Chapter 12 Hypothetical Boyfriend #2
Walker reaches out to put a hand on Jonah's knee, and his voice is gentle when he speaks. “She loves you, JoJo.” He says it in that way that makes me think he's recited this same script a thousand times before, trying to make it true through repetition. “She's just real busy.”
“You’re busy too, Dad. But I see you every day now.”
My heart splinters just a little more. I can’t help but look at Walker then. I catch the conflicted, pained, but love-filled look that passes across his face.
“Yeah, well,” he says, voice thick. “You're stuck with me, bud. Rotten luck.”
Jonah grins, wide and easy, the way only kids can manage when they have no idea they’ve cracked your heart open. “I don't mind.”
“Go on and practice then,” Walker says, patting his knee. “I need to talk to Sadie for a minute.”
“Bye Sadie! See you later!”
We wave our goodbyes and then Jonah clicks his tongue and wheels his horse back toward the open stretch of yard where his lasso has been lying abandoned in the dirt.
Walker swings his leg over the saddle in one fluid motion and dismounts, boots hitting the ground with a soft thud, all easy masculine grace. He pats his horse's neck, murmuring something I can't hear, before he turns and walks toward me.
He tips up the brim of his cowboy hat, and suddenly I'm looking straight into those eyes. Green like malachite, stone-hard but with unexpected depth.
“Sutton’s?” he asks.
I’m so busy admiring his stupidly beautiful eyes that I wonder if I missed a beat in this conversation. “Beg your pardon?”
“The bar. Sutton’s, right?”
“That’s right. It’s the only game in town. Unless you count drinking out of brown bags outside the liquor store.”
“Doesn’t seem like your speed.”
“Wasn't it yours? When Daryl stopped by the other day, he told me more legends of your misspent youth.” I tick items off on my fingers. “Shooting beer cans off fence posts before you were old enough to drive, let alone drink. Drag racing down Route 12. Riding broncs bareback on a dare.”
He exhales heavily. “Leave it to my father to air all my dirty laundry. I was a dumb kid.”
“And now you're such a wise old man?”
“Wise enough to warn you to be careful tonight.” That familiar glower returns, settling between his brows. “Sutton's gets rough this time of year. Hunting season brings in all kinds.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ve seen plenty of bar fights before. Don’t worry, I’ll pack my smelling salts in case my ladylike sensibilities get overwhelmed.”
“I'm not talking about fights.” His jaw tightens. “I mean don't let anyone buy you a drink.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Come again?”
“I mean...” He looks away, and there's color rising in his cheeks. “Don't let anyone hand you anything that didn't come sealed. Watch the bartender open it yourself.”
“Walker. I have actually been to a bar before.”
“I’m just saying.” He rubs a hand over his stubbled jaw. “Text me when you’re leaving. Let me know you’re okay. Or I’ll worry.”
I feel myself soften. “Okay.”
“And let me know if you need a ride back, all right? I’ll be home.””
“You don't have to wait up.”
“I know.”
“You're not… I mean, tonight isn't…” I’m tripping all over my words now, trying to broach the subject. “Your time is your own tonight. You don't have to wait around at home, just for me.”
He tilts his head. “Where else would I be?”
“I don't know. Out. With someone.”
He looks at me for a long moment. Understanding exactly what information I’m fishing for here, what I’m asking. The silent question: is there another woman?
“There's no one else, Sadie.”
No one else. I focus on that “else” a lot more than I ought to.
Imagining he’s saying, no one else but you, Sadie.
Yep, that “else” is doing some heavy lifting in my imagination.
I shouldn’t be smiling at him the way I am right now. I can’t see my own face but I suspect I look way too happy at that reveal.
Lowering my lashes, I bite my lip. Trying not to reveal just how pleased I am. “You really are going to wait up, aren't you?”
“Yup.”
I lift my gaze to his. “I’m a grown woman, Walker.”
“I'm aware.” His eyes do a quick pass over the lavender dress that he's been carefully not looking at until now. He swallows hard.
“I don’t want to bug you,” I say. “I’ll get a ride home if I need one.”
“You wouldn’t be bugging me. You could never…” He trails off. “You need me, you call me. All right?”
I’ve never had someone to be protective of me. Never had someone look out for me. It makes me feel all warm and fizzy inside, sends a rush of pleasure and warmth through me like I just downed a shot of whiskey.
And it’s got me feeling just as reckless.
I close the distance between us and rise up on my toes and wrap my arms around his neck to hug him.
He goes still. Completely, utterly still, like I've knocked the air out of him.
Then he exhales, slow and low, and his arms come around me. He has to bend down to do it because he has nearly a foot on me, and I feel the shift of his weight as he does. The warmth of his chest against mine, those big hands settling against my back and staying there.
He smells like leather and sandalwood, and I press my face briefly into his neck before I can think better of it.
He holds on. Not a brief, polite, acquaintance-type hold. He holds on, hands spread wide and warm between my shoulder blades, his chin just grazing my hair, and I feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing slow down and deepen.
Our bodies are pressed together all the way. I feel the muscles of his chest and abs against me, his thighs against mine, and the cold press of his belt buckle against my stomach. My nipples tighten. A swoop goes through my belly that starts at that belt buckle and ends between my thighs.
When I pull back to look up at him his eyes have gone dark and they’re fixed one my lips.
I wish he would kiss me.
I really, really want him to kiss me.
And he’s looking at me like he wants that too.
Except he’s making no other move to close the distance between us, and I’m sure as hell not going to be the one to initiate a kiss.
Still, I can’t resist the chance to tease him a little, to lighten up that dark scowl. Now that I know he has a sense of humor, I especially enjoy any chance to bring out that side of him.
“I’ll call you, I promise,” I murmur, dropping my voice to a breathy, sultry register. “But only if I desperately…” I put my hands on his chest. “Need you...” Slowly slide my hands up around his shoulder and lean in to whisper in his ear. “To come.”
His hands close around my wrists. Not stopping me, just holding on. For one heated second, he tugs me closer instead of pushing me away. His eyes drop to my lips again.
Then he seems to catch himself and lets go.
I take a step back and give him my most innocent look. “Come to me. You know. In case of emergency.”
The corners of his mouth lift, just a little. He shakes his head like he’s working to clear it. “Brat.”
Putting on a sunny smile, I toss my hair over my shoulder as I head to my car. “You know you love it.”
He doesn’t say anything. But I feel his eyes on me every step to my car.
Just as I get in and am about to pull into reverse, he taps on the window.
I roll it down.
“Hey,” he says. “Promise me something.”
“Depends what it is.”
An almost-smile. “Fair enough.” He leans on the door, forearm resting on the window frame, close enough that I can smell that sandalwood and leather. “Promise me you'll have a good time tonight.”
I blink. Of all the things I expected him to say. “Why?”
“Because you spend a lot of time taking care of everybody else. You deserve a night that's just for you.” His eyes trace down me one more time, slow, like he’s finally allowing himself to take a good look at my body.
“Just be careful. There isn't a man in that bar tonight who’ll be able to take his eyes off you.”
My heart skips.
Before I can find a single word in response, he taps the roof and walks back to Journey, swinging up into the saddle in one easy motion. He tugs his Stetson down as he turns back toward where Jonah's still practicing in the amber evening light.
With my heart still racing, I put the car in reverse. Pull out onto the road and roll the windows down to let the warm evening air in.
I’ve spent the better part of my time at Wild Rose convincing myself that Walker Rhodes being a know-it-all asshole was nature's way of balancing the scales. Good-looking, sure. Insufferable enough to cancel it out. Fine.
Him in surly cowboy mode I can handle.
Him in protective softie mode?
That I can’t handle. Not even a little.
I must have daddy issues after all, because I’m finding that side of him is too damn hot. Not just in a panty-melting way. A heart-melting way too.
He might be grumpy, but he’s got a big, fierce, loyal heart. He worries about the people he loves.
Not that he loves me.
But I think he might truly care about me, in his own way.
As I drive out through the Wild Rose Ranch gate, a Walker Rhodes song comes on the radio.
I let it play.