He glanced at me, the same soft smile on his lips. But his eyes heated as they moved over my form, making my mouth dry. The earlier tummy flips now seemed like nothing in comparison to these more mature twistings and aches low in my belly.
Goodness, I adored how he looked at me.
Eventually, Jethro pulled his eyes back to the road and shrugged. When he spoke his voice was rougher than it had been the moment before. “I can’t think of anything I want to do more than take you for a ride twice a day.”
He glanced at me, making sure I caught his meaning.
I caught it. In fact, it hit me squarely between my legs.
And for once in my life I was too flustered and surprised and pleased to offer a retort. Because now I was thinking of going on Ranger Rides, and that thought made me hot all over.
I held his gaze, saying nothing, because there was nothing left to say, and we passed the rest of the short drive in tense silence. The good kind. The exciting kind. The I can’t wait for this day to be over so I can see you again kind.
Well played, Ranger Jethro.
Well played.
CHAPTER 6
“If I ever go looking for my heart's desire again, I won't look any further than my own back yard. Because if it isn't there, I never really lost it to begin with.”
― L. Frank Baum, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz
~Jethro~
I may have been grinning like a fool.
I may also have watched Sarah in my rearview mirror as I drove away. She’d stood still as though a statue, staring after me, one side of her mouth kicked up in an alluring, small smile.
When we’d first met, I’d been rusty as hell. But sweet-dirty talking to a woman was like riding a bike. Mind you, it was a bike I hadn’t even looked at in over five years. Of course, it helped that I’d been thinking about her all week. I’d carried on conversations in my head just in case I was lucky enough to see her again.
I wasn’t going out to Hank’s cabin, not after he’d been so cagey about her identity last week, so I’d been forced to bide my time. Praise the Lord for her crap sense of direction. I would see her this evening around 7:00 p.m., and tomorrow morning at 5:00 a.m. I figured that’d be plenty of time to work in an invitation to dinner.
I was still smiling as I pulled back into Cooper Road Trail and parked my truck down the slope from the ranger cabin. Gathering my things, I noticed Sarah had left her coffee mug in the cup holder. I tucked it in the mesh side pocket of my pack, so I could wash it before I picked her up this evening, then hiked up the side of the hill to the station.
Drew was already inside when I entered, sitting on the red and gold checked couch. He’d started a fire, as was his habit on chilly mornings, and didn’t look up as I entered. But he did ask, “What’s that you’re whistling?”
I stopped—stopped moving and stopped whistling—because I hadn’t realized I’d been whistling. I tried to think of the tune and came up empty on the song title. “I don’t know.”
Cletus appeared from someplace at my left and offered, “Sounds like that French song by that French lady. Something like Pilaf.”
“No, dummy. It’s Edith Piaf, not pilaf. Pilaf is rice.” Roscoe, my youngest brother, was sitting at the square table in the corner. He’d also escaped my notice at first. Clearly my head had been in the clouds. “And the song is ‘La Vie en rose.’” This last part Roscoe said like he knew how to speak French.
“Since when do you speak French?” Cletus narrowed his eyes on our youngest brother and sipped what smelled like both coffee and molasses from a blue and white enamel mug.
“What the hell are you drinking, Cletus?” He was close enough that I could lean forward and sniff the air around his cup.
“It’s coffee with blackstrap molasses and apple cider vinegar. You should try it. It’s good for your digestion.” Cletus lifted his cup toward me.
Behind him Roscoe cringed, cradling his coffee cup close to his chest as though protecting it.
“Cletus, you’re twenty-seven. I seriously doubt you’re having digestion problems.” I crossed to the basin sink toward the back and retrieved Sarah’s mug from my pack to rinse it.
“I’m not. My plumbing works just fine, thanks for asking. But one day I will. And on that day I’ll be prepared. Additionally, drinking this gives me something to discuss with senior citizens. They’re always talking about their digestion.”
“I have never heard any seniors talk about their digestion.” I didn’t roll my eyes, but I wanted to.
“That’s because you don’t play shuffleboard on Sundays. If you played shuffleboard on Sundays, you’d talk about your digestion and know all about everything going on in town and elsewhere.”