“At least they didn’t destroy my furniture. There are a few nicks in the coffee table, but other than that everything is okay.”
Sky nodded, and Windy wondered if he approved of her taste. She had decorated with inexpensive yet trendy furnishings: a black leather sofa, a matching recliner, a colorful area rug. She liked the idea of placing modern furniture in an old house, contrasting with the hardwood floors and paned windows, especially since they expressed their own brand of charm.
“Since I travel so often, I don’t have much to contribute,” he said. “But I do have a TV and a stereo. I reckon that’ll help some.”
Windy accepted his offer along with his goodhearted bad-boy smile. “Helps a lot. There’s so much to replace. I still haven’t restocked my dishes.” The vandals had left the kitchen floor covered with broken glass and chips of her mother’s china. The sight had evoked a torrent of tears. She considered her mother’s hand-painted china a family heirloom. It had been a link to her childhood, to home-cooked meals and holidays gone by. Windy had lost her bright-spirited mother two years before, and the shattered dishes had snapped the last of her threadbare emotions. But thanks to Edith Burke, she had survived that awful day. Although Edith had lent a sympathetic ear, the older woman gently affirmed that Windy’s mind hadn’t been vandalized, and with or without the china, she still owned a lifetime of precious memories.
Sky leaned against the empty entertainment center. “I really appreciate you letting me bunk here. Edith told me you were a sweet little filly. Pretty, too.”
Windy stifled a giggle. She knew the retired schoolteacher hadn’t described her as a little filly. Sweet and pretty, maybe. A petite young lady, definitely. But being typecast didn’t bother Windy. She considered herself attractive and likable. The girl next door, with a hair disorder: her stubborn, blond hair hung down her back in its usual, unmanageable waves.
“Edith said nice things about you, too.” However, the elderly woman had neglected to mention his charming grin. Or his sapphire gaze. As usual, Windy’s curious nature took over. “I couldn’t help but notice your eyes. Tinted lenses, right?”
He chuckled, making her realize she wasn’t the first to ask.
“No, honey, they’re mine. I wouldn’t do this on purpose.”
Do what? Make himself even more handsome? Her knees threatened to buckle again. “My God, they’re beautiful.”
“Thanks.”
Although he shrugged indifferently, she sensed embarrassment in the gesture. As an awkward vibration silenced them, she twisted a strand of her unruly mane. Skyler Reed with the sky-blue eyes. A striking name for a striking man. No illusion there.
“The extra key is in the kitchen,” she said, inviting him to follow her once again.
The kitchen decor included a scarred wood table, limited counter space and a stainless-steel sink. Gingham curtains and a ladybug border added accents of red.
Straining on her toes, she located the key on the top shelf of the pantry, then sent it clanking to the tiled floor.
“Oh, shoot. I’ll get—”
“No, let me.”
They lunged at the same time and, amid the checkerboard gingham and fluttering ladybugs, they collided.
Windy lost her balance from the force but, instead of landing in an ungraceful heap, Sky caught her in his arms.
Windy’s heart jolted, her pulse pounding as he brushed a wisp of hair from her cheek.
“Are you okay?” he asked, tossing her that slow, crooked smile.
“Yes,” she answered, her body warming. He smelled of male spice: leather, denim and musk. A forbidden attraction sizzled through her veins. Without thinking, she moved closer, brushing the heat of his skin. An erratic breath rushed through her lungs. Good God, what was happening to her?
Sky’s jaw turned taut. A muscle in his cheek twitched. He handled her gently, as though she were a kitten. He stroked her back, then slid his hands down her spine, chasing the chills he’d created. But an instant later he seemed confused, as if trying to remember how she had ended up in his arms.
“The key.” He dropped his hands and scanned the floor. “Where’s the key?”
As casually as possible Windy eased away from him. “I don’t know.” She glanced down at the empty space below her feet. “It was right here.”
Avoiding eye contact, they both examined the gray-and-white pattern on the tile, the dust on his boots, tan laces on her shoes.
“There!” Windy pointed to the speck of gold glittering beneath the refrigerator door.
“I’ll get it.” He scooped up the key and jammed it into his pocket. “We must have…um…kicked it or something.”
She took a deep breath. Okay, so they’d stumbled into an accidental hug. No big deal. It was over. It wouldn’t happen again. “Where do you work?” she asked, desperate for something to say.
He braced his shoulder against the refrigerator. “Rodeo Knights.”
“The place with those Wild West acts?” She’d heard of it—a horse theater featuring matinee and evening shows with cowboys, Indians, and a barbecued meal. “What do you do?”
“Ya know, trick riding. Some stunts.”
“Wow.” So the man was a daredevil. “Edith just said you worked with horses, but she didn’t specify how exactly.”
“Been a trick rider most of my life. The guy who owns the theater is an old friend. An old boss, really. We were a specialty act on the rodeo circuit until he opened Rodeo Knights.”
“How come your job isn’t permanent?” When he raised an eyebrow at her question, she brought her landlady back into the conversation. “Edith said you’d only be in town for the summer.”
Hunching his shoulders, he hooked his thumbs into his front pockets. “Don’t wanna stay. I mean, hell, California? Three months is about all I can take. Why Charlie picked L.A. to settle down in is beyond me.”
She assumed Charlie was his boss. “Burbank is the perfect town for a Western theater.” Windy knew Rodeo Knights was located between the Media District and the Equestrian Center. “I hear it’s doing well.”
“Yeah. Charlie thinks he’s gonna con me into staying longer, but it’ll never happen.”
Windy decided not to take offense, even if California was her home state. “I grew up here. Edith was my sixth-grade teacher. Sometimes it seems strange not to call her Mrs. Burke.”
He grinned. “Yeah, she told me you were one of her students. She also said you were a teacher now.”
Windy nodded. “Preschool.”
The grin faded. “You work with little kids?”
Why the distressed look? Was he worried she might bring a toddler home? “Don’t you like small children?”
His nonchalant shrug mocked the twitch in his jaw. “Don’t know any. Charlie has a daughter, but she’s older.”
Did he like Charlie’s daughter? “How old?”
“Twelve.”
She assumed from his simple response that he wasn’t interested in offering more information than he’d been asked to give. Windy didn’t mind expressing herself. She