Chapter 20 The Man Who Saw Too Much
the man who saw too much
DUKE
I’ve been in war zones that were less tense than this damn boutique fitting room waiting area.
Jameson’s flopped at my boots, completely unbothered while I sit in a pink tufted chair that looks like it belongs in a dollhouse.
I’m trying not to focus on the fact that Roxanne Denning is on the other side of a flimsy curtain, slipping in and out of her clothes.
Each time a garment hits the floor around her bare feet, my brain short-circuits. Deep down, I wish I was the one peeling them off her.
Damn it. If I had only not brushed against her thigh as I reached to adjust the AC in the truck. That small moment sparked something in my chest. Something hot, heavy, and reckless. I don’t even know this woman, but the way she stilled for that half-second … the way her breath caught.
I know she felt something from my touch too. I shake my head, guzzle some beer, and try to silence these thoughts.
The curtain swishes open and she steps out in a red dress.
Not the deep, classic kind of red, but fire engine, siren-blaring, you-have-been-warned red.
It hugs her curves perfectly, and the dress has these skinny little spaghetti straps that barely cling to her shoulders.
Her hair’s down and her scar, jagged and raw, runs down her arm, fully visible.
Roxanne turns to check her reflection, and her hair shifts over one shoulder. She does this little half-spin, then stops, staring at her own reflection like she doesn’t quite believe what she sees. Neither do I. Breasts that defy gravity, her sun-kissed skin …
My mouth’s gone dry. My palms are sweating. And yeah, there’s a situation in my pants I’d rather not deal with in Mary-Kate’s aggressively feminine half of the boutique. Shifting in my seat doesn’t help.
“So? What do you think?” Roxanne asks, turning to me, her arms spread wide.
Lord, have mercy on my damn soul.
I blink and drag my eyes to something safer, Jameson licking his butt.
“Looks fine,” I scrape out.
She raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Just fine?”
I rub the back of my neck and clear my throat, trying to pull myself together before she notices how rattled I am. “If you walk into the lodge wearing that, someone is going to pull the fire alarm.”
She laughs, soft and lilting, and it hits me in the chest harder than I expect. I decide right then and there that I want her, which is the most dangerous thing I can feel. I take several pulls of my beer and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.
Mary-Kate appears like a fashion fairy godmother and claps her hands together. “I told you that color was made for you! You’re a walking firecracker, honey.”
Roxanne smiles and her freshly blushed skin absolutely wrecks me. Because it’s not the dress, or the curves, or the heat simmering low in my gut, it’s that she’s standing there, proud and unhidden. It’s like the scar she used to hide is now part of her power. She’s a beautiful sight to behold.
Too beautiful.
I need some fresh air before I flatline near the leather handbags. “Uh, going to walk Jameson around a bit. He needs to stretch his legs.”
Mary-Kate and Roxanne collectively furrow their brows as their eyes cut to Jameson, who is on his back now, snoring, his tongue hitting the floor.
I stand and Mary-Kate’s eyes widen. “Looks like something else is out for a stretch.”
“I’ll be outside on the bench.” I polish off the rest of my beer and take my own shopping bag full of clothing Mary-Kate gathered for me before heading out the door.
Not even a gentle tug on Jameson’s leash inspires him to move so I get him settled in the truck with the window down. After grabbing my beat-up copy of The Count of Monte Cristo from the truck, I collapse onto the weathered bench.
I came out here to breathe and distract myself with a 19th-century betrayal and revenge plot, but I’m on the same paragraph for the third time.
Thirty minutes later, the door creaks open and I hear a rustle of shopping bags along with Mary-Kate telling Roxanne to come back anytime.
I don’t look up because I’m not prepared for what new body-skimming garment she might be wearing.
If she still has that red dress on, I’m heading for the damn hills.
“Are you seriously out here reading?” she says, voice lighter than I’ve heard it all day.
My eyes graze over the top of the book and all the air leaves my lungs. It’s not the red dress, it’s something far worse. Soft, white with blue florals and some kind of gauzy overlay that moves when she breathes. The way it skims over her chest, it’s like someone tailored it to destroy me.
“You just left.” She sits down next to me and sets her multiple bags down on the sidewalk.
I close the book slowly. “It was a matter of survival.”
She tilts her head. “Hmm, and now you’re blushing.”
“Except that I’m not.”
She smirks. “For the record, this was your idea. It’s not my fault if my red dress had an impact on you.”
“I didn’t even notice you in it.”
“I guess it’s a virtue that you’re a terrible liar.” She blows out a long breath. “You know, I’m hungry. Is there a place to get a bite to eat in this one-horse town?”
“For the record, there are three horses in this town, and yeah, I know a place.” I stand and grab all her bags, loading them in the truck. “Hope you like sticky floors and waitresses that throw raw peanuts at you.”
She tugs her seatbelt across her lap. “I’m so glad I dressed up.”
The ride to the restaurant is quiet, except for the occasional rustle of a shopping bag and Jameson’s snores from the back seat.
I’ve got both hands on the wheel, knuckles white like I’m bracing for impact.
I wanted to get Roxanne some sensible shoes and outdoor clothing, and now I’m driving to a restaurant as the sun tucks itself behind Granite Peak.
I’m sweating through my shirt like a damn teenager with a grocery store corsage. I keep telling myself this is just logistics—we’re hungry, so we’re eating—but it feels like a first date with the most incredible woman I’ve ever met.
And hell, I’m nervous. It’s been a long time since I’ve done this. My last date was pre-COVID and involved someone who thought my name was Luke.
I should’ve taken her to the Tin Can Saloon where they really do toss peanuts at you, have messy burgers and cheap beer.
That would have meant a quick meal and paying at the cash register.
Instead, I find myself turning down the road to The Pines before I can stop myself.
They’ve got craft beer, trout almandine, and a live band tonight.
For some reason, I want to show Roxanne a good time, be the man she deserves, open doors for her, and treat her to a really expensive bottle of wine.
By the time I kill the engine and throw the truck in park, I’m half regretting it, but I’m telling myself this is for Firebird. If Roxanne is having fun and making new memories of Colorado, the ranch has a real chance to be saved. Yeah, this is for the ranch and not for my own heart.