A Weaver Vow. Allison Leigh

grunt of his.

      But he said nothing more as she drove the rest of the way and parked next to the dusty blue pickup truck beside Erik’s house. “Come on,” she said as she climbed out of the car. “The sooner you get started, the sooner you’ll be finished.”

      “Yeah, until you get out here to take me home.” He slammed the car door shut and stomped ahead of her, heading toward the barn he’d worked on last week. When Isabella followed, his head swiveled around, and even beneath his Yankees ball cap she could see the alarm in his eyes. “Don’t you gotta leave to go teach?”

      “Yes. But not right this minute.” She caught up to him. “I want to see what you’re doing and say hello to Mr. Clay. He’s offered to show me around the ranch.”

      His lips twisted. She was certain he would have said something if Erik hadn’t appeared at that particular moment. Luckily he did, coming out of the partially standing barn. He had a pair of goggles dangling around his neck and a sledgehammer in his leather-gloved hand. Dusty jeans and a pair of equally dusty boots completed his outfit.

      And she nearly swallowed her tongue.

      Lucy hadn’t told her exactly how well they grew male gods out here in Wyoming.

      With nothing else covering his wide shoulders and washboard stomach but the gleam of sweat, Erik Clay looked as if he belonged on some calendar somewhere for women to drool over.

      “Thought you said you missed my dad,” Murphy accused in a low voice.

      Horrified at herself, Isabella dragged her attention away from all that raw glory. “I do.”

      Murphy just made a face.

      And why wouldn’t he?