Chapter 41 Smart Girls Don’t Lose Their Heads Over Cowboys
Smart Girls Don't Lose Their Heads Over Cowboys
Quinn
I’d been so careful the past few days—keeping busy whenever Tripp was around, finding excuses to stay out of the barn or disappear into chores. Avoidance had become my specialty. But he’d found a way to corner me anyway.
I’d tried to stay pragmatic, telling myself putting some distance between us was the smart thing to do. But then he’d hit me with that damn pleading look—the one that turned his eyes all big and round with sad-puppy charm. Saying no to him was impossible. He knew exactly how to get under my skin.
I still hadn’t told him about the job in Denver. I knew I should, but I didn’t know how. And I couldn't bear the idea that he'd ask me to stay—to give up my career and goals so he could keep his.
But the silence I've kept had its own weight, pressing down on everything between us and making it hard to breathe—impossible to think of anything but him.
I knew what he wanted. Worse, I knew how easy it would be to want it too. And with everything else already spinning out in my head, being with him for real would only make the mess even harder to untangle.
The thought sits heavy in my chest, following me down the hall.
I wince when I spot Pops still watching TV in the living room. I’d hoped he’d be in bed by now, but he’s been getting stronger and has more energy these days—which means I’ve got to come up with an excuse for leaving the house at seven p.m.
“I’m going to go hang out with some friends,” I say, praying he doesn’t notice the red creeping into my cheeks.
“Which friends are those?” he asks, eyes still glued to the television. “Allie and Sawyer or the guy you think I don’t know about?”
I gape at him.
His mustache twitches as he glances at me. “Close your mouth, Quinn. You look like a trout.”
The horror I feel must be written all over my face. I’m so bad at hiding things from the people I care about. Lying has never been my forte, but I give it a try anyway, scrambling for something to say.
“I— I don’t— There’s no guy.”
He makes a skeptical noise in the back of his throat. “I wasn’t born yesterday, and I’m not blind. But suit yourself. Keep those cards as close to the vest as you like, but their faces are all showing.”
His eyes light in amusement as I narrow my gaze at him. “Be good, Pops. Don’t forget who’s been cooking you three square meals a day.”
“How could I forget? I’m pretty sure you served me weeds with a side of dirt for supper last night.”
I growl, spinning on my heel and stomping out the door.
A few minutes later, I pull into Tripp’s driveway and slam my car door.
My back aches from pulling weeds in Grams’ garden, and all I want to do is curl up under a cozy blanket and sleep.
But I told him I’d come, and I can’t find it in me to let him down again.
Not when he’s been more vulnerable with me than I’ve ever seen him with anyone else.
I knock, crossing my arms tight over my chest.
“Coming!” His muffled voice filters through the door, followed by the thump of quick footsteps.
It flies open, and there’s Tripp—hair damp from a shower, sports shorts hanging low, tattoos sprawled across his bare chest. My eyes catch on the familiar lean lines of his stomach and the trail of hair that disappears into his waistband, and a thread of desire weaves through the knot already twisting in my gut.
I’m not sure how I’m supposed to spend the night with him and not fall even more in love with him than I already am. I should have known better. It could never be just a fling with Tripp.
“Are you gonna stand there gawking or are you gonna come in?” he asks, a crooked grin making his dimples pop.
He is altogether way too comfortable with me. The way he teases me isn’t new, but how my heart reacts to it is, taking off at a gallop with every flash of dimple or flirty joke.
“I wasn’t gawking,” I mumble, slipping past him. The warm, buttery scent of popcorn greets me.
I slip off my shoes and wander into the living room, where he has a blanket, a bowl of popcorn and Tommy Boy queued up ready to play.
He stretches out on the couch, and I shoot him a daggered stare. “Aren’t you gonna put a shirt on?”
“Why? It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”
It’s true, but that’s part of the problem.
I roll my eyes but plop down next to him anyway, tucking my feet up under me. He spreads the blanket over us both and wraps his arm around my shoulder, giving me no choice but to lean in.
“So, Tommy Boy, huh?”
He chuckles. “After our little run-in with Bambi when you first got here, I’ve been wanting to watch it again.”
“Do you remember that summer you and Wes were obsessed with it?” I ask, smiling at the memory. “You guys wore out the VHS, and your parents had to throw it in the trash.”
"I’m pretty sure it broke because we rewound it to the part where the chick jumps into the pool naked too many times.”
I laugh. “You perv.”
He gives me a knowing look, eyes dancing with humor. “No doubt.”
My stomach cramps and I gnaw on my lip as he starts the movie, the sound echoing through the surround system. If I want to enjoy any part of tonight, I need to clear the air.
“Hey, about the other night,” I say, shifting to ease the ache, “I didn’t mean to be so abrupt and cold-hearted about telling Wes. I know you hate lying to him.“
His body tenses under mine. “You were just being honest.”
I glance up at him, his eyes fastened to the television screen. “But it hurt your feelings,” I press.
He finally peers down at me. “My feelings are fine, Quinnie. I just—“ he exhales, gaze sliding away again, “I didn’t want Wes to be mad. And maybe I got a little caught up in the moment, but…” His mouth curls into a grim smile. “I‘ve got my head on straight now.”
My brows draw together. “What does that mean?”
“It means I remember what this is.” His eyes flick to mine, quick and indecipherable. “Just you checking things off your sexy little bucket list, right?”
The words shouldn’t sting, but they do. Because I can’t keep my usually perfect compartmentalization skills intact around him.
“Right,” I say, despite myself.
There’s a sharp twinge lower in my belly, pulling my focus from the emotional discomfort of his words to the physical pain I’m now in. I shift my weight, hoping he doesn’t notice, but it’s useless.
I press my knees together in sudden yet familiar agony. Of all the times for this to happen, it has to be while I’m curled up on his couch under his arm. I flinch as another cramp claws through me, making me break out in a cold sweat.
“You okay?” he asks, face full of worry.
The telltale warmth dampening between my thighs has me bolting upright through the pain.
“Yep. Be right back,” I mutter, running to the bathroom down the hall.
I slip inside, cringing when my fears are verified by the spots of deep red dotting my underwear.
Fuck my life.
I do my best to clean myself up and open the bathroom door.
“Are you feeling okay?”
I jump, clutching my hand to my chest. “Jesus. Why are you lurking right outside the bathroom door, you creep?”
“I was worried you were sick the way you rushed to the bathroom.”
His face is still pinched with concern.
I drop my eyes to the floor. “I’m fine, but I need to go.”
“What? Why? You just got here.”
He’s not going to let me walk away with a flimsy excuse. Not Tripp. Not when it comes to me.
I look anywhere but at him as I mumble, “I started my period.”
Understanding washes over his features. “Ah, okay. What do you need?”
I stare at him, waiting to see a flash of disgust, but he just looks relieved I’m not sick.
“All of my stuff is at the ranch. I didn’t even bother to bring my purse, just grabbed my wallet. I’ll go back to the house and curl up in bed for the next twenty-four hours until the worst of the cramps subside. We can watch the movie another night.”
His face screws up in disappointment. “I wanted to watch the movie tonight, though.”
“If you’re that hard up to see the naked woman dive into the pool, you can watch it without me,” I say with a tired smirk. “I’ve seen it about a hundred times anyway.”
He snorts. “That’s not what I meant. I just wanted to spend some time with you like we used to. As friends.”
I arch a brow. “You weren’t expecting to have sex tonight?”
He shrugs. “You know I’d never say no to you, but I just wanted to hang out and talk. I’ve missed you.“
Those words hit me like a wrecking ball to the chest, making it hard to breathe. “I still don’t have any tampons here, and I need to change.”
Tripp holds up a finger and bolts up the stairs. I roll my eyes at his exuberance. Seconds later, his footsteps thunder back down the steps.
“Here,” he says, handing me a pair of his boxers. “You can change into these.”
“Tripp, you don’t have to—“
“Don’t argue with me. Go change. Soak what you need to in the sink.”
I sigh in defeat as he shuts me back into the bathroom.
Keys jingle in the hallway. “Text me what brand and absorbency you want,” he calls, “or I’ll just get you what Allie uses.”
I groan. “You did not just ask me that.”
“It’s not a big deal, Quinnie,” he says, his voice warm. “I have a little sister. I know how this works. Make yourself comfortable until I get back.”
I change into the clothes he brought me and fill the sink with cold water to soak my underwear.
Once I have everything situated and have texted him a picture of the brand of tampons I use, I make my way back to the couch.
I stand and stare at the heating pad he placed in my spot, already plugged in and heated.
I slip under the blanket and rest the heating pad over my lower abdomen, letting the warmth ease the cramps tearing through my uterus. I try not to notice how the way he’s taking care of me makes my heart swell—how it leaves my insides all soft and gooey.
Teenage Quinn would be positively mortified, but thirty-two-year-old Quinn is just swooning over the fact he's voluntarily going to the store to buy me tampons without even being asked to.
Even though I know I shouldn’t, I allow myself a moment to wonder what it would look like to be with Tripp—really be with him.
Not just checking items off a list but coming home to him after a long day on my feet—to this—to him taking care of me like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Forever.
It’s dangerous for me to let my mind linger on it, so I push play on the movie, trying to drown out those thoughts with background noise.
The movie’s only played a few minutes when Tripp waltzes back into the house with several bags, dropping them on the coffee table. He pulls out the box of tampons and hands it to me unceremoniously.
I retreat to the bathroom, grateful for the extra pair of boxers he’d brought earlier. On his insistence, I toss my soiled clothes into his washing machine and watch as he adds more of his laundry and starts the cycle.
Watching a grown man do laundry? Sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
“What else did you buy?” I ask, peering at all the bags he’d brought in from his quick trip to town.
“Sit down and get comfortable. I’ll show you.”
Once I’m all cozy again, he pulls items out one at a time—like some sexy cowboy version of Mary Poppins. A giant bag of Peanut Butter M&Ms, a bottle of wine, a pack of Midol. When he pulls out a paper bag of chocolate chip cookies from the Cowboy Corner Café, my eyes fill with tears.
There’s no way the café is open at this hour. I have no idea how he got them. I’m a little scared to ask—and equally terrified of what it means that he’d go to that much trouble for me.
My stomach knots, tightening with a mixture of longing and apprehension. Every part of me is warring with itself—mind, heart, and body. I’ve lost all sense of the control I once thought I had when it comes to Tripp.
“Shit, Quinnie. Don’t cry. I was trying to be nice. If you don’t want any of it, you don’t have to eat it.”
“I’m not crying,” I blubber.
He cracks a grin. “Yeah, okay. Why are you not crying?”
His dimples do me in. I’m an absolute mess. A hormonal fucking disaster. There’s no stopping these tears. I’m stuck shedding them until I’m all cried out, but Tripp just sighs and wraps me up, my cheek pressed to his chest.
“You’re too nice to me,” I sob.
He looks down at me, brow furrowing. “You want me to be meaner?”
“It would make everything simpler if you were.”
For a moment, something flashes in his eyes—understanding, maybe—but he doesn’t say a word. He just holds me tighter until my emotions settle back into their neat little compartments.
He reaches for the bag of cookies.
“Here,” he says, handing me one. “Mrs. Mackey’s baking always helps.”
I take a bite of it and moan. We fall into a comfortable silence, the movie droning softly in the background, the heating pad radiating against my stomach. My eyelids get heavier with every passing minute.
I don’t even realize I’ve drifted off until I feel the brush of lips against my forehead.
“Come on, Sleeping Beauty,” Tripp murmurs, his voice low. “Movie’s over. You should go, so you’re back before Pops wakes up.”
I’m hit with a wave of sadness, suddenly wishing I could stay and curl up with him in bed. But I’m a smart girl. And smart girls don’t lose their heads over cowboys who bring them tampons and chocolate chip cookies.