Cygny's Six

She shrugged. “More than I am. I’m still not used to all of this open land.” Cygny looked out the windows above her desk before she turned back to look at him. “The closest neighbor is Mister Jones. He owns the little ranch behind the property. His son-in-law bought the place and brought it here to live in while his house was going through some serious renovations. It had been neglected for awhile and needed a lot of work. His wife is Mister Jones’ daughter, Casey.”

That got his attention.

“Casey Jones? As in the American Folktale Casey Jones?”

Brightening, she laughed. “Yeah! I asked him the same thing when he told me about the property. He said he liked those stories and the name so much that he called his daughter Casey.”

His grimace easily bled into a smile. “What does she think of her name?”

“I don’t think she minds at all. Then again, she’s so busy I haven’t had more than a few minutes to talk to her when she stopped by to welcome me to town.”

“What does she do here in Fool’s Gold?”

She gestured to the couch, and he let out a breath. He’d been halfway worried that she’d rush him out of the door when he showed up.

Instead, she’d invited him to sit. So he sat down on the cushion closest to the door and looked at her wondering what she was going to do.

Gesturing to the kitchen, she wondered aloud. “Would you like something to drink?”

At a loss, his shoulders lifted as he hesitated.

“I’ve got a few bottles from a local IPA, if you’re interested?” The tone of her voice said she knew he’d agree. They had shared an interest in locally run breweries.

“Sure, I’m game.”

Cygny went to the refrigerator and opened it up.

He wasn’t trying to snoop, but the way the kitchen was designed, he could easily see into the refrigerator. There wasn’t a lot in it. At least some things never changed.

She used a bottle opener that was secured to the wall and brought both bottles to the couch, handing him one before she took a seat at the other end, leaving a cushion between them.

Cygny took a sip of her beer before she looked at him again and looked at the bottle he was cradling in his hands.

“Something wrong?”

He heard the edge in her voice and shook his head, trying to relax and let things go where they may. “Nope. I’m good.” Lifting the bottle he took a sip and felt the beer slide over his tongue.

The brew was smooth, full-bodied, and delicious.

He looked down at the label and nodded. “This is really good.”

Smiling, she took another sip and drew her legs up onto the seat.

Her short shorts were cutoffs. Worn and comfortable. That hadn’t changed.

Neither had his desire for her. Seeing the pale expanse of skin along the backside of her thighs, his eyes were drawn to the darker denim and just the hint of pink he could see from her panties.

She’d had a penchant for bikini briefs and hoped she still did. That would make sure he’d go to bed exhausted later on.

Since they’d started to clear the air between them, he’d started fantasizing about her again.

No, not again. She’d been a constant feature in his late-night fantasies since they’d met, but since their training under fire in Wyoming, the fantasies had changed in their tone.

His eyes shot up to her face when he realized she was looking at him, waiting for him to answer a question she’d posed.

“I’m sorry. What did you say?”

Chuckling, she took another sip of her beer. “You okay? I think I kind of lost you for a minute there.”

Lost me? Hardly. If she’d known what he was thinking she might just slap him.

Not that I’d be all that adverse to her hand on my-

“No.” He cleared his throat. “No, I’m still here.”

She smiled and heaven help him, he wanted to lay her down on that couch and-

“I know I should have called you when you got to town.” She bit into her bottom lip and winced. “I just… I just didn’t know what to say.”

He nodded, letting his breath bleed out. “I should have called when I came in. I don’t have a good excuse, because I wanted to.” He laid his arm on the back of the seat, letting his fingertips lightly brush the fabric of the upholstered piece. “I started to doubt that I should. That training in Wyoming was intense.”