Fated Hearts (Southern Bride 8)

He let out a bark of laughter. “Not anytime soon. I would like to put some cattle on it, but not until things slow down for me at work. Right now, I’m too busy. I do love the country, though, and I miss it. Plus, this ranch has been owned by the same family for a few generations now. None of us wanted to see an investor come in and break it up into lots.”

“I don’t blame you for that. From what I’ve been reading and hearing from some of the locals, that’s happening a lot…families selling off their large ranches to people from out of state.”

Roger nodded. “And then they break them up into small lots and sell them at crazy prices. Folks are buying them up, though, so that’s one of the reasons I’m buying the ranch. Plus, I really do love being in the country.”

“I’m sure it’s beautiful.”

A look passed over his face. Was it regret of some sort…? “I’ll show it to you when the sale is final. You can help me decide on paint colors.”

“I’d love that.” We sat in comfortable silence for a bit, and then I glanced over at the pool table. “Ready to play?”

A slow, sexy smile spread over his face. “Do you need me to show you how to hit the ball?”

I gave him a neutral expression. “If you want to.”

Roger stood and held his hand out for me. After helping me up, he laced his fingers with mine and guided us over to the pool table. My stomach always felt full of butterflies whenever Roger took my hand or touched me when I wasn’t expecting it. I placed my hand over my middle to settle it down.

“Let’s pick out our cues. Those are the sticks,” he said with a wink.

I walked to the rack on the wall that held about ten cue sticks. I looked for the smallest length and found it. I waited, though, and let Roger get his first. He reached for the one I had my eye on and handed it to me. With an innocent smile, I took it and followed him to the end of the table and watched as he set up the balls.

“Come here,” Roger whispered in a voice so seductive, I almost dropped the stick and climbed him.

He smiled, and his dimples came out in full force. He leaned over the table and prompted me to do the same. “This is called your bridge hand.”

I mimicked his stance. “Okay, bridge hand.”

“Hold it like this.”

I did as he said. When he leaned his body over mine and covered my hand with his, I knew I wasn’t going to have to fake missing this shot. The man made me turn to jelly whenever he touched me.

“Now, you’re going to hit it right in the middle of the ball, like this.” He pulled the cue stick back and then gently hit the middle of the ball. “Of course, you’ll want to hit the ball harder.”

“Okay, I think I’ve got it.”

“You can make the ball go whichever way you want by hitting it at different spots on the ball. Just watch me a few times.”

He picked up the cue ball and then lined it up.

“Can I try?” I asked, right when he leaned over the table to take the shot.

“You want to break?”

“Break what?” I asked, desperately trying to keep a straight face.

He laughed. “No, that’s what it’s called.” He waved it off and stepped to the side.

“Here goes.”

“Hit it hard. You want to spread the balls out onto the table. If you make a solid or a stripe go in, that’s your ball.”

I nodded, leaned down, and fumbled awkwardly with the cue stick at first—before I placed my hand solidly on the table, pulled back, lined up my stick, and hit the cue ball as hard as I could.

Balls went everywhere, and I sank two. A solid and a stripe.

Daddy would be so proud.

I moved around the table and took it all in before I found my next shot. “Are we calling shots ahead?”

When Roger didn’t answer, I turned to look at him. His chin was practically to his chest and I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. “Calling shots?” I asked again.

All he did was look at me, then narrow his eyes. “Yes, we’ll call shots.”

“Good.”

Turning back to the table, I said, “I’ll take solids, number four in the left corner.”

Of course, I did exactly what my father had taught me and sank the four ball.

“Motherfucker,” Roger whispered from behind me.

This time, I let a little giggle slip free as I moved around the table and pointed out my next shot. “Seven, side pocket.”

The crack of the two balls hitting was a sweet sound, but hearing my ball drop in was even sweeter.