Kristen Ashley - Play It Safe

“Sorry?”

“You got a lot of hair, darlin’,” he said through the foam.

“Well… yeah.”

He grinned through the foam and my heart skipped a beat because bare-chested, toothpaste foamed, grinning with dimple Gray would make any woman’s heart skip a beat.

I turned back to the water.

Then I made short work of washing my face.

This, I did not want to do.

I did not wear a lot of makeup but at least it was something, a mask, a guard. I needed those.

No one but Casey ever saw the real me.

And now, so would Gray.

I turned off the water, reached for the towel and wiped my face bent over the sink.

“Shift, honey, gotta spit,” Gray muttered and I did my best not to jump out of his way while getting out of his way and succeeded.

He bent at the waist, spit, rinsed, grabbed another towel and wiped.

Okay, good. This was done. It was done. He’d leave.

He opened the medicine cabinet and came out with floss.

Well, it couldn’t be said I didn’t notice that he had great teeth. Still, I had to admit that I kind of wished tonight he didn’t choose to keep up all the good work he’d clearly been doing since he could wield a toothbrush.

He cut off a string, put it back and stepped aside.

I got down to the business of my teeth.

Gray stepped into the sink to rinse again before I finished and I felt relief.

Now he would go.

He didn’t go.

He leaned into the basin and crossed his arms on his amazing chest.

I kept brushing and looked up at him.

Then I forced myself to keep brushing as my heart skipped another beat and this was because he was grinning while looking at me.

And he kept grinning while looking at me as I kept brushing.

This went on awhile.

I pulled the brush out of my mouth and said through foam, “What?”

“Never, in my life, in this bathroom have I shared a sink with a woman. Now, I’m doin’ it and I don’t even know her last name.”

“I don’t know your last name,” I pointed out through foam.

“Cody.”

I stared at him. Then, still through foam, I asked, “Your name is Gray Cody?”

“Grayson Cody,” he corrected.

Jeez. That was like the wild west rancher cowboy name to beat all wild west rancher cowboy names. That kicked the name “John Wayne” right up the backside. It beat the heck out of “Roy Rogers”. Totally slaughtered even “Wyatt Earp” who wasn’t a wild west rancher cowboy, he was a bad boy lawman famously known for his participation in a gunfight so clearly more badass than your most badass wild west rancher cowboy and still Gray’s name kicked Earp’s name’s ass.

It was the best wild west rancher cowboy name in history.

“Pay a mint to know what’s goin’ on in your head right now,” he muttered, still grinning, still looking at me, still with his fabulous arms crossed on his wide, beautiful chest.

“You have the best wild west rancher cowboy name in history,” I told him.

He burst out laughing.

My heart stopped.

Then I bent over the sink, spit, rinsed, rinsed my toothbrush, wiped and grabbed my stuff.

Then I got the heck out of there, muttering, “’Night, Gray.”

And I did it fast.

And I did it because I had to get smart fast.

Because I could handle his beauty. I could handle his smile. I could handle his dimple. I could handle that he looked out for me. I could even handle the gentle, tenderness of his voice and look earlier.

But I could not handle his laughter.

Definitely not me giving it to him.

It was the most beautiful thing about him in a long line of beautiful things. It was deep, it was rich, it was warm, it was engaging and it was the kind of thing you wanted to hear every day, a hundred times a day for the rest of your life. So much so, you’d work at it, you’d tie yourself in knots, you’d live and breathe to make it happen, giving him humor so he’d give that beauty to you.

So I had to get smart.

Fast.

Six hours later…

I heard the movement and murmur of voices downstairs and I got out of bed.

Gray was right; it was far more comfortable than Manny’s bed at the hotel. The quilt was thin but it was heavy and warm. The sheets were old and therefore washed frequently so they were soft.

I still had around two hours of sleep.

I had to get up, get back to town and get out of Mustang.

I dressed in the room then hustled down the hall. This time, I paid attention even though I still heard the murmur of voices from downstairs, the sounds of something happening in the kitchen, the smell of bacon so I guessed no one was upstairs.

The bathroom door was open, the light out. I hurried in, closed the door and saw it didn’t have a lock.

Of course not.

Family knew, the door was closed, the room was occupied.

It was just me who didn’t know stuff like that.

I did my business, washed my face, brushed my teeth. Without Gray in there, I now saw that the bathroom was countrified charm just like everything else. Claw-footed tub. Ceramic pedestal sink but it was very wide bowled, the bowl square, deep ledges at the top and sides to hold stuff. A bathroom mirror with frilly, beveled edges and scrolled etching at the top. Gray (or his Grandma) didn’t mess around with towels, I was surprised to see. They were not old, worn and soft like everything else. They were new-ish, thick and soft. There was a shelf with some old-fashioned, chrome boxes on it but also a little vase with more slightly wilted flowers.

Gray’s Grandma liked flowers, clearly.

It would be nice if I had the money to pop by the flower shop in town to order flowers delivered as a thank you to her for having such a wonderful grandson.

Unfortunately, I didn’t have the money.

I got out of there, hustled back down the hall, made the bed carefully, fluffing the pillows, smoothing out the sheets then smoothing out the quilt then straightening the blanket at the end. Then I swiftly packed my small bag, zipped up and walked out. Down the stairs, the voices were stronger, the smell of bacon frying weaker, the sounds of cutlery on plates could now be heard.

Making my point, I dropped my bag by the front door, turned and started to head down the hall to the kitchen.

My step nearly stuttered when I saw her.

Long, attractive gray hair, top and sides pulled back in a clip at the nape of her neck, granny nightgown on, pristine white, buttoned all the way up to the frilled, high collar. Wrapped around her upper arms and shoulders was a fluffy, loosely-knit, gray wool shawl. She was a Grandma straight from a TV show but that TV show was set on a farm on the plains in the 1800s. I half expected Michael Landon to walk in the backdoor sporting suspenders and sweeping off his hat.

I didn’t even know they made nightgowns like that anymore and I’d never, not once, seen anyone wrapped in a shawl.

Her eyes were aimed down the hall at me.

Her bottom was settled in a wheelchair.

Now I knew why Gray lived with Grandma.

Yes. He was a good man. Down to his bones.

When I got close, I forced a smile and said quietly, “Hi.”

Her blue eyes shrewd, she took me in top-to-toe on a quick, experienced sweep, her gaze coming back to me giving nothing away and she replied, “Good morning, Ivey.”

Gray had told her about me.

I entered the kitchen to see Gray seated across the table from me, back to the sink, a plate of half eaten eggs and bacon in front of him (as Grandma had in front of her), another plate with a stack of toast between them. Coffee cups, sugar bowl, small jug of milk, butter dish, jar of strawberry jam that was not purchased from a grocery store, silver spoon in it.

His eyes were on me and they were twinkling.

“Mornin’, Ivey,” he greeted.

I stopped a foot in the doorway. “Good morning, Gray.”

“Sleep okay?” he asked.

“Yes,” I lied.

The twinkle in his eyes went south, a grin hit his lips and the dimple came out.

My belly curled.

Stay smart, my brain reminded me.

“Want some breakfast?” he asked, tipping his head down to his plate.

I shook my head. “Thanks, but no. I appreciate it but I have to get back into town. Can I use your phone? I’ll call a taxi so I don’t put you out.”

The twinkle faded and he opened his mouth to say something but Grandma got there before him.

“Everyone needs breakfast.”

I looked at her. “I’m not usually up this early. I’ll get something on the road.”

She studied me a moment then stated, “I’m Miriam Cody.”

Darn. I’d been rude. I should have introduced myself.

I moved to her, not close, not too far she couldn’t reach me and I stretched out a hand.

“It’s lovely to meet you. As I think you know, I’m Ivey.”

She took my hand, gave me a light squeeze then let it go, all of that not taking her eyes from me.

She tipped her head to a chair with its back to the door and invited, “Sit down. I’ll make you some eggs.”

She’d make me some eggs?

How would she do that in a wheelchair?

I didn’t ask even though I wanted to know.

“Really,” I shook my head, “thank you but no. Gray has been very kind, I’ve taken a lot of his time already and I’m really not a breakfast person. Especially not this early. But again, thank you.”

I wondered if I was laying on the gratitude too thick. I could tell by her assessing eyes, her blank face and her aloof manner that she didn’t like what she saw in me. I was used to this, especially from women and that especially was most especially from older women. They had experience. They saw things other people didn’t see. She didn’t like what she saw in me. She didn’t like that her grandson hit the breakfast table with an angry cut over his eye that had to be closed by plasters. She didn’t like that her grandson hit the breakfast table with a cut over his eye and the news he had a girl in their guest room.