Chapter Sixteen #2
“Don’t be so rude,” I huff. “And I’m sort of on your family's farm.” A swallow. “In a ditch.”
Another door closes, and I think it might be his truck, but then he’s pausing—silent and tense, before he rumbles out a slow, deep, “You’re where ?”
“Look, I know it’s weird, and probably blowing your fucking mind right now, but I’m at Honey Bea because I ran into your mom last weekend, and she said she needed my help on a project.
You’ve met her, she’s incredibly convincing.
I was supposed to find her at some supply shed, but I couldn’t find it, and then there was this goose.
The ditch came out of nowhere, and now I’m stuck. ”
“Stuck…” He draws the word out. “In a ditch on my farm.”
“Yes!” I cry, hand flailing. “Stuck in a ditch. And I really have to pee! So can you please come get me, or find someone who will, because I might be in the country, Kade, but I’m not a guy. I can’t exactly whip it out the window!”
He’s silent for a beat, then, “Think I’d like to see you try, though.”
“Oh my God!”
Kade chuckles, and an engine kicks on. “I’m on my way. Don’t move.”
He hangs up before I can remind him I’m literally stuck, and I drop my phone onto my lap, exhaling a shaky breath.
I sink deeper into my seat and cross my bouncing legs.
I wish he would have told me how far away he was.
If he’s home in Wildwood, I could be waiting for at least half an hour, and I’m not sure I’ll last that long.
I turn up the music to distract myself from thinking about the discomfort, and sing along to one of my favorite songs, but it doesn’t hit like it usually does.
Kelly would be so disappointed in me. I’m the furthest thing from “Miss Independent” right now.
I’m Sad, Trapped Barbie waiting for Cowboy Ken to rescue me.
For some reason, the idea of seeing Kade sends a wave of butterflies through my system, and my brain supplies a random image of him showing up shirtless like he was the day I met him.
Only in my fantasy, this time, he’d be in those tight jeans with the worn knees that hug his ass and thick thighs perfectly, a handyman belt strapped around his abs. Imaginary me is torn between him wearing his cowboy hat and the baseball cap he seems to love so much.
Both are hot as hell, especially when he turns the cap backward and calls me darlin’ in that stupid, perfect, deep voice of his—that dramatic Southern drawl that never fails to make me wet and needy.
“Nope,” I murmur, forcing the image from my mind. “No. No. No. I cannot fantasize about him.”
I check my reflection in the mirror, and give myself the same pep talk I’ve been repeating since the day I met Kade Archer.
“You do not find him attractive. He’s cocky, arrogant, and rude. His personality is equivalent to that of a rabid hyena. He’s ugly and old. His face is annoying. Cowboy boots are not sexy. Hats are the Devil’s wardrobe. He smells. And I hate his beard—”
“Arrogant, ugly, and old are one thing, but my beard?”
I scream and my eyes fly to the window—the open window, and the sadly, very fully clothed man outside of it. How the hell did he get here so fast?
“Now I know you’re making shit up, freckles. Most people say my beard is my best asset.”
Kade runs his fingers through his neatly trimmed, silver-flecked beard and shoots me a cocky, half smirk that sends butterflies through my veins. That smirk is quickly becoming my obsession—along with the man wearing it.
“Of course, some would argue it’s my rabid hyena personality .” He leans down and stares directly into my eyes as he murmurs, “Told you I could make you scream.”
Annnd obsession tamed.
I stare at him for a long moment, brain fritzing, spiraling, and rewiring repeatedly.
“You didn’t hear any of that,” I state, chin high.
He cocks a brow. “You do know saying something doesn’t make it true.”
I toss my hair over my shoulder. “What’ll it cost?”
“Cost?”
“For you to pretend you didn’t hear anything.”
Kade stares at me for a long moment, head slightly tilted, like he’s actually considering it. His eyes slide across my face before gliding downward. They land somewhere around my chest, where they stay.
I follow his gaze and scoff.
“Either you love the Queen of Country,” I murmur, referring to my Dolly Parton shirt. “Or my boobs. And if that’s the case, they’re not part of the deal.”
“You have tattoos,” he states, throat bobbing. “Multiple.”
My mouth unhinges, then snaps shut. That’s what he’s looking at?
Self-consciousness swarms my senses, and I twist, letting the baggy sleeve of my vintage tee fall to cover the floral tattoo on my bicep. I feel exposed, the way he’s staring at it—at me .
I lift my hand out the window and snap, getting his attention.
“If you’re done gawking, can you please help me?” His eyes jolt to mine, jaw ticking. “I wasn’t kidding when I said I was about to burst.”
Kade rips off his hat—the baseball cap today—and runs his fingers through his hair. It’s a bit longer than last time I saw him, but his beard is more trimmed and less wild than before. He looks rested and tan. Emotionally lighter than the first time I met him.
When I swallow, it sticks. He looks good. Really good.
No, Georgia. He’s nothing. You’ve seen way hotter men back home. Kade is just a hillbilly with an attitude problem.
As if to prove me wrong, the man shoves his hat on his head— backward —and I’m pretty sure I start drooling.
He bends, and I hear him grunt, like he’s in pain. “You alright? Did you get hurt?”
I lose myself in his stormy eyes for a breath—the dark ring of lashes that curl around them, the small scar that dissects his left brow, the little lines creasing around the edges, and the streaks of black and light blue that crash through his irises like lightning strikes.
Kade Archer is beautiful.
I’m still staring when his hand comes through the window and tucks a stray curl behind my ear. His fingers ghost my cheek, where they pause. My breath catches.
“Darlin’?” he murmurs, brows drawn tight with concern. He pads at my forehead. “Did you hit your head?”
In a daze, I nod, then shake my head, before settling with a shrug. I don’t remember getting hurt, but I must have. Why else would I suddenly be losing myself in his eyes like they’re the answers to every wish I never dared to say out loud?
“Do you need to go to the hospital?” he asks, voice threaded with concern that finally wakes me up.
“I’m fine,” I breathe, blinking rapidly.
Hell, he’s still touching me, but now, his thumb is softly stroking my jaw, palm cradling my face. His hands are calloused and rough, but they’re also huge and so gentle that it makes my chest ache.
I pull away.
Clearing my throat, I force a smile.
He snaps his hand back and stands to his full, impressive height, tapping the hood twice. “Alright. Gimme a minute to get you hitched.”
“Bit soon for that.” I blame my flirty tone on the adrenaline crash. Kade flicks me a questioning look and I shrug, smirking. “Getting hitched. We only just met.”
After a beat, his lip lifts in the ghost of a smile, and he shakes his head, stepping away. “Never been one for waiting around. See something I want, I go after it.”
I say nothing, synapsis scrambling for purchase as I watch him walk away through the mirror.
Was he like this the last few times I saw him? Slightly inappropriate and flirty, masculine and broody, with a hint of over-the-top concern? Way too hot for his own damn good?
“And I’ll take that extra coffee,” he calls over his shoulder with a wink. “As payment for pretending you weren’t just checking me out!”
And just like that, I’m annoyed all over again.