Mocha Latte (Silk Stocking Inn #3) by Tess Oliver, Anna Hart
Authors: Tess Oliver, Anna Hart
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Although if they don’t include me, I’m not sure I want to know.”
“Oh, they include you, my mysterious Wild West coachman who just picked me up in the middle of a deserted country road.”
“In your unmentionables, no less,” he added to my narrative.
“Yes, that’s because I ran out of the house so fast to get away from my terrible husband, a man with a sour temper and a belly as big as a watermelon.”
“And I, the Wild West coachman, am still a little drunk and horny from a night in the saloon where I lost my week’s pay at the poker table. And now I’m without enough coin to even bed a whore for the night.”
I looked up at him with a brow lift. “Jeez, men and their idea of romance.” I sighed. “You’re a hard-edged drifter who just never found the right woman to give his heart to. Until, well, you get the idea . . .”
“Strangely enough, your scenario is pretty damn close to the truth.” There was a touch of loneliness in his tone that pressed on my chest like a firm hand. “Not that parts of my unromantic version weren’t wedged in reality too. I’ve left more than one poker game drunk, horny and broke.”
“Either way, I’m impressed with your story telling skills,” I said. “Nice imagination.”
“Oh, I’ve got all kinds of imagination up in this head of mine. Especially when it comes to the distraught little lady sitting on the bench next to me in her pretty little unmentionables.”
“See, and that brings me to the rest of the story. I’m in a complete state of despair. Nate, my wretched husband, has been an asshole once too often, and I find myself alone and unclothed and much in need of the right man’s considerate and loving attention. And that’s where you come in with your green eyes and Hollywood smile and, conveniently enough, carriage with a rather plush backseat.”
He handled the reins so well, I didn’t notice that he’d directed Riley to turn off the trail.
“Where are we going?”
He flicked the reins to spur Riley on. “We’re going to act out an extremely satisfying end to that story.”
Chapter 12
Jackson steered the horse and carriage toward a patch of land that was situated between a green hillside and a meandering river. He stopped on a parcel of grass that was walled off by trees and the hill, with the night sky as our ceiling.
It didn’t take much to bring Riley to a halt. Jackson tied off the reins and climbed down from the bench. He walked over to my side of the carriage. I turned toward him as he reached up and took hold of my waist. He kept me in his arms as he walked to the backseat of the carriage.
Gently, he lowered me onto the seat. The smooth leather felt cold against the bare skin of my legs as I scooted over to make room for my western romance lead. He climbed up onto the seat. The carriage shifted slightly as he sat his long frame down. Riley took a steadying step, but, thankfully, didn’t move farther than that.
I pulled the coat closed, suddenly feeling more than vulnerable in the wide open. “A new ending just flashed through my head, a catastrophic one where we’re back here in the heat of passion, and a deranged squirrel darts out from the trees, runs across Riley’s back and sends the horse galloping through the trees with us bouncing behind.”
“I’d be worried about that too if I didn’t know Riley well, but I do. And that horse would rather stand still on hot coals than move his feet. Deranged squirrel or not, he’s solid where he stands.” Jackson scooted to the side and leaned against the corner of the seat, with one long leg curled up on the seat and the other stretched out in front. Without thinking, my gaze went right to his crotch. He grinned as he caught where my eyes had landed. I quickly blamed it on the wine . . . and curiosity. In fact, if I was being totally honest with myself it was about ninety percent curiosity. I wondered if it was as extraordinary as the rest of the man.
I’d just ridden
“Oh, they include you, my mysterious Wild West coachman who just picked me up in the middle of a deserted country road.”
“In your unmentionables, no less,” he added to my narrative.
“Yes, that’s because I ran out of the house so fast to get away from my terrible husband, a man with a sour temper and a belly as big as a watermelon.”
“And I, the Wild West coachman, am still a little drunk and horny from a night in the saloon where I lost my week’s pay at the poker table. And now I’m without enough coin to even bed a whore for the night.”
I looked up at him with a brow lift. “Jeez, men and their idea of romance.” I sighed. “You’re a hard-edged drifter who just never found the right woman to give his heart to. Until, well, you get the idea . . .”
“Strangely enough, your scenario is pretty damn close to the truth.” There was a touch of loneliness in his tone that pressed on my chest like a firm hand. “Not that parts of my unromantic version weren’t wedged in reality too. I’ve left more than one poker game drunk, horny and broke.”
“Either way, I’m impressed with your story telling skills,” I said. “Nice imagination.”
“Oh, I’ve got all kinds of imagination up in this head of mine. Especially when it comes to the distraught little lady sitting on the bench next to me in her pretty little unmentionables.”
“See, and that brings me to the rest of the story. I’m in a complete state of despair. Nate, my wretched husband, has been an asshole once too often, and I find myself alone and unclothed and much in need of the right man’s considerate and loving attention. And that’s where you come in with your green eyes and Hollywood smile and, conveniently enough, carriage with a rather plush backseat.”
He handled the reins so well, I didn’t notice that he’d directed Riley to turn off the trail.
“Where are we going?”
He flicked the reins to spur Riley on. “We’re going to act out an extremely satisfying end to that story.”
Chapter 12
Jackson steered the horse and carriage toward a patch of land that was situated between a green hillside and a meandering river. He stopped on a parcel of grass that was walled off by trees and the hill, with the night sky as our ceiling.
It didn’t take much to bring Riley to a halt. Jackson tied off the reins and climbed down from the bench. He walked over to my side of the carriage. I turned toward him as he reached up and took hold of my waist. He kept me in his arms as he walked to the backseat of the carriage.
Gently, he lowered me onto the seat. The smooth leather felt cold against the bare skin of my legs as I scooted over to make room for my western romance lead. He climbed up onto the seat. The carriage shifted slightly as he sat his long frame down. Riley took a steadying step, but, thankfully, didn’t move farther than that.
I pulled the coat closed, suddenly feeling more than vulnerable in the wide open. “A new ending just flashed through my head, a catastrophic one where we’re back here in the heat of passion, and a deranged squirrel darts out from the trees, runs across Riley’s back and sends the horse galloping through the trees with us bouncing behind.”
“I’d be worried about that too if I didn’t know Riley well, but I do. And that horse would rather stand still on hot coals than move his feet. Deranged squirrel or not, he’s solid where he stands.” Jackson scooted to the side and leaned against the corner of the seat, with one long leg curled up on the seat and the other stretched out in front. Without thinking, my gaze went right to his crotch. He grinned as he caught where my eyes had landed. I quickly blamed it on the wine . . . and curiosity. In fact, if I was being totally honest with myself it was about ninety percent curiosity. I wondered if it was as extraordinary as the rest of the man.
I’d just ridden
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