She stopped abruptly, snapping her lips closed as if her mouth had finally received the frantic shut the fuck up messages from her brain. Her cheeks looked pink, but then so did her nose, so it was probably just the nippy December weather.

Grady stared at her, not only at the amount of words she’d spoken but at the content of her monologue. “We…” He spoke because it felt like his turn, but he didn’t even know what to do about cows with zippers. “We don’t calve in winter.”

“Oh, right.” She nodded briskly, her cheeks definitely growing pinker now. “That makes sense. Who wants to be cold and in pain, right?”

She gave a funny little half smile that ended quickly and awkwardly. Then they just stood and stared at each other for several beats longer than was normal or even comfortable, their warm breaths misting into the air.

Tucking her hands into the pockets of her red coat, she said, “I hope it’s okay to have a look around?”

Grady gave a brief, terse nod. “Just don’t go too far or go near the animals.” Last thing he needed was to rescue some damn fool city slicker who’d wandered off and gotten herself lost.

She nodded absently as her gaze drifted again, licking over his chest, lingering on the scar. He should be freezing, half naked in a room that was little more than an icebox, but with her looking at him like she was trying to commit every line and chest hair to memory, he only felt hot.

Really fucking hot. Melted butter on pecan pie hot.

“I hope—” Her voice sounded a little uneven, and she cleared her throat. “I hope my music hasn’t been disturbing you the last few days.”

He wasn’t sure why she was making small talk—although it was preferable to incessant observations about cow hoo-has and zippers. Nor was he sure why he was standing ramrod straight in front of her, thinking about pie when he should be grabbing the spare shirt he kept in the cupboard above the washbasin and getting decent.

But up had been down since the moment she’d arrived.

“It’s fine,” he dismissed. It hadn’t been the music that had been disturbing him, that was for sure.

She nodded again, glancing around the room briefly before settling her eyes back on his chest. “Well…I guess I’ll…” She didn’t finish the sentence as her gaze once again zeroed in on the scar, and her lips rolled together in contemplation. “Do you mind—?” She stepped forward and raised her hand tentatively.

When he didn’t move because he was paralyzed by the realization she was actually going to touch him, she became bolder, stepping in closer again as her fingers made contact. She was so close now, he could smell her. Coffee and snickerdoodles? And something sharp, maybe chemical. Paint, he supposed.

“Is it a bullet wound?”

Grady flinched as she touched the scar, her fingers like icicles as they sunk into the small indentation. He closed his eyes as heat bloomed from the center, spreading like a ripple, burning like a furnace down the length of his body.