“Hazard of being a writer, I’d guess,” he said as he opened his door.
She got out of the car and looked around as Lew began to pull her suitcases out of the back. She thought she should help him unload, but she wanted to see the inside of the house, wanted to explore the ranch; she wanted to . . .
That’s it, isn’t it? she thought. For the first time in years she wanted to do things. With a guilty glance back at Lew as he started pulling the second layer of suitcases out of the car, she stepped onto the porch of the summerhouse. It was wonderful! The porch had to be twenty feet deep, and the furniture on it was big and deep and covered with cushions of red-and-white check. She opened the screen door and went inside.
It was obvious that an interior decorator had done the inside, but it was a person with taste, as the inside had been kept simple and plain. The curtains were plain gingham, and the chairs were overstuffed and comfortable-looking.
“You like it?” Lew said from behind her.
When she turned to look at him, she could see that he was concerned that she would like the place. She had to look away to hide her smile. It had been a long time since a man had cared whether she liked anything or not.
“I love it,” she said honestly.
He grinned. “Some people don’t like it. They think that with Woody’s money he should have a guesthouse more befitting his status.”
“Marble Jacuzzis, that sort of thing?” Ellie asked.
“Exactly. One guy was disgusted that the faucets weren’t gold.”
“I like this. Did Valerie decorate it?”
This time Lew’s grin lit up his face. “Actually, my wife did. She’d like to be a decorator, so Valerie gave her this to do.”
“Nice,” Ellie said as again she looked away. Damn, damn, and double damn! she thought. Wife. “For my taste I think she has a career.”
“She’s trying for it, but there aren’t too many houses to decorate up here.”
He was standing in the midst of a sea of suitcases and he seemed to be waiting for something. It couldn’t be a tip, could it? she wondered. Then she knew that he wanted permission to leave.
“I’ll take care of these,” she said. “Go home.”
He smiled his thanks. “Dinner’s in the house at eight. If you get hungry, the fridge is stocked. And feel free to wander.”
“Will I see you at dinner?” she asked as he reached the door.
“No, that’s just family and guests. But I’ll be around in the morning.”
After he left, Ellie looked around and felt a bit lonely. She’d never before done anything as daring as this, accepting an invitation from a stranger, boarding a private plane and flying to an unknown destination.
“New experiences,” she said aloud to herself. That’s what she’d wanted and that’s what she was getting.
She spent a few minutes exploring the rest of the summerhouse. There was only one bedroom, with an adjoining bath, a little kitchen with a refrigerator stocked as though to feed a family of four for a couple of weeks. She went back through the living room, then out to the porch again, for that’s what she really liked. The porch went around all four sides of the house, and she walked all the way around it, looking at the mountains, breathing deeply of the clean air.
From the back of the house she could see a barn, so she went back inside, put on a new pair of jeans, a fresh, crisp denim shirt, and new hiking boots—no cowboy boots for her! She also draped an antique concho belt about her hips and slipped on a couple of old silver bracelets.
It was amazing what new clothes could do for a person, she thought as she left the cabin and started for the barn. Of course it didn’t hurt to have a “new” body to go with it.
As she reached the barn, her sense of loneliness left her and she thought of what she was doing as an adventure. Whom would she meet? What would she see?
She could hear horses inside the barn but no people. And there didn’t seem to be anyone outside either. But then it was nearly seven and she doubted if cowboys waited until eight to have their dinner.
A man was in the barn, bent over a horse’s hoof that he held between his thighs, and as the sun filtered through a high window, spotlighting him, Ellie knew that the man and the horse were the most erotic sight she’d ever seen.
He wasn’t a tall man, not over about five feet ten, but then she liked shorter men. He was wearing blue jeans and heavy, scuffed boots—not cowboy boots with their pointed toes, but square-toed boots with thick soles. He wore no shirt, and from the golden color of his skin, shirtless was his normal attire. A leather apron, the kind worn by blacksmiths in days of old, covered the front of him.
He was in profile to her, and she started at his feet and looked up: The thick boots led up to strong calves, then to heavy thighs encased in worn, faded denim, the seams straining against the man’s muscle. His tight, round buttocks curved up into the small of his back, his waist cinched by a wide black leather belt.
His back was one long muscle that flared out toward arms that were straining against the horse’s hoof he was holding between his thighs.