Chapter Six #2
He tipped his hat forward to cover his face, propped the back of his head against the seat headrest, and closed his eyes.
Just for a second. The cowhands were repairing two miles of fence that cut through a wetland, and he’d spent the day mired in mud up to his hips, pounding posts and stringing barbwire.
He’d wrestled with bogged-down four-wheelers, and he was more tired than he cared to admit.
Rather than fight with Shauna, he’d do well to remember that they had a common goal—to convince Trouble to take herself elsewhere.
If she’d thrown a grown man for a loop, imagine the havoc she’d wreak on a bunch of hormone-addled, teenaged boys.
Someone shook his shoulder. He shot upright, his heart riding his ribs like a rookie bull rider and almost put his head through the roof.
He cracked a knee on the steering wheel.
He grabbed someone’s wrist. It was skinnier than he’d expected, but his brain barely registered that fact.
He jerked his head around to get a bead on his assailant, his free hand curled tight in a fist.
Shauna stood next to the open window of the truck, looking pretty, but wary.
She stood her ground, although she’d backed as far away from him as she could get, considering he had a tight grip on her wrist. He dropped it as if she’d burst into flame and ran a scratchy palm over his face, wiping away the remnants of two seconds of sleep.
He must have dozed off because he hadn’t heard her drive up.
“You aren’t drunk, are you?” she said, because of course, that was the obvious conclusion.
“Tired. Not everyone works at a desk pushing papers all day,” he fired back, but then she looked hurt, and he asked himself when he’d become such an ass.
His heart, still hopped up on adrenaline, gave his ribs a few final kicks.
“Sorry. You caught me off guard. Too many nights sleeping at truck stops left me jumpy. Get in.”
She hurried around the bumper, opened the passenger door, and then took a quick inventory of the truck’s interior as if inspecting a gruesome crime scene.
It was reasonably clean, all things considered, and he’d taken the toolbox out, so he didn’t see any problem.
It was a working truck, not a sports car, and she wore jeans and a gray sweater, not her fancy lawyer attire.
He leaned across the bench seat and held out his hand to help boost her in. She wriggled her ass on the hard seat when she landed, a move which guaranteed that those few minutes before she arrived were all the sleep he’d be getting that night. She had a great ass.
“Why were you sleeping at truck stops?” she asked, once she had herself settled.
Why indeed?
Night crept across the churchyard as he scrutinized possible answers, filtering out anything that made him sound too pathetic.
A great horned owl had been hanging around, and its deep, soft hoots stuttered out of the sentinel of cottonwood overlooking the river.
Too Good didn’t rush him, but instead, let him think his thoughts through, which was a nice change.
Peggy had hammered at him until he was so confused he couldn’t think straight.
He’d liked the months he spent drifting. They’d helped him clear his head and get his priorities in order. Best of all, nothing kept a man single quite like homelessness. Most ladies preferred a man with ambition. Life was a lot less complicated when a man didn’t have any.
“My ex-wife got the house,” he said.
Plus, the car, the truck, the savings accounts, and the 401k…
But he left all that out, because then he’d feel the need to add how she’d drained his bank account yet again, which depressed him.
Not over the money, although being so deep in debt to Ryan O’Connell was akin to having one’s soul owned by the devil.
The depressing part was over not being able to say no when he knew he should, all because Peg shed a few tears.
She could have— should have—called her parents, explained the situation, and got their refunded airfare from them so she could come home.
And yes, he should have manned up and said so to her. He didn’t need Too Good pointing it out to him like he was some dumb, backwoods yap.
Too Good didn’t ask any follow-up questions, however. He caught her rubbing her wrist, and he flipped the interior light on so he could see why. Bright red spots shaped like fingerprints marred her smooth skin.
“Hell. Did I do that?” He leaned forward to get a closer look, but she stuck her hand behind her back.
“It’s nothing.”
Guilt sucker-punched him. He didn’t want her thinking he was some testosterone-driven, bull-riding jerk whose wife— ex -wife—got the house and all his worldly goods in the divorce because he’d physically abused her.
“It’s not nothing. My mother raised a gentleman. I know how to treat women,” he said stiffly.
“I’m a lawyer. I might work in real estate, but I know the signs of domestic abuse when I see them.”
His neck started to burn. “Now hang on a second. I have never—not once—harmed a woman.” He remembered her wrist, with his fingerprints on it. “Not on purpose.”
Shauna’s eyes widened. “Oh, I never thought for a moment that you were the abuser.”
He let that sink in. “You think I was abused?”
She took on that snippy lawyer voice he found hot for reasons beyond his control.
“Physical violence isn’t the only form of domestic abuse.
Men are particularly susceptible to emotional manipulation.
They don’t question it when women take over the social aspects of their lives or manage their money for them—right down to taking charge of their paychecks.
Men see it as a division of labor, because that’s what they’re led to believe.
The male partner shovels the driveway, mows the lawn, and takes out the garbage.
Meanwhile, she does all the banking, the shopping, and manages his downtime. ”
Nix didn’t like the picture she painted despite the hot tone she used. “That’s not what happened.”
“No?” One of Shauna’s eyebrows went up. “I think I’ve got a fairly clear snapshot.
Your ex-wife got the house in the divorce.
She got most of the money too, or you would have been sleeping in motels or an apartment, not at truck stops.
And yet she calls, and you still run for the phone as if your life depended on it.
Either your lawyer was useless, or you gave her everything she asked for because the fight wasn’t worth it to you.
You refusing to react took control away from her, and she can’t have that, so she continues to call.
” She nestled her butt more comfortably into the seat and faced him head-on.
“Let me ask you a question. How many of your friends from before you were married have you kept in touch with? What about your family? Did she find fault with all of them? Did she make you choose her side if they criticized her, or offended her in any way, no matter how small? What if you wanted to do something she hadn’t planned? ”
He broke into a cold, full body sweat. “That’s more than one question. And you’re jumping to a whole lot of conclusions.”
“Am I? You can’t seem to manage a troubled teenage girl. I can only imagine how a manipulative wife might mess with your head.”
She’d gotten the manipulative part right. But as for the rest? He was pretty sure Too Good was the one messing with him right now. But the topic had changed, and he seized on it the way an unseated rider hugged the rails while bullfighters and barrelmen distracted an angry bull.
“Your sister’s trouble, not troubled. I can handle her,” he said, with more bravado than truth. He’d manage somehow. He’d figure it out.
“Really?” Her eyes slid from his before snapping back. “Prove it. Deal with her the same way you’d deal with one of the boys. Think you can do that?”
Those eyes told him she was back onto him chasing a seventeen-year-old child and he didn’t like it.
“If you’re worried because your little sister’s crushing on me, I thought we’d established that I prefer women,” he said, and she must not have liked his tone either, because she got all kinds of huffy.
“While you might prefer women, you’ve got no clue about how to set boundaries with them. Or teenaged girls,” she said.
There was enough truth in that to smart more than a little. What would it take to get under her skin the way she got under his? Except he didn’t want to simply get under her skin. He wanted to get her into bed and explore every hot, irritating inch of it.
“Thinking back on it, I probably overreacted,” he said. “She was likely just trying to make Remi jealous. They really seem to be hitting it off now though, so that’s one worry gone. She’s driven him home a few times this week after he’s missed the bus.”
“She what ?”
Now he was getting somewhere. “Maybe you should deal with her as if she’s an ex-wife,” he suggested. “Set some of those boundaries.”
Too Good pulled herself together. “Speaking of boundaries. I apologize for the other night. I thought it was cute that Taryn has a crush on you, and because of that, my sense of humor took things too far. I never should have provoked you that way.”
Her sense of humor. Right.
“Provoked me how?”
She provoked him in so many ways, he couldn’t be sure which one she was talking about. Or maybe he just wanted to hear her come right out and say it.
She looked at him, suspicious. I know what you’re doing.
He looked back, all innocence. What am I doing?
“The point is,” she said, doggedly ignoring his attempts to provoke her, “Taryn’s interest in you will wear off if you show her how little interest you have in her.”
“I see where you’re going with this. You think if I show interest in you instead, she’ll get the picture real quick.” He nodded, pretending agreement. “That’s a good plan.”
He’d only said it to tease her, but her look of horror took insulting to a whole other level.
“That’s a terrible plan!” She closed her eyes for a second, which bummed him out, because it was the easiest way for him to tell what she was thinking. When she opened them again, she had herself under control. “Just…treat her the same as the boys.”
He slung an arm over the steering wheel. “You sure about that? When a boy gets bucked off a bull, I tell him to man up and get back in the chute.”
Too Good sniffed. “If Taryn gets on a bull, I’ll buy you dinner.”
He wondered where her confidence came from because his take on Trouble was different. Trouble, however, wasn’t the sister keeping him awake at night, then slipping into his dreams once he fell asleep. He might as well indulge his fantasies a little and get a rise out of her while he was at it.
“How about you cook me dinner? Wearing nothing but one of those frilly maid aprons.”
She didn’t hesitate. “Deal.”
He hadn’t expected her to take him up on it, but she had, and he wasn’t about to let her back out. He almost felt sorry for her. Almost. He was too busy picturing her wearing that apron, because he’d win their bet even if he had to tie Trouble to that bull himself.
Oh, Too Good , he thought. You’re too good to be true. All he needed was one clear indication that she was as interested as he was, and he’d have her clothes off in a hot second.
But Too Good kept right on talking, trampling the moment.
“Taryn’s been spoiled.” That, he agreed with.
One hundred percent. “She’s a princess.” He wasn’t so sure about that one, but whatever.
“I love her, and I don’t want to see her get hurt.
” Vulnerability flecked with worry slid into direct hazel eyes with those words.
Dang. Her little sister was important to her, even if Taryn was a huge pain in the world’s ass, and he wasn’t heartless enough to make light of her feelings. She was no better prepared to take on a teenaged girl than he was.
She sprang the truck’s door handle. The dome light flared on. She got out, then leaned into the cab, which gave him a great view down the front of her thin sweater and of the delicate pink bra that she wore. He wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight now for sure, but that quick peek was worth it.
“One more thing,” she said. He forced his eyes upwards, where they clashed with hers. “If Taryn doesn’t ride a bull, then you’re cooking me dinner. The apron is optional. The state of undress is not.”
He waited until she’d driven off, because the gentleman in him had to make sure her car started and she wasn’t left in the middle of nowhere alone, where cell service could sometimes be sketchy.
Then, he sat for a little while longer and listened as the night woke up around him.
Beyond the high, frail wall of cottonwoods, the river rolled along with a dull rush.
And he thought that when a man showered daily in a bunkhouse full of men, the prospect of getting naked in front of a beautiful woman, no matter how bossy she was, was not the deterrence Too Good seemed to think it should be.