LITMIR.BIZ

      Chapter Eight

      As Ellen had predicted, the “juice” had not come back on by daybreak. Gage was gone when Chelsea finally stirred. She grabbed a quick, satisfying shower, grateful that the small cottage had gas heat. She wished she’d been awake when Gage had gotten up—but waking up with him would have been awkward, too.

      He’d probably thought to spare her.

      Thing was, she didn’t regret last night. And if he was worried about her not understanding his feeling about no relationships in his life, he needn’t be. She pulled on her jeans and shoes, fluffed her hair to dry it a bit, and told herself she’d never had a long-term relationship, and now wasn’t the time for her to start. She couldn’t even be sure she’d get her green card. Her mother needed her, and she had a deadline looming.

      Clearly, this was not the time for romance.

      Not to mention she was pretty certain Gage had a daughter who wouldn’t accept a woman in her father’s life easily. Chelsea couldn’t blame her.

      She went to find Gage, not surprised to see him outside with Ellen, looking over some tall, wide pens.

      “I just can’t part with any of my birds right now,” the breeder said. “Good morning, Chelsea.”

      Gage gave her a slow, sexy smile that flipped her heart, then went back to his conversation. “I believe, Ms. Ellen, you might have known that you couldn’t part with any last night.”

      Chelsea’s jaw dropped. They had gotten taken for a night of room rental—and had taken full advantage of the moment to be alone. She blushed, knowing Jonas was going to be plenty annoyed when they returned without the colorful, beautiful peacocks he envisioned for Rancho Diablo.

      “I said I’d think about it,” Ellen said, her tone defensive. “The problem is that it’s breeding season, as you might have heard last night.”

      They had heard the loud calls of the peacocks searching for partners. Chelsea found herself blushing again, remembering that Gage had said he was glad he didn’t have to make those kinds of noises to get his lady into bed. And then he’d made slow, sweet love to her, feeding her a strawberry and making good use of the strawberry oil on the gilt tray, murmuring that she was his own delicious—

      “What do you think, Chelsea?” Gage asked.

      Her gaze snapped to his. “I think Miss Ellen has a point about waiting until after breeding season. We don’t have a pen yet, and it would give us time to build one. We could come back at the end of the summer, say, September, and get a pair of peacocks then.”

      Nodding, Gage glanced at Ellen. “Works for me.”

      “Well,” she said, pretending to think over the proposition, “I would feel better if you had your pens built. And once the ladies are done nesting, it wouldn’t be harmful to transport them so far. Where’d you say you’re from?”

      “Hell’s Colony,” Gage stated.

      “That’s what I thought you said.” She gave him a sharp eying. “I knew a man from New Mexico who wanted peacocks. I didn’t like him. Didn’t trust him with my birds.”

      Gage smiled reassuringly. “Glad you like us, then.”

      Ellen hesitated. “There aren’t that many people in the market for peafowl. So I have to be careful.”

      Chelsea saw that the woman had her radar up for trouble. Nothing good could come of her asking more questions. “We’d like to make a fifty percent deposit, Ms. Smithers, and then pay the other half when we receive our pair. Would that suit you?”

      Gage pulled out his wallet, retrieving green bills that caught Ellen’s gaze.