Page 9 of My Cowboy Boss
“Flint tried to make cinnamon rolls for me once,” Frances tells me.
Flint groans and his brothers laugh.
“The mixer wasn’t working so he thought he could mix it by taping a spoon to the electric screwdriver. It broke the spoon and flung dough onto the ceiling fan blades.”
“And it scared the cat who ran up the curtains and they fell,” Jonas says.
“It was chaos,” Flint admits.
“Beautiful chaos that I wouldn’t change a minute of,” Frances says, the love for her boys shining from her eyes.
Each of the brothers start talking about wild and crazy things they did growing up and I laugh until my sides ache.This is family. I’d forgotten what it was like, and I miss it so much.
Hours later, I glance at the clock on the microwave and gasp. “I didn’t realize it was so late. I need to get home.”
I go through a flurry of goodbyes and Frances hugs me tightly before I hurry out to my car. As soon as I shut the door, I call my sister to tell her I’m on my way, then I start the car.
Or I try to. It makes a sad little whining noise. I try again and get the same results.
I get out to pop the hood as Flint walks off the porch. I hadn’t noticed him there in the shadows in the corner.
“I’ll give you a ride.”
He’s offering to take me home, but my thoughts jumped on a different kind of ride.
Alone in the dark in a small space with my boss.Bad idea.
“Yes, please.”
Flint
I walk out of the house after her because I’m planning to follow her home. I want to know where she lives to see if she lied about that part. At my feet, my cat meows twice and it sounds like,liar, liar.
I give Warrior a pat on the head. “That’s all it is,” I argue. Warrior twitches his tail and walks off like he can’t stand the bullshit I’m saying out loud.
Arizona gets into her car and the engine makes a grinding noise, refusing to start.
She gets out, wobbles around on her heels and lifts the hood to scan beneath it.
I approach and call her name softly not wanting to startle her in the dark. “Give me the keys and I’ll take a look at it tomorrow but for now, I’ll give you a ride.”
“A…ride?”
“Home.”
“Ah…” Indecision flashes across her face. She’s obviously in a hurry to get home but reluctant for me to be the one to take her there.
Finally, she nods. “Okay. Thank you.”
The breeze carries a whiff of her, flowery and sweet, as she shuts the hood and I’m instantly hard. Gritting my teeth together, I say, “Let’s go,” probably a little rougher than I meant to but it’s a bitch trying to walk comfortably when your balls ache.
When we’re in my truck pulling out of the driveway, she sighs wistfully. “I had a lot of fun tonight. Your family is great and I can tell how much you all love each other.”
It hits me then that I can use this time to her place to build a rapport between us.
Maybe then she’ll let her guard down and something will slip to prove she can’t be trusted.
“I didn’t always know the kind of love my family gives me,” I say. “I was a foster kid.” Such a simple phrase, yet it contains a world of hurt. Maybe not for others, but it sure as hell was my case.
