“Thank you.” The warmth in her voice, the obvious gratitude, only made him feel like more of a heel. “And if it’s all right with you, I might grab one of those heavier jackets, after all.”
She stood close to him, gesturing past his shoulder in the direction of the tack room. For a moment, he breathed in her barely-there clean fragrance and the lemon scent of her shampoo, imagining touching her. Tasting her.
“Is that okay?” Her low voice twined around his senses, drawing him near. Her pale eyes turned a shade darker, her pulse fluttering fast in the smooth column of her throat.
His chest felt tight. Constricted. He wanted nothing more than to—
“Um, Damien?” She pointed past him. “May I...”
Belatedly, he realized he was blocking the door like a freaking oaf. Where the hell were his brains?
“Sorry.” He stepped aside to let her pass, cursing himself, his thoughts and the unwanted attraction.
Yet as he watched her hurry by, her determined walk barely slowed by the heavy boots, Damien wondered if he’d imagined the shared moment, or if it had been there and Miranda Cortland was simply unwilling to acknowledge it.
“Um...Damien?” she called from somewhere else in the barn, her raised voice echoing around the high rafters.
He took a deep breath, inhaling hay and horses, reminding himself of his real life.
“Yeah?” He stepped into the wide aisle between the stalls.
Miranda stood near an open door at the far end of the barn, where sunlight poured in from outside.
“You’ve got some visitors asking for you out here.” She gestured toward the driveway looping around the fountain.
Frowning, he left the birthing stable and shot a quick text to Scotty to take over for him here. Damien squinted into the sunlight as he neared Miranda.
“Do you know who it is?” People didn’t just drop by his farm. Especially not to see him. Maybe he just needed to redirect a prospective buyer to the yearlings manager, or put his stud director in touch with someone looking to breed a mare.
“Sounds like they want to look over your horses?” She tucked a dark curl behind one ear as he brushed past her, then tried to ignore the flare of heat she ignited.
“Damien!” a hearty male voice called as a young couple approached. “It’s Charlie Whiteman. Thought we’d take you up on your offer to have a look around the place.”
It took Damien a minute to place the guy—someone he’d met at his brother’s bar a few weeks ago when he’d dropped by to help Lucien move equipment in the microbrewery. Luke had insisted he stay for a drink, which led to a conversation with Charlie Whiteman. Damien had told the guy he could drop by the farm anytime, because he was richer than Croesus and was looking to invest in some young bloodstock. But hadn’t Damien also suggested “spring” might be the best time?
Damn.
The couple looked straight out of Town and Country in front of their sporty Mercedes, him in a khaki jacket and light blue dress shirt and his very blonde wife in a long plaid skirt with high leather riding boots. The guy had designed some kind of app and made huge amounts of money by the time he was twenty-five.
“I’m Miranda Cortland.” Miranda spoke up to fill the awkward silence, holding out her hand to the wife.
“Violet Whiteman,” the woman answered, extending her palm. “Charlie has been really looking forward to touring your property. He’s mad for racehorses this month. I hope it’s not a bad time for us to stay a few days?”
The guest suites weren’t even finished. There was no food service in place unless Damien jumped in to personally cook for them. While he calculated the difficulty of finding last minute help to accommodate them, Miranda spread her arms wide and grinned.
“You’ll love it here,” she announced, twirling in place to showcase the three hundred sixty-degree view she’d laid eyes on only yesterday. But Damien had to hand it to her for making the unexpected pair feel welcome.
As she spun around, she caught his eye briefly, a questioning glance. He nodded, giving his approval for her efforts. And just like that, Miranda had made herself indispensable to him. Again.
She turned her megawatt smile back to Violet. “Did you want to see the barns, or would you rather come up to the house for a cup of tea?”
Violet couldn’t say yes to tea fast enough. As she joined Miranda on a walk toward his house, Damien wondered how his temporarily homeless guest would find the kitchen, let alone the tea. But one thing was certain—Miranda wouldn’t be leaving the farm today. And if she was already this comfortable in his kitchen, how much longer until he could make her even more at home in his bed?