She followed him, taking a seat at one of two barstools at the kitchen island. “How long have you lived here?”
“Three years.”
“Does your whole family live on the property?”
“Yes.” He placed a tall glass of water in front of her.
“This is the stage of the program where you decide you’ve had enough chitchat, huh? You’re contemplating how to get rid of me and how long it’ll take.”
“There’s a certain nice ring to getting rid of you.” He grinned.
“Maverick!” She punched him in the upper arm.
“Drink,” he instructed, like that would get her out of his hair faster.
She drank. But slowly.
His eyes moved to her mouth pressed around the rim of the glass. Then they slid down the column of her neck as she swallowed before he leisurely moved his gaze back up to her eyes.
When Maverick Owens watched a woman take a drink, it felt intensely personal. If he checked under her collar, he’d burn his fingers. She put the glass down on the thick wood countertop and kept eye contact.
They’d played this game too many times to count, and she’d won nine times out of ten. She’d win now, too, no matter how much his baby blues threatened to drown her in unwelcome pleasure.
“Did you know your left eye is slightly lighter than your right?” he asked.
“Did you know there’s a speck of green in your right eye and not in your left?”
“Did you know if someone stares at your pupil, it starts to look like the center of a daisy?”
No, she did not know that. Was that because no man had stared deep enough into her eyes to tell her? Or because Maverick had a way with words that snuck under her skin?
“Did you know a person’s pupils dilate when they look at something they like?”
“What are you suggesting, Shortcake?” he asked evenly.
“Not suggesting. I can see it with my own two eyes. You like me, Maverick Owens, even though you don’t want to.”
“I’ll admit you intrigue me, Kennedy Martin.”
“Is this a new feeling or a carryover?”
He didn’t answer her right away, and the sounds of puppies suckling filled the space. The nursing grew louder.
And at exactly the same time, they did two things: pried their eyes from each other to look across the room at the noisemakers, and laughed.
If she thought Maverick’s dimples were dangerous, combined with a laugh, he might just kill her. That he seemed to have no clue how sexy he was made him that much more attractive.
“I don’t think you’re going to need those bottles,” she said.
“Maybe not, but I’ll still be on watch.”
“Want some company?”
His brows did a nosedive.
“I’m not tired and this is pretty exciting stuff that I will probably never witness again, so I could keep you company. Not that I want any of the puppies to have difficulty feeding, but if one did and I got to bottle feed them, I might have to admit again that ranch life has its pluses. And wouldn’t you love that, cowboy?”
“I don’t need your validation to know how great ranch life is.”
She opened her mouth to say she didn’t mean to insult him, but he beat her to the punch.
“But,” he added, “far be it from me to deprive you of a once-in-a-lifetime chance to be with newborn puppies on their very first night.”
She grinned. “Thank you! I promise I’ll keep any further questions I have to a minimum.”
“Do you ever not ask questions?”
“Rarely. I just have this thirst for knowledge that needs to be quenched.”
One corner of his nice mouth perked up, giving her a tiny peek at the sexy indentation in his cheek. “Well, if I’m stuck with you, might as well get comfortable.” He picked up her glass of water, grabbed his own, and walked to the couch. She sat next to him, leaving about a foot between them.
They had a perfect view of Barley and her puppies and for several comfortable minutes watched in fascination.
“Can I ask you something?” One more question, then she’d stop.
His head lolled forward in exhaustion. His chest rose and fell. He wore a pea green T-shirt tucked in behind his belt buckle but otherwise loose, and light-blue jeans that looked as soft as pajamas. His arms were tanned and sinewy. He really had it all going on.
“What happened to keep you from becoming a vet?” she asked. His tiredness didn’t beat out her curiosity.
He lifted his chin. His stubbled jaw tensed before it relaxed and he said, “Life.”
“Could you be more specific?”
Crossing his arms, a clear sign he wanted to close himself off rather than open up to her, he once again took a deep breath.
“I shared my story with you, and I’d really like to hear yours,” she said softly. She hoped that appealed to his sense of fairness, but more than that, she genuinely wanted to know what had happened. He’d been so determined to become a veterinarian. So excited when he’d gotten accepted to the doctorate program at UC Davis, if she remembered correctly.
Rather than answer her, he got up to check on Barley and the puppies. She fought the urge to follow him for a closer look, deciding to give him some space. A couple of minutes later, he sat back down.
“How about I get you a beer? Would that help?” Surely he had some in the fridge.
He chuckled. “Probably.”
“Done.” She jumped up and grabbed a couple of beers. They clinked bottle necks and each took a healthy sip.
“I wouldn’t have taken you for a beer drinker,” he said pensively.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, cowboy.”
“And a lot I do,” he offered in a tone she couldn’t decipher before he drank down the rest of his beer, his throat a nice place for her eyes to land while he did so.
She seriously had to stop thinking the word “nice” in connection with him. It blurred all the frustrating memories of him too much.
“My first year in graduate school, I met a girl,” he said, staring out at the room. “The girl. Her name was Nicole.”
Kennedy stayed quiet. She barely moved a muscle. She wanted to soak in whatever he gave her without any interruption.
“She wanted to be a vet, too. We started dating, fell in love. She was amazing. Smart. The kind of person who always put others before herself. And she got as excited about animals as I did. Then the summer before our third year, she got sick.”