Page 38 of Rocky Mountain Devil
“I wanted to make a good first impression. And you need to trust me more,” he repeated.
“I mean it’s pretty, and all, but still.” She glanced around the space. “Fancy.”
“Private,” he countered. “We’ll go to Traders later, but we need time to talk, and it’d be nice to do that somewhere no one can overhear us.”
She seemed to consider for a moment before nodding. “You should’ve told me. I would have brought something along for a picnic.”
“Good lord, I couldn’t eat another bite right now. Your mother cooks like that all the time, doesn’t she?” He settled in the chair beside her, kitty corner, instead of across the table. “I didn’t come over that often, but the times I did, I remember rolling away from the table even if it wasn’t Thanksgiving.”
“Hospitality rules,” Laurel answered. “I’m surprised she didn’t cook your favourites. That’s what she tends to do as well.”
Mrs. Sitko probably hadn’t wanted to choose between cooking his favourites and Jeff’s, but he didn’t voice the words. No need to make things awkward, not when Laurel was relaxing back in her chair and looking at him with anticipation, a soft smile on her face.
Instead he reached into the cooler beside them and brought out a bottle of fancy pop, placing it on the table along with two plastic cups from his kitchen. “Can I interest you in a drink? One of the finest sugar-coma-inducing food-colouring hits available.”
A loud laugh burst out from her. “Brat.”
“What? I knew you wouldn’t drink anything alcoholic since you’re working tomorrow, and I like this stuff too.”
She watched as he poured them both glasses. “Since when? I could swear you used to say this stuff tasted like orange Tang gone bad.”
“I’m sure you remember wrong.” He lifted his glass in a toast. “To friendship.”
She touched her glass against his—the hard plastic clinking with a hollow sound—then drank.
Rafe couldn’t take his eyes off her. He itched to undo the elastic she’d pulled her hair back with and let the soft strands slide through his fingers. He knew exactly how soft the material was that covered her. He wanted to slip the fabric from her shoulders and press kisses to her bare skin.
Icy-blue heat shone back, and he clutched his glass a little tighter to stop from reaching for her.
“You keep looking at me like that and we’re not going to get any talking in,” she warned quietly.
“Trust me, I can look at you like this for a long time. Doesn’t matter if we’re talking or not.”
She swallowed hard. “What do we need to talk about?”
He put his elbows on the table and leaned forward, checking for clues of how to approach the topic. The last thing he wanted was for her to be upset, but the elephant in the room needed to be addressed.
Straight up. The only way.
“As far as I can figure, Jeff Lawson either needs to be buried somewhere in the back forty, or I should be sending him a present for whatever it was he did to screw things up with you.”
Laurel pressed her lips together. “You just jump right on in there, don’t you,” she accused, leaning back.
“Aren’t you glad I didn’t bring this up in the middle of Traders?”
“Very,” she said. He gave her a moment as she fiddled with her glass, gathering her courage. Yet she tilted her head and looked him straight in the eye as she answered. “He and I dated for a while at Bible College.”
“So he told me.”
“What?” Her mouth hung open for a minute. “When did he tell you that? Oh my God, he didn’t tell you before dinner, in front of my father?”
“No, this morning.” Rafe leaned to one side and came back up with a box of doughnut holes. “Timbit?”
Her eyes narrowed as he opened the box and held it toward her. She sat there, staring, so he picked out a doughnut hole as if it was the most important thing in the world, popped it in his mouth and chewed carefully.
“Tasty,” he announced.
A growl escaped her. “You’re looking for pain, Coleman.”
