Free The Stolen Suitor by Eli Easton Page B

burger and fries. And the stupid part was, it made him so freaking happy .
    Thursday, Chris stuck one of his favorite popper fly lures in a little box, sat it on his desk, then put it in a drawer, then brought it out again, took it to the cash register, put it back in the office, and basically treated it like a hot potato all day. He wanted to give it to Jeremy, maybe drop it off for him at the diner. But why would he? Two chocolate kisses did not require a return gift. It would seem weird, like he was apologizing for turning Jeremy down on the offer to go fishing. Which he wasn’t.
    On Friday, Jeremy came in the Merc and spent a long time browsing in various aisles but left without buying anything or approaching Chris at all. Chris kept finding his eyes wandering to Jeremy, like they’d been co-opted by a foreign intelligence. And Chris knew exactly from where that “intelligence” originated.
    Dang, Jeremy’s legs looked long in his jeans. Chris wondered how pale they were and how fuzzy. He wondered if anyone had ever touched them before, touched Jeremy before. If he was aware of how attractive he was. If anyone had ever told him.
    He hoped somebody had told him. Jeremy deserved to know.
    He couldn’t wait for Saturday morning and another riding lesson.
     
     
    ON Friday, Trix let herself into the stable to check up on Eric, as she’d been doing several times a day for the past two weeks. This time she carried a thermos of iced tea and a glass.
    He was whistling away and didn’t hear her. She set the items on a shelf and watched him.
    To her utter surprise, Eric Crassen was a good worker. The flower beds on the road and in front of the house had been weeded and mulched, the porch was dust-free, the porch swing was polished, the riding ring and stable were cleaner than they’d been in a long time, and the horses had hay and water every time she checked. Eric was always there by eight, and she’d never smelled anything on him but honest sweat. Not even cigarettes.
    Eric seemed to like the stable especially. Most people hated mucking out stalls. Besides the obvious, it was backbreaking work. But Eric didn’t seem to mind it. Just now he was brushing down Triumph with a sure, firm hand and whistling a tune. Triumph, Trix’s prize-winning stud Quarter Horse, had his head turned a little and his ears perked up as though he were listening to Eric’s song.
    For a second, Trix had a strange déjà vu. It was like John was back, and he was standing there brushing Triumph. Something in Eric’s broad shoulders, in the curve of his lower back, butt, and hips….
    The sensation was so strong, a chill ran down Trix’s spine, and she closed her eyes, swallowed a cry.
    “You all right?”
    Trix opened her eyes and found Eric watching her. He put down the hand brush and let himself out of Triumph’s stall. Triumph nickered, none too happy to have his pampering interrupted.
    “What’s wrong?” He walked up to her, face concerned. Trix felt stupid and also a little annoyed. He was being so nice. It had to be phony.
    “Nothin’,” she said stiffly. “I brought you some iced tea.” She waved at the thermos. “Everything goin’ okay?”
    “Sure.” Eric hesitated. “I was wonderin’… is there a horse you’d be okay with me takin’ out for a ride now and then? I’m takin’ lessons and it would be nice to practice.”
    “You’re takin’ lessons?”
    “Yup. From Joshua and Ben at Muddy River.” Eric’s grin was wide and genuine, like a little kid.
    Trix half harrumphed, half laughed. “Really? You do know that they’re… gay. For each other, I mean.”
    Eric’s grin faded. “You think I’m a redneck or somethin’? I know they’re boyfriends or partners or whatever they call it. Don’t matter to me.”
    Trix did think Eric Crassen was a redneck. She knew the group Eric had run with in high school and still saw him out driving around with from time to time—Lloyd Tendler, Mike Dawson, and worst of