“She’s probably really expensive,” Frankie warns, as if that’ll dissuade me.
My gaze burns into hers, long enough to make her shiver. “Worth every penny.”
It’s barely six o’clock when I ease myself onto a stool, propping my elbows onto the granite countertop. The kitchen is quiet and dark. Everyone is still asleep, including the sun. I was dragged out of hibernation by an aroma too tempting to resist.
Steam rises from the mug in front of me. I inhale deeply, my mouth watering for that first sip. It doesn’t disappoint. A moan slips from me as the caffeinated decadence of fresh coffee bathes my taste buds. The light roast blend is enhanced with traces of hazelnut and vanilla. It’s complex, but straightforward. There are layers to enjoy without too much fuss. Much like the man who made it.
I savor another sip. This is a real treat after weeks of choking down the dark, bitter sludge Byron prefers to drink. It would’vebeen easy to buy a kind I prefer, but coffee is even more delicious when someone else does all the work. This cup is further proof. Based on the silence in the house, he must’ve scheduled it to brew for me. An odd warmth spreads through my chest, which has little to do with my senses waking up.
He’s been different lately. Not as prickly. Much more generous. His acts of service aren’t strictly monetary, but I’m still processing how much the gruella mare cost him. He insists she’s mine, which is difficult to accept. Gifts aren’t given freely where I come from whether it’s the holiday season or not.
My stomach sours at the reminder, threatening to ruin my peaceful morning. Byron doesn’t seem to expect anything in return. It’s equal parts confusing and thrilling.
I glance at the black void beyond the window, getting lost in my thoughts. That’s when a throat clears behind me. Hot liquid splashes over the rim of my mug when I startle and whip around.
“The fuck?” I screech too loudly for the early hour.
My heart leaps into my throat. The grumpy cowboy is standing near the front door, dressed in his outdoor gear. His stare doesn’t leave mine as he kicks off his doodled boots and strides from the shadows of the entryway.
“It’s not polite to sneak up on someone,” I mutter.
His shrug isn’t bothered by the bite in my tone. “This is my house. I’ll come and go as I please.”
“Don’t I know it.”
With my pulse pounding a frantic rhythm, I study him closely. His cheeks are rosy, but definitely not from being jolly. The frosted tips in his beard make him appear more salty than the usual gray specks. It’s not a good look for him if I want to remain nonchalant.
I force the strain in my expression to neutralize. “Where were you?”
“Horses don’t feed themselves in winter,” he drawls while stripping off his coat. “Your mare fits in as if she was born in the herd.”
“My mare,” I breathe. “Her name is Greta. Your daughter picked it. That way, when you come to your senses, you can give her to Ronnie.”
His chuckle is gravel and rough sex. “Maybe you’ll scrounge up the courage to ride her one of these days. That’s a sight I’d pay to see.”
I tap my pursed lips. “Like forty thousand dollars?”
A gleam slides over Byron’s eyes when I recite the amount he paid for her. He approaches me at a leisurely pace as if he needs to think it over. “I’d go higher.”
I watch him crossing the room before he leans against the dining table. The four feet separating us doesn’t spare me from his woodsy pine scent. “How much?”
“Your ass and tits bouncing in the saddle are worth at least half a million.”
I choke on my coffee. This is the first time he’s been the suggestive one. “Damn, maybe I should start selling tickets.”
His gaze hardens into steel. “It’d be a private show, menace. Nobody else is allowed.”
“Does someone have a possessive streak? Interesting,” I purr. “Is that why you were watching me just now?”
“You weren’t combative for once. It was a nice change of pace.”
I scoff. “Liar. How long were you lurking over there?”
“Long enough to know you like the coffee I chose.”
Heat stings my cheeks and I’m hoping the kitchen is dark enough to mask my blush. “Why’d you make it for me?”
Byron stretches the tension until it’s thicker than his dick. “Thought I’d be nice.”