“Sorry?”
He poured coffee in a mug, spooned in a sugar and went to the fridge, pulling out the milk then he said, “I want you to come with me to the bluff.”
“What bluff?” I asked, my eyes on what he was doing, the toast close to my mouth, I took a bite.
Grape jelly. Ambrosia.
“Edge of my land, I want you to see it,” he said, splashing milk into the mug, doing a swirl with a spoon and then turning to me and setting it in front of me.
I lost my concentration on the conversation and stared at the coffee Max set on the counter.
Once. He’d poured me coffee once. And he knew how I took it.
Niles had done it a hundred times and he never bothered to remember.
“Jesus, Nina,” Max said and it sounded like he was laughing through the words.
I shook my head and looked at him to see he was, indeed, laughing through the words.
“What’s funny?” I asked.
“You. You’re a zombie in the morning.”
I felt my brows draw together and I said, “No, I’m not.”
His response: “Babe,” and then a grin.
He turned to the coffeepot, poured another mug, black, no sugar, sipped it and slid some more bread in the toaster.
“Dress warm,” he said, turning back to me and leaning his hips against the counter, “and bring your camera if you got one.”
“My camera?”
“Views at the bluff, you’ll want a photo.”
I decided I needed caffeine so I dropped my toast, grabbed my mug, took a sip then another one because Max made good coffee.
Was I going to some bluff with him?
No, I was not.
Yet, I kind of wanted to. I’d never been to a bluff in the Colorado Mountains. I wasn’t sure I’d ever been to any bluff anywhere. Actually, I wasn’t entirely certain what a bluff was.
And I was on an adventure, wasn’t I? I was living my life, clearing the cobwebs, experiencing new things. I could move to the hotel in town or drive to Denver after Max showed me his bluff.
“All right,” I said on another sip of my coffee and then I took another bite of the delicious buttery, jellied toast.
Okay, so I was being an idiot. I could be an idiot for a few hours to see a bluff. Then after allowing myself to be an idiot, I could go back to being a smart, sane, rational person again. But being smart, sane and rational was boring, I’d been doing that for awhile and I could use a break, so I was going to give myself one.
“That was easy,” Max commented and I took another bite of toast and looked at him.
I chewed, swallowed and asked, “What?”
He shook his head slowly and muttered, “Nothin’ darlin’.”
Then he took a sip from his coffee and his eyes went over my shoulder, his brows drew together and I watched his body get tight.
It was a fascinating, even thrilling, but somewhat scary sight to see. He had a powerful body and seeing it come alert like that in an instant was remarkable.
“What the fuck?” he murmured and I dragged my eyes away from his body, turned on my stool, toast in hand, and looked out the window.
Parking by the Cherokee was an army green SUV, police lights at the top, big star insignia on the door.
At the sight, I, too, felt my body get tight.
“Is that the police?” I asked, even though it obviously was.
“Yeah,” Max said softly but I could hear he was on the move.
A man got out of the SUV, jeans, heavy flannel shirt, padded vest, cowboy boots, badge and gun on his belt. He was average height, salt in his pepper hair, a bit of a beer belly growing over his mammoth belt buckle but he still looked fit. He gazed up at the A-Frame and then headed up the stairs.
Max had the door open before he got there. I stayed frozen on my stool watching this play out.
“Mick,” Max greeted the man.
“Max,” the man greeted back, walking in through the open door.
“What’s up?” Max asked.
Mick’s eyes came to me and it was then too slowly I realized I was in a little, pale pink nightgown.
He looked back to Max apparently unsurprised Max had a woman in a little, pale pink nightgown sitting at a stool by his kitchen and he announced, “Something’s happened.”
Max shut the door on the cold air, straightened, planted his feet and crossed his arms on his chest before he asked, “What?”
Mick cleared his throat and his eyes came to me.
“That’s Nina Sheridan,” Max told him.
“Hey there, Miss Sheridan,” Mick said to me.
I decided not to correct him about the “Miss” and instead invited, “Please call me Nina.”
“All right, Nina,” Mick returned with an uncomfortable smile which made me, already ill at ease because of a morning visit from a police officer, more so.
“What’s up?” Max asked again and I wondered if I should run upstairs, put on a cardigan, my robe, maybe some jeans, a snowsuit (though, I didn’t have one of those).
Mick walked further into the house in my direction but turned back to Max.