chapterfour
Amber
I stand in my room looking at myself in the mirror. I snap a picture and immediately send it to Birdie.
Me:
Me: Do I look as stupid as I feel?
Birdie: NO! Damn, girl, you look hot. Want me to ask Harrison’s opinion?
Me: Please don’t. This is embarrassing enough as it is.
Birdie: You’ve got this. You look like a sex kitten.
Me: Or Daisy Duke’s drug addicted little sister.
Birdie: LOL. Not true. But that was funny.
Birdie: Do you want him?
Me: More than anything.
Birdie: Do you believe you belong together?
Me: Yes, I really do.
Birdie: Then go seduce that man!
Me: Thank you. Sorry to bug you on your honeymoon.
Birdie: It’s really a work trip, we’re just pretending it’s a honeymoon.
I look at my reflection again. My ass is practically hanging out of the bottom of my denim shorts. And my size C plus boobs strain against the white of my tank top. I don’t normally free-boob it; I’m a bra-wearing kinda of gal. But desperate times call for desperate measures.
I’ve got a week to make Quinn see that we belong together.
I run back down the stairs to make the finishing touches on dinner. They’re supposed to be quitting early today because one of the new ranch hands is getting married out of town.
I’ve made all his favorites for dinner. About a week after I got here, I found his mama’s old recipe book and I’ve been slowly making my way through it. She cooked a lot like my Granny, and I don’t know, I kinda feel like I’ve gotten to know her in a way by flipping through that old book. All her handwritten notes in the margins. Sticky notes stuck to pages to remind her which kid wanted which cake for their birthday.
Though in Quinn’s case, he prefers pie. Pecan pie to be exact. Made with pecans harvested off this very property, too. I wasn’t here back in late fall, early winter when they would have been picked and put up. But I have sure made use of the stash I found in the deep freeze. Last week, I chopped some up and put them in some homemade sticky buns.
I know the night that Quinn brought me here, the night he “saved” me, he didn’t care if I knew a kitchen from a garage. There was no way for him to know I’ve been on my own since I was sixteen. That I’d been cooking with my Granny since I could reach the countertops in her old two bedroom home. Even I didn’t know at the time how much I would love puttering around the kitchen, getting up early enough to make breakfast for Quinn and Harrison before they head out to work. Making a big mess of food for them and the ranch hands at lunch.
I’ve taken to this life like it’s what I was born to do. I’ve fallen in love with this old house and the lovely family memories that seem steeped in the walls. It feels like home in a way nothing has since Granny died.
And, yes, I know some of that is because it is arealhome. The first real home I’ve had since Granny died. But most of it is because this is Quinn’s home and my heart already feels like home is wherever he is.
Gravel crunches beneath tires outside and I know that means Quinn is home. Butterflies launch into flight in my belly, but I keep myself busy in the kitchen, finishing up everything. He’ll want to shower before he eats. Not that I care one way or another. I’m so desperate for him to touch me, he could come in covered in mud and I’d still want to be pressed up against his huge, muscular frame.
He’s not built like a body-builder or a gym rat. No, Quinn’s body is sculpted from lifting hay bales and feed bags and hauling baby calves when necessary.
Normally he’ll come in, bark a greeting in the general direction of kitchen, then head to his room for a shower. But today he says nothing and I just hear his feet stomp down the hall, then his bedroom door slams.
So he’s not in a great mood. I’ve dealt with Quinn moody before. Hell, Quinn is always moody. Growly, grumpy, scowl-y, he’s like the Seven Dwarfs of a bad mood.
Fifteen minutes later I’m pouring him a fresh glass of iced tea when he barges into the eat-in kitchen area. He stops cold at the sight of me. My back is to him, but I hear the shock in the sudden halt of his footsteps. I turn to face him, holding out the glass of iced tea. His eyes land on my face.