For Sam: A new-girl small town cowboy romance

Chapter 7 Sam

Why does Tommy look so good driving?

I can’t seem to make my heart calm down.

Since he parks a little farther from the entrance, we have more space to get out of his truck, so I don’t have to focus too hard on how to slide down. But being used to my low sedan plus the fact that I’m wearing a skirt isn’t a great combination for remaining casually graceful. In the time it takes to gather my things, let alone my exit strategy for the second time tonight, Tommy is already opening my door before I can reach for the handle.

“You can leave anything you want in the truck,” he says.

“I suppose it would be silly for me to bring my water bottle into the bar.”

“If you’d like, you can leave your notebook and pens here, too. You shouldn’t need them.”

“Fair point,” I reply, stepping out of the truck and pulling out just about everything so my bag only has my keys and wallet.

“I think that’s better,” I tell him.

“As long as you’re good,” he says sincerely.

My heart flutters again. Usually any guy I’m with doesn’t notice what I’m carrying or if it’s too much.

Get a grip, Samantha.

“Shall we?” I manage.

He shuts the door and hesitates for a moment, then shakes his hands at his sides like he’s unsure what to do with them.

“After you,” he says.

Maybel’s is about half full tonight. I’ve only been here one other time when Hank brought me for dinner with his wife and children, celebrating my first day on the job.

I feel Tommy’s hand gently press against my lower back causing a shiver that I can’t hide.

“Our table’s this way,” he says, leaning down so I can easily hear him over the country music playing on the speakers. “Hank calls ahead each year.”

“I didn’t realize this was truly an official ritual,” I tell him. “Hank told me about going out for drinks after this meeting, but it sounded less mandatory than this is turning out to be.”

“Definitely not mandatory, but a nice way to unwind after Sharon’s presentation. She even joins us.”

He lifts his hand to wave at Hank and Mr. Barnett and my skin is left feeling colder than before he touched me.

“Are you going to finally beat Mark’s record tonight?” Hank asks Tommy from across the table as Tommy pulls out a chair for me like there’s nothing to think about.

“I swear mine were spiked with ghost peppers last year,” he says.

“What’s Mr. Barnett’s record?” I ask.

Tommy waves his hand at Mr. Barnett who shakes his head. “Mark, please, there’s no need for formalities.”

“Of course, Mark,” I say, trying to undo the lessons drilled into me from birth by teachers and even my parents.

“I’ve eaten eleven wings before needing anything to cool the heat down. Tommy made it all the way to six last year before he had tears in his eyes and was practically begging for mercy.”

Hank and Mark laugh and I look at Tommy, loving the shy blush on his cheeks.

“It’s true,” he admits. “The year before I made it to eight before I caved. Last year was pitiful.”

“Who else has been close to the record?” I ask.

“Sharon only competed two years ago and she got to six and Hank—”

“Hank doesn’t even try,” my boss says.

The waiter comes by and Hank places an order for the spiciest wings on the menu with an assortment of other appetizers. He looks around and asks if we’d like anything else.

“An order of plain wings, please,” Tommy says, raising one finger to get his attention. My heart flutters against my will. Just because I’ve always ordered for myself because I can’t handle spicy foods or dairy, doesn’t mean I should suddenly have butterflies over the guy who remembers and feels confident enough to order the right thing.

“And a pitcher of light beer and a pitcher of cola. Anyone need diet?”

We all shake our heads and our waiter takes the menus from everyone.

“Sharon, how are the new recruits working out so far?” Mark asks.

“Really great potential, but we have some big shoes to fill. Figuratively and literally,” she smiles.

“How many positions are open?” I ask.

“Just two for our station, but we cover a broad area, so the Greenstone location houses more than usual. We’re one of the few paid rural stations in the state, but we also train the volunteers.”

“I didn’t know that,” I tell her.

“We’re fortunate to have the resources right now to replace both retirements. One might not be full-time, but we’re trying.”

My mind is already processing this information and I’m already thinking of ways to help make sure the region gets funds to at least keep their previous staffing numbers.

Tommy shifts in his seat, drawing my eye. He pulls out his notebook from his front pocket and one of his pens.

“Write it down,” he says, setting the notebook in front of me and placing the blue pen on top. “Your stuff is in my truck, so get your ideas down. Then you don’t have to worry about forgetting them.”

A smile tugs at my lips. I should be surprised at his thoughtfulness and his attention to detail. But this man seems to know what I need so I don’t fixate.

“Thank you,” I tell him, opening the notebook that’s warm from being against his leg. For some reason, that makes this feel intimate. I don’t usually have a reason to write in someone else’s notebook and I know that this isn’t his diary or anything along those lines, but the warmth makes me think that there might be more than meeting notes in here. I use the ribbon to open to a fresh page and jot down the list that has already formed in my head.

He goes back to talking with everyone as I go into the zone, letting my thoughts come out on the page. I finish when our pitchers are delivered with plenty of glasses. Tommy grabs the beer, pours five glasses, and passes them around.

It’s only now that I realize Tommy and I are the only two people sitting side by side. Our table is a square and it didn’t feel funny to sit here, even before Sharon arrived.

When was the last time I was this comfortable with someone?