Chapter Twelve

Luke

Over the next few days, his cabin filled with Rachel’s things. He’d taken her into Colter Canyon to shop for personal items. Packages arrived from online stores. His home, a bastion of masculinity, transformed before his eyes. The bathroom vanity held an assortment of brushes and makeup. He’d cleared out part of his closet and dresser drawers to make room for her clothing.

She’d been there four days when he came across a dubious looking tool, sitting on the shelf in the bathroom. He spotted it as he dried off from his shower. Wrapping his towel around his waist, he studied it and tried to understand what she used it for. The small handles looked like scissors yet it had no blades.

Rachel sat on the bed, pulling on the cowboy boots he’d bought her. It would be the first time she’d gone out in the new boots. It was Friday and they were headed into Colter Canyon to the Magnolia to meet up with Luke’s family. She’d already showered and fixed her hair and makeup. He paused to admire the way her hair fell around her shoulders, big bouncy curls he’d like to run his fingers through.

“You look nice,” he said. “Damn.”

She blushed. “Thank you.”

Her eyes skirted across his shoulders and down his chest. He loved when she checked him out. When he walked around the cabin, bare chested, she’d get an embarrassed smile and try to keep from looking at him, but stole glances when she could.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“It’s an eyelash curler.”

The loops were too small for his fingers, so he clasped each side between his thumb and forefinger and scissored the handles back and forth. “You’re kidding.”

“You never had a girl spend the night here, Luke?”

He frowned. “I never spent the whole night with a girl until I spent the night with you.”

She looked thunderstruck. “You told me that, but I thought you were kidding.”

“Not kidding. I’ve spent a bunch of nights with my wife but we still haven’t had a wedding night.”

Her blush deepened. “I’m sorry I’m sleeping in your bed. I could get a motel if you like. I have a little money now.”

“You’re staying put. There’s always time for a wedding night. As soon as you’re not sore, that is.”

“I’m still very sore,” she blurted.

“Right. This morning you were prancing around the kitchen listening to music while you made breakfast.”

“Pfft,” she waved a dismissive hand and pulled the other boot on. “I’ve never pranced in my life.”

“You didn’t look like you were hurting in the least bit. I think I could even take you out riding again.”

Her eyes lit with pleasure. “I would love to go riding with you.”

“We can’t go if you’re hurting.”

She rolled her eyes. “Hello blackmail.”

He smiled as she strutted out of the room, pausing at the door to look over her shoulder. She gave him a feisty look and smacked her hand on her ass.

A growl formed in his chest. She liked to torment him with that particular gesture and one day he’d shock her by smacking her pert ass himself. That would teach her for teasing him.

She spoke in a sassy tone. “Usually it’s the guy waiting on the woman to get dressed, you know. Or the husband waiting on his wife. And look at you, standing there in your towel.”

“I’m trying to tempt you.”

“It’s a tempting look all right. Bare-chested cowboy with a towel wrapped around his waist, and an eyelash curler in his hand.”

He beckoned her with the crook of a finger. “Why don’t you come here and say that, smart-ass?”

“Because I don’t want to distract you, Luke.” Her voice softened. “This is our first date.”

Her eyes held his and a shadow passed behind her gaze, like she waited for him to make some off-the-cuff remark, or tease her.

“That’s true.” He rubbed his jaw. “Want me to shave?”

She shook her head. “Only if you want to.”

“Not too rough-looking?”

“I like your scruff.”

“Then I’ll leave it.” He held up the eyelash curler. “Want me to curl my eye lashes?”

“If you’re into that… Weirdo.”

“You got a mouth on you, don’t you? I’m fixing to get dressed, so you better get out of here before you get an eye-full. Fair warning.”

With a yelp, she darted out of the room.

He put on a starched shirt and pressed jeans and his best boots. When he went to the dance hall he usually put on some cologne but decided against it. The other night, Rachel had fallen asleep on the couch watching a movie. He’d carried her to bed and she’d murmured something about how good he always smelled. How she loved his scent.

If she’d been awake, he would have told her how much he liked the honeyed scent of her skin. It perfumed her pillow and the bedsheets, giving him an instant hard-on the moment he got into bed. Sleeping next to her was torture, but he couldn’t imagine sleeping without her. He wouldn’t be parted from her ever. She might think this marriage was a farce, but he didn’t, and he would do whatever it took to show her he was for real.