Joshua glances back and forth between me and Clay. There’s interest behind his glasses, but he doesn’t ask any questions. Instead, he gives me a small wave, and says, “Well, goodnight, Miss...?”
“Long. Jessa Long,” I say like I’m freaking James Bond, before popping another chip in my mouth. I give him a smile but don’t show my teeth. I don’t really want to share the remnants of my sandwich and chips with him, not after already dragging the poor man out of bed. “Nice to meet you, Joshua. Sorry for the dramatic introduction.”
He gives me a small smile, and butterflies swirl in my stomach. Do all of the Hollister brothers have to be so damn hot?
“Think nothing of it,” he says. “We could use a little shake-up around here.” And with that interesting declaration, he leaves the room. Presumably heading back to bed.
Trey takes Joshua’s place in the barstool next to mine, carrying a glass of water. He sets the water in front of my plate. “If you’d rather, we have milk, juice, soda.” He grins. “Probably some whiskey, too. But I don’t know if that’s the best idea given how you seem to be feeling tonight.”
I chuckle. “That is perfect. Thank you for being so considerate.”
If there’s a small jab in my words toward Clay, I can’t be blamed for that, can I?
“If you’re still hungry, we’ve got plenty of food here.” Trey waves at the big kitchen. “I’m no chef, but I could probably manage something hot and edible.”
I’ll bet you could, I almost say.
Has Trey somehow gotten closer without my noticing? No, his barstool hasn’t moved. But his voice is low, almost intimate. And maybe it’s just the long trip, but I would swear there is interest in his eyes.
Nope. Not happening. One Hollister brother already caused me enough trouble for a lifetime.
But... I’m almost tempted to ask for more food. I’ve already pushed their hospitality to the max. I’m supposed to be here to interview them, write a story about their ranch, not here for them to take care of me. Although, I have to admit, the idea of being taken care of even a little bit, for a little while, is sort of appealing to me. And just acknowledging that to myself is grating. “I’m good, thank you. Actually, if I can find my bag, we can go ahead and get started with the interviews.”
Please, let’s get the interviews over with before I jump more than just the one Hollister brother.
Trey smiles. “You’re committed to your work, I’ll give you that. But why don’t we start that in the morning?”
I open my mouth to answer, but it isn’t really a question. Next thing I know, Trey is by my side. He touches my elbow ever so softly, sending another small jolt through my body. I know he’s trying to help me stand. Can’t blame the man after I fainted in front of him not once but twice in one evening.
Another blush crawls up my neck at the thought, and I move away from his offered arm. But damn, it’s tough. The man smells good.
“Thanks,” I say again, by way of apology.
“Follow me,” he says, not seeming annoyed by my response. “Clay will get your bag.”
An annoyed grunt is Clay’s only reply to being volunteered. And I can’t help but wonder if he’s actually annoyed at helping me, or if he’s annoyed at being bossed around by his brother.
Trey strikes me as the elder brother, although that’s a silly thought considering the three of them couldn’t be more than minutes, maybe hours apart. But I sense an authority coming from him. He’s a man who is no stranger to giving orders and having them followed.
I shiver at the thought, then cover it up by rubbing my arms.
“Are you cold?” Clay asks.
“Just a chill,” I lie. My voice is cool, but I can’t help that. Maybe it isn’t fair, but I’m mad at him. It was one thing to sneak out in the night, but to lie about his name? Ugh.
I follow Trey back out to the living room, and up the staircase, I’d admired before. The loft area is large enough to be another living room by my estimation, at least it is larger than the one in my apartment. They seem to be using it as a sitting area. No television, but a couple comfy looking sofas and chairs dot the area. Bookcases line the wall opposite the banister. Shooting off of both sides of the loft are hallways. One that goes toward the back of the house is long and seems to lead to a dead end. The other goes around the corner that must lead to an area above the kitchen. Trey heads down the longer
hallway.
The doors are spaced far apart—large rooms, then. When we reach the end of the hallway, he opens the door on the left. Once again, he waits for me to walk through before following.
Chivalry isn’t dead in Wyoming.
The room is big and, in keeping with the rest of the house, decorated with a cabin-feel. The log-style bed matches the rail for the loft perfectly. And what looks like handcrafted nightstands and a matching dresser go with it nicely. A big old rug covers much of the hardwood floor, and it smells like Christmas.
I feel movement behind me and turn to find Clay. He holds my suitcase in one hand, with something that might be an apologetic smile on his face.
I give him my deadliest smile in return and take the bag. “Thank you.”