It was heady. And dangerously distracting.
She heard Devlin approaching as if she’d called him.
“I’m going to go start dinner,” he said, coming in close.
“I’ll be up after I finish with the tack.”
They fell silent and she thought he was going to touch her, but then he gave her a smile that knocked her socks off.
It was almost as good as a kiss, she decided, as he walked away.
Going into the cramped confines of the tack room, A.J. took out a chamois rag that had seen good use and a bottle of Murphy’s Oil Soap. As soon as she wet the cloth, the familiar lemon smell rose to greet her like a good host and she took a deep breath. Rubbing her saddle in the circular motions she’d used since she was nine, her mind wandered off into hazardous territory.
What did their future hold? Was this just an affair? Or the beginning of something that meant so much more?
Head bent and eyes too rapt for the simple task, she didn’t know Chester had paused in the doorway until he cleared his throat. She looked up and was struck by his appearance. With a pitchfork in one hand and his overalls hanging like curtains on his whip-thin frame, he was right out of American Gothic. In that moment, standing in the late-afternoon sun, he was one pinpoint along a long chronology of farmers and laborers, a tradition worthy of pride.
He was timeless, she thought, just like the smell of lemon and leather in the room.
“Ya want to get the blacksmith here this week?” he asked.
A.J. wiped a lock of hair away with the back of her sponge hand. Water and soap ran down into her sleeve and she smothered a curse.
“I think we better. That right front shoe just won’t stay tight.”
“With it comin’ loose all the time, a body’s gotta wonder. I don’t know what goes on here after dark, but I think that horse has designs on bein’ the next Fred Astaire. At night, he’s gotta be tap dancin’ in the aisles, or something worse.”
“Jazz?” A.J. grinned.
“Vegas kick line.”
She laughed. “More likely his hooves are soft.”
“Believe what ya have to, but afore ya know it, he could be jumpin’ in high heels an’ a thong.”
A.J. smiled at the image, wiped off the last of the soap from her saddle and stood up.
“Let’s see if that poor man can get here the beginning of next week,” she said, referring to the blacksmith. “I’m hoping if we give him some notice, he’ll like us more. Probably use time to gird himself for the experience.”
“Good call. I imagine he’ll need to order appropriate equipment.”
“Better nails?”
“Hockey pads,” Chester said as he turned to go.
A.J.’s laughter rang out. “Hey, how long have I got before dinner?”
He checked his watch.
“’Bout twenty minutes. An’ speaking of time,” he said, “I’m glad you an’ Devlin finally got off your duffs. You two’ve been draggin’ your feet like a couple a’ wallflowers waitin’ for the right song.”
The rag hit the floor along with her composure. “What?”
“Life’s too short to not be where you should. You two are both missin’ a piece without the other.”
Oh, my God, she thought, I’ve got a scarlet A on my forehead.
Without realizing it, she rubbed the place over her eyebrows.
“I don’t know what you—”
“There’s nothing wrong with it. Devlin’s a good man and you’re good for him. Now, about that blacksmith—ya think Tuesday’s okay?”
After Chester left, A.J. plopped down on a box of leg wraps. Was it that obvious? She thought they’d been discreet all day long.
Damn these horse-sense types, she thought. You can’t have a steamy affair around them in peace.
Stomach clenched in a knot, she felt like her life was spiraling out of control. Between buying the horse, the split with her family, facing the Qualifier and falling for Devlin, it seemed as if she’d thrown herself into a paint mixer. Even worse, she had the notion that eyes were watching, everywhere.
She stood up, feeling trapped, and raised her voice. “Are you finished with me or is there anything else I need to worry about right now?”
Then she knocked the bottle of saddle soap over and it spilled into her barn boots.
Ah, yes, she thought. Now I need dry socks.
“Ask, and ye shall receive,” she muttered as she wiped up the mess.
When A.J. went back to the house, a soggy protest sounded out every time she put her right foot down. It was like being trailed by a whoopee cushion. As soon as she came in from the gathering cold, she shrugged off her coat and leaned against the door, removing the offending shoe and sock. When she glanced up, Devlin was standing in the doorway of the kitchen.
And looking at her like she was his favorite entree.
Warming under the glow in his eyes, she decided she could get used to the expression.
Devlin took a step forward just as Chester leaned in from the kitchen and started a conversation. “We’re having the behemoth shod on Tuesday….”
The man continued talking even though his audience was far from captivated. With the reluctance of two people getting up from a good meal before it’s done, Devlin and A.J. stoked the fire between them for later.
“We’ll finish this soon,” he whispered before going into the kitchen.
With a blinding smile of anticipation, A.J. went upstairs to change.
As she stood in front of the bathroom mirror, brushing out her hair, she couldn’t help noticing the change in her reflection. There was a sparkle of excitement in her eyes, like she had a delicious secret, and a glow on her cheeks that wasn’t just windburn. Even to her jaundiced eye, she looked radiant.
Who needed to waste time with facials and makeovers when you could toss a little passion and chaos into your life and get the same effect?
After she washed up and changed her clothes, A.J. hit the stairs with far more enthusiasm than the mild hunger in her stomach justified. Following the down-home smell of meat loaf into the kitchen, she grinned as she saw Devlin bending over the stove and pumping a masher over a pot of potatoes like a jackhammer.
He looked up the instant she came through the door. “Almost ready. You want to ride shotgun on Chester’s salad?”
“Sure,” she said, pushing aside unexpected shyness.
Hearing Chester grunt in frustration, she went over to the other man, who wasn’t having a lot of luck with a pile of fresh greens and vegetables. Wielding a knife with all the finesse of a backhoe trying to put pansies into the ground, he’d made a mess. Huge chunks of red peppers had fallen victim to his hacking and a misbegotten cucumber looked like it’d been mauled by a dog.