...I took a swig from the flask and felt the burn. “Whiskey.” I handed it back.

“Good Kentucky whiskey,” he said, then took a drink. He held it out.

I took the flask and, once again, our fingers touched. He didn’t let go for a second, letting the contact linger. I didn’t pull away and my heart began to speed up.

He was flirting again.

Damn it!

Why me?

He let go, and I took a long swallow this time. Shit. “I think I finished it,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

“I got plenty back at my cabin,” he said. “Don’t worry about it.”

Was that an invitation?

Damn, he was so damned good-looking!

Again, we just stood there and I felt the heat in my face as it went all flushed.

Go to bed! Get out of here! my mind screamed at me. Why couldn’t I move?

“My flask?” he asked.

“Sorry,” I said, feeling like an idiot. I handed it to him. “I need to be getting to bed. I’m worn out. It was a long drive, and all that food and the horse…” I paused. “Thank you for that.”

“For what?” Cole said.

“Mystic. It was magical.”

He smiled and my stomach leapt again.

Get out of here!

“No problem. There’ll be plenty more tomorrow. You rest up. I’ll see you in the morning,” he said.

“Morning,” was all I could say back.

Then he turned and walked off. I watched him go.

And finally I climbed into my little cart and drove back to my cabin.

* * *

I couldn’t sleep. All I could think about was Cole. His eyes, his grin, the touch of his fingers when we passed the flask.

Shit.

A lifetime of control flying out the window in a single day. Not even a day.

I like older men.

My stomach was full of butterflies. Did he mean me?

I haven’t been with a man in two years.

Really? He hadn’t? Why? A man as nice looking—hot! He’s hot!—as Cole could get any man—gay man—he wanted.

Were his reasons anything like mine?

No.

Of course not.

I looked at you and…I thought you were…

He thought I was what? Homosexual? Of course he did. All he had to do was look at me and I acted the fool.

I got up. Paced. This was crazy. I was never going to get to sleep. Damned coffee.

It wasn’t the coffee, though.

If only I had drunk more of his whiskey. That made me think of fingertips again. And the fact his lips had been on the flask…

Shit! I was acting like my teenaged daughter. I was a man. A grown man!

I went to the cabinet over the sink to see if there was a glass for water.

There was a half bottle of whiskey. I took it out. Beam’s Choice green label? Cole’s? Good Kentucky whiskey?

Mine tonight.

I screwed off the cap and took a long, hard drink, my throat working to swallow the wild, bitter taste. The whiskey exploded in my belly and warmth spread through me.

One or two more of these and I’ll sleep like a baby.

I did.