“Yes, ma’am.”
When she’s gone, I drop my bag on the bench at the end of the bed and turn a circle, taking it all in. The king-sized bed is covered in a blue quilt, obviously hand-sewn long ago. The furniture is dark brown and heavy. Wide windows are open and look out of the front of the house to the line of old oaks. The shade from the trees has kept the room cool, and a breeze is blowing through.
I saunter into the bathroom and whistle through my teeth. The floor is tile, the shower is big enough for four, and the copper tub in the corner is going to be my very best friend when my shoulder is aching after a workout.
I flop on the bed and let out a long sigh, for the first time in what feels like a long time and let my heavy eyelids fall closed, just for a minute. It’s quiet here. Every once in a while I can hear Sam’s voice float through with the breeze and his mother’s soft response. Birds are singing.
I roll onto my side, and wince when a wrong movement sends a zing through my shoulder, reminding me why I’m here.
To heal. To strengthen my shoulder and get back to work.
Not to think about a certain sexy inn keeper.
***
Bacon. I smell bacon. I bolt upright on the bed and gaze about, completely disoriented.
I’m at the inn. In Louisiana.
Did I sleep all damn day and night?
I frown and check my watch. No, it’s only noon.
But I smell bacon. And I’m hungry as fuck.
I descend the stairs, still half asleep, and glance into a large dining room with several small tables and chairs scattered about the room rather than one large table. It’s empty.
I follow my nose to the kitchen and stop short at the magnificent view of Gabby bent over at the waist, looking in the oven, giving me a prime view of her perfect little ass.
“Can I help?” I ask, startling her. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Oh, there’s always someone coming up behind me,” she replies and pulls a tray of sizzling bacon from the oven. “I’m making BLTs for lunch. Are you hungry?”
“Starving.”
“Good. I made homemade potato salad too.” She turns away to dig in the fridge and I don’t think I’m starving for food anymore.
I’d rather feast on the gorgeous woman standing in this kitchen. Boost her up on the countertop, lay her back, and make her moan my name until she can’t remember her own anymore.
Which isn’t ever going to happen, so I shake the thought from my head and take a seat on a stool, watching Gabby bustle about assembling sandwiches and scooping salad.
“Tell me about yourself,” I say, surprising myself.
“My name is Gabby, and I’m an inn keeper.”
“Tell me more,” I say dryly.
She frowns and licks some potato salad off her thumb, bringing my cock to full-alert.
“I’m not sure what you want to know.”
“I’m just making small talk,” I reply and sigh in ecstasy when she hands me a plate full of delicious food.
“Well, there’s not much to tell,” she says and takes a bite of her own sandwich.
“Hobbies? Interests? That sort of thing.”
“The inn and my son are my interests,” she replies and sends me a look that says back off.
So I do.
For now.
“Is it possible for me to set up a makeshift gym?” I ask, changing the subject.
“What do you need?”
“Just a bit of space, and some shade. I don’t want to cook in the sun.”
She thinks it over and takes a bite of salad. “I have an empty barn at the back of the property. We just emptied it out a few weeks ago. You could probably use that.”
“Perfect.”
***
“Did you know that it’s almost impossible for a human to lick their own elbow?” Sam asks me the next morning as he holds a rope for me. He’s been helping me in the barn this morning, getting it set up for my work outs.
“I bet that’s not true.”
“It is! Look.” He bends his elbow and tries, unsuccessfully, to lick it. “See?”
“You proved me wrong,” I reply and hand the end of a rope ladder to Sam. “We’re going to lay this flat on the ground.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m going to jump over the ropes.”
“Like hopscotch?”
“Kind of, yeah.”
“Okay.” He shrugs and helps me spread out the ladder. “Did you know that a shrimp’s heart is in its head?”
“I’m learning all kinds of things from you today.”
He smiles proudly and adjusts the Cubs hat on his head. “Mom says I’m pretty smart.”
“I’d say she’s right.” I check the time and lead Sam out of the barn. “Let’s go back to the house.”
“Okay.”
The walk doesn’t take us long, but we’re both sweaty and thirsty when we reach the house. Gabby is in the kitchen, kneading something in a bowl. She has flour on her cheek, her hair piled on her head, and a frown on her pretty face.
“What’s wrong?” I ask and lean my hands on the countertop.
“Yeah, Mom, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’m just making the dough for tomorrow morning’s cinnamon rolls.”
My mouth immediately salivates. This woman can cook. Her biscuits and gravy this morning made my stomach weep with joy.
“Mom, can I go to Stanley’s?”