The Ashtons - Cole, Abigail & Megan

she loved it.
    A tremor passed through his big body a moment before he broke the kiss and lifted her to sit on his lap. “Honey…we’d better stop…before this goes any…further,” he said, sounding completely out of breath.
    His hard arousal pressing against her backside caused an answering tightness to form deep in her belly and a spark of need to skip along every nerve ending in her body. Scooting off his lap to sit beside him, she decided that she’d tested her newfound freedom as far as she was comfortable with for one night.
    “Thank you for dinner, but it’s getting late and I should probably go.” She listened to the gently falling rain outside. “Do you think you could drive me back to the carriage house?”
    “Sure,” he said, nodding. “But we’ll have to wait a minute or two.”
    “Why?”
    His deep chuckle sent a wave of goose bumps shimmering over her skin. “At the moment, I don’t think I have enough blood north of my belt buckle to keep from passing out when I stand up.”
    Her cheeks heated, and for the first time in her life, she couldn’t think of a thing to say.
    Reaching out, his smile faded as he threaded his fingers through her hair, then cupped the back of her head and pulled her forward for a quick kiss. “Go to the rodeo down in Wild Horse Flats with me this weekend, Abby.”
    She stared at him for endless seconds. “Russ, I’m not sure that would be a good idea.”
    Why was she hesitating? Why wasn’t she telling him “no” outright?
    He shook his head and placed his index finger to her lips. “We’ll leave here on Friday and be back Monday. And in case you’re wondering about the sleeping arrangements, my horse trailer has living quarters with two beds.” Kissing her again, he rose to his feet and held his hand out to help her from the couch. “Just think about it. You can let me know your answer later in the week.”
    “Uncle Grant, I haven’t heard you mention much about the Spencer situation in the past few days,” Abby said over breakfast the next morning. “How are things going with that?”
    Looking over the rim of his coffee cup, her uncle shrugged. “About the same. He refuses to meet with me or any of the other Ashtons from here at The Vines.”
    His obsession with meeting his father was beginning to concern her. “What are you going to do?”
    “Wait him out.” He gave her a fatherly smile. “I have a meeting this morning with Cole and Eli to discuss ouroptions. If we’re lucky, we’ll come up with something to prompt Spencer to meet with us. They’d like their questions answered, too. One of the ideas we’ve come up with is having me go to the media with the story.”
    “Do you think that will work?” she asked, clearing their empty plates to put them in the sink.
    For the past few mornings, she’d prepared breakfast for the two of them in the carriage house. It was really the only time they’d found to talk.
    Her uncle nodded. “I hope so. I doubt that he’d want his business associates to know that he was guilty of bigamy, or that he gained control of the Lattimer Corporation by means of fraud.” He smiled. “But I don’t want you worrying about it, Abby. Things will work out for the best.”
    “I hope so,” she said, praying he was right. Uncle Grant deserved answers from the man who’d deserted him all those years ago.
    “But enough about me.” He motioned for her to sit down and finish her coffee. “I have a few minutes before I’m supposed to meet with Cole and Eli. Tell me what you’ve been up to, Sprite.”
    His use of the nickname he’d given her when she was small caused her heart to swell with love for the man who had sacrificed so much at such an early age for her and her brother. Her uncle had only been twenty-four when his sister walked out and left him to raise her twochildren. But Abby could never remember a single time that she’d heard him complain or express any regrets for the way his life had turned out. He’d never married and, although he hadn’t said as much, she suspected that he’d given her and Ford his undivided attention in an attempt to make up for the lack of love from Grace.
    “There’s really not much to tell,” she said. “Mercedes gave me a tour of the winery the other day and tried to educate me in the fine art of wine tasting.” Grinning, she added, “And I’ve come to a conclusion about that.”
    “Really?”
    She nodded. “I’ve decided that wine must be an acquired