Blue Horizons (A Horizons Novel Book 1) (16 page)

Taking a chance, I look up at him. His eyes roam over my face and then drop to my mouth. Oh my. Slowly, he reaches up and pulls my lip out from between my teeth—I didn’t even know I was biting it—and he takes a step back. The tightness in my chest evaporates and is replaced by the familiar electricity that runs between us.

“And?” His voice is hoarse, which lets me know he feels it too.

“She doesn’t like guys,” I whisper. “We kept her inside when you and Clay were here. Otherwise, she would have been a pain the whole time.”

His eyes light up and he laughs. “Just like her mom, huh?” He runs his hand over his head, pulling the beanie down and grins at me.

“What makes you think I don’t like guys?” I do like guys. I may keep my distance from them, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like them.

“Darlin’, I’m about as tame as it gets and you’re even skittish around me.” He shoves his hands into his pockets and leans back against the wall opposite me.

Tame—there’s a laughable word. Nothing about him is tame. Yes, so far he’s shown me nothing but kindness, but he screams sex appeal that would make even the strongest of girls weak.

“Whatever.” I open the door and there she is. Her little, sweet face, so happy to see me.

Ash peeks over my shoulder to get a good look at her. “How do you think she’ll do with Whiskey?” Just thinking of his giant dog makes me cringe.

“I guess we’ll find out. By the way, don’t tell her she’s a little dog; she thinks she’s a big one,” I whisper.

“Deal.” Right on cue, she growls at him.

“Easy there, killer.” He chuckles as he walks over to the fabric bag and picks it up.

“What type of dog is this?” Tank and Ash are having a stare-off.

“Italian Greyhound,” I say proudly.

“Cute little thing,” he says, winking at me as he passes and heads down the stairs.

Leaving Emma’s parents’ house, we turn back on the main road, and head further away from town. I know he’s staying only a few houses away from us, but I’m surprised at how much the road veers away from the lake, and how long it takes to get to his driveway.

Emma’s parents’ drive is nothing like this one. Both sides are lined with apple trees and beyond them, fences filled with tall grassy fields. The apple trees are overflowing with apples and my mouth waters at the thought of making cinnamon apple strudel cupcakes. Maybe tomorrow morning Tank and I can wander down here and pick a few; I don’t think he’ll mind.

As we approach the house and pull to a stop, Whiskey comes running out.

“You have a dog door?” I look up at the house and see it’s impressive. How did I not notice this before? Gray stone covers the front, while the rest looks like a huge log cabin. There’s a wraparound porch and the landscaping makes it feel welcome and inviting.

“Yep,” he says turning off the truck.

“Aren’t you worried about other animals trying to get in?” A multitude of animals cross my mind: squirrels, raccoons, fox, bobcats, even bears!

He chuckles. “No, I close it up at night, but if one did, it wouldn’t last very long.” He looks at Whiskey affectionately.

“How old is he?” The dog, which looks like a cross between a German Shepherd and a Husky, runs over to Ash’s side of the truck and barks. His front paws hit the door as he stands on his back legs looking in. Ash smiles at him and then looks back to me.

“We’re not sure. Clay and I found him last year, and he’s been with us ever since.”

“I should have asked you this earlier, but is he nice?” Instinctually, I pull my arm in closer to me. Ash frowns at the move.

“Yes, he’s the biggest ninety-pound marshmallow you’ll ever meet. Loyal and extremely obedient, except when he takes off chasing. He loves to chase.” His eyes meet mine, filled with remorse.

Silence fills the truck and Ash runs his hand through his hair.

“I’m so sorry about what he did to you, and I’m sorry you’re afraid of him—you really don’t need to be.” His eyes are pleading with me for me to forgive the dog. I find it endearing and think about how he asked me to trust him. I know this is just a small instance, but I’m going to.

“Okay.”

A huge smile splits his face and I’m rewarded with those dimples. My heart starts racing at the sight of them. He really is too handsome for his own good.

“Come on, let’s get you settled.” He climbs out of the truck, sneezes again, and grabs my things along with Tank from the back seat. “Should we let her out?” His eyes find mine over the seats.

“Sure, why not?” Quickly getting out of the truck, I walk around to see Tank and Whiskey circling each other with excitement and curiosity. In an instant, they tear off together and disappear around the side of the house.

“She won’t run off, will she?” he asks, glancing back at me as he walks toward the front door.

Following him, I breathe in the air and say, “No, she’ll be fine.” Part of me wonders if I’m talking about Tank or me.

The first thing I notice once inside are the floor-to-ceiling windows on the back of the house. The view of the lake is spectacular and I gasp at the sight.

“Wow! It’s gorgeous!”

“I know, right? I love it.” Ash’s back is to me as he moves to the hallway where the bedrooms are to drop my stuff.

Standing alone in the living room, I look around his house, and just like with the outside, I can’t believe how unaware I was of everything around me earlier. There’s country music playing over the surround sound and I smile to myself because it seems so much like him. A little bit rugged, good ol’ country, and in general, calming. To me, country music has always been about telling a story—a story with an ending I’d like.

I’m surprised by how well-decorated it is. He must have hired someone, because it looks beautiful, yet simple, manly, and clean. Cream-colored walls, leather furniture with throw pillows, huge fluffy rugs, photographs instead of paintings for artwork, a large rustic dining table, a fireplace, a giant TV, and a superb state-of-the-art kitchen.

“What do you think?” He holds his arm out and waves it around the room. Over the couch, there are four guitars vertically hanging side by side. Hmm, are they art or does he play them?

“I think it’s amazing. Do you always rent this place when you come up here?” It’s funny because we’ve been coming here for years and of all the times I’ve run around the lake, I’ve never noticed it.

“Rent? Ah, this is my house.” He runs his hand over his face and takes a look around like he’s seeing it for the first time. “I bought it a year and a half ago and just finished putting a little facelift on it.”

What?
This house is not small and looks expensive. Not that I care what kind of house he has, but this one is so much more than Emma’s. “Oh, I didn't realize you owned it. What did you say you do again?” I’m curious.

He grins at me. “I didn't actually. I dabble in several things. Mostly, I've done well with some investments.” His answer is evasive, but given that I’m hiding my profession from him, I let it go.

“Do you live here year-round?” If this were my house, I’m not sure that I’d ever leave.

“No, it's just a place to visit when I need some time to regroup and think.” He runs his hand through his hair and walks past me over to the large window. With his back to me and the lake in front of him, I’m certain this image will forever be etched in my mind, and there’s a good possibility that after these next couple of days are over, I’ll never be able to think about this lake without him again.

Moving to stand next to him, I scan the back, looking for the dogs. “So where do you live? I remember Clay mentioning something about leaving yesterday.”

He props himself against the glass and faces me. “Nashville.”

I love Nashville. Mona’s conversation flashes back to me and although I’m getting a little ahead of myself, I’m wondering if I’ll be able to see him when we’re there next month.

“This seems a little far from home.” Thoughtful blue eyes blink back at me.

“Yeah, it is, but it’s worth it. It takes me about four and a half hours to get here.”

“That’s not too bad. I love this lake; if we were closer, I’d drive here too. Maybe one day I’ll buy a house here and we can be neighbors.”

He smiles at me and takes a step closer. He’s so close, heat from his body is radiating my way. Slowly, his fingers brush against my cheekbone as he swipes the hair off my face and tucks it behind my ear. Nervous flutters sweep through me, the good kind.

“Listen, you get settled in. I’m going to run back into town, get your prescription filled, and pick up some food. What are you in the mood for?” He drops his hand and reaches into his pocket for his keys.

“I’ll eat anything, surprise me,” my words mumbling out as his nearness clouds my brain.

“Sounds good.” He nods his head, then walks toward the front door.

“Hey, Ash . . .” he stalls and glances back at me. “Thank you.” I’m rewarded with a fleeting smile and then he’s gone.

Standing by myself, my ears pick up the music, and my body picks up the pain in my arm. Momentarily I had forgotten about it, and I’m suddenly even more thankful he’s off to get the medicine.

Part of me wonders if this break might just be a blessing in disguise. I know I should head back to the city to have my wrist looked at by someone more renowned, but I saw the x-ray and it looks pretty small and clean. Laughing to myself, I think staying here a little while longer suddenly sounds like the best form of medicine.

IT DOESN’T TAKE me long to run the errands. I know I’m rushing around like a mad man, but who wouldn’t, knowing what’s waiting for them back at home? My hands are sweating as I pull the grocery bags from the back seat. Slamming the truck door, Whiskey comes running out to escort me inside.

She’s in my house.

My house.

And I’m nervous.

Why am I nervous? I feel stupid for being nervous. It’s not like I haven’t been alone with a girl before. Maybe it’s because I haven’t really been alone with this girl before. This girl who after two and half days has somehow managed to embed herself under my skin and in my heart.

Shit.

I don’t even know why, I just know that around her everything seems so much brighter, easy, hopeful, and that’s such a sharp contrast to when I first got here, eight weeks ago. Yes, she’s quiet and mysterious, but there’s something about her that feels familiar and it sets off sparks in my soul. I can’t quite put my finger on what it is, but I’m determined to find out.

The front door opens, and there she is. My heart skips in my chest. She’s showered, changed, and my eyes drink her in from head to toe. Her hair is down and the curls blow across her face from the backdraft of the door. Her eyes are clearer than before, and now she’s wearing what look like pajamas—a long-sleeved t-shirt and flannel pants. She looks amazing, and to me, like she belongs here—in this house, with me.

Tank runs out and starts barking, but backs away the closer I get to the door. Dog is cute; it definitely suits her.

“How are you feeling?” I ask as she scoots to the side to let me pass. Strawberries hit my nose and I pause to look down at her. Her eyes widen, she bites her bottom lip, and then sucks in some air like she’s forgotten to breathe. Do I make her nervous too? Hell yeah! I hope so, but only nervous in a good way.