Page 88 of First Bride to Fall
Grant shifted on his feet, weirdly excited by that proposition. Then he told himself to snap out of it. She was just playing him. She couldn’t mean it.
He stared at her, and she smiled ever so slightly in a come-here-baby kind of way.
Grant backed up a step. Then two steps. Three.
She’s very cunning; I’ll give her that.
A bitter scent wafted toward him. Strong and cabbage-like. He detected garlic, too. “Is something cooking?”
She motioned toward the stove with her knitting needles. He saw that the window over the kitchen sink was cracked open a few inches. “I’m roasting you some of those Brussels sprouts you bought.” She grinned. “Two whole bags.”
“Two?”
“I won’t eat any, so.” She shrugged. “I figured two were enough.”
“Yeah. Um. More than plenty.” This was not going at all like he’d intended. Instead of being steaming mad, she seemed relaxed and happy. Carefree and lighthearted and even more into him than before. Not less. This was so weird.
“What have you got in the cooler?”
“Trout.”
“Might have guessed.” She cutely rolled her eyes. “That will go really great with those Brussels, huh?” She pointed to the floor behind him and giggled. “Uh-oh.”
He turned around, seeing he’d tracked mud all across the newly polished floors. Forward—and backward. That made him feel like a jerk after all her hard work. “Oops. I’m sorry about the muddy footprints,” he said. “I’ll mop them up.” He bent toward the floor, swiping at the muddy tracks with the bandana he’d tugged from his pocket.
Her eyebrows rose like she couldn’t believe it.
“I’m not that big of a jerk, Nell.” Then he remembered his request with the toilet brush and got that, yeah, in her mind he probably was. “I mean.” He stood, swallowing hard. “Usually.”
“I get that part,” she said slyly. “You were just playing yourrole.” She emphasized that last word like she was trying to tell him something. Wait. Was she onto him? Already? But no. If she was, then why did she seem so darn cheerful about things? Sitting there on the sofa all happy-looking, like every red-blooded man’s dream. Or fantasy. Okay, that god and goddess image was really starting to fuel his brain. She 100 percent had the body for it, and the face, with those sweet, sweet freckles, her plump pink lips and those golden-brown—
No. Grant put up a mental stop sign and slammed on the brakes.
Somehow, though, he didn’t come to a full stop.
It was more like a rolling stop—the kind you take casually.
When you think no one is looking.
And there is no CCTV in the area.
If he’d been actually driving his SUV, he probably would have gotten a ticket.
“No problem,” she said about his muddy footprints. She motioned with her hand like she was urging him along. “Go on then. Come around the other way, but leave those muddy boots outside.”
His whole body flushed. She could have told him to doanythingwith that commanding look in her eye and he probably would have done it. Forget the goddess part; maybe she was an enchantress.
Grant swallowed the words before he could sayyes ma’am.
He shut the front door, dazed.
What’s going on?
How had his plan backfired? And why did he suddenly feel guilty for messing up the hardwood floors? This was his cabin. He could trash it if he wanted to.
Although he really wasn’t inclined to do that. He’d never seen it looking so good.
Grant circled to the back stoop and got out of his boots and waders, hanging his waders on a hook in the storage closet.
