Cara Colter - Weddings Do Come True

“Is Lacey getting a needle?” Danny demanded.

“No,” Ethan said, putting the bottle back and closing the fridge door. “One of the cows is sick.”

“Which one?” Doreen asked.

“I call her 131. I don’t think you know her.”

Shoving things around in the freezer until her fingers felt as if they might fall off, Lacy marveled at the patience in Ethan’s deep voice.

“Is she brown?” Danny asked.

“Umm-hmm. Brown and white.”

When Lacey had looked out the window, she noticed all the cattle were brown and white. Every single one of them.

“Is she big?” Doreen asked.

“Um-hmm.”

They had all been big, too.

“Is she fat?” Danny asked.

“Just right.”

“Is she going to die?” Doreen asked.

“Not if I can help it.”

“Will she cry when you give her that great big needle?”

“She’ll hardly feel it. I promise.”

He was trying to escape twenty questions, moving toward the door.

“Is she—”

“Doreen, your uncle has work to do. You can save some questions to ask him at lunch.”

She was suddenly aware of him. He had not gone out the door, but was standing behind her, and she whirled and looked at him. He was putting on a glove in a leisurely way.

“I’ll get Gumpy to bring you in a couple of pairs of his jeans and shirts. Mine wouldn’t fit you.” His eyes moved down her in a lazy inventory. She was suddenly very sorry she’d been bending over the freezer like that.

She tugged down the hem of her skirt, then folded her arms across her chest.

“Speaking of questions, what made you take a ride with Gumpy?” he asked softly. “Didn’t your mama ever warn you about strangers?”

He took a step closer to her. His eyes trailed over her hair, and fastened finally on her lips.

In the background, Danny and Doreen’s chattering faded. The whole world seemed to become him. His cowboy hat, his broad shoulders under a faded sheepskin-lined jean jacket, strong, muscled denim-clad legs, booted feet.

Her whole world seemed to become his eyes. His lips.

His aroma. He was so close she could smell him, and he smelled wonderful. Of leather and animals and clean crisp air. No aftershave, just pure man.

Keith sometimes wore a Stetson which suddenly struck her as hilarious, and she laughed nervously and tried to back up, but her fanny was already against the freezer.

“My, my,” he said silkily, “you’re not afraid of me, are you? You seem like a big-city girl. You should know all about how dangerous it can be to go with a stranger.”

He moved a step closer, dark amusement burning in his eyes as he looked down at her.

She tilted her chin up at him. “Are you trying to frighten me?”

He seemed to consider that. Her heart was beating a mile a minute and sped up some when those cool gray eyes fastened on her lips again.

He’s going to kiss me, she thought.

It occurred to her she should be terrified.

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