One thing they hadn’t discussed was her previous sexual experiences, which weren’t extensive. She hadn’t lost her virginity until age twenty-one, and the guy hadn’t known she was a virgin, so she’d come away from that experience feeling jaded. During her first year on the circuit she’d witnessed some wild and kinky scenes, but she hadn’t actively participated. She’d let Breck sweet-talk her into his bed. She figured he had enough sexpertise to make up for the lack of hers. Which had proven true.

The f**k-and-run encounters with Breck suited her fine. Trying to find her footing on the circuit discouraged a serious relationship. She’d watched many relationships fail in the rodeo world, and oftentimes that was followed by career failure.

Like Kyle, she’d verified her suspicions about Breck’s bisexuality by accident. Walked in on Breck bending his new traveling partner over the vanity and f**king him.

They’d had a rational discussion, but the bottom line hadn’t changed—she liked being with Breck on her terms. She knew he’d liked spending time with her, occasionally between the sheets or more often at a honky-tonk. And she’d demanded that he show her a clean bill of health before she slept with him again.

Then came Michael. Michael inserted himself into Breck’s life, which oddly enough, made Breck cling to Celia even tighter. At least in public. He started talking about making commitments, yet she knew in private he preferred Michael’s bed to hers. Breck promised her a tropical Christmas vacation, but Michael demanded an invite, so Celia had spent two weeks sunning herself, drinking cocktails, indulging in every spa treatment the resort offered on Breck’s dime, while Breck and Michael f**ked like animals and fought like cats in the adjoining room.

That’d been the beginning of the end.

Around that time, Kyle had noticed her distraction and he’d cornered her. Urging her to quit living Breck’s lie. She knew she hadn’t been in love with Breck because it’d been far too easy to break it off with him.

Celia doubted anything with Kyle would ever be easy. He challenged her at every turn.

His arms came around her and he nuzzled the back of her head. “Whatcha thinking about so hard?”

She thought about putting some distance between them, physically and mentally, by giving him a flip answer like how she would miss their sexual compatibility in six months when this union ended. But she refrained. “What to do with these pancakes if I burn ’em.”

“You mixed up the batter. I’m not too bad at flipping pancakes. I used to make them for my mom on Mother’s Day.”

“What a sweet boy.” She patted his face. “My, what smooth cheeks you have.”

“All for you. I don’t wanna leave beard burn all over your skin.”

Celia shivered at the words all over your skin.

Kyle piled his plate with five cakes, used half a stick of butter and half a bottle of syrup.

She took two pancakes, slathered butter on and sprinkled sugar on top, along with sliced strawberries.

“You don’t put on syrup?”

“Nope.”

“Ain’t they kinda dry?”

“Sugar and fruit makes them perfect. You should try a bite.” She held out her fork.

Kyle actually wrinkled his nose. “I told you I ain’t big on fruit.” He polished off seven pancakes. The man had a big appetite and he’d burn off every calorie tomorrow, probably before noon.

They must’ve both been ravenous—the food was gone in ten minutes.

She washed the dishes and Kyle dried. When he bumped into her, she jumped. Why was she acting so skittish now?

“Cele? You all right?”

“Uh. Yeah. Why?”

“You’ve scrubbed that plate three times. I’m pretty sure it’s clean.”

She laughed. “Sorry. It’s just kinda weird, don’tcha think?”

“What? Us having wild monkey sex? Or the fact I’m a man who doesn’t mind doin’ dishes?”

“Smart-ass. I hate to break it to you, Kyle, but bein’ a man who does dishes isn’t really all that unusual.”

“Oh yeah? You’ve dated lots of guys with dishpan hands?”

No way did she want to confess her less-than-impressive dating record. “Hank and Abe both did dishes.”

Kyle grabbed the plate and rinsed it before he dried it. “They didn’t wash dishes until after your folks died. And when Abe was married to Janie the first time, I’ll bet you and Janie did all the dishes.”

“We did have a dishwasher, so it wasn’t a big deal.” She plopped the skillet in the water. “But know what’s weird? When I was growing up I never saw my dad even rinse out his own coffee cup in the morning, to say nothing of tackling a pile of dirty pots and pans.”

“Really? But your mom helped him do stuff around the ranch, right?”

“Yep. Not cleaning machinery or fixin’ fence, but she fed cattle and stuff like that. Why?”

He shrugged. “With it bein’ just me’n my mom, I learned to do everything. Hated doin’ some things, didn’t mind doin’ others.”

Celia took her time using the abrasive side of the sponge on the skillet. She wasn’t in a hurry to finish the chore because she found she really liked talking to Kyle. Hearing his stories. Finding out the events in his life that’d shaped him into the man he’d become. She’d watched some of that transformation over the years, but from a different angle.