Gabe laughed in spite of himself. “Asshole.”
Travis hung up, and Gabe shoved his phone into his pocket, recovered the pliers he’d dropped and got back to the fence post. If he used a little more force than necessary, he figured no one was there to complain.
With a shitload of Colemans in the community, there was always someone to hang out with, to shoot the breeze or get pissed with when needed. At eighteen Gabe’s brother Rafe was the youngest, but there were cousins all over the age range. They fought and supported each other in turn, with only a few situations that required peacekeeping to keep fists from flying.
Family, the kind that supported you in the tough moments and made you so bloody mad at times you couldn’t see straight. They had it all in the extended Coleman clan.
He’d be pulling a fast one on this close-knit group if he and Allison went ahead with the ploy. What would the extended clan think when the truth came out?
It only took a moment before he laughed out loud. Honestly? It would be like every other situation that had ever gone down. Some folks would be upset, some would think it was the best joke ever. The improvements to the ranch would be the most talked-about part, as well as the final results with Allison’s mom.
It was like a light bulb went off. His family, other than his father, would want him to make up his own damn mind and not base his decision on getting anyone’s approval. And it wasn’t as if he did anything to try to impress his father—at least not for years. The only reason he and Ben didn’t come to blows more often was out of consideration for Dana. Gabe didn’t want his ma hurt, or Rafe, and nothing in helping Allison would ultimately harm either of the two most important people in his life.
His father? Who gave a shit what the bastard thought?
Gabe looked over the fields, the familiar and comforting land he’d grown to love. He’d figured that a little time out here was what he needed to clear his head and get a straight focus on what was key. He had his answer to part of his dilemma.
If Allison still wanted his help, he was in.
What to do about the potential sexual situation between them? Well, that was an issue he would deal with as it arrived. If it arrived. Maybe they’d be so busy with other things that the attraction between them wouldn’t even come up.
Gabe pulled himself onto Hurricane’s back and ignored the taunting voice in his head that called bullshit.
For the second time in less than twelve hours Allison woke in Gabe’s bed. It wasn’t the scent of coffee teasing her senses as a wakeup call, but something savoury and rich. The sound of running water registered as well, and she sat up and stretched before looking around for the source.
Holy moly. She shouldn’t have been so curious. Allison averted her gaze, but not before she’d gotten an eyeful.
The bathroom was off to her right. There was no door but instead an open archway revealed a long counter with a sink and a glass enclosure housing the shower. Which meant nothing but slightly foggy glass stood between her and a very naked Gabe. She was positive she’d spotted soap bubbles clinging to his body.
The urge to take a second peek and double-check the entire firm package rushed her, and she squirmed off the bed and fled into the living room.
Oh boy.
Sadness, a sense of loss, anxiety for her family. Those were supposed to be her concerns. Not the rush of sexual attraction that jumped her, or the tingling in her core that had nothing to do with being tired, hungry or worried. Had everything to do with what the pretence of having Gabe as a fiancé meant in a physical sense.
Maybe she was stupid, but until now? It hadn’t even registered. She’d concentrated on her mother, on how to deal with her siblings. On who would be the perfect person to ask to join her in the fake engagement. She hadn’t even once considered the physical attraction between them. She’d been so focused on their common interest in organics that the sensual longings he’d caused without even trying when they’d gone out for lunch so long ago? She’d totally forgotten that part.
She was remembering rather strongly now and feeling stupider than ever for not having taken sex into consideration. And pondering questions, like did she really expect him to be a monk—did she really want him to be a monk?—during the entire time they were acting, didn’t make anything easier.
Allison turned to the kitchen counter and ignored the bit inside calling herself a coward for closing her eyes to the issue. Instead, she stirred the stew in the Crock-Pot, breathed deeply and enjoyed the aroma.
To keep her hands busy and distract her mind from everything—her mom, her job, the gratuitous images of a naked Gabe that kept leaping to mind—she opened cupboards and drawers until she’d managed to set the table.
Might as well make a few assumptions and make herself at home. Because after the extra sleep, she still didn’t see any better solution than the one she’d come up with in the first place.
She was in the middle of transferring bread onto a plate to go with the stew when he stepped into the room. His hair was tousled and damp. Wearing a tight black T-shirt and faded blue jeans, Gabe was the epitome of the classic Canadian cowboy.
Wranglers never had a representative like this one, but could they ever have used him.
“You find everything okay?” He opened the fridge door and pulled out a water jug he deposited on the table.
Allison swallowed to find enough moisture to de-stick her tongue from the roof of her mouth. “I hope you didn’t mind me getting things ready.”
He shook his head. “It’s a kitchen. I figure you know your way around one.”
She froze in the middle of pouring pickles into a serving bowl. “Gabe Coleman, did you just make a macho-asshole comment about women and kitchens?”
He blinked in confusion. A moment later that addictive chuckle of his flitted across the room, only this time instead of turning her on it pissed her off that he wasn’t taking her seriously.
Gabe reached over and captured the pickle jar, the one she’d considered throwing at his head. “Allison, your family owns a restaurant. That’s all I’m referring to. You sure you got enough sleep to be using the dangerous weapons in here? Like the serving spoons and butter knives?”
He winked, and the rush of anger that had struck waned to be instantly replaced with blushing guilt. “Damn it, I’m sorry. I’m still wound up, and just assumed.”
Gabe caught her by the shoulders and tugged her close, squeezing so tight she could barely breathe. The embrace offered security and acceptance, and was so totally non-sexual nothing stopped her from soaking in the comfort he offered.
Then as quick as he’d begun, he released her, patted her shoulder and directed her to one of the chairs. He settled on the opposite side of the table and opened the steaming Crock-Pot.
“Want a scoop?”
Allison held up her bowl as he ladled in the meaty concoction. He served himself about three times as much, buttered a couple slices of bread then started eating. She would have been more embarrassed about diving in without small talk if her stomach hadn’t chosen that moment to grumble loudly.
Gabe laughed. “Your body’s still complaining about you mistreating it the past couple days. Eat—there’s plenty.”
It felt like only a few minutes later before she was licking the sauce off her spoon to get at the final drops. “My compliments to the chef.”
“High praise from someone who knows food. Thank you. I don’t starve.” His pleased expression faded rapidly into something unreadable.
“What’s the extra seasoning you put in there? Can’t be fresh thyme, not yet. Savoury? Basil?”
“Not completely sure—my ma makes these ice-cube things with the herbs when they’re fresh. Mixes them in the blender with a little oil, then she shoves a Ziploc bag of them into my freezer. You’ll have to ask her the secret ingredients. All I know is I toss one in the crock, or the soup pot, and suddenly I’ve got all my cousins clamouring for me to bring over my leftovers.”