I keep telling myself not to be nervous. Tiffany and I have been on the phone every day since she left last month. We've already discussed the major issues-- like who's moving and who gets to redecorate whose house (her, her, and mine.)

I went into this plan expecting a wife out of it and now that I've met the woman that was picked for me by a professional match maker, my friend and neighbor, and my own kids, I can't see any reason not to go through with it.

That's why there's a burgundy velvet ring box sitting in my safe at home right now as I drive Tiffany back to my place from picking her up at the airport.

Even though we haven't specifically discussed actually getting married yet.

Which might be why I'm so damn nervous.

"It's really pretty out here."

Tiffany's voice from the passenger seat snaps me back to reality.

"Yeah, kinda nice, huh?"

"It's not the way I picture Colorado," she says as she watches the high desert landscape roll by outside.

"You were thinking all mountains and bears and ski lodges?" I joke.

Her laugh is soft and shy and I love it.

"Maybe not exactly," she says as she turns back to face me, "but definitely more trees."

My place is on the west side of the Rocky Mountains, tucked into farmland that most people associate more with the Midwest than southern Colorado.

"Is that Helen?" Tiffany asks as we drive past my nosy neighbor standing at the edge of her property where it borders the long private road that leads to my house.

Helen waves at us as we pass by and we both wave back. Tiffany a tad more enthusiastically than myself.

"So that's her place?"

"Yup, she's got about 2 and half acres," I tell her, "and 2 of mine."

Tiffany snorts when she laughs and then covers her face with her hand in embarrassment but it doesn't keep her from laughing.

"What's so funny?" Her laugh is infectious but I don't know what I'm laughing at.

"Oh, it's just that Helen told me her garden is technically on your side of the property line," Tiffany says as I park the car under the carport beside my house, "she thinks you don't know."

"Is that so?" I put my hands on my hips and stare up the road to where I can see the old woman spraying the edge of her land with weed killer.

"Yeah," Tiffany informs me as I retrieve her luggage from the trunk, "she said it's good for you to have someone to dote on."

I chuckle under my breath at the idea of Helen thinking I'm the one who's been doing the doting all these years.

Tiffany is standing at the edge of the driveway, looking around at where she is.

"How much of this is yours?"

Her voice is soft and slightly awed as she looks at the acres of farmland surrounding my house.

"About a hundred and forty acres," I tell her.

"So you're a farmer?" She sounds confused, "I thought you--"

"Nah," I interrupt her, "I don't have a clue how to farm a field. I rent out the land to a local guy. I just do pumps."

Her head bobs up and down in silent understanding. I've already spent way too much time explaining my business to her. Not that there's much to explain about selling and installing irrigation systems.

Holding my breath while I wait for her assessment of the place, I carry her suitcase up the steps of the porch and unlock the front door.

It's just an old farmhouse on a 10 acre chunk of the back corner of the land. Built in the mid-1960's, it's a sprawling, single story ranch style with a breezeway connecting the 2 car garage to the house. Which is why I had the carport built on-- by the time I got my tools and toys in the garage, I still needed someplace to park the cars.

"So the bike lives in there?" She points toward the man-cave in question with a grin.

"Yup," I'm impressed she remembers our conversation about the garage, "I'll show it to you later. If the weather stays nice, I'll take you for a ride."

After what seems like a very long wait for her to take in the outside of the house, Tiffany finally steps over my threshold for the first time.

"Oh." Is all she says as she stands on the tiled step of the large entryway and looks around at what she can see from her.

"Yeah, I know," I grumble a little cuz I think that's what I'm supposed to do as a man who's about to have my bachelor pad turned upside-down, "I told you you could do whatever you need to with it."

Truth is, I'm looking forward to letting her have free reign of the old place. I'm sure she'll start by tearing the dark wood paneling off the walls in the living room. Maybe she'll want a mantle over the fireplace-- it's always been just plain brick wall. Probably the architect's idea of "modern" back when the place was built, but a woman probably wants to fill it up with nick-knacks and pictures in fancy little frames and shit.

"It's not bad." She doesn't sound convincing as she heads toward the kitchen. "Well not all bad," she adds as she sets her purse down on the dark brown tiled counter of the kitchen island.

"No need to go sparing my feelings," I assure her as I turn toward the hall, "I told you-- I always meant to update the place, it's just..."

"You never got around to it." Her voice is sweet and understanding behind me as she follows me down the hall to the bedrooms.

"Somethin' like that," I agree.

More like I just never had a reason to get around to it. The Brady Bunch look was always good enough for me. The girls tried to talk me into some changes when they were in high school but by that time, I knew they weren't going to be coming out as much pretty soon and deep down I always wanted a woman in my life that I could hand the project over to.

"Uh," I set Tiffany's suitcases on the floor next to the queen size bed in the guest room and look up to see the uncertainty on her face as she stands in the doorway, "I figured I'd set you up in this room..."

...and hope you never step foot in it again, I finish my thought silently. I don't want to assume too much but hell, I am planning on marrying the woman. I don't think it's too much to expect her to spend her nights in my bed.

"Yeah, I guess that's probably a good idea," she says, not sounding like she thinks it's a good idea at all.

Maybe she's remembering that kiss in the elevator too. The way her skin has reddened with a blush and her eyes fall off mine to the floor somewhere near my feet makes me think she's not just remembering it, but looking forward to finding out where it would have gone if we'd gotten the chance.

No one has to hit me over the head.

The distance between us is closed in 2 steps.

Tiffany makes a surprised little yelp as I pull her to me and then push her down on the bed but before she can say anything I'm beside her and her hands are around my neck, pulling me against her as our tongues tangle together.

I'm surprised at the way she takes the lead, her lips never leaving mine as her hands wander down my shoulders and over my chest.

When her leg wraps around mine and she presses her body against me, any notion that this is just a friendly hello make out session gets erased from my brain.

My hands slide under her blouse and pull her breasts free of her bra and her pelvis rocks against the hard bulge in my jeans as her lips break from mine in a sharp inhale.

The sweet sound drives me insane with the anticipation of what other noises I can pull from her.

It's been a long time since I was with a woman, but not so long that I've forgotten how to unsnap a bra with one hand while I unbutton her pants with my other.

Tiffany's fingers deftly work through the buttons on her own blouse and then go to work on my jeans. One of her hands slides beneath the waist band of my briefs while my mouth works on one of her hard nipples, slipping my tongue over the tightened bud till her back arches and a soft moan rewards my efforts.

I manage to kick my shoes off without taking my mouth off her. Then she's tugging my jeans down as I slide my fingers between the black lace panties and the soft skin of her abdomen as her hand wraps around my shaft.

Seconds later we're skin to skin, jeans laying in a crumpled pile on the floor, her blouse on the other side of the bed, her bra undone and hanging loosely from one shoulder, my own t-shirt thrown aside somewhere.

Her hand is working up and down my hard cock, pulling me ever closer to the growing wetness where my fingers slide between her folds.

We haven't come up for air, or to our senses, and neither of us are in any danger of doing either until we finish what we've started.

"Was that Ms. Tiffany I saw in your car?"

Tiff and I freeze, holding our breath and searching each other's eyes for answers to the mutual question.

"You know you left the front door wide open." Helen's voice calls down the hall from the front door.

"Fuck!" I lay my head against Tiffany's stomach.

It's soft and slightly rounded and when I curse at the interruption, it lurches beneath my forehead with Tiffany's silent laughter.

"Nate? Are you kids in here?" Helen sounds like she's heading farther away from the bedrooms at least.

"Is this normal?" Tiffany whispers as she rolls out from under me and starts pulling on her clothes as she finds them.

Shaking my head in frustration I pull up my jeans and snatch my shirt off the dresser where it must have landed.

"Only when I leave the damn door open," I tell her on my way out to intercept the old woman before she starts searching the rooms for us.