“Tibet?” Libby blurted.
“Yes, I take my spiritual journey seriously. May I?” the man asked, then gestured toward her hand.
“Okay?” she answered warily.
He lifted it to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “I’ve decided to continue my meditative practice there. I must say, I could feel your energy at the base of the mountain.”
“Really?” she shot back.
Doug studied her palm. “I first connected with you when I saw the viral video of your training session with Erasmus Cress. Oh, hey, dude,” Doug said with a nod to Raz.
“Did you?” she asked, then glanced at Raz. The man looked ready to tear Zen Dougie apart. She heard a low-pitched growl, but neither Raz nor Beefcake, the donkey, were the source of the sound. She turned to her left. Sebastian stood next to her with his arms crossed as he sized up the donkey whisperer.
What had gotten into the kid?
“Truly mystical stuff,” Doug continued, seemingly oblivious that a man whose fists were most likely considered deadly weapons, along with a pretty pissed-off six-year-old, were shooting eye daggers at him. “I felt the vibration of our connection through my phone. That’s some cutting-edge energy, Libby. From one yogi to another, I must say, I’m impressed.”
She gently removed her hand from Zen Dougie’s grip. “Thank you, Doug,” she stammered. “My approach isn’t conventional, but there are many ways to balance chakras and clear the subconscious mind for optimal performance.”
There! At least she was able to put together a little yoga babble.
“So true,” the donkey whisperer agreed. “You’re here for the summer, right?”
“Yes,” she began, gesturing to Raz and Sebastian. Both father and son had the same scowl glued to their faces. “We’re here to compete in the Ass-in-Nine and for Erasmus to train for his upcoming fight.”
Doug nodded, then peered at her left hand. “You coach him in the ring, but you’re not wearing one.”
“Wait, what?” she stuttered as another round of Sebastian’s growls peppered the air.
“You two aren’t together?” Doug asked, nodding to Raz. “I thought I sensed something between you guys on that video.”
She glanced over her shoulder at her beefcake, who raised an eyebrow in response.
What was that supposed to mean? Was that a challenge? Was he angry? She couldn’t read the infuriating man.
“I’m his nanny, his spiritual advisor, and…”
And the woman who rode his cock like a dirty cowgirl on their first night together and the gal who was sporting a hickey and had kissed the guy into oblivion in a blue-violet sex haze, but she wasn’t about to mention that.
“We should meditate together,” the man mused. “We can watch the sunset on the Rickety Rock lookout, then meditate during the sunrise.”
Sweet Buddha’s belly!
Was Zen Dougie hitting on her?
Was he insinuating sleeping together with his family and two scowling Brits ten feet away?
“Libby meditates with me, boyo,” Sebastian snarled.
Hello, Cress family resemblance.
She zeroed in on the pint-sized badass.
“Hear this, Dougie,” the boy called. “Libby is her own woman, making her own choices, and she chooses to meditate with me,” Sebastian added, laying down the law like a mini beast.
She glanced at Raz, expecting the man to say something. Instead, the big beast remained silent as that maddeningly sexy smirk—the arrogant expression that had wrecked her chi, highjacked her O, and could entice her to rip off his clothes—graced his lips.
“I see,” Doug answered warily, taking an unsteady step away from her.
“And for your information, Doug,” Sebastian continued, clearly not finished laying down the law. “My friend Oscar has a Charlotte. He calls her my Charlotte, and now I have a Libby. My Libby or Mibby. She’s my Mibby, boyo, you got that?” the boy finished, losing his prim British cadence and taking on his father’s grittier accent.
Wide-eyed, Libby stared at the kid. That was quite a mouthful, and the whole Mibby business was new to her. When had he come up with it? Then again, she manufactured Pun-chi yoga out of thin air. Who was she to judge anyone for coming up with something slightly insane on the fly? And she had to admit, she quite liked the Mibby moniker. She hadn’t been with Erasmus and Sebastian for a month, and they’d each already given her a nickname. A warmth filled her chest, but as she was about to let this feeling swallow her whole, it receded as quickly as it had risen.
Plum and Mibby might be charming names, but they had a shelf life. A shelf life that expired in a matter of weeks.
Focus, Mibby, Libby! Whatever!
Thunder rumbled, and the intense sound of the approaching storm added to Sebastian’s formidable air. Unflinching, the boy stared down Zen Dougie. “Do we understand each other, boyo?” the boy pressed.
Holy karma clash, they would soon be having a little chat about speaking kindly to others. The child was in her charge. She couldn’t have him boyo-ing every guy who looked her way.
“We better be heading out. We should get back to our animals at the ranch,” Bob remarked, breaking the boyo versus Sebastian stalemate. “Everything you need for Beefcake and Plum is in the barn. We even tacked some tips and tricks on the wall. We’ll be in touch, and we’ll start the official burro race training in a few days.”
A few days?
“You’re leaving us with two donkeys and a few instructions? Two donkeys we need to keep in one piece. Well, two pieces.” She shook her head. “You know what I mean.”
“You’ll be fine. Just follow the instructions,” Maud replied, heading for the truck.
It was donkey time.
Libby released a shaky breath as her frenzied chi whiplashed through her body. She’d barely set foot in the town, and she’d already made out with her boss, invented a new school of yoga, been propositioned by a cowboy yogi, and watched a little boy strong-arm a grown man. And now she was supposed to care for two donkeys. She observed Plum and Beefcake munching on whatever grows on the ground in the mountains. And news flash: she had no idea what they were eating. Was it mountain grass or fart-inducing alfalfa?
“I’m not sure we’re ready for this,” she added, staring at the lead ropes trailing along the ground as the animals grazed.
When had they dropped their ropes?
No bother.
Plum and Beefcake weren’t going anywhere and seemed quite content chomping on whatever the heck they were eating.
“Follow your intuition. You and Erasmus got the burros out of the trailer. Now, you need to take the bonding walk,” Maud instructed. She pointed downhill toward a trail that snaked around the mountain. The path cut across a few steep points, then traversed the creek and rounded into the valley.
“That’s the Crooked Mine Loop,” Bob continued. “It’s the course you’ll be running in the Ass-in-Nine race. Some trails splinter off and some of the inclines can get a bit hairy. You’ve got to keep your wits about you. As long as you keep passing the rock stacks, you’ll know you’re on the right path.”
“We’ll let you get acclimated,” Maud said, then turned to Doug. “You can ride back with us, dear.”