Page 27 of Marrying the Gardener (The Bachelor Brothers #3)

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Falling for my husband.

Crimson

I think I like Kaleb. I think I like , like Kaleb.

I’m not certain when the sensation of like-liking first hit, only that it hasn’t been leaving me alone since yesterday. So I guess that means it hit me yesterday?

Perhaps it first appeared while I was feverishly searching for information about how to take care of someone with a hangover?

Or maybe it was while I was gathering supplies and locating one of the sippy cups I keep on hand for when I’m left entertaining my father’s client’s wives and they bring their young kids along?

I don’t know.

All I know is that once he fell asleep in my arms, I didn’t move for nearly an hour. My legs went numb half-trapped beneath his bulk, and yet I couldn’t drag myself away.

I spent almost an hour stuck under a man, tracing his eyelashes and lips and nose, stopping myself from stealing kisses, wondering what in the world was wrong with my brain if I wanted to steal kisses.

Right now, the sensation of his body trapping me to a pool table ignites in each of my cells, and I can barely handle the way he’s mindlessly rubbing his hand up and down my back while we begin today’s date activity—which involves listening to a guide’s instructions at Canter Creek Ranch.

Because—against all sense—he has taken me horseback riding.

Horseback riding .

I don’t know how he knows that I love horses and riding.

It’s not like I talk about it, and I rarely ever get the time or the excuse these days.

Growing up in the lap of luxury like I did, my soul knew I was meant to have a pony.

I obsessed over the idea. I read horse encyclopedias cover to cover—but I knew better than to ask my father for anything that might involve putting more than a cursory effort into my existence.

The first time I was allowed around a horse was when my father was striking a deal with a man who loved his daughter enough to get her a full stable.

The days of befriending her and every horse in her custody lasted barely a spring…

then the deals fell through…and we no longer associated with “idiots who couldn’t see a good thing if it hit them in the face. ”

My interests and passions have always been secondary to maintaining my household, keeping my father’s clients content, and being a Nightingale . So I don’t talk about them. I don’t fill my room or my home with them.

I exist like a purse or a pair of shoes, something used and put back in a closet.

There is no way Kaleb should know that this is the best possible date idea he could have had.

But, in this moment, I feel remarkably seen.

And I’m not even sure if it’s a coincidence or intentional.

I don’t think even Crisis knows about my love of horses.

The only time I’ve mentioned anything to her in passing about horses is when she met General, said he was huge, and I commented that I got him in lieu of a rich girl pony because dogs are less work.

Did Kaleb talk to Ava? Would Ava give my childhood secrets away?

Even though she’s not been nearly as aggressive toward him since the first day, there’s still an edge of warning in her eyes whenever they interact. Surely that means she wouldn’t be, on any level, conspiring with him…

Right?

“When mounting, we ask that you use the assist.” The guide drags a stool up to the palomino standing calmly before us.

Stepping up, she swings her leg onto the pretty quarter horse’s back and pats his golden neck.

“It’s just easier on you and on the horses if you’re not yanking on their saddle to get up.

Now, once you’re mounted—” She rests her hands on the saddlehorn.

“—our horses are known for their training and temperaments. They’ve been taught completely without reins, so they’ll follow the command of your body.

” She clicks her tongue and squeezes her legs, ushering the pretty boy in a circle around the stool as she proceeds to explain go and stop commands.

Kaleb—irreverent—leans toward my ear and murmurs, “I want you to know how well I’m behaving myself right now.”

I glance at him. “What do you mean?”

“Every line, Crimson.” He sighs. “Every line is an innuendo begging to happen.”

Surely not.

However, even I’m not naive enough that I can’t hear it when I replay the instructions…so I elbow Kaleb in the side.

“Once you’re comfortable trotting in the bullpen, we’ll take you out on the riding trail.” The woman smiles, stopping the horse by the mount assist stool and swinging herself off. “Any questions?”

Kaleb raises his hand.

“Yes, sir?”

“Can we share a horse?”

My back straightens as Fabios on the covers of historical romances alight in my mind.

Blessedly, the woman draws her hands together and offers a pacifying look when she says, “That is not recommended.”

Ha. Excellent. I don’t want to share.

Kaleb’s thumb circles a dimple at the small of my back. “Pity. Without a chaperone, I fear Crimson may try to steal your horse. She adores them.”

“Don’t listen to him,” I say. “I promise I will not steal any horses.”

“Right.” Kaleb nods, placating. “She’s a Nightingale. She’ll buy all your horses instead.”

The woman brightens. “We do keep some breeding mares if you are interested in buying a horse. It will be a waiting list, but I can ask my boss to get the paperwork together for you before you leave?”

My horse girl dreams dangle before me…still out of reach.

Maybe after I have a thriving business I can invest in a horse.

Assuming I’ll have any time left for one.

“That won’t be necessary. Thank you, though.

” I provide Kaleb with a withering look, tempted more with each passing moment to message Ava and see if she really conspired against me.

At home, Kaleb hasn’t been a monster , but he’s still been uncompromising in front of my staff. Proud. Domineering. A tapestry of underlying red flags.

Once or twice, he’s even cornered me in a hallway with an audience and…

Actually, no. I’d rather not think about what he’s done in those moments right at this exact second. Not while I feel as though my soul has been laid bare.

The swirl of romantic interest and flutters invading me lean my thoughts toward what he told me about demisexuals while I mount the palomino to practice in the bullpen.

As I try to bury my brain in the joy of running my fingers through the coarse mane in front of me, I realize why yesterday affected me so much.

My father was no stranger to hangovers or being drunk.

He was also most likely to hit me for something inconsequential while under the influence of alcohol.

I didn’t think that Kaleb would hit me while he wasn’t feeling well, but I did expect him to grump and grouse at least a little bit.

Instead, he was kind.

He was grateful.

He was gentle.

He told me he appreciated me.

I can’t explain how deeply that is all I have ever wanted from anyone. And he figured that out. He knew . Because he didn’t just say he appreciated me. He recognized—while hungover—that appreciation was the language I preferred.

And now he’s taken me to a ranch and put me on a horse and—

Well. I just can’t handle this.

Being seen like this—and treasured through it—is an experience I’ve only ever had with Crisis before.

Kaleb mounting a black quarter horse beside me is the most attractive thing I have ever witnessed.

Wearing his usual work outfit of a plaid shirt and dirty jeans, he looks as though he was built for farmboy .

Ranch hand. Nature. Gardens. Rugged activities that make his hands rough against my skin and… I really need to shut my brain up.

So I focus on our guide as she relays the instructions and tells us to separate our horses so we have room to practice on opposite sides of the bullpen.

With casual ease, Kaleb angles his body, clicks, and murmurs, “Good girl,” when his black mare walks away from mine.

In stark contrast, my steed heads toward him.

“Whoa,” the guide says, gripping a rein and halting my palomino. “He’ll follow your body language, so you need to commit to where you want to go.” She directs a hand firmly away from Kaleb. “Which is that way.”

“Right.” Heat flares. “Sorry. I got mixed up.”

Distracted. No more distractions. I’m not attracted to Kaleb. That is silly. Deep emotional connections do not form in a matter of weeks—even if those weeks are spent together constantly, evenings filled with one another, talking…kissing…flipping Monopoly boards.

Maybe deep emotional connections actually do form under circumstances exactly like these…

After all, it took me a striking two minutes to fall in love with Crisis.

But, notably, Crisis is a woman with big brown eyes. Endearing mischief saturates her every motion. She loves like she hates—thoroughly, encompassingly, catastrophically.

My heart yearns after the simplicity of loving someone who already loves me. It disdains risk games. It protects itself against chance.

The mutual fall between Crisis and I happened, and the rest was history. Our souls knew their match. The end.

If Kaleb were a woman, thus removing my natural-born distrust of men, would I have fallen for him in the same way I fell for Crisis? Would my soul have recognized kinship in him immediately as well?

No.

No, I’m being stupid. Very stupid.

He somehow managed to convince Ava to give him cheat codes for today, and I am putting far too much weight on him knowing anything about me since I recognize that I slip sterilely through this world, only taking interest in what others need me to in order to cultivate relationships with them.

This isn’t monumental; it’s a trick.

Stopping my horse, I pull my phone out of my pocket, rub the palomino’s golden coat, and shoot a message to Ava, hoping I don’t get talked to for texting and riding.

Crimson: Ava, did Kaleb ask you about anything yesterday?

Her message returns, immediate.

Ava: He asked me what we were having for dinner?

Crimson: That’s all?

Ava: Yes. Why? Is everything okay?

Everything is…very okay. Or. Very something anyway.

Shoving a warm breath filled with the scent of hay and earth into my lungs, I reply:

Crimson: Everything is fine. Thank you.

I can’t be more specific because we’re supposed to have known each other for several years now. He’s supposed to know things about me. I’m supposed to have opened up about this sort of stuff. Except I haven’t. And I didn’t put it in my debriefing. And…I have no idea how he knows.

Thinking back on it, this speculation that he mined Ava for information is silly because it would go against the script. He’s supposed to already know, and if he doesn’t, he’s not supposed to care. He’s playing the role of an egomaniac. And an egomaniac doesn’t care.

As far as anyone who may come into contact with key players in this scheme of ours needs to know, our dates are the time when Kaleb gets to enjoy himself and show me off.

He wouldn’t break script by gathering information so he could plan a date I’d enjoy. That doesn’t fit the agenda.

Somehow, Kaleb figured it out on his own. Because he loves me. And has spent every second he could since we met trying to show me that with his every breath.

That knowledge really does something to me.

And I think it’s called falling in love.