Okay, so some people might argue this agreement with Joshua was prostituting herself, a little bit. But it wasn’t like she was going to have sex with him.
She nearly choked on her Pop-Tart at the thought. And she lingered a little too long on what it might be like to get close to a man like Joshua. To any man, really. The way her mother had behaved all of her life had put Danielle off men. Or, more specifically, she supposed it was the way men had behaved toward Danielle’s mother that had put her off.
As far as Danielle could tell, relationships were a whole lot of exposing yourself to pain, deciding you were going to depend on somebody and then having that person leave you high and dry.
No, thank you.
But she supposed she could see how somebody might lose their mind enough to take that risk. Especially when the person responsible for the mind loss had eyes that were blue like Joshua’s. She leaned back against the couch, her hand falling slack, the Pop-Tart dangling from her fingertips.
Yesterday there had been the faint shadow of golden stubble across that strong face and jaw, his eyes glittering with irritation. Which she supposed shouldn’t be a bonus, shouldn’t be appealing. Except his irritation made her want to rise to the unspoken challenge. To try to turn that spark into something else. Turn that irritation into something more...
“Are you eating my Pop-Tarts?”
The voice cut through the music and she jumped, flinging the toaster pastry into the air. She ripped her headphones out of her ears and turned around to see Joshua, his arms crossed over his broad chest, his eyebrows flat on his forehead, his expression unreadable.
“You said whatever was in your house was mine to use,” she squeaked. “And a warning would’ve been good. You just about made me jump out of my skin. Which was maybe your plan all along. If you wanted to make me into a skin suit.”
“That’s ridiculous. I would not fit into your skin.”
She swallowed hard, her throat dry. “Well, it’s a figure of speech, isn’t it?”
“Is it?” he asked.
“Yes. Everybody knows what that means. It means that I think you might be a serial killer.”
“You don’t really think I’m a serial killer, or you wouldn’t be here.”
“I am pretty desperate.” She lifted her hand and licked off a remnant of jam. “I mean, obviously.”
“There are no Pop-Tarts left,” he said, his tone filled with annoyance.
“You said I could have whatever I wanted. I wanted Pop-Tarts.”
“You ate all of them.”
“Why do you even have Pop-Tarts?” She stood up, crossing her arms, mimicking his stance. “You don’t look like a man who eats Pop-Tarts.”
“I like them. I like to eat them after I work outside.”
“You work outside?”
“Yes,” he said. “I have horses.”
Suddenly, all of her annoyance fell away. Like it had been melted by magic. Equine magic. “You have horses?” She tried to keep the awe out of her voice, but it was nearly impossible.
“Yes,” he said.
“Can I... Can I see them?”
“If you want to.”
She had checked the range on the baby monitor, so depending on how far away from the house the horses were, she could go while Riley was napping.
“Could we see the house from the barn? Or wherever you keep them?”
“Yeah,” he said, “it’s just right across the driveway.”
“Can I see them now?”
“I don’t know. You ate my Pop-Tarts. Actually, more egregious than eating my Pop-Tarts, you threw the last half of one on the ground.”
“Sorry about your Pop-Tarts. But I’m sure that a man who can have an entire nursery outfitted in less than twenty-four hours can certainly acquire Pop-Tarts at a moment’s notice.”
“Or I could just go to the store.”
She had a hard time picturing a man like Joshua Grayson walking through the grocery store. In fact, the image almost made her laugh. He was way too commanding to do something as mundane as pick up a head of lettuce and try to figure out how fresh it was. Far too...masculine to go around squeezing avocados.
“What?” he asked, his eyebrows drawing together.
“I just can’t imagine you going to the grocery store. That’s all.”
“Well, I do. Because I like food. Food like Pop-Tarts.”
“My mom would never buy those for me,” she said. “They were too expensive.”
He huffed out a laugh. “My mom would never buy them for me.”
“This is why being an adult is cool, even when it sucks.”
“Pop-Tarts whenever you want?”
She nodded. “Yep.”
“That seems like a low bar.”
She lifted a shoulder. “Maybe it is, but it’s a tasty one.”
He nodded. “Fair enough. Now, why don’t we go look at the horses.”
* * *
Joshua didn’t know what to expect by taking Danielle outside to see the horses. He had been irritated that she had eaten his preferred afternoon snack, and then, perversely, even more irritated that she had questioned the fact that it was his preferred afternoon snack. Irritated that he was put in the position of explaining to someone what he did with his time and what he put into his body.
He didn’t like explaining himself.
But then she saw the horses. And all his irritation faded as he took in the look on her face. She was filled with...wonder. Absolute wonder over this thing he took for granted.
The fact that he owned horses at all, that he had felt compelled to acquire some once he had moved into this place, was a source of consternation. He had hated doing farm chores when he was a kid. Hadn’t been able to get away from home and to the city fast enough. But in recent years, those feelings had started to change. And he’d found himself seeking out roots. Seeking out home.
For better or worse, this was home. Not just the misty Oregon coast, not just the town of Copper Ridge. But a ranch. Horses. A morning spent riding until the sun rose over the mountains, washing everything in a pale gold.
Yeah, that was home.
He could tell this ranch he loved
