And suddenly, the conversation he’d just had with his grandfather was thrust into the forefront of his mind. Hadn’t his intention been to kiss her senseless when he marched back to the house? It had been, until his brothers had decided to seduce her with baked goods.
“Here.” Bentley was suddenly at his side with a small backpack. “I have all the essentials: screw top wine, cheeses, crackers, grapes, and a few cookies I managed to hide from Brant.”
“Bastard,” Brant muttered.
Brock took the bag, wondering what Bentley as about, but as always, Bentley was the king of hiding what he was really feeling, which made it damn near impossible for Brock to know if his brother was being conniving or caring.
“Thanks.” Brock took the bag and put it over his shoulder while Jane smiled and limped toward the door, opening it for both of them.
“Careful,” Bentley said in a quiet voice. “Just”—he licked his lips—“It’s private property but you never know… If the press finds you here…with Jane, Grandfather will have a stroke. We already have enough to worry about with the auction looming over the family—the last thing you need is the media somehow catching wind.”
Tensing, Brock gave a jerky nod then followed Jane outside, passing a curious Brant on the way.
Jane was next to the barn, the rooster by her feet. It looked like the damn cock had decided he wanted to be friends rather than enemies.
“He’s not so bad.” She laughed still standing on one foot and leaning on the barn wall.
The cock flapped up toward Brock. He stumbled back. “Yeah, completely tame.”
Jane laughed again. “So, which horse is yours?”
“Buttercup.” Brock felt his chest swell with pride. “My grandfather gave her to me right before…”
Her hand touched his shoulder. “Before?”
“Before my parents died. And then after everything happened, he always tried to encourage me to ride her. Grandfather hoped it would bring me out of depression.”
“Did it?”
“I’m a firm believer that animals can sense your emotions. Take Diablo, for example. He thinks I’m going to steal his hens and he attacks. Animals have the potential to heal, as long as you remember the cardinal rule.” He grabbed a blanket and threw it over Buttercup, then reached for the saddle.
Jane took a step back, her eyes rapt with fascination as he buckled the saddle. “What’s the cardinal rule?”
Brock’s fingers stopped moving as he looked over his shoulder at Jane. “They’re still wild.”
Jane’s eyes grew wide. “Does that apply to humans as well?”
“Jane, are you accusing me of being wild?”
“Well…” She crossed her arms. “I definitely wouldn’t accuse you of being tame.”
“I don’t think anyone”—he reached for the harness—“has ever accused me of being anything but boring.”
“Really?” Jane’s eyes narrowed. “No staying out late in high school? Partying in college? Wild raves with that grandfather of yours? Orgies?”
Brock’s hand slipped at the word “orgy.” Sighing, he gently put the bit in Buttercup’s mouth. “Sorry to disappoint, but if I ran for congress, my grandfather would probably have more dirt than me. I’m clean.”
“That’s too bad,” Jane said, surprising him. “Sometimes my most favorite days that I can think back on are the ones where I was dirty.”
His heart picked up speed as her eyes lit up with amusement. “You know, mud pies, that sort of thing.”
“Sure. Because that’s where a thirty-five-year-old man’s mind goes: mud pies.”
“I figured,” she teased, lifting a shoulder in the air.
Damn it, he already felt the familiar strain of his dick against the button of his fly as she giggled and ran her hands down Buttercup’s face then brushed a kiss across the velvet of her nose.
Clearing his throat, he attached the backpack to the saddle and held out his hand. “Are you ready to ride?”
It was the wrong thing to say.
Completely.
However, she lifted her chin up, her eyes both challenging and excited. “Are you?”
He let out a groan and tugged her against him. “You know a man can only take so much.”
“Cleanliness?”
“Yeah.” He eyed her up and down. “That’s right.”
“So.” She linked her arms around his neck. “How do we ride this thing?”
Buttercup neighed.
Jane jumped back on her one good foot, nearly falling on her ass.
Brock smiled and reached for her hips and lifted. “Up you go.”
“Ahh!” Jane let out a little squeak. The minute she was in the saddle, her hands found the horn and gripped tight. “It’s high.”
“You’ll be fine.”
“Super high.”
“I know.”
“This horse is tall.”
Buttercup neighed like she knew she was getting a compliment.
“I’ll be right behind you.”
“You better be.” Jane clenched her teeth. “You know when Bentley mentioned this, I wasn’t imagining I’d be riding Goliath.”
“You have no idea how desperately I want to comment on that, but I think it might make you blush again.”