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Within a few minutes, he comes inside the house, stomping his boots on the mat, flush-cheeked, jeans soaked and looking like Noah fromThe Notebookwhen they got caught in the rain. Boom. It’s official. I’m in love with Texas.
He smiles at me, removes his beanie cap, and sets it on the counter. His eyes drift lower to my bare legs. Cat’s out of the bag.
“I, well, I wanted to wash my clothes. I hope you don’t mind. I can take it off if it bothers you.” I reach for the hem, not even realizing that I’m standing in the same room as his children, who more than likely haven’t seen a naked woman before, and,hello, I’m starting to take my clothes off in front of a man and his two small children.
Did I hit my head too hard in the accident? Do I have brain damage? Who does this shit?
“You don’t have to give it back to me right now,” Barron says, eyes wide in shock and gesturing with a tip of his head to his kids on the couch mindlessly drinking their hot chocolate.
“Right.” I drop my hands. “Well—” And then I do quite possibly the most embarrassing thing I’ve done yet in my life. I choke on my own spit. I’m not talking about clearing my throat or coughing politely. I’m talking about choking and then coughing, spitting, face red, freaking out that I can’t breathe. That kind of choking that requires a good five-minute recovery, and even then, your throat is sore for the rest of the day, and not in a good way, if you know what I mean.
Anyways, that happened.
After my not-so ladylike recovery of obsessively clearing my throat for a good two minutes, I realize Barron is staring at me like he’s not sure whether I need the Heimlich or mouth to mouth. Honestly, if he was touching me in any way, I’d love it. His face pales. “Are you okay?”
“Christ on a cracker.” I clasp my hand to my chest. “I think my lung got stuck in my throat there for a second.”
He stares at me as if he can’t believe he left this whacko with his children all day. And I can’t blame him one bit.
“What happened to your clothes?” he asks, but there’s a smirk on his face as if he knows and he’s not saying anything.
“We went up to the barn.” And I leave it at that because me falling into cow shit isn’t a story I want to tell this guy. It’s about as embarrassing as smashing into the side of his shop with my car or running around in his clothes like I’m playing house in some kind of Hallmark movie pretending to be something I’m not.
Standing closer to me, his breath hits my face, his eyes drifting over my shoulder to his kids, still engrossed in whatever it is they’re watching on television. “I’ll let you in on a little secret,” he whispers, his rough Southern accent sending chills through my entire body.
“What?”
“There are cameras in the barn.”
I hang my head in defeat. “I knew it.”
“Daddy!” the girls yell when they notice their dad.
“We makes a mommy spell.” That comes from Sev, who’s rubbing her entire body on the rug in front of the fireplace.
Barron’s eyes shoot to mine. “What?”
“They made a potion,” I say, gesturing to the pot on the stove.
He glances into the pot and then eyes me with amusement. “Sounds like an eventful day.”
“And Kacy fells in Poppy’s poop!” Sev rats me out, itching her arms.
Barron chuckles and sets his thermos on the counter. “I thought something smelled in here.”
“I don’t stink.” I grab hold of Sev, placing her in front of Barron. “She had these hives when I found her this morning.”
He holds his arms out, and Sev reaches for him. “Ya itching, little girl?”
She shakes her head, still itching. “No.”
Tenderly, his lips press to her forehead, and he pushes her blonde curls from her face. I nearly have to fan myself. Who knew watching a man be a good dad could be so sexy. Reaching into the cupboard behind him, he retrieves what looks to be Benadryl.
I help him out by taking the measuring cap off the top so he can hold Sev at the same time. “Is this normal? Camdyn said this happens sometimes.”
“She has sensitive skin. Could be the cold weather.” He sets her on the counter, where she continues to scratch her stomach and face. When he gives her the medicine, she stares at him. “Or she’s coming down with something.”
“I not sick!” she yells, sliding off the counter and onto the floor. Reaching into the back of her pants, she scratches her bunny as she walks away.