No Accounting for Cowboys by Leah Braemel

Author:Leah Braemel
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2014-10-15T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Bleary-eyed, and his ribs aching more than they had the day before, Jake eyed the multiple bottles of girly shampoo and perfume bottles that filled his medicine cabinet and spilled over his bathroom counter. She hadn’t even moved in permanently yet and she’d already taken over his bathroom. Which he didn’t mind. He’d made a game out of her penchant for changing up her scent, trying to guess if she had a system in the way she arranged her bottles. (She didn’t from what he could tell.) But where the hell had his Advil gone? He normally kept it right there on the top shelf, currently occupied by a bottle of blue liquid labeled as eye make-up remover, an upright tube of collagen elastin facial moisturizer that claimed to visibly reduce fine lines and wrinkles—must work well because as far as he’d noticed Paige didn’t have any wrinkles to worry about—and nestled between it and a tube of apricot scrub. Right where the Extra Strength Advil should be was a small tube of... He squinted at the tiny writing. “Greek yogurt nourishing facial? Are you supposed to eat it or what?”

“You up to a coffee, baby?” Paige called from the kitchen.

“Yeah. Black. Hot and strong.” How the hell could she be so cheerful this early on a Sunday morning? He stumbled out of the bathroom and down the hall. “Hey, Paige. D’you know where the—”

His mother stood on the porch, staring at him through the screen door. Pebbles, the traitor, nudged her hand in an ever hopeful quest for treats.

Fuck. “What do you want?”

Stupid question. He already knew the answer.

“Hey, Cissy, come on in.” Paige shot him a warning glance, then opened the door and stepped aside.

His mother smoothed her hands down her thighs, raised her head and walked in as if she owned the place. Nervous maybe, but determined. He could tell by the set of her chin. He’d seen it in the mirror often enough. “Good morning, Paige. You look lovely this morning.”

As much as he hated agreeing with his mother, she was right. Instead of being tucked up in a ponytail or in some updo the way she normally wore it when she was working, Paige’s hair floated around her shoulders, tousled with traces of where he’d run his fingers through it the night before. A faded plaid shirt—one of his—had been belted at her waist and trailed down over her thighs like a dress, the top three snaps left undone to give him a tantalizing hint of her cleavage and upper swell of her breasts. Long trim legs, bare, ending in trim ankles and bare feet that padded back to the counter, then returned to stand directly in front of him.

She had really nice ankles. Pretty feet too. Huh, who knew he had a foot fetish?

“Jake, here’s your coffee.”

A white china mug blocked his view of her feet, its contents swirling in a hypnotizing pattern. She pressed it into his hand and curled his fingers around the handle, then urged, “Go sit down.

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