Free Montana Cowboy (Big Sky Mavericks Book 2) by Debra Salonen

borrow an egg or a cup of sugar and found his door locked.
    "I only have microbrews," she said, returning with two amber bottles. "I hope you don't want a glass. I unpacked the barn, first. Still haven't gotten around to all my kitchen stuff."
    A telling statement, Austen thought. He took one. "This is perfect. My throat is dry from doing all the talking. You've told me about being homeschooled and your parents and your brother and your new job, but I don't know anything about you."
    He chose a spot on the distressed leather couch and patted the cushion next to him. "Give me the 411 on Serena James."

    S erena took a mouthful of beer, savoring the flavor, the burst of carbonation, and the slightly smoky aftertaste. She swallowed and let out a satisfied sigh. "I love microbrews. My dad started brewing his own beer when I was five. I was the official taste tester. Much to my mother's chagrin."
    "I'll bet."
    She shook her head. "Mom wasn't worried about her toddler turning into an alcoholic or anything. She just didn't think my taste buds were mature enough to judge good beer from bad."
    "Were you?"
    She stuck out her tongue. "I have very mature taste buds. My dad said so."
    His laugh helped shake loose a few leftover worries. Nothing bad would happen—stalker-wise—tonight. She could enjoy the pleasure of Austen's company and face what was coming in the morning. Actually, having him here to distract her from an over-active imagination might be the only way she got any sleep.
    Not that sleep was high on her list of priorities at the moment.
    "Aren't California girls supposed to be into wine?"
    "You may not have heard, but there's a county north of where I grew up that wants to secede from California and create a new state of Jefferson."
    The voltage in his grin could have powered a defibrillator. "Nothing about California would surprise me."
    She dropped to the cushion beside him, close enough that her knees touched his thigh. He hadn't left her thoughts for more than a few minutes today. Supervising the two matings this afternoon had fueled a ridiculously erotic fantasy made all the more inappropriate with her teenage worker present. If she weren't too young for hot flashes, she'd have sworn she was going through the change. Mom would have wet her pants laughing to hear it.
    Serena blamed her a-typical schooling for her inability to play social games. Did her directness turn people off at times? Hell, yes. The majority of her blind dates fizzled out after she asked for specifics. Do you drink, smoke, gamble, litter, pollute, or have unnatural fantasies about farm animals? The last actually came up when her date told her a joke that involved screwing sheep. Needless to say, he went home alone.
    "How 'bout we lay our cards on the table?"
    "I was supposed to bring cards? Nobody told me."
    His fake look of horror made her insides go all soft and mushy. Humor got her every time.
    She smirked. "Metaphorically speaking."
    "Oh. Okay. You first. It's your house."
    "I like you."
    "I like you, too."
    "I'm attracted to you."
    "Is that the same as you're so freakin' hot, all I can think about is stripping you naked and licking certain body parts until you—?"
    She launched herself onto his lap and kissed him, one-handed. The other still held her beer. "Exactly," she said, coming up for air a minute or so later.
    He took her beer bottle and his and set them on the coffee table. Then he reached behind his back and removed a fat, fluffy pillow. He started to toss it but stopped and rubbed it against his cheek. "Alpaca?"
    She nodded.
    He closed his eyes. "Soft."
    She ripped it out of his hand, launched it over her shoulder and tackled him again. "I'll give you one to take home. Later. Much later."
    He wrapped his arms around her back and slid sideways until they were both lying comfortably on the sofa, Serena snugly settled against him. "Sounds good to me."
    He kissed her this time, thoroughly, as if continuing from the spot they'd left off