Chapter 11
ELEVEN
Waylon squeezed the steering wheel as he watched the scene unfolding on Frankie’s porch. Frankie stood in the doorway holding a huge bouquet of roses and talking to some guy who was obviously not just a delivery boy.
This guy must have been the date she was talking about . And he’d brought her roses first thing in the morning. That was more of a boyfriend move than a friend with benefits. But if Frankie were in a serious relationship, Stephanie would have paired her with another woman. She wouldn’t have set Waylon up with her, because there was no doubt in his mind that Steph was playing matchmaker.
Frankie’s gaze went straight to Waylon as he parked. She looked upset—at him for showing up while her boyfriend was there? Probably. When the guy turned, Waylon was sure of it. The way he looked at Waylon told him this was more than just friends with benefits. That look said, back off, she’s mine.
If this is turning serious between them, I should just drive away. Consider the Adventure Buddy thing over . He hated the way his heart clenched at the thought .
No. Be an adult. Turn off the truck, go up and introduce yourself as just a friend.
Then he could drive away.
Waylon killed the engine and grabbed his door handle, ready to make nice, when the guy looked back at Frankie. She stepped onto the porch and pulled the door shut behind her with a slam. She had her pack over her shoulder and looked ready to go. Smiling, she said something to him as she pointed her chin toward Waylon.
The guy stood there without moving, his body language reading as possessive. Waylon wondered if the roses were a romantic gesture or an apology—but either way, it set warning bells off in Waylon’s head. He opened his door and stepped out of his truck.
The guy gave him another look before saying something to Frankie. He stepped back, turned, then walked down the porch steps and headed toward the Corvette. His stride was brisk and tight, shoulders hunched like he was barely containing his anger. Waylon narrowed his eyes as the guy glared at him the entire way to the car, his eyes icy.
Waylon’s jaw clenched. Yeah, buddy, keep walking.
The Corvette tore out with a screech. Frankie watched it from the porch. As Waylon started toward her, she surprised him by bolting toward his truck, phone in one hand, roses in the other.
Waylon frowned. She’s bringing them?
Frankie’s expression stopped him cold. She looked upset, her lips pressed into a tight line and her cheeks flushed, either from anger or embarrassment. The way she flung open the passenger door, let her pack slide off her shoulder to the floor, and tossed the roses onto the dashboard like they were trash? Definitely anger.
Waylon got back into the truck. “Hey.” He twisted in his seat to face her. “You okay?”
“Fine.” Frankie smiled as she waved a dismissive hand. “Let’s just go.” She set her phone on top of her pack and pulled her seatbelt across her waist. She tucked the shoulder strap under her right arm, not letting it cross her chest .
Fine? As if Waylon would buy her act for a second. He leaned toward her, his voice low and steady. “Frankie, who was that?”
She sighed heavily, her head falling back against the seat. “Oh, that was just Derek. He hadn’t gotten the hint that I never want to see him again.”
Waylon’s teeth ground together. His protective instincts roared to life. All he wanted was to tear away from the curb, hunt down Derek, and give him a lesson on respecting boundaries. But he tamped down the urge—for now. Frankie needed him calm, not going off after the asshole with her in the truck.
“My friends and I… We can do something about that,” he said, his voice sharper than he intended. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
That was an understatement .
Frankie turned to him, her lips quirking up in a tired smile. “No, no. It’s fine. I think you driving up when you did sent a message. Thanks for that, Buddy.”
The way she said “Buddy” made it clear the conversation was over, but Waylon’s mind was racing. The Corvette wouldn’t be difficult to track down, especially since Waylon had memorized the license plate at a glance. This time, he’d have a real reason to ask Shane to help him out. It wouldn’t hurt to know where this guy lived, what he did for a living, if he was into anything shady.
If he had a pattern of abuse.
“Waylon.” Frankie placed her hand on his upper arm. “Seriously, it was not a big deal. Besides,” she grinned, “you did a great job of scaring him away. He thinks we’re dating. He won’t be back around.”
Waylon didn’t trust her smile so he looked deeply into her eyes. They went a little unfocused. Or maybe that was him. Frankie was seriously beautiful. Especially when the fierceness rose in her eyes.
Damn .
He shook his head a little to clear it. He focused on the bridge of her nose so he wouldn’t fall back in.
“I mean it, Frankie. If he’s bothering you. If he’s hurt you. We can do something about it. ”
Her eyes widened. She laughed nervously.
Oh fuck. Now I’ve gone and scared her. Of course I have. It’s what I do best .
“I’m sorry,” he said quickly and looked away.
She squeezed his arm. “Hey, I appreciate you looking out for me, I do. But no, he’s never hurt me. He’s just…awkward, that’s all.”
Waylon looked at her again. He could feel the heat of her hand through his flannel. “I didn’t mean to scare you, Frankie. I’m sorry.”
“Pfft. You didn’t.” She gave him a genuine smile, twin to the one on her face the first time she laid eyes on him. “You’re my Adventure Buddy. You’ve defended me from deadly splinters and mooses gone wild. You’ve got my back.”
You’ve got my back . Her words reverberated in his chest as she sat there grinning, eyes full of glee.
He felt the corner of his mouth turn up. “Mooses?”
“Yes.” She nodded definitively. “Mooses.”
He cracked a full-on smile as the tension in the air eased. Frankie wasn’t afraid of him. There wasn’t a trace of fear in her eyes—and he didn’t think those eyes were capable of lying.
She took her hand off his arm and he missed her touch immediately. “So, we’d better get going if we’re gonna get to our next adventure on time. I don’t think Steve appreciates tardiness.”
Waylon snorted. “You make her sound like an old school marm.”
Frankie covered her mouth as she laughed. “That’s the last thing she’d be. God, don’t ever let her hear you say that.”
“Good advice.” He started the truck, then pulled away from the curb. “You know, if you don’t want those,” he raised his chin at the roses on the dash, “we can find a Dumpster to toss them in.”
“Oh.” She sounded surprised. “Yeah, I don’t. I’m not even sure why I brought them. I was in a hurry, I guess.”
Uneasiness crept back into Waylon’s chest.
Let it go .
Another thought rose.
If Derek’s out of the picture…that means Frankie’s single .
The unsettling thought sent a small burst of satisfaction through him, quickly followed by guilt.
Why the hell do you care if she’s single? You are never, ever going to ask her out .
Adventure Buddies. Emphasis on Buddy .
Waylon tightened his grip on the wheel, forcing his focus back to the road. They drove in silence through her neighborhood then turned onto a main road heading for Idaho Springs.
“Before we get onto I-70, do you mind not tucking that seatbelt strap under your arm?”
Instead of letting it cross her body, she reached for her pack on the cab floor, picked it up, and unzipped a side pocket. She pulled out a square of padded cloth, untucked the shoulder belt from under her arm, and put the cloth between her chest and where the belt crossed.
Oh, right. She must still have her chemo port in . He’d seen a port pillow before. Frankie was using it to keep the strap from irritating her port site.
He noticed her cheeks redden and wondered why.
Frankie broke the silence a few miles down the road. “So, what do you think Steve’s got planned for us today?”
“No idea about the first part, but I’m pretty sure I know why we’re bringing swimming suits.”
“You do?” Her curious tone was laced with unease.
“Don’t worry, I don’t think we’re gonna be jumping into any freezing cold mountain lakes.”
“No? Then what?”
“Oh, right, you’re still pretty new to town. We’re going to Idaho Springs . Does that give you a clue?”
“Hmm…” She tapped her chin. “Could it be…hot springs?” The sarcasm in her voice reminded him of Wren. No wonder they hit it off right away .
“Wow, give her a cookie.”
“Yup-yup-yup, I’m a bright one. Uh-huh.”
They both laughed. Then Waylon remembered—the more nervous Wren was, the more she cracked jokes. Was Frankie the same way?
“Wren says you’re a Wwoofer,” Waylon said, changing the subject to something he thought would put her at ease.
“I am.” Her voice sounded instantly brighter. “I love the work, and it lets me travel on the cheap. They provide room and board, and in return I get to do something fun like help plant a garden, or tend an orchard.” She paused. “Or rope some cattle.”
Waylon inhaled sharply, remembering Frankie’s broken-in cowboy boots. Those weren’t just for dancing, they’d seen actual work. Wren had also mentioned that Frankie grew up on a ranch—knowing exactly how he felt about cowgirls. He suddenly had the clearest image of Frankie riding horseback through a meadow, her long, dark hair flying behind her. And damn if that enjoyable image didn’t tickle something in the back of his mind.
Not to mention his cock.
It’s just because of the dream .
And because of the way she’d paused…oh, shit, what did Wren tell her ?
“Cattle, huh?” Waylon adjusted his grip on the steering wheel, hating the crack in his voice. He coughed to cover it, shifting his gaze to the road ahead.
“You think I can’t rope cattle?” Frankie shot him a side-eye, her lips curving into a smile like a baited hook. She leaned back in her seat, folding her arms across her chest, her confidence unmistakable.
“I’m sure you can. Wren mentioned you grew up on a ranch. In Montana, right?” Waylon tried to sound casual, but the image of Frankie on horseback popped back into his head, unbidden.
“Right.” Her voice softened, and her gaze drifted to the passing trees outside the window. “I was supposed to take a spot on a ranch east of here, but then I got sick.” She sighed and ran a hand through her short hair, her fingers ruffling the dark waves absently. “Last year, I thought I’d be wwoofing in another country by now, but I got sideswiped.”
Waylon’s stomach sank at her words, the weight behind them felt like a rock in his gut. “Where…do you think you’ll go next?”
She shrugged, glancing at him briefly. “I’m not quite ready to leave the country just yet. Not until I’m cleared.” She leaned forward to adjust her pack on the floor, her voice brightening. “So, instead of being disappointed that I can’t leave yet, I thought I’d leave it up to fate. Make it interesting.”
“How so?” He raised an eyebrow, stealing a glance at her as she settled back in her seat.
“Well.” She grinned, her eyes lighting up. “I thought it would be fun to save a bunch of quarters, the ones with different states and parks on the back. I’d put them all into a bag, then reach in, grab one, and that would be the place I’d go.”
Waylon grinned, shaking his head slightly. “Really? That’s cool. Except what if you choose a place you don’t want to go?”
She turned to him, her brows arching like he’d said something absurd. “There is no place I don’t want to go.”
“Come on. What if it’s boring?”
“There is no boring.” Frankie leaned toward him slightly, gesturing with her hands for emphasis. “I can figure out how to have a good time anywhere.”
“Anywhere?” He gave her a skeptical look, tilting his head.
“Yup.” She nodded decisively, her tone leaving no room for argument.
Waylon smirked. “Okay. What if you pulled Kansas?”
“Easy.” Frankie shifted in her seat, sitting up straighter as if accepting a challenge. “I’d go to the Oz Museum and the Cathedral of the Plains. Next?”
He chuckled. “Ha. Well, okay. New Jersey.”
“Jersey Shore, just like the reality show, duh! Gym, tan, laundry.” She said it with such exaggerated enthusiasm that Waylon burst out laughing.
“I think you’re probably the only person I know who could make gym, tan, laundry interesting.” He shook his head, his grin lingering. “ Okay, different tact. Where do you want to go the most? What quarter would you be thrilled to pick out?”
He half-expected her to dodge the question, but she answered without hesitation.
“Easy. Hawaii. The U.S. Virgin Islands wouldn’t suck, either.” That smile got him—hook, line, and sinker—daring him to ask her why.
“What’s in Hawaii or the Virgin Islands that has you smiling like that? Cabana boys?”
She scoffed, swatting the air between them. “Nope. I want to swim with either manta rays or sharks.”
Waylon couldn’t help his surprised laugh. “Of course you do.” He thought of how she’d watched the moose fight without a trace of fear.
“What? People do it all the time. If a shark bothers you, you just punch it in the nose.”
“Right, and then you beat it with your bloody stump.”
Frankie laughed as her hand darted out to push his shoulder playfully. The light, easy contact sent a surprising warmth through him.
“You really are fearless, aren’t you?” Waylon said, half in awe.
Frankie’s laughter quieted, but her smile remained. She looked out the window for a moment before meeting his gaze. “No. I’m not. I’m full of fear. I just don’t let it stop me.”
Damn .
Waylon didn’t have a response to that, so he kept driving, letting her words linger between them.
The truck climbed higher into the mountains. By the time they reached Idaho Springs, the awkwardness of Waylon’s encounter with Derek had mostly melted away. If it weren’t for the roses still resting on the dashboard he could’ve forgotten all about it.
Waylon pulled into the meeting spot, a mostly full public parking lot behind a row of restaurants, between Idaho Street and I-70. Waylon parked and turned to her, one hand resting on the back of the seat. “You good?” He nodded at the roses. “I saw a trash can at the end of the row.”
Frankie smiled and nodded. She reached for her pack as Waylon got out and went around the truck to open her door. By the look of surprise on her face, he knew she wasn’t used to a guy getting her door. She tucked the port pillow back into her pack, undid her seatbelt, and grabbed the bouquet of wilting flowers. Waylon looked for Stephanie as they walked to the trash can, wondering what they must look like.
Frankie blew out a breath as she dumped the bouquet flowers-first into the trash. Waylon took a ticket from the self-park kiosk and walked back to the truck to set it on the windshield. He noticed a stray petal on the dashboard. He snatched it and dropped it onto the ground beside the truck, then ground it into the gravel with his boot heel.
She loves you not, Derek. You don’t deserve her, anyway.
Feeling oddly satisfied, he looked up to see Frankie had found Stephanie and the others by the side of one of the buildings. Even though she had no idea what the adventure was, the little pixie looked excited. He felt his heart thump.
I’d never deserve her, either .