The landscape had lots of large river rocks, a little stream that ran right through the garden, made to look natural, but clearly manmade. “This place is amazing.”
Killian hit a button in his truck, and the one garage door opened. He pulled his truck in next to his black sports car. I had to wonder how the man afforded a place like this, but then it dawned that we weren’t going to a restaurant. He was cooking.
He came around the truck, opened my door and offered me his hand. I could feel callouses on his and wondered how they’d feel moving over my body. My legs went a little weak at the thought. He held the back door for me, and Cooper and Max immediately greeted us.
“Hey, guys,” I said, getting down on my knees and hugging them both. Then I saw his kitchen. I stood. As much as I loved my kitchen, I had kitchen envy. Black cabinets lined the wall, a huge slap of granite resting on what looked like a pile of huge river rock was the kitchen island. The same granite was used as the backsplash. Parts of the wall were the wood while other parts were plastered and painted a smoky gray.
“The potatoes are on. I need to start the grill,” he said.
I chuckled, remembering my grill adventure. “What kind of grill you got?” I asked.
He remembered, too, when he grinned. It was just a grin, but coming from a man who showed little emotion, that look was worthy of framing. He waited for me then we walked to the great room, Cooper and Max following us, but I stopped at the stairs because he had a tree in the middle of his house, the branches were the support beams for the spiral staircase.
“I’ve never seen anything like that.”
“It was just an idea.”
“Your idea?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
So not just into construction. “Were you an architect?”
If he was surprised by my question, I couldn’t tell. “Not by training.”
“Really?” I glanced around his house. “You designed this, right?”
“Yeah, know what I like.”
It wasn’t so much his words, but the fact that he was looking at me when he said them. My heart did a slow roll in my chest. He continued to the deck; I followed but took my time, now knowing he designed his house. The fireplace was stone, but unlike my stone, it looked like the opening of a cave, even the mantel was stone. It was big and chunky, and with the straight lines of the rafter ceiling and walls, it added visual interest. The furniture was leather, a warm chocolate brown, and area rugs in dark jewel tones rested under them. He didn’t have antlers or deer heads. There was a clock over the mantle, a huge, roman numeral-faced clock with bronze numbers and hands, light fixtures that looked like raining gems in the same jewel tones. A piano sat in one corner, bookcases in the other.
“This place is a work of art. My company did several campaigns for log cabin magazines, and this puts all their star homes to shame.”
He replied with a shrug, before he slid open the slider door. He had an outdoor fireplace, hell an entire outdoor kitchen with a grill that was clearly the Bentley of grills. He even had a beverage refrigerator and beyond that was nothing but open space with the mountains on the horizon.
“How do you leave this place?”
“Not easily. Do you want a beer or wine?”
“Wine, cabernet if you have it.”
He grabbed himself a beer, turned the grill on then headed back inside, waiting for me at the door to precede him. I sat down at the island and watched him move through his kitchen with an ease of someone who did it often. He uncorked the bottle, poured me a glass, then moved to the fridge for the steaks he had marinating. He’d put thought into our dinner, and though he’d said the night was so I’d get a chance to wear my dress, the only one I wanted to see me in it was him.
“Did you always live here?”
“Worked out of Cheyenne for ten years, but like you, I had enough of the rat race. I moved back here, built this place.”
He didn’t say doing what, and I didn’t push. I took a sip of wine. I’d never heard of it, but it was just how I liked my wine: dark ruby red and heavy tannins. I took a second to let the flavor play over my tongue before I asked, “How did you become sheriff?”
“My predecessor wasn’t much of one. Someone needed to fill in.”
I was sure there was more to it, but again, I didn’t press. The next words were out before I realized I intended to say them. “You seem to fill in where needed, but if you could do anything what would it be?” The reminder of a similar conversation with Brock had me looking into my glass. The wave of melancholy took me by surprise. When the silence dragged on, I glanced up to find he was studying me.
That was his way of making sure I was okay. He didn’t need to speak the words, when a look could just as easily convey his thoughts. The more I got to know him, the more I liked him. I smiled. He continued prepping the steaks.
“Take on the occasional carpentry project and the rest of the time, chilling and riding.”
Remembering the sight of him on horseback had me taking a long sip from my wine. “How many horses do you have?”
“Two, Cisco and Lady. You ride?”
“No, but I’ve always wanted to learn.”
“We’ve time. You wanna go see them?”
I loved that he loved animals as much as
