The Ashtons - Cole, Abigail & Megan

anywhere near me unless there was a group of people around.”
    Russ’s expression turned serious. “Abby, I give you my word that you’ll never have to worry about something like that happening with me. I promise not to touch you unless you tell me to.”
    Staring into his steady blue gaze, she saw nothing but sincerity and she knew she could trust him to maintain his control no matter how heated the moment became. “Like I said before, it’s not you I’m worried about.”
    He shook his head. “I don’t think you have to be concerned about you, either. From what you’ve told me about your mother, and what I know about you, you’re nothing like her.”
    “I hope not.”
    Releasing her, he bent to pick up the dressings for the gray mare. When he straightened and handed them to her, he smiled. “Have dinner with me tonight, Abby.”
    “I don’t know—”
    “I promise it will be just a couple of friends getting together for the evening. Nothing more.”
    “I don’t even know where you live.” Was she actually considering his offer?
    “I live in the guest cottage on the other side of the lake.” He opened the stall’s half door and led the mareout into the wide aisle. “And I make great spaghetti and meatballs.”
    Abby weighed her options as she bent to assess the wound on the horse’s fetlock. Uncle Grant had plans for the evening and Mercedes had another date with her boyfriend, Craig. Did she really want to spend the evening alone in the carriage house watching television?
    Straightening, Abby shook her head. “I don’t think we’ll have to continue dressing it. The wound is almost completely healed.”
    “That’s great.” He led the mare back into her stall, then, securing the door, turned to face Abby. “Now, what about dinner? I could come by for you around seven.”
    She took a deep breath and made her decision. “Don’t bother. I’ll walk.”
    When he heard the knock on the front door, Russ wiped his hands on a towel and walked over to open it. The sight of Abby standing on the small porch, her dark auburn hair down around her shoulders, robbed him of breath. She was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever had the privilege to meet, and unless he missed his guess, she didn’t even know it.
    “You’re just in time to help with the salad while I drain the spaghetti.” He could tell she was nervous, and wanting to put her at ease, he grinned. “If I try totoss the damned stuff, we’ll be sweeping it off the floor.”
    “What makes you think I can do any better?” she asked, laughing.
    The delightful sound caused a warm feeling to spread throughout his chest. “You’re a wo—”
    “Watch it, buster.” Her dimples appeared when she smiled. “You’re about to get in over your head.”
    His heart stalled and he wasn’t sure it would ever beat again. She had his two biggest weaknesses—red hair and dimples—and the evening was going to be a true test of his control.
    Clearing the rust from his throat, he tried to remember what they’d been talking about. “I was just going to tell you that you’re a woman…who should sit down and rest while I toss the salad.”
    “Good save, cowboy.” She laughed as she walked into his tiny kitchen, picked up the two oversize wooden forks and began tossing the salad. “Not that I believe for a minute that’s what you intended to say.”
    They worked side by side in companionable silence for several minutes—he putting the finishing touches on the spaghetti and she filling salad plates and setting the table.
    “Would you like some wine?” he asked, holding the chair for her at the small, wooden kitchen table.
    She shook her head. “I have to confess that I’m not much of a wine connoisseur. I normally drink water or iced tea with my meals.”
    “Don’t feel bad, honey.” He laughed. “I never touch the stuff, either.”
    Her expressive eyes widened. “But you make wine for a living.”
    Reaching into the refrigerator, he brought out a pitcher of tea, poured them each a glass, then sat down opposite her. “When I drink, which isn’t all that often, I prefer beer.”
    She lifted her glass. “Here’s to wine-making, beerdrinking, rodeo cowboys.”
    Grinning, he touched his glass to hers. “And to beautiful, large-animal vets with attitude.”
    They talked over dinner and Russ learned about Abby’s brother, Ford, developing a highly successful cattle feed while he was still in college. He’d leased the patented