Chapter Eight
A chance? He … really liked her? More than just a fling? Should she … stop him? Did she dare open her heart to another heartthrob? What if he turned out to be the same mistake? What if he turns out to be different?
She’d … liked Thaddeus.
Jason always did this. Preyed on her worst fears. She dashed downstairs, chased him through the screen door pulsating shut, barefoot, that ache in her chest squeezing her throat, because if he didn’t care that she had a kid—
Her hair whipped around her face. Distant headlights on the road bobbed along the flat stretch three miles long before the nearest stop sign on these outskirts of Nacogdoches. Jason was close, and likely hightailing it now, brimming for a fight with the guy at her house.
In front of Daisy.
No, McClintock had to go. It wasn’t fair to suck him into her drama. He’d forget about her in a week anyway.
Don’t look back. They always look back when they like you.
She willed the man, still shirtless, walking out of her life to get to his truck and get gone to keep moving when he stopped and … looked back.
A final spark of hope lit his face in the faint predawn that she might change her mind.
*
T.R.’s voice was too raw to speak as he chewed his cheek and eyed the honest-to-God beauty queen up and down.
Mile-long legs, sunshine smile when she bestowed it.
He knew who she was now. His sister Charity had vied for the same title, losing to Charlize Bradford—Miss Nacogdoches.
He remembered all the contestants parading around the bright lights of the Dallas Expo Center like trained poodles.
Remembered her playing that banjo in front of millions.
How she’d once told the pageant crowd it was her goal to become a musician.
He remembered the headlines. Praise for Charlize Bradford being crowned, crying in the bright lights, had been printed in the papers, how a girl like her had overcome an impoverished upbringing to finally have her chance to pursue her dream with the accompanying scholarship to a college of her choice.
When Charlize had picked up that banjo last night and opened that angelic mouth to complement his lyrics, that voice had … blown him away. I learned hard and fast music wasn’t gonna be my savior…
She was now an associate professor of paleobotany? What had happened?
“I wanted to be a gentleman and take y’to get some grits or something.”
Grits? That was what came out of his mouth?
He was an idiot. And she wasn’t saying anything as she chewed her lip and her eyes glistened with emotion.
What was holding her back? He’d tried, and failed, last night to treat her as a fling, as he’d sated himself on gold-spun hair.
He already knew she was out of his league, and he was a fool to think he had a chance, but at some point during the night, he’d realized, what did he have to lose in trying?
What was the worst that could happen? Just like her challenging him to ask for the farm? She’d say no?
He saw the worst that could happen, now. He could lose his pride.
He shrugged off the rejection, palming his balled-up flannel like a basketball while clicking his tongue behind his teeth. He huffed a laugh, hoisted open his door, and chucked his flannel across the seat like the rag it was.
“That your kid’s daddy on his way here?” he finally bit out, and her silence indicated the truth. “If you ain’t together, then why is my being here any of his business?” She fidgeted with the hem of her tank in the dim porchlight, when a tear succeeded in trickling down her cheek.
Dammit. Tears were a wrecking ball to a man’s resolve. Shoooot … did she still like the man?
“M-maybe—”
“Never mind. Don’t make it suck even more,” he croaked, cutting her off, forcing a tight smile.
His band was gonna be pissed. He’d seen in their eyes last night that they wanted her to take Hunter’s spot. Give them a shot at the awards in three weeks. And he’d been too enamored to actually ask her.
“Thanks for a good time, Flower Girl,” he quipped and hopped into his truck.
He fired it up, craned shirtless over his bench seat, spanned it with his arm, and reversed out of her driveway.
“W-wait!” she called right before he rumbled away.
He hit the brake to see her running off the step and across the grass, into the road barefoot, chasing him as wind flapped her cardigan and messy bun. His blasted heart leapt with hope as she blinked those bright green gems, silvery in stormy predawn.
She held out her phone, hastening to open the contact, fingers shaking. “G-Give me your number.”
He stared at her. Something had spooked this girl. But if he had a kid, would he want them coming home to find his fling doing the walk of shame out his door? No. Cut her some slack.
He watched her chew her lip.
“Unless … you don’t want to anymore…” She began to withdraw her phone “It’s just, I thought you had a proposition.”
He snagged her phone before it was out of reach. Tapped his number hastily, sensing wave after wave of tension from her.
She saved it, nodding, backing up—
He reached out and snagged her fingers next. Felt her tense like that flinch last night.
“You’ll call?” he asked, because despite her change in heart, she still seemed wary.
His phone buzzed. Text.
He tapped it, pressing the computerized audio.
“From. Tyler.” His cousin. “Storm brewing. High winds growing. Need help STAT. Cows need herding. Need to secure structures. You’re better at rounding up the heifers.”
Shoot…
She was biting that lip, and he reached out, plucked it free.
Hit the gas, rumbling down the back road, eyes darting to his rearview to watch her grow small in the distance.
Would she call? The stormy air blew in, and he turned on the AM to the weather.
Shit, there was a bad storm coming through.
Possible tornado? He accelerated, when he passed a beat-up white pickup, and saw a face he hadn’t seen in a long time…
Jason Thompson? What a piece of shit. The music scene had hated his cheating ass and was glad to be rid of him.
What the hell was that asshole doing out here at five-thirty in the morning?