Serenity Falls(20)

On their own accord, my eyes flick to Wes who’s still standing there, listening to my one-sided conversation. “It’s goin’ good, real good, actually. Mr. and Mrs. Adams bought two new Appaloosa mares and asked if I’d help their son get them broken in. Plus, you know, the kids will be here next week, and you know how much I love that.”

“So there’s a boy there, huh?” she asks, with a teasing tone. No. Not a boy. A man. Definitely a man. A blush instantly burns my face, making me wonder if I’m on fire. I don’t know why I’m as embarrassed by this question as a fourteen-year-old having her first major crush.

Instead of answering her question, I rush off the phone. There’s no need to go into detail, especially with him standing right here in front of me. “Hey, I gotta go, but I love you and miss you and I’ll call soon.” I hurry to disconnect the call.

As soon as I slip my phone in my back pocket, Wes asks, “Why is your face so red?”

Damn him. I really wish he wasn’t so perceptive. “Because I just got out of the shower, but you should know that. You did pay me a visit, remember?”

“Oh, you can bet your sweet, southern ass I remember.” He laughs.

“Did you need something?” I know there has to be a reason why he came to my room. With my arms crossed over my chest, I wait for him to answer.

“I’m sure I did, but now I forgot.” A grin tugs at the corners of his lips.

“I bet you did,” I murmur as I squeeze past him into the hallway. Without looking back at him, my phone chimes. It’s a text message and I know it’s my Aunt, but I choose to ignore it. She’s probably wants to remind me this conversation is not over.

The smell of bacon invades my senses and causes me to jog down the stairs to my destination. The kitchen. Sandy stands behind the stove in an apron to protect her clothes. The grease pops and sizzles as she flips strips of bacon. “Good morning, Mrs. Sandy.”

“Oh, hey, Kenleigh. I didn’t hear you come in the kitchen.” She doesn’t look up from the stove as she moves to another skillet to scramble the eggs.

“Can I help with anything?”

“Actually, you can. I have a bag of oranges in the fridge. If you look in that cupboard over there,” she points beside the pantry, “there’s a juicer somewhere along with a pitcher. Could you make some orange juice?”

“Absolutely.” I rummage through the cabinet until I find the juicer and the container. Sitting them on the counter, I turn to the fridge for the oranges. I grab a knife from the butcher block, and set to work making fresh, squeezed orange juice. Just as I finish up, a freshly showered Wes strolls into the kitchen and smiles directly at me. Denim jeans cover his long legs and hang loosely from his hips. I can’t help but notice how his dark blue T-shirt stretches over his broad shoulders and hugs his biceps nicely. The material clings to his chest and stomach, and makes me wish I was that damn T-shirt. When he stretches his arms above his head, my eyes hone in on the sliver of skin playing peek-a-boo between the hem of his shirt and the top of his jeans. I pry my eyes away from him and shake my head clear of any thoughts containing Wesley Adams.

“Hey, Mom. Need help with anything?” He drops his arms back to his sides before walking toward the island in the kitchen.

“Yep, you can set the table. Breakfast is almost done.”

He nods his head, plucks the plates out of the cabinet above me, and the silverware from the drawer next to me, barely brushing my hip with the back of his hand. “Good morning, Kenleigh,” he whispers, leaving me with goose bumps and speechless.

Fuck, he smells so good, like musk, citrus, and fabric softener. Inwardly, I groan as I realize just how screwed I am.

“Good mornin’.” I pretend that I didn’t feel what he just did to me.

“How did you sleep?” he asks, not looking up from the table he’s setting.

“Fine. Thank you,” I reply, remembering I need glasses for everyone’s drinks.

“How was the bed? It’s new.” Sandy chimes in.

“Very comfortable. It sleeps better than my bed back at the dorm that’s for sure. Uh… Mrs. Sandy, where do you keep the glasses?” I ask, not wanting to dig through her cabinets any more than I already have.

“I’m so sorry, dear. They’re over there.” She points to the cabinet next to the one Wes pulled the plates out of just a couple of minutes ago. “You’ll learn where everything is soon enough,” she adds, as I pull out four glasses.

“Do you know if Brantley is having breakfast with us?”

“I’m pretty sure he is, Hun. But if he isn’t in here in the next five minutes, we’ll just start without him.”