“Are you talking to a donkey?” came Jane’s silky voice from behind him.
Brock’s headache gripped his head like a vise. “Well, it seemed the other option was to ignore him and I wasn’t sure if that would just piss the damn thing off more.”
“Fred’s harmless.” She breezed past him and moved into the kitchen while the donkey continued staring at Brock like he was the one who didn’t belong here.
“Wait. Did you call him Fred?” Brock stood slowly, eyeing the donkey for any sudden moves.
“Yup,” came her reply. “All the animals have names. The ranch hand said it makes them feel more like pets. He left a list on the fridge.”
“Donkeys aren’t pets.”
Jane’s eyes twinkled. “Oh?”
“No,” Brock argued.
Jane pointed. “He seems to think differently.”
The donkey was directly behind him; the damn thing had followed him into the kitchen.
“Out!” Brock clapped his hands, which of course made the donkey neigh or whatever the hell they did—louder, until the ear-splitting sound was deafening.
“You didn’t use his name,” Jane teased.
Brock glared. “Did you let him in? Is this punishment for being rude last night?”
She snorted. “The idea does have merit, but no, I didn’t sic Fred on you. I’d like to think I’m more creative than that.”
Fred nudged Brock to the side then slowly moved into the kitchen and stopped in front of Jane.
“I think he’s hungry,” Jane whispered, patting Fred on the head.
A slight twinge of jealousy had Brock ready to drop kick the donkey and push him out of the way. Her hands roamed over the donkey’s head.
“Lucky bastard,” Brock said under his breath.
“Hmm?” Jane looked up.
Brock swore.
“Can you make coffee already?” he barked at a startled Jane, whose face managed to say everything she didn’t as it crumpled before him.
“Of course. Anything else, sir?” she asked in a dead voice.
Shit.
What the hell was wrong with him?
A nagging voice in his head blamed her—but she was just the unlucky target and it didn’t help that every time he locked eyes with her he thought of her soft mouth—of trailing kisses down her neck.
Or just pinning her against the wall.
But in a sick twist of fate, the only woman who’d managed to spike his interest in years was off limits. At least to someone like him. Someone who didn’t get to choose his own path.
Repression. That’s what was happening. He’d spent so many years being a yes man that he was finally cracking, saying things he didn’t mean, snapping, and then dreaming about kissing the scowl from her lips.
She’d probably slap the shit out of him.
And he’d deserve it.
“No.” He finally found his voice. “Actually,” he smirked, “Why don’t you make breakfast and coffee while I kick the ass out of the house and make sure he’s the only animal that escaped during the storm?”
Jane grabbed a skillet and slammed it onto the stovetop. When he cursed she offered a polite smile. “Headache?”
He glared.
Smile still in place, she lifted her chin. “How do you like your eggs?”
He frowned.
And then frowned harder.
“I have no damn clue.”
“Well,” she said, making her way to the fridge, “that’s helpful. Are you going to fire me if I guess wrong?”
“And if I do?” he challenged, suddenly realizing he liked the way her eyes lit up when she was angry. “What then? Will you leave?”
“No.”
“Didn’t think so.”
“Why are you being difficult?”
“Because I finished a fifth of whiskey by myself last night, because this damn house has living breathing ghosts, but mainly because you look too damn good, and I’m suddenly discovering that this house has a way of shredding every ounce of self-control I possess. So unless you want to find yourself naked and in my bed, I suggest you do your job and stay the hell away.”
With that, he stomped out of the house. Luckily for him, the ass trotted after him as if they were playing a version of Follow the Leader.
That had gone well.
He let out a frustrated curse.
Great. Now Jane probably thought he was going to jump her in the night. Her shocked expression hit him in the gut, twisting like a knife.
At least he’d been honest with her about how attracted to her he was.
Hopefully she’d stay far away. How hard could it be to just do her job and ignore him?
Furthermore. Why. Was. She. Here?
His grandfather had been vague.
For some reason he still felt puppet strings digging into his skin, and he couldn’t shake the suspicion that Jane was just another way his grandfather was manipulating him.