“Good.”
He disconnected, shoved the phone back into his pocket, and nodded. There. Much easier than replacing a perfectly good fence post.
Gen made the drive to the Delaney Ranch feeling optimistic. Kendrick was painting. She was riding on a cloud of afterglow from last night’s impossibly good sex. And Ryan wanted to see her, making her wonder when that impossibly good sex might happen again.
She might even have been singing as she drove through the gate and up toward Kendrick’s guest cottage. Though she would never admit to such a thing, should anyone ask.
She parked her car by the cottage and got out. The sky was so blue it almost hurt her eyes to look at it, and she heard the murmur of crashing waves in the distance. A light breeze rippled the grass, and birds chattered over her in the trees.
Jesus, the only things missing were some animated birds and some Disney music.
She leaned against her car and pulled her phone out of her purse. She texted Ryan:
I’m here.
He texted back:
So I see.
She looked around her, and there he was, walking up the road with his phone in his hand, doing that sexy Ryan swagger, a lazy smile on his face.
Oh God, she thought. I am in so much trouble.
“Hey,” she called to him.
“Hey.”
“So, Kendrick’s painting?”
“He is.”
There was the thrill of seeing him, all dark-haired and tousled from work, his espresso-colored eyes roaming over her, taking her in. But there was also the awkwardness of having slept with him without really knowing the status of their relationship. What should she do? Should she run to him and throw herself into his arms, like she wanted to? Or should she play it cool, pretend last night never happened, and see where he went with it?
When he reached her, he ran one hand slowly down her arm, on a leisurely trip from her shoulder to her elbow. He looked down at her with a half-grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners in pleasure, and she simply melted. She tilted her face toward his, and he kissed her as easily as if they’d been doing it their whole lives.
That settled the issue of whether to pretend last night hadn’t happened; it sure as hell had. She felt as warm and languid as a cat napping in a patch of sunlight.
“Well, hi,” she said, her eyes fluttering open after the kiss.
“I’ve been thinking about you all morning. All night, too.”
There was that smile again. How was it that somebody so goddamned gorgeous had stayed single this long?
Time to get her head back in the game, though.
“So. Kendrick.” She said it less resolutely than she’d intended.
“Right,” Ryan said. “I don’t know if I’d call it painting, but he’s out there in the barn doing some damn thing with some paint and a canvas.”
She sighed deeply. “That’s so great. God. Really. I have to see.”
They walked together out to the old barn, holding hands. It felt right to have her hand in his. It felt like her hand was where it belonged.
When they got out to the barn, Gen could see what Ryan had meant about Kendrick doing some damn thing with paint and a canvas. Gen was experienced with art and artists, and even she wasn’t sure what Kendrick was doing. As she walked into the barn, he was holding a brush filled with drippy paint in front of his face and blowing on it, sending a fine spray of droplets onto the canvas in front of him. Because he was getting so close to the brush, and because the barn was somewhat breezy with the doors open, little drops of blue had gathered in the vicinity of Kendrick’s mouth. He didn’t seem to notice.
Considering Kendrick’s long period of inactivity, and considering his unusually delicate artistic temperament, Gen considered it prudent to stay silent rather than announcing her presence. While she stood there, he scowled, whisked the canvas off of its easel, tossed it aside, and put a fresh one in place.
After a moment, Gen and Ryan retreated.
“Well, that’s promising,” Gen said when they were out of Kendrick’s earshot.
“If you say so.” Ryan sounded skeptical. “He didn’t seem too happy with it.”
“No, but he’s doing it. Which is more than I could say for him yesterday.”
They walked at a leisurely pace away from the barn and came to a stop under the leafy canopy of an oak tree. Ryan’s fingers were still entwined in hers.
“Seems kind of a shame you drove all the way out here just to look at Kendrick for two minutes,” Ryan observed.
“Well. I didn’t necessarily come out here just to see him,” she said.
Ryan’s eyebrows rose, and his mouth quirked into a grin. “Is that right?”
“There might have been other factors,” Gen said, grinning right back at him. He was so tall in comparison to her five-foot-two frame that she had to crane her neck to look at him. “Ow,” she said playfully. “You’re too tall. I’m gonna hurt my neck.”
“Come here, shorty,” he said. With no warning, he lifted her up into his arms and pressed her back against the trunk of the oak. She squealed with surprise. With nowhere else to put them, she wrapped her legs around his waist, feeling grateful that she was wearing slacks instead of a dress. Sandwiched between him and the tree, she was now pretty much level with him.
“That better?” he said.
“Much.”
He kissed her, and oh, God, her entire body came alive. The taste of his mouth, the feel of his body pressed against hers, the gentle brush of the breeze on the delicate flesh of her neck.
When he pulled away from her, just slightly, she sighed.
“Too bad the barn’s occupied,” she quipped.
“I was just thinking the same thing.” Gently, he set her back down onto the grassy ground.
“Well. Listen.” She was flustered, and she worked to make her voice sound calm and smooth. “As delightful as this was—and it really was—I’ll bet you have work to do. I don’t want to keep you from … herding cows or … or … whatever it is that you do.” She realized that she had, in fact, little to no idea of what he did.
“I can spare some time if you can,” he said.
“What did you have in mind?”
He peered down at her shoes—gallery shoes. Pointy-toed black pumps with slim three-inch heels.
“I was gonna say we could take a walk, but you’re not really dressed for it.”
“I’ve got other shoes in my car. Hang on.”
The car was about a hundred yards away, so with Ryan by her side, she picked her way back to it, walking carefully in her pumps so she wouldn’t turn her ankle or drive one of the spiky heels into the soft ground.
At the car, she opened the back door and plopped down on the back seat while she pulled off the pumps and put on a sturdy-looking pair of track shoes.
“You keep running shoes in your car?” he asked.
“Sometimes I go to the gym after work,” she told him. “I like to be prepared.”
The shoes weren’t the best fashion complement to the black slacks and scoop-necked black top she’d worn to the gallery that morning, but sometimes a girl had to be practical. She tucked her purse into the back seat of the car and closed the door.