Sally: Autumn Storms (F&L Story #4)

Sally: Part 8

Part 8

<!-- @page { margin: 0.79in } P { margin-bottom: 0.08in } -->

Sally got goose bumps up and down her arms. Peering through the modest window over the kitchenette, she saw it. Wilson's smile.

A set of even, white teeth flashed through his lips, which crooked up higher on the left side, lending his mouth a hint of imperfection in such a stunning smile. A pair of dimples in his cheek winked, and the light in his eyes brightened. All in all, a smile that would stop a rabid bull.

“Sweet Lord in Heaven, give me strength to last this day,” she prayed in a quick whisper. The man flat out took her breath away. Frowning, he was good-looking. Scowling, he was sexy. Smiling, the true cowboy came out in him, a rough-and-tumble, charming devil in denim and a Stetson. The smile disappeared as quickly as it flashed across his lips, but the damage was already done. It’d been burned into her retinas.

She vowed – that from this day forward – her goal in life was to see him smile again. Unadulterated expressions of joy like his were the things that made living have meaning. The world sat on its axis and spun...the rain fell and the sun shone...the stars and moon came out at night...because of Wilson's smile.

Okay, she'd admit all that sounded corny, but every synapses in her brain, every nerve-ending in her toe, and every spot of electrical stimulus in-between told her differently. She'd forgive all his faults, his dirty past, and any lack of brainpower, if only he'd just stand around all day and smile at her.

She'd never get anything done.

As it was, she stood in the middle of a dark, stinky hell with carnal tension rolling off of her. Get it together, Sally, or you'll be spending the rest of the day in the chicken coops. Just as she disciplined her body to behave, he entered the camper, carrying the broom, and flipped on the light switch. Immediately, something large, furry and disgusting scurrying over Sally's toe.

“Omigod!” she screeched and hopped up on the built-in table, crouching there like a feral cat. “Did you see that? I hate mice. Just…hate them!”

“I believe 'rat' may be more accurate, ma'am,” Wilson countered with a funny twang to his voice. Was he holding back laughter? Well, now was not the time to be amused!

“It's not funny,” she spit at him, feeling faint. Black spots danced in her vision, and the room began to spin. Wilson frowned at her.

“It won't hurt you, ma'am,” he said, coming to stand very close to her. He didn't reach out to steady her, but if she fainted and fell off the table top, he'd break her fall. Considerate of him.

Sally shook her head and tried to blink away the dizziness. “Rats bite,” she told him thickly, swaying a tiny bit. This was ridiculous! She faced down and shot a pissed-off, charging bear once! She didn't kill it, but she didn't get nauseous and woozy either. There was just something about mice and rats, and rodents of every kind. Squirrels, too. Their swishy tails, their pointed feet, their unnatural sense of balance… Sally shuddered heavily and forced her breathing. Wilson kept his eyes on the floor, instead of on her, giving her a small bout of privacy and standing guard for her at the same time. She could kiss him just for that.

“I doubt they'll chew through the leather of your boots before you notice,” he commented.

Thoughts of kissing Wilson did wonders for her head. Suddenly, it was clear and thinking rationally again. “Completely beside the point,” she said, climbing down from the table. “I hate rats more than I hate mice.”