Page 18 of The Spice Is Nice

“Still sun like that anywhere on the ranch these days, Wylde?”

“I’ll never tell, Calhoun.” Amusement flashed through her flirty eyes and landed somewhere I didn’t have a word for yet.

“Rule one,” I blurted.

“What?”

“I’m invoking rule one. I’m going to kiss you.”

She blinked. “There’s no one even watching, except for the kids.”

“Exactly. You know Ro likes to talk. Let her blab around the ranch and school about us. That’ll be a great way to ease into this.”

She held still for half a second. Then something in her expression shifted. She didn’t move away.

Time slowed, except for my pulse. My hand came up and cupped her cheek. She tilted toward me slightly, the soft exhale before I covered her lips with mine sending my heart jumping out of my chest.

Her honeysuckle fragrance pulled me into her so fiercely that I had to remind myself this wasstaged. My hand remained where it was longer than necessary. She didn’t move away. That was the problem—she stayed, taking equal part in kissing me back.

The slope of her shoulder leaned into me. A whimper from her throat could undo me.

“Oh my gosh. Ivy and Colt are kissing,” Ro squealed. We pulled back and sure enough, she was pointing at us while Eli gawked from the pier. Their giggles reached us across the water, and Ivy and I blushed like we were embarrassed to be caught. Far from it. This was the plan.

I cleared my throat, forcing myself to remember that this was all temporary. “That did the trick. Should make tomorrow night easier,” I said, lying back on the rock, trying to remain nonchalant about things.

Ivy lay back next to me and kept her shoulder against mine. We stayed in the comfort of the outdoors in silence, sharing this time together a little while longer. Everything was easy and quiet on the surface. But like that pond out there, the murky water hid anything resembling catching feelings for Ivy far below.

Chapter 8

Full House

Ivy

I could have criedhappy tears. Tonight, with the Sapphire Saloon at standing room only, my plan actually worked. The DJ kept the vibe going, calling out dances for the ladies to ask the cowboys. The bar was three deep. And the owner constantly smiled because they were blowing through the beers on tap special like crazy.

The first Cowboy Night had been a respectable attempt. This second time was something else entirely. Of course, somewhere out there, an anonymous blogger called the Forest Grove Gossip Gal had written a post about the first event that had spread through Silver County like brushfire.

I’d seen it shared on every local online group, texted around town, and printed out and taped to the bulletin boards at the stores. People showed up tonight because they didn’t want to miss what the Gossip Gal would write about next—orwhowould be written about.

I had no idea who the author was. I’d spent the past week trying to figure it out, studying every woman intown like a detective looking for tells. My current suspect was the banker’s daughter. Tina, the quiet, unassuming type, sat alone at a table near the wall, nursing a soda, her eyes darting around the room as if cataloging it all.

She reminded me a little of Sage, with that same wallflower energy: super smart, always observing, never quite in the middle of things. Not that Sage wasn’t pretty—the Wylde sisters were blessed that way. Just whoever the Gossip Gal was, I intended to find her. I owed her a drink for helping spread the word.

Tonight wasn’t only about her, but about this renewed energy, proof that Forest Grove was not dead yet. Plus, it didn’t hurt to have all the eyes noticing the man standing beside me at the bar with his hand never veering far from the small of my back like it belonged there.

Perhaps I should have had a rule with Colt about limiting physical touch. But I didn’t mind. We painted a handsome picture together, as I caught our image more than once in the mirror behind the bar. Colt, with his dark button-down, the sleeves rolled to his meaty forearms. The way the veins along his wrists stood out, sexy if I stared too long. He’d also parted his hair differently or given it a messy tussle, something that wasn’t his usual high and tight.

Whatever it was about him, he stood beside me with that easy, unhurried stillness he carried everywhere. The warmth of his palm through the thin fabric of my top affected my concentration. Yes. Maybe a rule about limiting touch would be necessary.

We were putting on a show, that was all, per our agreement. A new public couple, convincing enough thatnobody questioned it, and especially for people to see a woman who was spoken for.

I slipped further under his spell when his thumb traced a small circle on my back as we stood at the bar. I leaned into him instead of away. When my eyes would catch his while talking, he’d lean in and kiss my temple, or cheek, or—a lingering brush on my lips. With each one, my pulse got a workout.

A nice,friendlyworkout.

“You two look cozy,” Tina said, suddenly beside me at the bar, seeking a refill on her soda. Her eyes sparkled. She didn’t know it was fake. Nobody did. That was the point.

“He’s useful,” I teased, patting Colt’s chest; his heartbeat under my palm steady and even. Nothing rattled this man. I pulled my hand back and reached for my drink instead. “Tall enough to flag down the bartender for you.” Which he did, ordering Tina’s refill for her.