Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The Truck
“This isn’t gonna work for me,” I grumbled early the next morning.
Brooks looked at me from the driver’s seat of the truck, a smile flashing across his lips. “Not a morning person?”
“It’s six-thirty,” I pointed out. “I don’t do ranch hours.”
“Technically I should’ve been at the ranch an hour ago. But Mrs. Powell let me get a late start for you.”
“Oh God,” I muttered. “I’m gonna need my own set of wheels.”
Brooks turned onto Elk Ridge’s private road. “I get off work at three. We’ll hit the grocery store and then head to the apartment so I can change the locks. Sound good?”
I nodded.
He sighed. “Talk to me, Freckles.”
“About what?”
“About what’s going on in your head.”
“I don’t wanna.”
“It’s early and I’ve only had one cup of coffee.”
“Sex,” I blurted out.
“What about it?”
“Tonight. Do you expect it?”
Brooks didn’t reply as he pulled into the driveway of the ranch house and parked. He put on the parking brake and cut the engine before turning to me.
“Do I expect sex?” he repeated, his eyes searching mine. “For changing your locks? That would make me a world class asshole.”
I let out a rickety breath, relief curling through me. Then I reached for the door.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“Uh, inside?”
He shook his head. “We’re not done talking.”
“We’re not?”
“I get the sense that the men of your past have been dickwads, because why else would you even think that?”
Now was the time to tell Brooks the truth about my virginity. But the words stuck to my tongue, and I couldn’t.
“Freckles,” he said, his voice low. “I want you. I think I’ve made that pretty clear. But I’m not going to pressure you into anything. When you want me, when you’re ready, you let me know. We’ll take it slow. We’ll go at your speed.”
“You’re not just saying that, are you,” I said in amazement. “You actually mean it.”
He frowned. “Why wouldn’t I mean it?”
“Because other men—”
“Other men had you. Other men lost you. That’s their mistake. I’m not like other men.”
“No,” I murmured. “You’re definitely not.”
“Now kiss me goodbye and tell me to have a good day.”
Smiling, I leaned close and pressed my lips to his. “Have a good day.”
The front door to the ranch house opened and Connor Powell stepped outside. He peered at the truck and waited, sipping his cup of coffee.
Even though he wasn’t my dad, I felt the weight of his paternal stare when I clambered out of the truck.
“Morning, Poet,” he greeted.
“Hi, Mr. Powell,” I said as I trekked up the front porch steps.
He wrapped me in a one-armed hug, his suede jacket smelling like pipe tobacco and hay.
Brooks opened the driver’s side door and climbed out.
“Brooks,” Mr. Powell intoned.
“Morning, sir.”
I watched Mr. Powell and Brooks exchange a loaded look.
“How are you enjoying The Regal Beagle?” Mr. Powell asked, ending the silent standoff.
“Roomier than the RV,” Brooks said.
Mr. Powell took another drink of his coffee. “My daughters get home from the rodeo circuit in a couple of days, and we’re going to have a welcome-home dinner. You and Poet are invited. We’ll see you there.”
It wasn’t so much as an invitation as it was a command.
Brooks was quiet for a moment, but then his eyes darted to mine before returning to Mr. Powell. “Thank you. I appreciate the invitation.”
“Good. I was about to head to the barn,” he said. “Your brother just shoed Mirabelle and I want to check her out.”
“Great, I’ll come with you,” Brooks said.
The two of them walked shoulder to shoulder toward the barn, and I pondered what had just happened. But then I smiled as I realized that even though Mr. Powell wasn’t my father, it was impossible for him not to be protective over me because I was Hadley and Salem’s friend.
I walked into the ranch house and took a deep breath. It smelled of biscuits and peppered gravy. Muddy was at the stove, an apron tied around her waist. She looked at me over her shoulder.
“Good morning,” she said.
“Hi.”
She chuckled. “You could have used another few hours of sleep, couldn’t you?”
“Is it that obvious? Never mind. Don’t answer that. I’ve got jet lag,” I reminded her.
“Right. Did you stay at the apartment last night?”
I came to stand next to her. “Are you asking because you’re trying to make polite conversation, or because you already know the answer and you just want me to say it?”
She grinned. “Pour yourself a cup of coffee. You hungry?”
“Starving,” I said. “No, I didn’t stay at the apartment last night.”
“Why not?”
I went to the fridge and pulled out a carton of cream. “Brooks is not exactly stoked on the security system for the building.”
“There is no security system.”
“That’s why he’s concerned. Same with the locks. He said they’re flimsy, so he’s changing them today.”
“A bit overprotective, don’t you think?”
“Yes. But he’s got some things in his past that make him . . . cautious. It’ll make him feel better, so I’m going with it.” I shrugged. “So the apartment idea. Whose idea was it? Yours or Lucy’s?”
“Mine,” she said. “I called Lucy and as soon as I suggested it, she thought it was a great idea too.”
“Why hasn’t the store been rented?” I asked. “She said a couple of businesses have been there over the years, but nothing seems to stick. Doesn’t seem like good business sense to leave it unoccupied, though.”
“There’s more to life than money.”
“Yeah, I guess it’s easy to say that when you have it,” I quipped.
“Oh, money comes and goes,” she said. “We’ve had years on the ranch where we didn’t know if we would be able to make it. Can you imagine? This ranch being in the family for generations, and one bad year and it’s all gone. Thank God we never had to sell.”
“Wow. I had no idea.”
Muddy shrugged and plated food before handing it to me.
“To answer your question about Lucy—she didn’t just want a tenant, she wanted the right tenant.
She was willing to rent it to Gracie. Seemed like a good idea, you know, with it being right next door to Sweet Teeth. Shame they didn’t want to expand.”
I sat down at the table and cut into the flaky biscuit. “Homemade?”
“Is there any other kind?” she asked.
“I don’t know why I even bothered asking.” I shook my head. “I know what you’re trying to do.”
She grabbed her cup of coffee and took a seat next to me. “What am I trying to do? Fill you full of biscuits? You need another ten pounds if you’re going to weather the winter comfortably here.”
“You’re trying to get me to stay,” I replied. “That’s what the apartment was all about.”
“Nothing wrong with taking a helping hand. Admit it, you’re thinking about staying.”
“I am,” I said slowly.
“Does Brooks have anything to do with that?”
“Who in their right mind would decide to move across the country for a man they just met?”
“Who indeed,” Muddy murmured with a smile. “Connor’s father came into the diner where I worked; his truck had broken down. He stayed with me that night and in the morning, he was packing my stuff up and putting it into his truck. Married him two weeks later.”
“Dang.”
“When you know what you want, there’s no reason to say no.”
I tapped the rim of my cup as I pondered her words.
“My life is up in the air,” I murmured. “I don’t have a job or a plan. I can’t just . . .”
“You can just, well, anything. You quit your job. The Poet of a few months ago didn’t have the balls to do that.”
“I’m metamorphosizing,” I quipped.
“Yes.”
I sighed. “I feel more like a moth than a butterfly.”