Page 11 of Stirring Spurs (Rainbow Ranch #1)

WYLIE

I’m up with the rooster. Slept like a horse—passing out for a little, and then wide awake all night.

Rest overtaken by thoughts of Boone Adams, wearing that leather apron, hat hitched back, barely able to keep the few rogue waves of hair contained, woozy.

In my arms. On the stool. His luscious lips on mine.

The sweet scent of sugar and butter engulfing us in our own little bubble in the corner of the kitchen.

The rock hard boner in my skivvies presents me with a choice. Stay in bed and jerk off before breakfast, or get up and take care of what I promised him last night. Meant to do it after the kissing but was way too distracted.

I quickly get dressed and pull on my boots, knowing I’ve got plenty of time, and head straight for the barn. Benny is usually out just before breakfast, but I’ve made a habit of being the first one Noodles sees each morning. Gotta show up consistently if I wanna earn his trust.

Noodles snorts as I approach his stall.

“Good boy,” I murmur .

I move slowly, letting him make the first move. Before I even raise my hand, he steps forward, nudging my shoulder.

“Oh, you want some attention this morning, huh?”

I reach out to rub his nose, and he flares his nostrils and curls his upper lip. Without overthinking it, I lean down and plant a quick kiss on his nose.

It’s soft, warm—makes my insides cozy at the connection. He nickers gently, and for a brief moment, there’s something unspoken between us.

When Noodles whinnies, a few other horses join in, and I take it as his way of saying he approves.

Something nudges my thigh—Dennis. The latch on his stall is broken, and he’s able to let himself out. Beau mentioned fixing it, but I think everyone likes him being able to make mischief at will.

“Good morning, Dennis. No, the world hasn’t forgotten about you.” I hold his muzzle in my hands and give him a good scratch.

“Alright, let’s clean up this stall, and then I’ll brush you both. Sound good?”

Noodles bumps my head with his muzzle, nearly knocking my hat off, and I chuckle as I grab the muck fork and get to work.

As I replace the bedding with fresh shavings, the air thick with the scent of pine and earth, I hear boots approaching. The sound joins the scrape of my rake against the dirt floor.

“You’re making me look bad.”

It’s Benny. His dark curls escape the front of his hat as he walks over.

“Just need a little peace and quiet with him,” I say, leaning the rake against the wall and giving Noodles’ flank a gentle pat.

“He’s coming along nicely.” Benny hands me an apple, which Noodles wraps his lips around, slobbering as he gobbles it.

I nod and run my hand through his soft mane. “He’s been a good boy for me.”

“You two are quite the pair. We’re lucky to have you.”

I smile. “Reckon I’m the lucky one,” I reply, gently stroking his withers.

“Reckon so.” He winks and walks over to Sassafras, a beautiful chestnut mare.

Once Noodles and Dennis have a good brushing, I head over to the shed, grab the WD-40, and make my way toward the main house.

It’s still too early for breakfast, but I know a certain cookie will be in the kitchen, preparing a feast. My gut does a little flip just thinkin' about seeing his smiling face—and that dimple.

When I’m in the dining room, music from the kitchen blasts, and I hear a faint murmuring. I move as close as I can, staying out of sight through the doorway.

“Your shakin' ass has an extra hitch in it this morning.”

A voice, which I think belongs to Winnie, teases.

“Good song is all.”

Boone.

Hearing him makes my stomach do a slow roll, like a calf caught in a tangled rope.

He’s got this cheery tone to his voice that’s like sunshine after a long storm—bright, warm, and somehow, it makes everything seem a little lighter.

It’s that easy way he has of making you feel like the most important person in the world, like you’ve just been handed a cold drink on a hot day.

Something about that voice, steady and strong, makes my pulse quicken, my body warm.

“Maybe it’ll get you to grate that cheese a little quicker. Gotta get these into the oven in five if we wanna have something to serve at breakfast.”

I do my best to conceal the shit-eating grin painted on my face, and I hold the oil can behind my back and knock on the side of the doorway.

“Mr. Anderson.” Boone gives me a single nod.

He’s standing over four pie shells, filling them from a large bowl.

“Breakfast isn’t for almost an hour. Quiches gotta bake.”

I’m not entirely sure what quiche is, but if Boone’s the one makin' it, you can bet I’ll be eatin' it.

“If you’re hungry,” Winnie says, abandoning her grater and plate of cheese, “we’ve got some peach scones. I think we’re saving 'em for lunch, but you’re more than welcome to have one to tide you over.”

“No, all good.” I pat my stomach. “Just wanted to take care of your wagon.”

I hold the can up and shake it.

“Right out back.” Boone flicks his head toward the exit.

The wooden screen door’s there, likely to keep the flies out, and I take a step toward it.

But for some damn reason, my body decides to take a detour.

Instead of heading straight for the door, I move toward Boone, who’s back at the counter, filling his pie shells with what I reckon is some egg and veggie mix.

I rest my hand on the counter for a second, before leaning in and planting a soft kiss on his cheek—quick, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

I don’t linger, though. I pull back and head for the door with a quick step. It shuts behind me with a solid bang, the sound echoing in the quiet morning as I make my way out.

My heart’s thumping like a drum as the sun starts to rise, painting the sky in all sorts of colors.

I’m not sure what I was thinking—hell, maybe I wasn’t thinking at all.

But after last night, holding him, kissing him, and spending most of the night turning and twisting, thinking about him—I can’t act like nothing happened.

Kissing Boone Adams shifts the ground beneath my boots.

Sure enough, just outside, the wagon’s sitting by the house. While it won’t take more than ten minutes to oil up the axles, I’m in no hurry. I’ll find a way to stretch it out, maybe fiddle with the damn thing a little longer than I need to, just so I can be out here a bit longer—and closer to him.

I grab an old milk crate from a pile nearby and pull the screwdrivers from my back pocket. Planting myself near the wagon, I flip it over. When I turn the wheels, the familiar squeaking fills the air.

“Mr. Anderson.”

Boone’s behind the screen door. Without looking, I can feel his eyes on my back.

The sound of the door closing, clearly in a more controlled manner as the wood gently slaps this time, and he’s here. Behind me.

“You’ve got some nerve.”

My face tightens, muscles pulling like I’ve just sunk my teeth into one of those hot wings, the kind that’ll burn all the way down to your toes.

My eyes narrow, and my jaw sets like stone, the corners of my mouth turning down as I fight to escape the sting of embarrassment crawling up from deep inside.

I can feel it, sharp and tight, but I don’t let it show.

Hell, I’m damn glad I’m facing away from him right now, 'cause I don't want him seeing this.

“Pardon?” I poke at the spokes, not for any reason other than to give my fingers something to do.

“Prancing into my kitchen and kissing me like that.”

“Prancing?” I turn to face him.

He’s got his arms crossed in front of his chest, his apron bunching up, and when my eyes land on his face, I spot that dimple—my first clue he’s yankin' my chain.

“Yes, prancing.”

“Sorry, won’t do it again,” I say, standing.

“Please don’t.” He takes a step toward me, arms still folded.

My hands are occupied with the oil can and screwdrivers, but when Boone Adams slowly advances, light stubble on his jawline catching the rising sun, I drop everything and grab him by the straps of his apron.

“I won’t kiss you like that again,” I whisper.

“Good.”

His eyes find mine, making my insides smolder like campfire embers. Why can’t I be around this man without wanting to have my mouth on his?

“How 'bout like this?” I ask.

The quiet of the morning surrounds us, only the faint sounds of the ranch waking up in the distance accompany the sound of our breathing.

Without speaking, I step closer, my hand cupping Boone’s face gently as my thumb skates up to his cheekbone.

He exhales a soft breath, his lips parting ever so slightly, like he knows what’s coming.

I lean in carefully, not rushing. In the light of day, I want to savor the moment. My lips hover over his, and electricity from his skin sends a tiny shock to my mouth. And then, like a whispered promise, Boone’s lips meet mine.

Memories of last night flood back, intensifying my yearning to draw him closer. I yank on his apron, my breath heavy, smashing our bodies together.

Pulling back, his lips still hovering above mine, Boone whispers, “Like it rough, cowboy?”

Now why he’d have to go and say that? My cock surges to life in my jeans, and with how I’m gripping him close, he’s got to feel it.

I let out a loud puff of air through my nostrils and give a slow nod. Hell, with him, it feels like a stallion buckin' loose—something deep inside me just breaks free, ready to run wild.

“You said an hour 'til breakfast,” I say, not sure what I’m implying, because this isn’t how I typically roll.

I want him so bad it hurts.

“Yeah, but I’ve got more work to do.”

He leans in, brushes a kiss across my nose, then comes back to my lips. He’s gentle, and though our bodies are tangled, he pulls back.

“I’ll get the wagon in tip-top shape,” I say, giving him a wink as I ease my hands off of his apron straps and step back.

Before I can return to the crate, Boone grabs the front of my shirt, yanking me forward with a sudden, forceful yank. My hat slips back, almost tumbling off my head.

He leans in, his lips finding mine in a deep kiss, catching me off guard for a second.

When he pulls away, his grin’s all sharp edges and slow heat. “Now, I’ve got biscuits to bake.”

I catch my breath, nodding, and stumble back toward the wagon, but Boone stays rooted, lingering.

I stop myself and turn back to him, remembering what I’ve got planned for Noodles today, and maybe hoping to keep him out here another minute. “Any chance I could get a few pieces of that cake after breakfast?”

He cocks an eyebrow, giving me that sideways smile. “I thought you didn’t fancy sweets. Now you want a whole plate of my cake?”

I scratch the back of my neck, feeling a little awkward but sticking to it.

“Well, it’s for Noodles. We’ve been walking the paddock for days now, and he’s starting to trust me.

I’m thinking of trying to mount him this morning.

.. and I’ve got a hunch that some cake might make him a bit more agreeable. ”

Boone’s face twists in disbelief, and he stares at me like I’m crazy. “You want more of my cake for the horse ?”

I shrug, the stubble on my chin tickling my finger as I scratch it. “Well, yeah. Might sweeten the deal.”

He laughs, shaking his head, then eyes me with that same dangerous amusement. “How 'bout we make a deal?”

My curiosity piques, and I narrow my eyes. “What kind of deal?”

He steps a little closer, voice low, like he’s telling me a secret. “Meet me after dinner tomorrow night. There’s something I wanna show you.”

I cross my arms, smirking. “Boone, I’d gladly meet you, cake or not.”

His grin widens, the corners of his eyes crinkling as his gaze sharpens, like a hawk zeroing in on its prey.

“So we got ourselves a deal?”

I feel the heat stir in my chest, and my lips turn up in the faintest smile. “Deal.”