Page 13 of Until Easton

"Well, I'll leave you to it. Becca, sweetheart, give Easton here the ten-cent tour. I'll be back within the hour." Arthur kisses Becca on the cheek.

"Oh, could you stop by Mrs. Crawford's? She has a couple of her blue-ribbon apple pies baked up for us!" Becca shouts at her grandad, who is already walking away.

"Will do," he says without looking back.

Becca watches Arthur retreat for a few extra seconds, then faces me. I can't help but notice the two straws of hay stuck in her hair and grime on her face. "Um…you have a little something…" Without thinking, I reach out and swipe a smudge of dirt off her chin.

"You make it a habit of touching people without their permission, Mr. Evans?"

Feisty. I like it. "Sorry," I apologize.

"Follow me, and I'll show you around." Becca rushes out of the stables.

"What's the rush?" I keep pace beside her.

"Look, Mr. Evans. I have a horse ranch to run."

"Easton. And I'm getting the impression you don't like me." I stop walking, which causes Becca to pause and look at me.

She sighs and closes her eyes. "I apologize. It's just—" Becca takes a deep breath. "How about I show you to your room first, then we'll go from there."

"Works for me." Once we've reached my truck, I grab my bags from the backseat and follow Becca inside the house.

"Welcome to Connelly Ranch Inn. My granddad grew up here, as well as my parents and myself," Becca explains.

To the right, I notice a living area with a large fireplace. In front of us, a staircase leads to the second floor. "Straight ahead is the kitchen." Becca points but instead shows the way to the second floor. My eyes fall on her shapely ass as we climb the stairs. "So, you're a musician?" Becca asks.

"I am."

"East of Addiction, right?"" We turn left down a short hallway, then enter a bedroom. I look around and toss my bags on the queen-sized bed.

"Have you heard of us?"

Becca shrugs. Walking over to the window and pulling open the curtains. "A little," she tells me. "You can put your things in the dresser there if you like." Becca crosses the room. "I'm sure the room isn't what you're used to." She opens a door leading to a small bathroom. "It's one of the few rooms with a private bath. Extra linens are in the closet. If you need more, just ask." Becca bustles about the room.

"Do you ever slow down?" I chuckle at her constant moving.

"Can't afford to slow down." Becca stops, faces me, and shoves her hands into her back pockets, thrusting her breasts forward. A move she doesn't do purposefully, but I'm not complaining.

"Time waits for no one, right?" I say.

"Something like that," Becca replies, and an awkward silence hangs between us for a second. Then my stomach growls, and Becca giggles, which breaks the tension in the air. "Would you like something to eat? I could make you a sandwich." She gives a small smile, and I feel a pain in my chest.

"A sandwich sounds awesome."

Down in the kitchen, I lean against the refrigerator while Becca throws us a quick lunch together. "We cook breakfast around seven in the morning, so if you want it hot, I suggest you be down here ten minutes prior. And dinner is around the same time."

"What about lunch?" I ask.

"You're on your own with that one, but the kitchen is always open. So, feel free to help yourself to whatever we have." Becca turns and looks back at me. "Grab us a bottle of water." She motions to the refrigerator I'm leaning against. "We'll eat on the go."

I spend the next hour with Becca showing me around the ranch and listening to her tell me about her family history and the legacy her great grandparents started. I hang on to every word she says. "I should get back to work. Four more stalls needing cleaning."

"I'll help," I offer, and it shocks Becca.

"You—help?"

"Yeah."