Page 74 of Colt

LAINEY BROWN

You know why

COLTON WALLACE

See you tomorrow. Just bring yourself.

I’m buzzing with all the things—excitement, anticipation, nerves—when I pull up to his house later the next evening.

As I climb out of my car, the breath leaves my lungs when I take in the modern A-frame cottage set inside a stand of enormous, gnarled oak trees. The front yard is littered with kid stuff: a bicycle with training wheels, another bicycle without them. There’s an adorable mini ATV parked on the paved pathway leading to the front door, along with a three-wheeled scooter.

I smile when I see the handful of small, painted pumpkins lined up beside the door. I take a deep inhale, and the smell of woodsmoke and something else, something savory, fills my head.

Dinner. Has to be.

Walking up the front steps, I notice how well cared for the house is. The painted siding is pristine, and the rocking chairs on the front porch gleam in the fading light. Not so much as a speck of dust or pollen in sight.

The man who lives here loves this house. I wonder if he lived here with his wife, but the house looks new.

My hand shakes as I raise it to knock on the door. I smile at the sound of little feet running to greet me.

Dean yanks open the door and gives me a big, mostly toothless smile. “Miss Lainey! You came! Oh my goodness, did you bring that LEGO set for me?” He points to the box I have tucked underneath my arm.

He is so stinking cute, I can’t help but smile.

“I sure did. I know Halloween is over, but I’m still in the spirit and hoped you might be too?” I hold out the box.

He takes it, his whole face lighting up. “I love Halloween all year long! I was a zombie football player.”

“Spooky!”

“I know. Dad! Dad, come look! Lainey brought a Halloween LEGO set!”

A droopy-looking dog approaches, his enormous head bobbing as he slowly lumbers our way.

Then I look up, and there he is.

Colton. Barefoot. He’s wiping his hands on a colorful kitchen towel, which he tosses over his shoulder.

He’s wearing sweats, a broken-in Texas Rangers T-shirt, and that fucking squint, the one that has my heart leaping into my throat.

Cowboy Colton is handsome. But Cozy Colton? He is downright hot. His scruff is overgrown. His biceps strain against the sleeves of his shirt. And his hair—it’s a little wet, like he just got out of the shower.

He smells like he just got out of the shower, a clean woodsiness that fits him perfectly. Body wash. Deodorant. Aftershave.

Yum.

His gaze moves down my body before landing on his son.

“A Halloween LEGO set?” Colton’s eyes go wide before moving back to me. “How did Miss Lainey know that we have all the LEGO sets except the Halloween ones?”

The dog is now at Colton’s feet, wagging its tail.

“Because I’m smart like that.” I manage a grin despite the wobble in my knees. “Hey, Colton.”

“Hi, Dallas.” He opens the door a little wider, and the dog slips out. “This is Elvis. He’s friendly, but he does drool an absurd amount.”

I bend down to pet him. “Hey, Elvis. I like your name.”