Brock let out a rough laugh, the low vibration traveling through the arm he’d wrapped around me.
“Keep talkin’. We both know you’re jealous as hell.”
Colt rolled his eyes so hard I thought he might pull a muscle. "I’m going outside to help Dad with the grill. I can’t be in here anymore. The romance is making me sick."
He grabbed two more bell peppers from the fridge and left.
The moment we were alone, Brock set his beer down. He turned me to face him, and in one easy motion lifted me onto the edge of the granite counter. I let out a soft gasp as he stepped between my knees, his hands sliding up my thighs and pushing my denim apron aside.
“He’s right, you know,” he murmured.
I looped my arms around his neck. “About what?”
“About the way you look at me. Makes it damn hard to focus on running a ranch or finishing our cabin.”
“I think you manage just fine.”
“Barely.”
His blue eyes locked onto mine. Then, he tilted my chin up and kissed me.
The kiss was deep and hungry, his mouth claiming mine until my pulse raced.
I tasted cold beer on his tongue. I breathed in the rich, woodsy scent of his cologne. My fingers slid into the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer. A low groan rumbled in his throat as his hands moved around my thighs, holding me tighter.
For a long moment, nothing else existed.
When he finally pulled back, our breathing was rough and uneven.
"I could stay here all day," he muttered, his thumb tracing a slow circle on my inner thigh.
“Me too. But your dad is making his famous jalapeño cheddar burgers. If we don’t get out there soon, Colt will eat them all.”
He let out a heavy sigh. He stepped back, hands sliding down to my waist, and lifted me off the counter. My boots met the floor with a soft thud.
“Alright,” he said. “Let’s go wrangle the idiot.”
We went to join the barbecue. The afternoon sun bathed the yard in warm, golden light. Silas stood at the charcoal grill, flipping thick burger patties as smoke curled into the blue sky.
Sitting bolt upright beside his left boot, with his eyes fixed hopefully on the grill, was Moose.
“Don’t give him any, Dad,” Wyatt chuckled from the bottom of the porch steps, where he was tossing a rubber ball with Maisie. “He’ll get a stomach ache from the jalapeño again.”
Moose didn’t move. He let out a soft whine, tail thumping once against the grass.
When Wyatt wasn’t looking, Silas discreetly tossed a small, charred piece of meat down. Moose caught it out of the air before it even hit the ground, swallowing it whole.
I laughed, leaning my hip against the wooden porch railing, taking in the lively yard.
“Where’s Wren?” I asked.
Colt groaned. He was sprawled across a lawn chair like he had no bones left in his body.
“She went into Redbow to get beer almost an hour ago. I’m dying out here.” He shot a glare at Brock. “Andsomeonedrank the last two. I’m withering away. If she’s not back in five minutes, I’m drinking the marinade.”
“You drank two beers while I was out feeding the horses this morning,” Brock replied dryly, leaning against the rail. “You’ll survive.”
“That was morning beer! It doesn’t count toward afternoon hydration.”