She was coming to Annie’s every day for a slice of this artery-clogging heaven. Well worth the heart attack.

“So…how are you finding the cottage? Didn’t I tell you those windows are perfect?”

The windows were amazing and the view spectacular. But… “I wish you’d raved less about the light and spent some more time giving me the lowdown on Grady.”

Winona shoved a hand through her dark curls, scrunching her nose a little. “Burl’s nephew?”

Suzanne nodded, absently wishing she had a mass of lush curls instead of fine, dead-straight fluff. She’d always envied Winona’s looks and confidence and her ball-breaking attitude, refusing to be dismissed by people who were quick to disparage her for writing erotic romance fiction for a living.

“I don’t really know him,” she continued. “Burl was the one who showed me the cottage. I think Grady was in the barn or something. Why? Is he a pain in the ass?”

He was something all right. He’d sure made an impact for a guy who hadn’t said a whole lot. Suzanne pursed her lips. “Let’s just say for a man of few words, he managed to convey his displeasure over me being at the cottage loud and clear.”

Winona raised an arched brow. “That doesn’t sound very neighborly of him.”

Suzanne almost laughed. “I don’t think Grady does neighborly.” Try as she might, she just couldn’t summon an image of him knocking on her door with a smile and a basket of home-cooked muffins.

On the back of a horse in fringed chaps twirling a lasso above his head? Yes. In a field fixing a fence, his hat pulled low? Yes. Driving a tractor or some other big-ass bit of machinery with no shirt on? Yes.

Stretched out buck-naked on her bed with the light flooding in through the windows as he watched her paint? Yes, yes, hell freaking yes.

“You want me to talk to Burl?”

Suzanne shook her head and opened her mouth to deny the request, but a deep voice got in before she could say a word. “Talk to Burl about what?”

Winona smiled and stood. “Burl.”

She hugged the older man, who was big and rangy, his frame still strong despite his gray hair. He had Grady’s green eyes and a nice smile. “You must be Suzanne.” He held out a weathered hand, and Suzanne shook it. “My nephew giving you grief?”

Suzanne chose her words carefully. “I…get the feeling he…prefers his own company.” Burl was Grady’s uncle, and he’d been good enough to rent the cottage to her, so it would have been rude to trash talk his nephew. Plus, this wasn’t high school.

Burl nodded. “Yeah. He’s a bit of a loner, I’m afraid.”

The opening strains of The Eagles’ “Desperado” played in Suzanne’s head as she thought about Grady, a lone figure on horseback riding fences for the next three or four decades. It made her kinda sad.

“Will that be a problem?” Winona asked. “Is he…”