She kicked back the sheets, letting the cool morning air take some of the heat out of her blood. Damn him. Damn her for reacting to him. Why did she react to him? And how the hell did she stop?
She pulled on her work clothes, slammed her hat on her head and slipped outside. Stretching her side, easing the dull ache of her old wound, she inspected her new home with satisfaction. She threw a blanket on Stormy’s back and rode along the fence line that circled the length of the house and yard. Her flashlight beam ran over the fence wire. It looked sound, barbed wire strung tight and the cedar stays strong with no signs of splitting. If she could keep her mind blank—at least Toben-free—she might get a few things done. Like marking off the plot of land she’d plant in the spring. There was no rush, except for the restlessness in the pit of her belly.
She went back to the barn in search of materials...and came up empty.
When she turned to go, she paused, staring at what had been a hole in the far corner. Now it was patched up, the wood sanded smooth. She ran her fingers along the planking, pressing against the newly reinforced frame of the stall. Good, solid work.
Mitchell hadn’t had time to do this...
Her gaze peered out the open doors at her house. Toben.
She swallowed the knot in her throat, fighting back the longing and hope she’d thought had long since deserted her. This wasn’t for her. This was for Rowdy. Everything he did was for Rowdy. What more could she want? She refused to consider the possible answers to that question, focusing on the list of supplies she’d need from another trip to the local hardware store. This time for some yard stays and marking ribbon. And maybe some heavy-duty gardening tools. The ground was fertile, but there were plenty of rocks to slow down progress.
Cheeto whinnied, so she rubbed his neck, talking to him softly in his stall. “Don’t you worry—Rowdy will be up soon enough.” She checked her watch. Almost six. Good enough to start cooking...since Toben would have to get to work soon.
She rode Stormy back to the house, pulled off the blanket and halter, and let the horse free-graze. Stormy butted her with his head, blowing hard into her hair.
“I love you, too,” she whispered, pressing her face against the little gray’s neck. Besides Mitchell, Stormy was one of the few constants in her life. The horse was part of the family. “Gotta feed my human baby,” she murmured, patting Stormy’s neck before slipping in the back screen door.
Soon Poppy was flipping pancakes on the electric griddle she’d picked up during her last grocery shop. Two plates were piled high and the sun was barely up. She set the table and smoothed the tablecloth, and still no sign of life came down the hallway.
At seven Poppy was done waiting. She marched down the hall and knocked on the guest room door, pushing it open.
Toben stood, shirtless, staring at her. “Come on in.”
“I made...pancakes.” She wasn’t so eager to hurry breakfast along. Or see him put on a shirt. In fact, she was fine just as she was. The view was incredible. Broad shoulders, a chest and stomach cut hard and lean. And the lightest dusting of hair leading down to the waistband of his jeans. “Breakfast.”
“You made me breakfast?” The surprise in his gaze pulled her attention to his face.
It was a mistake. Apparently her reaction to his male perfection was making him ready and willing. There was no misunderstanding the look in his blue eyes or the tightness of his jaw.
“I made breakfast,” she repeated. “For everyone.”
He took one step toward her, then another. “Kids are awake?”
She shook her head.
“So you made breakfast for me.” The corner of his mouth kicked up.
She shook her head, willing herself to move but staying put.
“And you came in here to wake me up?” he asked, stopping an inch away—well within touching range.
She shook her head, distracted by a long-faded scar that ran along his clavicle. “What?”
“You came in here for me?” he asked.
She nodded.
He chuckled.
“What?” She shook her head. “No. I came in here to make sure you were up. You have work and I thought you’d want—”
His lips were soft. She hadn’t expected that. In the brief time they’d spent together, nothing about him had been soft or gentle. But now...she couldn’t breathe.
His hand crept along her back to cradle her head. His mouth parted slowly, his tongue teasing her until she opened for him. It was a slow kiss, the sort of unhurried intentional seduction Poppy had no experience with. All she knew was she was losing... No, losing wasn’t the right word.
She didn’t mind the feel of his chest beneath her fingertips. The rapid thump of his heart under her palm felt more like a victory. His skin contracted beneath her touch, his hands tightened in her hair, and when her fingers slid into his tangled curls, his soft groan told her he might be more affected than she was.