Secret Confessions: Down & Dusty — Skye Read Free Page A

by the time he returned in clean jeans and grey t-shirt, hair damp and smelling of citrusy shampoo and minty toothpaste, she still had no precise meaning for ‘really good’.
    She gave up on trying to figure out his words. Stuff it, why not just enjoy the view? Him clean, crisp and fresh—ready to get dirty all over again. And oh how she loved the smell of fresh coffee and cowboy in the morning.
    He raised his nose, sniffed the air. ‘They teach you how to cook at vet school?’
    ‘Sure, it’d be a shame to waste all those testicles. I’ve halved my grocery bill.’
    He gave a soft snort and slid her a look as he took a seat. ‘I’m really sorry I missed your graduation. I wanted to come but couldn’t find anyone to take care of the horses, and I needed to keep an eye on Abilene.’
    Guessing Abilene was one of his mares, she sat up straight. ‘Why?’
    He frowned.
    Dammit if her ovaries didn’t ping like a submarine sound pulse when he frowned like that. The man could out-scowl Heathcliff or Mr Rochester any day.
    ‘She has a lump.’
    Folliculitis, a sarcoid, and a dozen other possibilities leapt to mind. ‘I’ll take a look.’
    Lips that she’d never kissed curved up. ‘That would be great. I mean, so long as you don’t mind?’
    She almost groaned at how considerate he was. That meant he’d probably be even more horrified if he knew she had thoughts about getting lost in his pants and suchlike. ‘Don’t be a muppet.’
    ‘Thanks, Mad Dog.’ The corners of his eyes crinkled as he sipped his coffee. He swallowed and she was unable to keep her eyes from following the way his throat worked, Adam’s apple sliding up and back down, his nine-in-the-morning five o’clock shadow creeping all the way down from his chiselled jaw to hug said Adam’s apple. Imagining running her hands all over that prickly stubble, or kissing it until her lips were swollen. Imagining what that would be like.
    She jumped to her feet. ‘Ready to go?’
    He raised his brows. ‘You’re not going to finish your toast?’
    ‘You can have it.’ All she could taste was stubble under her tongue, skin gritty and salty and seasoned with cowboy.
    He downed her toast, the last of his coffee, and stood—shrinking the room. ‘Okay, let’s go then. Thanks for the grub.’
    She paused as he held the screen door open for her. Nice to know he still did that. ‘Where’re we headed?’
    ‘Abilene is in the paddock by Redclaw River, but if you wait at the corral I’ll bring her up to you.’
    ‘Sounds good.’
    ‘You do still remember what a corral is, right?’ He slid her a sly, sideways look as he grabbed his hat from the rack by the door.
    Cheeky sod. ‘I think so. Thanks for asking.’
    He gave her a grin as he planted the Akubra on his head.
    The familiar curled felt brim reassured her. She could do this, be his friend. After all, she’d been that for how long? Twenty-three years?
    At her lengthy inspection he smiled. ‘What?’
    Stop staring at him like a love-sick groupie.
    She raised her foot in its cheap running shoe. ‘Got some boots I can borrow?’ She shifted her gaze to the elastic-sided leather boots lined up beside the ancient sofa, all of them the size of small cars.
    As he retrieved a pair of boots from between the scarred wooden legs of the sofa he glanced at her feet. He pointed at a pair of old Wellingtons. ‘How about those? They were dad’s, so they might fit you better.’
    She nodded. Her feet would still swim in them, but they’d offer more protection from a stray hoof than her runners. ‘Thanks, can I borrow some socks too?’
    ‘Help yourself.’ He pointed at the clean laundry drying on a clothes line strung along the verandah.
    ‘Thanks.’ She slipped on a pair along with the oversized gumboots. Hopefully she wouldn’t stack it while trying to walk in them. ‘I’ll see you in ten.’
    ‘Uh-huh.’ He stood, gestured for her to take the stairs first.
    She headed for the corral by the