Page 107 of The Rancher Who Swore Off Love
“You did! You backhanded a gopher as if it owed you money!”
“I redirected it.”
“Youslappedit, Logan! Right outta the air! Like a—” She wheezed. “Like a grumpy old cat!”
“I’m twenty-five.”
“Grumpyyoungcat, then.”
The last gopher—or the one he hoped to God and all the saints turned out to be the last—poked its head out of the original tunnel entrance, sniffed the air, and retreated. Grace poured more water. It emerged from a hole near the fence, shook itself off, and sat there grooming its face.
“Oh, no, you don’t.” Grace crept toward it with the bucket. “No, sir. You do not get to sit there andwash your faceon my property after what you done to my squash.”
The gopher looked at her.
Grace looked at the gopher.
“Git.”
It didn’t git.
“I saidgit, you round little—”
She lunged. The gopher bolted. Grace’s unlaced left boot caught the edge of one of the gopher holes, the lip crumbled under her weight, and her ankle rolled sideways, and the rest of her tipped forward with her arms reaching for something to grab onto.
Logan caught her.
His hands found her waist first, then her ribs, pulling her upright before her knees hit the dirt. The momentum carried her straight into his chest, and he braced his back foot and held on. Grace’s palms flattened against his shirt, and her face came up close.
Real close.
Her breath hit his chin. Her eyes caught the first pale edge of dawn breaking over the ridge and went full honey the way they had at the pond that night. The same way they had right before she’d grabbed his collar in the nursery and kissed him hard enough to rearrange every plan he’d ever made for his life.
“Nice catch, Cowboy.”
“You gotta lace your boots, Grace.”
“Make me.”
“That a dare?”
“Depends on what you’re plannin’ to do about it.”
Her mouth curved.
He leaned down. Her hand slid from his chest to his collar. His thumb brushed the curve of her waist through the coat, and the warmth of her skin bled right through the fabric into his palm. Her lips parted, and—
The front door banged open hard enough to rattle the hinges.
“WOULD SOMEBODY—” Rafe stood on the porch in his long johns with Miriam screaming at full volume in the crook of his arm. His white hair stuck straight up as if lightning had struck him. “—FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY, COME TAKE THIS BABY BEFORE SHE BUSTS MY LAST GOOD EARDRUM.”
Grace’s forehead dropped against Logan’s chest.
“GRACE!”
“Comin’, Rafe!”
“WHAT?”
