him from Jillian.
This was not new to her. She knew her place. It was just that normally it was easy for her to stay there. But something about this man made her want to know more about him, how he did what he did, what he thought, what he felt, how his mind worked. In other words, she wanted to know everything.
And the fact that he hadn’t let Jillian take complete control only added to her interest. Unfortunately it would, she knew, also pique Jillian’s. The woman simply wouldn’t tolerate anyone dimming—or resisting—her spotlight.
Not that Kaitlyn could. No, quiet, mousy little Kaitlyn Miller would stay in her place, the indispensable aide, the gopher, the quiet little mouse.
Enough with the rodent analogies. Even if it’s not that kind of gopher.
“Fair warning,” he said, snapping her out of her ruminations, “I hate having my picture taken.”
She studied him for a moment, wondering why someone who looked like he did would mind. And just looking into his eyes snapped the leash she’d tried to put on her thoughts. And her mouth.
“Afraid your beauty will outshine the beauty of your work?”
He gaped at her. Actually gaped. His jaw dropped. He closed his eyes and gave a sharp shake of his head, then opened them again, as if to see if anything had changed. As if what she’d said was so impossible, he could only shake it off.
And suddenly she wasn’t really sorry she’d said it.
“That,” he finally said, and with a grimace, “was a very nice double-edged sword you dropped in there.”
She couldn’t stop her smile. He’d gotten it. If he said yes, he was conceited about his looks, if he said no, he was still tacitly admitting his own beauty existed. “Some things just are,” she said simply. “And two of them were in that question.”
He was still staring at her. Probably at her effrontery. Maybe he thought she was flirting, an idea so ludicrous she nearly let out a laugh at the very idea she would even try.
A rather pointed snort drew her attention, and she saw a black horse bobbing its head out from the stall labeled with a number three.
“That’s the horse you were riding, isn’t it?” she asked, glad of the diversion.
“Yes.” She followed as he walked over and patted the horse. “This is Flyer. He’s mine, which is why he’s in stall three.” He gestured with a thumb to the stall next to the black, labeled number one. “The gray there is mom’s Seven. Short for Lucky Seven.” He started walking down the barn aisle again, talking as they went. “The bay across from Flyer in four is Trey, Cody’s horse.”
“I’m noticing a theme,” she said, looking at the horses as they passed them. “Although the Seven in one and Trey in four is a little confusing,” she added with an amused smile. Then, as it occurred to her, she turned her head to look at him. “Your horse doesn’t have a number name, so he’s in three because…you’re the third son?”
He grinned at her. It was devastating. It just shouldn’t be fair for a man to be so…so…much. “You got it. And here,” he said as they reached the last stall, which was bigger than the others, “is Two. And his mom, Bonnie. Rafferty’s Texas Bluebonnet, if you want the formal name.”
She looked into the stall and something warm bloomed inside her. The two horses were clearly a mare and her foal, not simply because of their dramatic gold and black coloring but because of the way they stood so close together. That is, until the foal spotted them and came over to the doorway. He sniffed Ry, his upper lip mobile as he nudged his hand. Mom watched but seemed unconcerned.
