Chapter 8
eight
Billie
I’m in the supermarket the next morning with my mother.
Bright and early.
She likes to come before the crowd. It’s difficult to focus on a shopping list when I’ve got Knox on the brain, but domestic duties call.
There’s an announcement about BOGO frozen cheesecakes, shopping cart wheels go squeak.
Muzak plays an instrumental version of “Abracadabra” by Lady Gaga. But all I hear is Knox’s voice.
I’d rather remain solitary than let someone get close enough to burn me again. That’s why I don’t want your peach pies.
Did he realize how unconvincing he sounded?
He might as well have said, I’ve never been cared for, sweetheart. Please don’t stop. Please don’t quit on me or stop baking me pies.
My pathetic heart flips over, wondering what he’s doing just that second. Is there any possible way he’s thinking about me, too? Does he miss me the way I miss him when we’re not together?
“Billie,” my mother says, poking me in the shoulder.
I realize I’ve been staring at the cartoon face on the cereal box without blinking. “Huh?”
“What is wrong with you this morning? Didn’t you sleep well last night?”
“I slept fine.” Like the dead, in fact, my body the consistency of a limp noodle. “I’m just thinking about that, um…horse auction. The one going on at Hauser’s farm today.”
My mother’s mouth purses with sympathy. “I’m sorry, honey, I know you had your eye on that gray mare, but the ranch doesn’t have the money right now.”
“I know, Mom.” I rub her arm to reassure her. “It’s fine. There will be others.”
“You’ve wanted that mare for over a year, though…” She continues, dabbing at her eyes. “I wish I could buy it for you, Billie. I really do.”
Is there a part of me that is in pain over losing my chance at such a beautiful horse?
A horse that feels like it was made for me?
Yes. It hurts. Badly.
But I can’t let my mother see how much.
There will be other horses.
“Mom…”
I trail off when the nape of my neck prickles ominously. An awareness warms the lining of my stomach. Before I even turn my head, I know he’s there.
Knox is here.
And I’m right.
I look to the left and find him turning the corner of the aisle, his deep green eyes boring into me, ever so briefly, before fixating on something in the distance.
Oh, my word. Every drop of blood in my body sizzles at the sight of him in public.
In the privacy of his home, his rugged looks are something that I can’t escape.
But in the light of day, his attributes are amplified.
Goodness, he’s tall. Built. Rugged. Mean looking.
He wears a black Stetson, black jeans and a faded flannel shirt. A bomber jacket.
This man, who is allowing me to barter my body for debt forgiveness, is blindingly hot. In the I’ll-shoot-you-if-you-look-at-me-funny kind of way.
I’m horrified by my body’s reaction to Knox when my mother is standing at my elbow. It can’t be avoided, though. The low, raw tug in my belly. The sudden weighty ache in my sex. Sparkles of heat race up and down my arms, my neck, where I can still feel his mouth.
Knox breezes past us, his aftershave filtering through the air to assault my senses.
Everything about him assaults me.
Even my heart.
Oh boy, am I in trouble.
Knox just blew off me and my mother in the supermarket and all I can think is, I wish it was tonight. I want to be back in his arms. I want him to look at me again the way he does when he’s moving inside of me. Like I’m a miracle. Some spectacular stroke of luck.
He’s mean. Rude. Hurtful, sometimes.
My gut tells me it’s just a front, though.
On the inside, I believe he’s extraordinary.
Isn’t that silly? Aren’t I a silly, stupid girl?
Maybe so. But I’m going to find out for sure. I’m not going to let him scare me off.
“Holy hell, Billie,” my mother hisses, whirling around. Moving in close to whisper against my ear. “That’s him. That’s Knox Morgan. Our landowner.” She pretends to fuss with something in the shopping cart. “I’ve never seen him out in broad daylight before.”
“You know, I’m sure he isn’t all that bad,” I murmur, just as he makes eye contact with me. And scowls. “Maybe he’s misunderstood.”
I’m saying this about a man who murdered another man right in front of me.
A man who was good and ready to take away my family home.
Love is a weird thing, isn’t it?
Oh damn. I am falling in love with this rude, complicated man, aren’t I?
Classic Billie. Always falling for the horse that is going to be the hardest to train.
I guess it’s going to be the same with men.
“He’s not misunderstood,” my mother scoffs. “He wants to live in this town and have nothing to do with the people living in it. He doesn’t know the meaning of being a good neighbor. He’s a ruthless bastard is what he is.”
“Mother,” I gasp, never having heard her use that kind of salty language.
She sniffs. “I said what I said.”
“Maybe no one has ever invited him to dinner,” I blurt. “I’m going to be the first.”
“Excuse me?” My mother’s eyeballs nearly pop out of her head. “You will certainly not. I am not cooking for that man.”
“I’ll do the cooking.”
“Billie.” Her expression is serious now. “Your father and I haven’t told you this yet, but we’re behind on paying him the mortgage and…well—”
“I know, Mom.” I lay a hand on her shoulder and squeeze. “I know we’re six months behind. I overheard you and Dad talking last week. But…look, I just have a feeling that everything is going to be all right.”
Her eyes narrow slightly. “How? Why?”
I distract her with a dazzling smile. “I’m going to invite him for dinner.”
“Don’t you dare—”
I’m already striding in Knox’s direction, my boots clunking on the linoleum floor. His shoulders stiffen when he sees me coming, chilling me with a gaze as cool as winter wind. Or so he thinks.
I can see the yearning behind it.
“The hell do you want?” he says, lips barely moving.
“Come meet my mother,” I whisper, raising my chin, my pulse sprinting just from being close to him. Close enough to touch. “I w-want you to meet her.”
He snorts, tossing a roll of foil into his basket. “Why would I do that?”
Because you like me. Because you call me an angel. A sweetheart.
The way you kiss me…it’s coming from a deep, longing place inside of you.
Please don’t pretend otherwise.
“It’s neighborly to say hello,” I say, instead.
“No, thanks. I’m good.”
I should leave the conversation there. Just strut away with a plan to yell and throw things at him later tonight.
Except I look down into his cart and see all the fixings for a peach pie.
Is he making one for himself? Is he making it because he enjoyed mine so much? Because the taste reminds him of me? Or am I reading too deeply into nothing. I don’t know, but the clue to his true nature gives me courage.
“Please?” I murmur.
He jerks back slightly, as if the word has burned him. He shifts in his boots, looking pissed. “You just want me to come say hello.”
“Yes.”
His disgust is plain. “Jesus fucking Christ, Billie.”
“Please?”
“Stop saying please like that,” he growls.
“Like what?”
“With those eyes.” A line moves in his jaw. “You know what you’re doing.”
He’s a good man, despite his rocky past. I just know it. If I can peel back one layer at a time, I’ll reveal him.
I beam up at Knox, teeth and all.
He stares, swallowing audibly.
I take his elbow and tug in the direction of my mother. “Come on.”
“This is bullshit.”
“You can do it.” We stop in front of my mother, who looks like a deer caught in the headlights. “Mom, I’m not sure you’ve met Knox Morgan in person?”
“No, I have not,” she says, jolting into niceties. Holding out her hand for a quick shake. “A pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Mr. Morgan.”
“Ma’am,” he sighs.
I squeeze his elbow to congratulate him on being polite.
He shoots me a glare.
“Do you two, um, know each other?” my mother inquires, warily.
“Yes,” I say, laughing. “I run into Knox on my evening rides, every so often. He’s so kind and neighborly, always tipping his hat and asking after the ranch.”
“Really?” my mother breathes, incredulous.
“Oh yes.”
“Well, isn’t that nice?”
“Isn’t it?” I give her a meaningful look. “Mom, isn’t there something you wanted to ask Knox?”
“Right.” She looks like she’s chewing burnt rubber. “Would you like to come over for supper this weekend?” Something occurs to her. “Billie’s birthday dinner, perhaps? On Sunday. Our darling girl will be nineteen.”
I hold my breath.
Knox is quiet for several seconds, his elbow hard in my grip. Flexed.
Until finally, “Sure. I’ll come by,” he says, stiffly.
My mother claps her hands. “Wonderful. We’ll see you then.”
He gives a stilted nod and walks away. Doesn’t look at me once as he checks out. And I start to wonder if I’ve made a mistake by backing Knox into a corner.
Is he angry with me?
I suppose I’ll find out tonight, won’t I?