The Ashtons - Cole, Abigail & Megan

and buttons all the way down. He had designs on her buttons, he’d said.
    She had to be patient. Just because he wasn’t tumbling back into love as fast as she had didn’t mean he wouldn’t fall eventually. It would take time, that’s all. Trust wouldn’t come easily for him.
    “You had your suitcase out when I picked you up,” Cole said casually. “You aren’t leaving yet, are you?”
    “Hmm?” Dixie dragged her attention back. “No, not for another week or so. My wrist has delayed things. Didn’t your mom tell you?”
    “Tell me what?”
    “She asked Grant to stay awhile. He’s going to move into the carriage house, so I’m moving to your old room in the big house. We’d have to make other arrangements soon anyway, wouldn’t we?” she added when he didn’t respond. “I’ll be through with all the preliminary work soon.”
    “And then?” he asked in an even voice.
    “I’ll do the paintings at my studio.” Trying not to sound insecure she added, “I’m assuming you’re interested in more than a couple of weeks together.”
    He hesitated a moment. “I’m up for a longer run if you are.”
    It wasn’t the kind of response designed to lift her heart. Anxiety twisted in her gut, but she kept hervoice dry. “Try not to overdo the hearts and flowers. You’ll embarrass me.”
    In answer he reached out and took her hand. It helped…some.
    They reached the cabin at dusk. Dixie was thinking of the other time she’d been here, without going inside. Maybe Cole was, too. He didn’t say much, just opened the door, turned on the light and gestured for her to go inside.
    It was not what she’d expected. “But this is fabulous!” she said, turning in a slow circle.
    “Thought I’d screwed it up when I said I did the work myself, didn’t you?”
    “Partly.” She slanted him a mischievous glance. “And partly I thought you’d go for something safer, more traditional. This looks as if an upscale designer planned it.”
    “Don’t insult me.” But he looked pleased. “I didn’t do it all myself—I needed the experts to replace a load-bearing wall with those wooden pillars, and remove part of the top floor over the living area.”
    The entire downstairs, save for the bathroom in one corner, was one big room, with half of it two stories high. The stone fireplace was original, he said, but he’d put in the plank floors himself. He’d also replaced the Sheetrock and applied the Venetian plaster. It was a warm terra-cotta with golden undertones. “I’m impressed. I think you’ve invented a new style—European rustic.”
    “I haven’t done much to the kitchen, I’m afraid.”
    “I’d sort of guessed that,” she said dryly, looking at an avocado-green stove, a refrigerator that belonged in a museum and the single counter covered in worn Formica. “Did you ever learn how to cook?”
    “Sure. I can scramble eggs with the best of them.”
    “If I didn’t know we’d brought dinner with us, I’d be worried.”
    They ate on a thick, faded Oriental carpet in front of the fire—enchiladas from one of Napa’s best Mexican restaurants, followed by strawberries dipped in chocolate.
    And wine, of course. A rich merlot from Louret’s vineyards with dinner, and French champagne with dessert. “This did not come from your winery,” she pointed out.
    “Nope. But I’ve a fondness for bubbles.” He topped off her glass—again.
    “Are you trying to get me drunk?” Dixie asked, amused. She sipped. “You must be hoping to have your way with me.”
    “You know, I believe I am.”
    None of the lights were on. There was just the fire to warm his skin with its orange glow, and in the dimness, Cole’s eyes looked very dark, his smile secretive. “You’ve been having fun with your courting games. My turn now.” He reached forward and gently removed the glass he’d just filled. “I think we’ll get started. We’re doing things my way tonight, Dixie.”
    Something in his voice tugged at her belly. “I can handle that.”
    “Can you?” He leaned in and kissed her softly, lingering over it. “You like games,” he murmured against her lips.
    “Mmm-hmm.” She drew a line along his bottom lip with her tongue.
    “And you like being in charge.” He pulled back slightly, smiling. “In control.”
    “Sometimes.” She threaded a hand into his hair to bring his mouth back.
    “Uh-uh.” He shook his head, still smiling…not letting her have the kiss she wanted. “We’re