and learned to flourish here.”
“I love that story,” Ella told him, dazzled. She could almost see the terrified horses kicking out into the storm-tossed waves, pushing through exhaustion to reach the beach.
“That’s why I spend so much time looking out for the wild horses and their habitat.” Ella tried not to melt at the way Grady’s jaw went hard with determination. “Sanctuary is their home, just as much as it is ours.”
A pang shot through her. This wasn’t her home, and she didn’t know why it hurt a little to be reminded of that. “Thank you for cooking,” she said, trying to drag the conversation back up to the surface.
Ella wasn’t great at accepting help, but she was trying to do better. “I’m not an invalid, though—my ankle must have only been twisted, like I said, because it’s fine today. So if Jo asked you over here to babysit me, you don’t need to feel obligated.”
Grady paused in the act of building the perfect ham biscuit. “You’re not an obligation. I’m here because I want to be.”
CHAPTER 10
Ella had been joking, or trying to, but the way Grady said that, so seriously and with his eyes intent on her face, sent a shiver of awareness skating over her skin.
She could actually feel herself getting pink in the cheeks, so she dipped her head and got busy with her own breakfast. “Okay. Well, thank you, anyway. This is really…” She paused to take a big bite, and had to close her eyes as the rich taste of smoky ham and intense salt exploded across her tongue. “Oh. Wow.”
She tried not to be warmed by the glint of approval in his smile, but it was hopeless.
“Real country ham, fried up nice and crisp,” Grady said, tearing into his breakfast while Ella did the same. “Then you take the hot drippings, add some strong black coffee, and boil it down until it’s the saltiest, most perfect flavor on the planet. Soak it up with good buttermilk biscuits, and you’ve got yourself a slice of heaven, right there.”
She popped the last bite in her mouth and contemplated copying Grady as he reached for a second biscuit with a brown-leather-gloved hand.
Without meaning to, she tracked his movements while her mind clicked through the possibilities, the reasons a man like Grady might have to keep his hands covered at all times. He was pretty covered up, in general, she noted. Her eyes skimmed the broad shoulders under layers of cotton undershirt and unbuttoned flannel shirt. The soft, forest-green-sleeves were buttoned tightly at his wrists, leaving not even an inch of bare skin to peep out between the edge of his gloves and the shirt cuff.
“Noticed the gloves, huh?” His mouth twisted in a crooked smile, as if her answer didn’t matter much, but Ella had the sense that if she said the wrong thing, he’d be out of his chair, maybe even out of the house, in the blink of an eye.
Even though she was embarrassed to be caught staring, Ella knew the worst possible reaction she could give him would be to make a big deal out of what was so clearly a hot-button issue for him.
So she shrugged as casually as she could manage, and reached for another biscuit. “They’re nice. I like the stitching. Pass the red-eye gravy, please.”
She deliberately didn’t look at him, concentrating most of her attention on getting her ham biscuit together. But she could feel the moment the tension left his big frame, like air escaping from a tire.
Ella ate her biscuit and tried to think of something to say that wasn’t “So what are you hiding under those gloves?”
But maybe Grady could feel the question hanging in the air over their heads the same way she did, because after a minute or so of silent eating, he abruptly started talking.
“I received an injury a few years back. For a while, I had to wear gloves for protection, and I got used to it.”
Ella wondered if the injury happened during his time with Texas Task Force One. Peeking up at him, she tried to gauge whether
“I love that story,” Ella told him, dazzled. She could almost see the terrified horses kicking out into the storm-tossed waves, pushing through exhaustion to reach the beach.
“That’s why I spend so much time looking out for the wild horses and their habitat.” Ella tried not to melt at the way Grady’s jaw went hard with determination. “Sanctuary is their home, just as much as it is ours.”
A pang shot through her. This wasn’t her home, and she didn’t know why it hurt a little to be reminded of that. “Thank you for cooking,” she said, trying to drag the conversation back up to the surface.
Ella wasn’t great at accepting help, but she was trying to do better. “I’m not an invalid, though—my ankle must have only been twisted, like I said, because it’s fine today. So if Jo asked you over here to babysit me, you don’t need to feel obligated.”
Grady paused in the act of building the perfect ham biscuit. “You’re not an obligation. I’m here because I want to be.”
CHAPTER 10
Ella had been joking, or trying to, but the way Grady said that, so seriously and with his eyes intent on her face, sent a shiver of awareness skating over her skin.
She could actually feel herself getting pink in the cheeks, so she dipped her head and got busy with her own breakfast. “Okay. Well, thank you, anyway. This is really…” She paused to take a big bite, and had to close her eyes as the rich taste of smoky ham and intense salt exploded across her tongue. “Oh. Wow.”
She tried not to be warmed by the glint of approval in his smile, but it was hopeless.
“Real country ham, fried up nice and crisp,” Grady said, tearing into his breakfast while Ella did the same. “Then you take the hot drippings, add some strong black coffee, and boil it down until it’s the saltiest, most perfect flavor on the planet. Soak it up with good buttermilk biscuits, and you’ve got yourself a slice of heaven, right there.”
She popped the last bite in her mouth and contemplated copying Grady as he reached for a second biscuit with a brown-leather-gloved hand.
Without meaning to, she tracked his movements while her mind clicked through the possibilities, the reasons a man like Grady might have to keep his hands covered at all times. He was pretty covered up, in general, she noted. Her eyes skimmed the broad shoulders under layers of cotton undershirt and unbuttoned flannel shirt. The soft, forest-green-sleeves were buttoned tightly at his wrists, leaving not even an inch of bare skin to peep out between the edge of his gloves and the shirt cuff.
“Noticed the gloves, huh?” His mouth twisted in a crooked smile, as if her answer didn’t matter much, but Ella had the sense that if she said the wrong thing, he’d be out of his chair, maybe even out of the house, in the blink of an eye.
Even though she was embarrassed to be caught staring, Ella knew the worst possible reaction she could give him would be to make a big deal out of what was so clearly a hot-button issue for him.
So she shrugged as casually as she could manage, and reached for another biscuit. “They’re nice. I like the stitching. Pass the red-eye gravy, please.”
She deliberately didn’t look at him, concentrating most of her attention on getting her ham biscuit together. But she could feel the moment the tension left his big frame, like air escaping from a tire.
Ella ate her biscuit and tried to think of something to say that wasn’t “So what are you hiding under those gloves?”
But maybe Grady could feel the question hanging in the air over their heads the same way she did, because after a minute or so of silent eating, he abruptly started talking.
“I received an injury a few years back. For a while, I had to wear gloves for protection, and I got used to it.”
Ella wondered if the injury happened during his time with Texas Task Force One. Peeking up at him, she tried to gauge whether
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