The Cowboy's Surprise Baby Daughters by Ella Brooke

Author:Ella Brooke [Brooke, Ella]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sophia Lynn & Ella Brooke
Published: 2019-08-26T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

Blake

“I had Henry pack us a lunch,” I say, changing the subject and keeping my eyes on the path ahead. “We can still take a break down by the water before we head back. I’m thinking your backside might be a little sore by then.” The thought of her reddened rump rocking back and forth in that saddle, and picturing her swimming in the waterhole without a bathing suit triggers an inconvenient reaction from my privates. Jesus Christ, I’m losing it. I’m playing kiddie pranks, spouting corny double-entendres and getting an adolescent hard-on. Have I been alone so long that the proximity of any pretty woman gets me this discombobulated? Or is it just this particular woman?

“It’s not sore,” she calls from behind.

“Ha. Maybe not now. But it will be.” Shit. There I go again. Another statement that could be taken the wrong way. “I mean, when you dismount. That’s when you’ll find out.”

“Now you tell me,” she grumbles, but there’s a lightheartedness to her tone, and her whole behavior today. Distinctly different than her usual all-business persona. I’m not sure what’s causing this sea-change, but I have to admit that I like it. I like it a lot. I like her a lot; and maybe that’s the trouble.

I hear the sound of rushing water as we near the creek. I’ve got a spot in mind by the waterhole where we can stop. Wouldn’t want Henry’s fixings to go to waste. I’ll bet he’s even tucked a flask of Jack in my saddlebag, and that will go down real nice on a day like today. The heat’s made it kinda muggy down here in the shade of the trees. “Now, we’re gonna have to cross the creek to get to the water hole,” I call over my shoulder. “Just follow me.”

The creek isn’t more than ten feet wide but has large rocks in its bed, making it too treacherous to walk through, in addition to creating a fast-moving flow of water. A makeshift bridge of logs lain across its span is the only way over; built up over the years with layers of mud, moss and grass. I lead us across and pick up the trail on the other side. We ride in silence the rest of the way, the path narrowing as it runs alongside the water hole. There’s a spot where the bank flattens out and is covered with short, meadow grass. “Here we are,” I announce, bringing us to a stop. “Let me help you down.”

“I think I can manage,” she says, the haughty, self-sufficient Allison resurfacing. Damn. I was really enjoying the other one for a minute there.

“Hey, who’s giving the lesson here?” I say, swinging down off Ben’s back. “There’s a right way and a wrong way. You get off the same side you got on. Never the opposite. Grab onto the horn, put your weight on your left foot and swing your right leg over and down.”

Allison does as instructed and lands safely on the ground.

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