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Near Misses & Cowboy Kisses

Page 27

by Katrina Emmel

His laugh comes out as a low rumble that sends a trail of warmth down my spine. “Not exactly the glowing recommendation I was expecting.”

“Yeah, well.” I sigh. “I never expected this.” I wave my hand around.

“It’s not terrible,” Colton says with a grin.

“Not exactly the glowing recommendation I was expecting.” It’s been so long since I’ve laughed—weeks at least—and it feels unexpectedly good. Maybe there’s a chance I could find a bit of happiness here. Do I even dare to hope? “So, what’s the best thing about living in Nebraska?”

Colton narrows his eyes in thought. “I love that I can just saddle up my horse and disappear into the prairie whenever I want to get away. Just me, Chance, and the open range.”

The campfire pops and crackles in the silence that settles between us. After a few minutes, Colton stands. “Can you hand me the lid lifter?”

“That’s what this is?” I ask, holding up the four-legged contraption for him to take.

“Technically, it’s a multi-tool.” He splays the legs so that they all form right angles. “You can use it as a cook stand or a lid stand, or”—he pushes the legs together—“you can use the curved ends to lift the lid or the bail.”

“Bail?”

“That’s what the handle on the Dutch oven is called.”

His tone is softer than it was earlier when he tried to mansplain fishing to me. Instead of showing off like a know-it-all, he’s honestly trying to teach me something I don’t know.

Colton uses the multi-tool to lift the Dutch oven’s lid. He peers inside and then turns to me with a grimace. “Damn. I must’ve lost track of the time. It looks a bit overdone.”

“Is it still edible?” My stomach growls.

“Probably.” He sets the lid back down and uses the multi-tool to brush off the coal and ash and then hooks it under the bail. “If you’re feeling adventurous.”

“Adventure is my middle name,” I say, holding up the spoons.

CHAPTER 18

Colton

“IT LOOKS WORSE than it tastes,” Riley says, reaching her spoon in for a second bite. She pulls it out and holds it up to her mouth to blow on the piping hot fruit.

I haven’t ever burned Dutch oven peach cobbler before. Until tonight, I wasn’t even sure it was possible to overbake it. But sure enough, there is a thick mass adhering to the bottom of the pot that’s not quite a charcoal brick, but not exactly cooked perfectly golden, either.

It’s impossible to look away as she slides the spoon out of her mouth. The way her lips press together has me wanting to lean forward and steal a kiss. I shouldn’t do it, let alone think about doing it, but what I should do and what I want to do are two very different things.

Dad would have my head if he found out I was messing around with her instead of doing my job. Plus, she’s heading back to California when this is over. What’s the point of starting something I can’t finish? And that’s assuming she’s even interested, which is doubtful given the whole Prairie Princess comment, which I should go ahead and apologize for but it seems too late now and—

“You really should try it.”

Every nerve ending in my body seconds the idea, but I’m pretty sure she’s talking about the peach cobbler while I’m thinking about a kiss. I swipe my spoon into the pot and shove it into my mouth.

Mistake.

“Hot, hot, hot,” I sputter around molten peaches. I open my mouth to try to cool it off, but the damage is done. I’ve seared off the roof of my mouth and most of my pride.

“Oh no,” Riley says, placing a hand on my arm. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” I mumble, looking away so she can’t see me blinking back the tears in my eyes. Holy hell, that was hot.

“I always burn my mouth on pizza,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “It’s like I think the tomato sauce won’t be the same temperature as the sun. Every. Single. Time. I never learn.”

She peers up at me with those wide, dark eyes of hers. Her lips part. As if I need any more temptation. Somehow, we’ve shifted even closer. Close enough that I can count every eyelash in the firelight. Close enough that I can feel her warm breath on my cheek. Her tongue darts out to swipe over her bottom lip. If I leaned forward a few inches, I could close the gap between us.

I could.