Page 11 of Enticed
“Not here,” she announced. Where the hell could he be?
A scratching sound came from the bathroom. Rory and I looked at each other before we both bolted toward the door. I pushed it open and scanned the room, searching for a ball of gray fluff among the equally gray decor.Fuck my life.
“There he is,” Rory announced, pointing toward the toilet. Nestled within the wicker basket atop the tank that held extra rolls of toilet paper was Andy. He leisurely rolled around, weaving through the center of the cardboard rolls. I breathed a sigh of relief, and my shoulders began to relax. But then,with one overly enthusiastic roll, the wicker basket tipped, threatening to dump all the contents, including Andy, into the toilet.
The lecture Celeste drilled into Rory’s head flashed in my memory. Chinchillas weren’t supposed to get wet. It was dangerous and could lead to hypothermia or an infection, both of which could be fatal.
“Shit,” I growled and dove for the toilet just as the basket turned over and Andy’s furry body plummeted to the watery depths below. I reached out, desperately trying to get to him before he landed in the bowl.
By some miracle, I caught him in my hand, my knees bearing the brunt of my ungraceful dive onto the tile floor. My forearm smacked against the toilet seat hard enough to rattle my bones. I would have one hell of a bruise later. The basket and the rest of the toilet paper rolls landed in the water with a splash.
Great. Now I got to fish soggy toilet paper out of the bowl.
“You saved him!” Rory cried, rushing to my side and snatching Andy out of my hands. She hugged him close, cradling his soft body against her cheek as she rocked side to side, murmuring soothing words into his big, oval ears. She lifted watery, relieved eyes to me. “You’re the best dad in the world,” she proclaimed, and my chest swelled with pride. I would do anything for my little girl, even save her pet rodent from the toilet.
We pulledup to the ranch twenty minutes early. Jasmine had agreed to meet with us at ten o’clock for Rory’s first lesson, but Rory had been so excited that she wouldn’t stop worrying about being late. I parked next to the barn where the family’s personalhorses were housed. The training ring where Jasmine practiced and Rory had ridden yesterday was directly next to the barn. Inside, there was a small child perched atop a pony. The little boy, who couldn’t have been more than three or four, already looked the part of a little rodeo star with his cowboy boots, helmet, and vest. Elwood’s oldest son, Rowan, led the pony around, his massive frame towering above the animal. The sight brought back memories of a time it was my little one being led around on the back of a pony.
“You used to ride a pony just like that when we came to visit,” I said as we exited the truck.
“Really?” Rory asked, voice laced with excitement.
“Yeah, I might even have a picture of you on him somewhere.” The last time we were here, before I stopped visiting, Rory had begged to ride the pony. Celeste had reluctantly agreed. That was all it took. She wanted to be on the pony the entire time we were here. Just like yesterday, Jasmine had been the one to locate the proper gear, prepare the pony, and lead Rory around at her request. Even then, she’d looked up to Jasmine.
Not much had changed, despite Rory having no memory of that time. She still thought the world of Jasmine, and Jasmine was patient and attentive with my daughter. She might have been all fire and sass most of the time, but she had a soft spot for my kid.
Rowan caught sight of us as we approached and tipped his hat in greeting. “What are y’all doing here? Isn’t it your day off?” he asked when we reached the training ring.
“Jasmine is going to work with Rory. I’m not cool enough to be her teacher anymore,” I added teasingly.
Rowan chuckled. “Can’t compete with my baby sister. All the kids love her. She’s got a handful of students who come weekly.They refuse to work with anyone else.” That didn’t surprise me, especially after seeing her with Rory yesterday.
“Who’s this little fella here?” I asked, motioning to the toddler on the pony.
“This is Jacek’s boy, Asher. He just started his riding lessons.”
“Untle Wowan, tan I det a snack now?” Asher asked.
“Let’s go wash up first, alright? We gotta clean all the horse hair off you so your dad doesn't get sick when you go back home,” Rowan said. I’d forgotten about Jacek’s horse allergy. When he was younger, they thought he might eventually grow out of it, but that didn’t appear to be the case. It also explained why Asher was out here with his uncle instead of his dad.
“Okay,” Asher agreed easily. Before Rowan could lead him away, the little boy began to bounce in the saddle, stretching his neck to see past us. “Dasmine,” he called excitedly. The pony grew restless beneath him, unsure how to take his cues.
“Whoa, little dude,” Rowan said, scooping him up effortlessly. “Remember, we use our legs to tell the horse when to go and when to stop. We don’t want to confuse him,” he corrected gently.
“Sowwy,” he said, ducking his chin.
“It’s okay. Just try to remember for next time,” Rowan encouraged.
Jasmine sauntered up next to us, and I turned to face her, regretting it immediately. I needed to mentally prepare myself for seeing her again. The full force of her beauty struck me square in the chest, and I nearly lost my breath. Her long dark hair was secured in a single braid down her back. Her eyes were clear and bright, and her skin glowed beneath the morning sun, not a stitch of makeup covering her golden skin or concealing the light smattering of freckles across her cheeks and nose. Shewas radiant. And she was wearing those damn skintight jeans again.
I let my gaze skim down her body before returning it to her face. I swallowed hard and glanced away before she could catch me. Thankfully Rowan had been too busy with Asher to notice.
“Can you take him for a moment while I put Fitzwilliam up?” he asked as the toddler squirmed in his arms.
“I never say no to snuggling my favorite little cowboy,” she replied, reaching for Asher as Rowan passed him over the fence.
“Fitzwilliam, huh?” I asked, brow quirked in intrigue. “So formal a name for a pony,” I teased.
“That’s Fitzwilliam Darcy to you, sir,” Jasmine replied saucily. “And put some respect on his name. We would not have the enemies to lovers trope today if it wasn’t for Mr. Darcy and Miss Bennet,” she declared. I took a step closer to her and leaned against the fence, bracing my hand on the top rung, dangerously close to her head.
