Page 31 of Here & There

I didn’t mean that to come out quite so menacingly, but the asshole goes so pale I almost worry about his circulation.

“We clear?”

He glances over at the silver-haired flat-top. I get the feeling he’ll be in shit if he gets himself booted out of this town. If I can even do that.

Finally he ekes out a “fine.”

I grin. Christine says I look scary when I grin.

Cecil’s bulging eyes concur.

I wait for Shelby at the door as the men disperse to their vehicles.

When she appears at the top of the stairs with her suitcase, I jog up and take it from her, walking out onto an empty porch.

“What did you say to those guys?” she asks, slightly agog as the last of them peel out of the driveway.

“I told them to be nice.”

When we get back to the truck, Nate has the same question, his eyes bugged out in the rearview. “Did you pull a weapon or something? That one guy looked like he shit—pooped his pants.”

Shelby makes a little snorting sound in the passenger seat.

Even I have to fight a grin. “Nathan, I would never propose violence.”

I pull out of the drive, flattening my palm on the steering wheel to do a tight U-turn, then speed up and pass the ATVs hogging the right-hand lane. I pass the biggest, shiniest one at the front with an inch to spare and not slowing down for a second.

“Jesus,” Nate mumbles from the back.

I feel Shelby’s eyes on me. “You don’t mess around, do you?” she asks, laughter in her voice.

When I glance over at her, I suddenly feel like a squirrel’s built itself a nest in my esophagus. She looks a little too good sitting in the passenger seat of my truck. No one ever sits there, not even Nate. He prefers to huddle in the back like he is now.

Then Shelby does the most amazing thing: she bursts out into laughter.

And goddamn if that isn’t the prettiest sound I’ve ever heard. She laughs with her whole body, her eyes sparkling as she looks disbelievingly at me.

I could live in that sound. When I look back in the rearview, Nate’s grinning too, and that—that—is when I know I’m in real trouble.

My son, smiling. This woman, leaning back in my passenger seat, a place I’ve purposefully kept vacant for years.

What the hell have I done?

Chapter 8

Shelby

Even from the outside, I can tell Mac’s home is going to be the stuff of my dreams. Its navy blue siding and trim blends gorgeously into the surrounding woods, and a neat stone path weaves up through natural landscaping to the front door, which is wide, clear glass.

Mac somehow appears at my side of the truck before I’ve even gotten my seat belt off and reached for the door handle.

He offers his hand, but he’s done enough white-knighting for me today, so I tell him I’m fine, then nearly tumble ass over teakettle as I jump down.

I let out a little yelp as I feel my ankle roll. But Mac’s hands are suddenly there, catching me.

His huge, rough hands.

They’re warm against my hips and large enough that they nearly touch, which is a feat given my already established non-pool-noodle size. I’m usually fine with my few extra layers—so long as Mom’s not making comments about my clothes or Richard’s not raising his eyebrows at my menu choices. But Mac makes me feel like my roundness is nothing at all. I don’t remember a lot from that first day before he put me in the sink, but I do remember the way he carried me. Without so much as ablink. I know it’s just his size, but I still feel comfortable around him like I haven’t with other handsome men.

---