Authors: Kristen Ashley
Upstairs, same as downstairs, settled, warm, welcome and everything had been there awhile.
He turned left at the top and took me to a room where the lights were on, shining softly and invitingly into the hall. He disappeared through the door and I followed him to see he’d stopped.
“Bathroom other end of the hall, last door on your right,” he told me then he invited, “Make yourself at home.”
I tore my eyes from the room with its white-painted, curlicue iron bed (tall head and tall but still shorter than the head foot) covered in an unbelievably beautiful wedding ring quilt, a folded soft looking blanket at the bottom and big fluffy pillows with ruffly edges. The room’s floors warm, honeyed wood covered in a big, thick, pastel-colored rug with tangled fringe at two sides, its colors faded but it had started pastel too, I could tell. Jumbled mismatched furniture, some painted white but there were chips, some gleaming wood, all charming and one dresser had a big, oval mirror affixed to the top. On the nightstands, both turned on and glowing, tall, thin lamps with dotted, glass balls as lampshades, crystals dangling from the bottom. And on the walls, prints of flowers in frames distressed from age, not meant to be that way.
It was countrified beauty at its finest. A room you’d expect in a farmhouse. A room you’d pay big money to rent in some B&B because the owners had paid big money to make it that way. A room that was just that enchanting naturally.
“Sleep well, Ivey,” Gray muttered.
I nodded.
He lifted a hand, curled his long fingers on my upper arm, gave me a squeeze and walked out the door.
I sucked in another breath.
Then I pulled it together, moved to the door and closed it.
Then I decided to get ready for bed fast, get in bed, turn off the lights, close my eyes and try to erase this from my mind.
Tomorrow, he’d take me back to the hotel. Tomorrow, I’d pack our stuff. Tomorrow, Casey would come back, we’d load up the car and we’d be away.
Mustang would be in our rearview mirrors.
Mustang would be a memory.
And so would Gray.
I moved directly to the bag Gray left sitting on top of the bed and did just that.
In my nightshirt with my face wash, toothbrush, toothpaste and a hair clip, I shot out the door and moved quickly down the hall, eyes to my feet. I didn’t want to take anymore in.
Couldn’t
take anymore in.
And you know what stunk?
Looking at my feet, I still saw the carpet runner that ran down the hall, attractively worn and frayed in the middle where feet had trod a million times but near-to new looking at the edge and, beyond, more of that warm, honey-colored wood floor.
Yes, even the floor was warm and welcoming.
Hells bells.
I made it to the end of the hallway, the door to the bathroom slightly closed, light on. I pushed in, stepped in, lifted my head and stopped dead.
Gray, wearing nothing (nothing!) but a pair of light blue cotton, drawstring pajama bottoms, toothbrush in mouth turned to me.
Oh my.
Oh
my.
His shoulders
were
broad. His chest
was
wide.
And…and…
Did real men actually look like that?
I mean, my brother Casey was relatively fit. He was lean. He did pushups and sit ups a lot. He thought of himself as a ladies’ man and he got enough action, he probably was.
But he didn’t have all those planes and contours. Especially not across his belly.
And he didn’t have those veins running down his arms.
Oh my.
“Big enough to share.” I heard Gray say and my body jolted, my eyes shot from his chest to his face and I saw he had his toothbrush out, foam in his mouth and he’d shifted to the side of the sink.
How on earth could a man have toothbrush foam in his mouth and look just…that…
beautiful?
“Ivey?” he called and I blinked but didn’t move. “Dollface, you okay?”
No. I was not.
But I had to pretend to be.
“Just a weird night,” I murmured, trying to decide if it was rude if I said I’d come back and left him to it.
I hadn’t been a guest in someone’s house. Not ever.
What was protocol?
As for me, if someone barged in on me brushing my teeth, I would expect them to slink away.
He kept brushing, eyes on me and kept to his side of the sink. He didn’t seem to have a problem with it and his behavior seemed to be inviting me in.
Maybe it was rude.
Darn.
I moved in and went to the sink.
I put the stuff down on the side of the basin, keeping my body to my side as far from his as I could. I lifted my hands and gathered my hair, twisted it then sunk the clip in to hold it back. I felt it flopping all around the clip but it was away from my face so I could wash it.
I carefully shifted to the front of the sink (thus closer to Gray), bent over the basin and turned it on.
“Jesus, honest to God, I’ve never seen that much hair,” a still with foam in his mouth Gray noted and my neck twisted, my eyes lifting to his face.
“Sorry?”
“You got a lot of hair, darlin’,” he said through the foam.
“Well…yeah.”
He grinned through the foam and my heart skipped a beat because bare-chested, toothpaste foamed, grinning with dimple Gray would make any woman’s heart skip a beat.
I turned back to the water.
Then I made short work of washing my face.
This, I did not want to do.
I did not wear a lot of makeup but at least it was something, a mask, a guard. I needed those.
No one but Casey ever saw the real me.
And now, so would Gray.
I turned off the water, reached for the towel and wiped my face bent over the sink.
“Shift, honey, gotta spit,” Gray muttered and I did my best not to jump out of his way while getting out of his way and succeeded.
He bent at the waist, spit, rinsed, grabbed another towel and wiped.
Okay, good. This was done. It was done. He’d leave.
He opened the medicine cabinet and came out with floss.
Well, it couldn’t be said I didn’t notice that he had great teeth. Still, I had to admit that I kind of wished tonight he didn’t choose to keep up all the good work he’d clearly been doing since he could wield a toothbrush.
He cut off a string, put it back and stepped aside.
I got down to the business of my teeth.
Gray stepped into the sink to rinse again before I finished and I felt relief.
Now he would go.
He didn’t go.
He leaned into the basin and crossed his arms on his amazing chest.
I kept brushing and looked up at him.
Then I forced myself to keep brushing as my heart skipped another beat and this was because he was grinning while looking at me.
And he kept grinning while looking at me as I kept brushing.
This went on awhile.
I pulled the brush out of my mouth and said through foam, “What?”
“Never, in my life, in this bathroom have I shared a sink with a woman. Now, I’m doin’ it and I don’t even know her last name.”
“I don’t know your last name,” I pointed out through foam.
“Cody.”
I stared at him. Then, still through foam, I asked, “Your name is Gray Cody?”
“Grayson Cody,” he corrected.
Jeez. That was like the wild west rancher cowboy name to beat all wild west rancher cowboy names. That kicked the name “John Wayne” right up the backside. It beat the heck out of “Roy Rogers”. Totally slaughtered even “Wyatt Earp” who wasn’t a wild west rancher cowboy, he was a bad boy lawman famously known for his participation in a gunfight so clearly more badass than your most badass wild west rancher cowboy and still Gray’s name kicked Earp’s name’s ass.
It was the best wild west rancher cowboy name in history.
“Pay a mint to know what’s goin’ on in your head right now,” he muttered, still grinning, still looking at me, still with his fabulous arms crossed on his wide, beautiful chest.
“You have the best wild west rancher cowboy name in history,” I told him.
He burst out laughing.
My heart stopped.
Then I bent over the sink, spit, rinsed, rinsed my toothbrush, wiped and grabbed my stuff.
Then I got the heck out of there, muttering, “’Night, Gray.”
And I did it fast.
And I did it because I had to get smart fast.
Because I could handle his beauty. I could handle his smile. I could handle his dimple. I could handle that he looked out for me. I could even handle the gentle, tenderness of his voice and look earlier.
But I could not handle his laughter.
Definitely not me giving it to him.
It was the most beautiful thing about him in a long line of beautiful things. It was deep, it was rich, it was warm, it was engaging and it was the kind of thing you wanted to hear every day, a hundred times a day for the rest of your life. So much so, you’d work at it, you’d tie yourself in knots, you’d live and breathe to make it happen, giving him humor so he’d give that beauty to you.
So I had to get smart.
Fast.
Preserves
Six hours later…
I heard the movement and murmur of voices downstairs and I got out of bed.
Gray was right; it was far more comfortable than Manny’s bed at the hotel. The quilt was thin but it was heavy and warm. The sheets were old and therefore washed frequently so they were soft.
I still had around two hours of sleep.
I had to get up, get back to town and get out of Mustang.
I dressed in the room then hustled down the hall. This time, I paid attention even though I still heard the murmur of voices from downstairs, the sounds of something happening in the kitchen, the smell of bacon so I guessed no one was upstairs.
The bathroom door was open, the light out. I hurried in, closed the door and saw it didn’t have a lock.
Of course not.
Family knew, the door was closed, the room was occupied.
It was just me who didn’t know stuff like that.
I did my business, washed my face, brushed my teeth. Without Gray in there, I now saw that the bathroom was countrified charm just like everything else. Claw-footed tub. Ceramic pedestal sink but it was very wide bowled, the bowl square, deep ledges at the top and sides to hold stuff. A bathroom mirror with frilly, beveled edges and scrolled etching at the top. Gray (or his Grandma) didn’t mess around with towels, I was surprised to see. They were not old, worn and soft like everything else. They were new-ish, thick and soft. There was a shelf with some old-fashioned, chrome boxes on it but also a little vase with more slightly wilted flowers.
Gray’s Grandma liked flowers, clearly.
It would be nice if I had the money to pop by the flower shop in town to order flowers delivered as a thank you to her for having such a wonderful grandson.
Unfortunately, I didn’t have the money.
I got out of there, hustled back down the hall, made the bed carefully, fluffing the pillows, smoothing out the sheets then smoothing out the quilt then straightening the blanket at the end. Then I swiftly packed my small bag, zipped up and walked out. Down the stairs, the voices were stronger, the smell of bacon frying weaker, the sounds of cutlery on plates could now be heard.
Making my point, I dropped my bag by the front door, turned and started to head down the hall to the kitchen.
My step nearly stuttered when I saw her.
Long, attractive gray hair, top and sides pulled back in a clip at the nape of her neck, granny nightgown on, pristine white, buttoned all the way up to the frilled, high collar. Wrapped around her upper arms and shoulders was a fluffy, loosely-knit, gray wool shawl. She was a Grandma straight from a TV show but that TV show was set on a farm on the plains in the 1800s. I half expected Michael Landon to walk in the backdoor sporting suspenders and sweeping off his hat.
I didn’t even know they made nightgowns like that anymore and I’d never, not once, seen anyone wrapped in a shawl.
Her eyes were aimed down the hall at me.
Her bottom was settled in a wheelchair.
Now I knew why Gray lived with Grandma.
Yes. He was a good man. Down to his bones.
When I got close, I forced a smile and said quietly, “Hi.”
Her blue eyes shrewd, she took me in top-to-toe on a quick, experienced sweep, her gaze coming back to me giving nothing away and she replied, “Good morning, Ivey.”
Gray had told her about me.
I entered the kitchen to see Gray seated across the table from me, back to the sink, a plate of half eaten eggs and bacon in front of him (as Grandma had in front of her), another plate with a stack of toast between them. Coffee cups, sugar bowl, small jug of milk, butter dish, jar of strawberry jam that was not purchased from a grocery store, silver spoon in it.
His eyes were on me and they were twinkling.
“Mornin’, Ivey,” he greeted.
I stopped a foot in the doorway. “Good morning, Gray.”
“Sleep okay?” he asked.
“Yes,” I lied.
The twinkle in his eyes went south, a grin hit his lips and the dimple came out.
My belly curled.
Stay smart,
my brain reminded me.
“Want some breakfast?” he asked, tipping his head down to his plate.
I shook my head. “Thanks, but no. I appreciate it but I have to get back into town. Can I use your phone? I’ll call a taxi so I don’t put you out.”
The twinkle faded and he opened his mouth to say something but Grandma got there before him.
“Everyone needs breakfast.”
I looked at her. “I’m not usually up this early. I’ll get something on the road.”
She studied me a moment then stated, “I’m Miriam Cody.”
Darn. I’d been rude. I should have introduced myself.
I moved to her, not close, not too far she couldn’t reach me and I stretched out a hand.
“It’s lovely to meet you. As I think you know, I’m Ivey.”
She took my hand, gave me a light squeeze then let it go, all of that not taking her eyes from me.