Colleen Collins - Let It Bree

Why had he been born a paleobotanist? Oh what he’d give for a moment as a plain ol’ blanket conforming to the shape and warmth of Bree.

Breeeeee. The sound of her name was like the wind. Bree. Breeezy. With a soulful lilt, like in that Beatles song “Let It Be.” Let it Bree. Let me lick that little chocolate on your ankle for the rest of my life…

Bree tucked the blanket under her chin and peered at Kirk. He seemed oddly off balance, as though he might topple over any moment.

“Kirk, you look a little unsteady. Need some water?”

“Chocolate.”

“What?”

He coughed. “Uh, water. Right. Need water.”

“Okay, I’ll go grab a glass in the bathroom, get you—”

“No!”

He still stood with his back to her. “I’ll get it. Stay put. And cover up.”

He returned a moment later, downing a glass of water like a parched man, staring at her with wide blue eyes. He was so flustered, so red-faced, she suddenly got it.

“Don’t tell me you’re nervous about seeing me in my undies. We’ve already been through this.”

“Not nervous. Not anymore.”

Maybe he said he wasn’t nervous, but he looked positively mortified. “Aren’t you used to seeing naked women?” She almost said, aren’t you used to seeing your fiancée naked? but figured that was getting into overly personal terrain.

“You weren’t naked—just nearly naked.”

Maybe Kirk was a throwback to another century where men were polite, discreet, and the wedding night was the first time they…

Wow. She didn’t know men like that existed in today’s world. And to think she, small-town girl from even smaller-town Chugwater, possibly knew more about the birds and the bees than Mr. Big City!

“Well, I’m all covered now, so it’s a moot point,” she announced.

Kirk put the glass aside, shot her a feeble smile, then backed up to the couch and fell into a sitting position. Avoiding looking at her face, he scraped his hand across his stubbled chin as though he’d just finished an incredibly long and exhausting journey.

“Wish I had a glass of warm milk,” he rasped. He looked at her, his eyes burning as though he were running a fever.

“Maybe that café’s still open?”

“At 3:00 a.m.?”

“Maybe those Harley people have some.”

“Very funny. Obviously one of us has gotten some sleep.”

Bree jerked her thumb toward the window. “Two.”

Kirk looked outside at Val. “Okay, Val’s gotten some sleep-eye too, lucky bull.” Kirk narrowed his eyes, thinking. “Hmm, maybe I should take your bull to those bikers’ rooms, position him behind me while I ask if they could please keep it down.”

“That’d work,” Bree said with a smile. “Val has a reputation for clearing out places. Once he accidentally kicked over a vat of chili at the Chugwater Chili festival—that sent people running! But his kicking was my fault. I’d accidentally brushed against his back left leg, which is our signal for him to kick out his right leg. It’s a little trick I taught him. Another time he got loose in downtown Chugwater and tore into Mary Jane Tock’s beauty parlor. The street was instantly filled with shrieking women in hair curlers and blue face masks.” Bree giggled.

Kirk chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, that’s just what the Sundance Lodge needs in the wee hours of the morning. A bunch of hysterical bikers running amok in the parking lot.”

Bree laughed louder, liking how the two of them were sharing a fun moment. This sure beat the hell out of Kirk’s mortification…or her paranoia that thugs were knocking at her door.

Speaking of which…

“Hey, you know what?” she said, trying to sound as though she’d just had this great idea. “Why don’t you stay on the couch in here tonight? That way, you’ll hardly hear those bikers.” And I’d have a built-in bodyguard. She looked him over in his rumpled hair, flannel shirt and threadbare jeans.

Too bad those pickaxes are still in the truck.

Well, still, he’d be an extra body in case those thugs showed up. And two bodies, plus a bull, were better odds against two thugs.

In the distance, something crashed, followed by the syrupy sound of drunken laughter.

Kirk blew out a puff of air as he looked toward the far wall. “Think I’ll take you up on your offer. At least the sounds are more muted in here.”

Bree snuggled down in her bed, bunching up the pillow under her head, feeling the happiest she had in hours. She wasn’t alone, she had a roof over her head, she and Val had a place to sleep, and tomorrow, ah sweet tomorrow, she’d be back home in Chugwater. Kirk had mentioned that his buddy in Denver, a guy named George who owned a cattle trailer, could drive her and her bull back home.

“Turn out the light when you’re ready,” she said sweetly. “And don’t worry about me if you feel like staying up and reading or watching TV.”

Oops.

Earlier, she’d switched on a local news channel and had watched, openmouthed, as some newscaster reported an alleged bull theft. Bree’s name wasn’t mentioned, but the newscaster described her clothes, right down to her scuffed boots. It had to be because of that damn “implied contract” that the media was insinuating she was a thief!

Bree shoved herself up on one elbow and stared wide-eyed at Kirk. “Uh, nix the TV idea! It would, uh, be too loud, keep me awake.”

“No, I wouldn’t watch TV at this hour,” he answered calmly. “Might read, though.” He rummaged through the stack of old paperbacks on the coffee table. “If it wasn’t so cold out, and if the van wasn’t parked down the road, I’d dash out and get The Priest Kings of Gor, which I left in the glove compartment.”

Bree blinked at him. “The what of what?”

Kirk glanced up. “Book by John Gorman. Science fiction.”

“Oh.” She lay back down. No TV. Life was good.

Kirk rummaged halfheartedly through some books. “What do you like to read?”

“Historical romances.”

“Really.” He flashed her a look, then resumed his rummaging.

“You sound surprised. By which part? The historical or the romance?”

“I…just didn’t envision you as a romance reader.”

“Really,” she answered, mocking his droll tone.

He cocked an eyebrow, obviously catching her mimicry. “You just don’t strike me as the truffle-eating, pink-satin-slipper type.” When she stared at him in silence, he finally asked, “Something the matter?”

“Yours is a typical clueless-male response about romance novels. Double-dare you to find even one truffle-eating heroine in one of those novels. They’re too busy flexing their stamina and intelligence in the face of adversity.”

His eyes glistened with amusement. “I always love a challenge. So, I accept.”

Well, that response took her aback for a moment. She’d never met a guy who’d seemed eager to explore something new and romantic. Well, in a book anyway.

But then Kirk Dunmore was an explorer, she realized now, in more ways than one. A warming feeling washed through her as she realized she was starting to like the guy. Okay, she’d already known he could jump-start her libido with one whiff of his masculine-drenched jacket, but it was a bonus to realize he had an open, intelligent mind with just the right touch of feminist leanings as well.

Was he even from the planet Earth?

“So why the historical part?” Kirk asked, thumbing through one of the books.

“Well, I’ll read about almost any historical era. But my preference would be the Roman era. First or second century B.C.”

He was busy scanning the back blurb on the paperback. “Why?”

“My major was art history, with an emphasis on ancient Roman art. For my senior thesis, I wrote a paper on conserving ancient sculpture, focusing on a second-century statue of Marcus Aurelius.”