bicycle at eye level with his crotch.
“What keeps the parts from grinding against each other?”
Goddammit, it was an innocent question and she was an innocent woman—on her knees in the dirt with her head level with his groin.
“Grease,” he croaked, staring at the bicycle. Clearing his throat and willing his dick to behave, he made the mistake of meeting her gaze.
Edge’s breath stalled, his heart jumped, and regardless of the iron control he prided himself on, when her pink tongue flicked out tracing a line across her bottom lip, his cock unfurled.
Desperate to redirect her attention from the swell in his pants, he pointed at the bottom bracket.
“What you need to do is grease the chain to keep it from rubbing the brakes when it passes over the pivot points—”
“Like so?” She interrupted him, poking her finger in and out of the tight circle she’d made with finger and thumb. “I see—carrying the oil with it keeps it gliding smoothly over the sprocket.”
He stared at her, unable to speak around the useless club in his mouth his tongue had become. A blush crawled up his neck. Miss Prescott stood and brushed off her skirts as if nothing untoward had just happened.
“Thank you for your instruction. I shall have to learn its parts if I am to keep it in working order.”
He shifted his stance, discreetly trying to accommodate that which would not abate. He figured she was more aware of his state than she let on, because she seemed a mite flustered herself when she turned from him and pointed at his horse, placidly eating grain by the hitching post.
“Animals will soon have to make room on the roads for mechanical modes of transportation. I’m planning to smooth the thoroughfare from here to town next spring.”
“Gadgets are fine for play,” he said gruffly, his momentary ardor doused. “But herding cattle’s not a game.”
“I do not use my Rover for recreation. Until I obtained it, I rarely left this ranch. Now I have the whole county to explore.” River straightened, her glare challenging him.
“You could ride in a buggy or get yourself a good horse,” he answered. Her exaggerated defense irked him.
“I don’t like horses.”
No shit. Her expression filled with such loathing, Edge resisted the urge to protect Sandy.
“The Rover suits me fine. It doesn’t eat, leave smelly droppings in the yard, require saddling and preparation, or necessitate space in a barn.” Miss Prescott had definitely made up her mind. But regardless of their disagreement about mechanical rides versus warm-blooded ones, she invited him inside. “It’s past time for dinner.”
Amos followed hard on their heels when his boss led Edge through the front entrance. He wondered if the old man had been peering at them from the barn. Maybe everyone on the ranch went around spying on people.
“Come along,” River told him. “Amos and I use the kitchen on Sundays. It’s easy to wash up before we eat and easy to clean up afterward.”
The dress she wore, tailored to fit her diminutive size, tapered in at the waist and flared out again over the gentle curve of her hips. Paying too much attention to her form and not where she led, he bumped into a massive table in the dining room.
He felt like a lumbering ox but followed her into the kitchen, a room filled with light, warmth, good smells and much more to his liking than the darker rooms they’d passed through.
She’d already set plates and silverware on the round oak table by the wall. He scrubbed at the sink, standing shoulder to shoulder with her and watched her use soap and water revealing the bruise beneath the dust and grit. Without permission, he picked up her hand and studied the injury. Her fingers were swollen but the punctures were clear of infection.
“Anybody ever consider beating the sh… daylights out of that fella we tangled with yesterday?”
“You came as close as I’ve seen.” Her eyes sparkled and she beamed obvious approval at
“What keeps the parts from grinding against each other?”
Goddammit, it was an innocent question and she was an innocent woman—on her knees in the dirt with her head level with his groin.
“Grease,” he croaked, staring at the bicycle. Clearing his throat and willing his dick to behave, he made the mistake of meeting her gaze.
Edge’s breath stalled, his heart jumped, and regardless of the iron control he prided himself on, when her pink tongue flicked out tracing a line across her bottom lip, his cock unfurled.
Desperate to redirect her attention from the swell in his pants, he pointed at the bottom bracket.
“What you need to do is grease the chain to keep it from rubbing the brakes when it passes over the pivot points—”
“Like so?” She interrupted him, poking her finger in and out of the tight circle she’d made with finger and thumb. “I see—carrying the oil with it keeps it gliding smoothly over the sprocket.”
He stared at her, unable to speak around the useless club in his mouth his tongue had become. A blush crawled up his neck. Miss Prescott stood and brushed off her skirts as if nothing untoward had just happened.
“Thank you for your instruction. I shall have to learn its parts if I am to keep it in working order.”
He shifted his stance, discreetly trying to accommodate that which would not abate. He figured she was more aware of his state than she let on, because she seemed a mite flustered herself when she turned from him and pointed at his horse, placidly eating grain by the hitching post.
“Animals will soon have to make room on the roads for mechanical modes of transportation. I’m planning to smooth the thoroughfare from here to town next spring.”
“Gadgets are fine for play,” he said gruffly, his momentary ardor doused. “But herding cattle’s not a game.”
“I do not use my Rover for recreation. Until I obtained it, I rarely left this ranch. Now I have the whole county to explore.” River straightened, her glare challenging him.
“You could ride in a buggy or get yourself a good horse,” he answered. Her exaggerated defense irked him.
“I don’t like horses.”
No shit. Her expression filled with such loathing, Edge resisted the urge to protect Sandy.
“The Rover suits me fine. It doesn’t eat, leave smelly droppings in the yard, require saddling and preparation, or necessitate space in a barn.” Miss Prescott had definitely made up her mind. But regardless of their disagreement about mechanical rides versus warm-blooded ones, she invited him inside. “It’s past time for dinner.”
Amos followed hard on their heels when his boss led Edge through the front entrance. He wondered if the old man had been peering at them from the barn. Maybe everyone on the ranch went around spying on people.
“Come along,” River told him. “Amos and I use the kitchen on Sundays. It’s easy to wash up before we eat and easy to clean up afterward.”
The dress she wore, tailored to fit her diminutive size, tapered in at the waist and flared out again over the gentle curve of her hips. Paying too much attention to her form and not where she led, he bumped into a massive table in the dining room.
He felt like a lumbering ox but followed her into the kitchen, a room filled with light, warmth, good smells and much more to his liking than the darker rooms they’d passed through.
She’d already set plates and silverware on the round oak table by the wall. He scrubbed at the sink, standing shoulder to shoulder with her and watched her use soap and water revealing the bruise beneath the dust and grit. Without permission, he picked up her hand and studied the injury. Her fingers were swollen but the punctures were clear of infection.
“Anybody ever consider beating the sh… daylights out of that fella we tangled with yesterday?”
“You came as close as I’ve seen.” Her eyes sparkled and she beamed obvious approval at
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