Page 46 of Rocky Mountain Desire
“I didn’t see your name on the list of teams working on the raffle that Hope is organizing.” Clay shrugged. “Too bad the Colemans aren’t as giving to the community as they’ve always made out to be.”
Clay couldn’t be serious. “A raffle? What the hell you talking about? I have no idea about any raffles. Hope never said a word to me.”
The other man laughed out loud. “I guess that means you’re not talking? As well as not fucking?”
Matt’s anger flared. “Eat shit, Clay.”
His opponent leaned on the gas pump, a derisive smirk across his face. “Not able to get it up? Maybe that was your problem with Helen. It takes more than a pretty face to keep a woman satisfied.”
An instant roar of blood through Matt’s brain made his vision go white, and he was around the pumps before his brain fully engaged. He grabbed hold of the front of Clay’s jacket, cocking back an arm to throw a punch. The next thing he knew they were on the ground, the hard snow on the concrete below them not enough to cushion the impact. Clay responded with blows of his own, and Matt’s head snapped back, pain ricocheting through his jaw and cheek.
Hands pulled at them, others from the lineup jerking them apart with loud shouts and concerned questions.
Matt panted as he and Clay squared off. “Stay away from Hope.”
Clay raised a hand to his lips, wiping away blood. “She’s a grown woman. Can make up her own mind. If she wants me, she knows she only has to call.”
Matt spat at Clay’s feet, shaking off the people holding him. He thrust away the gas nozzle, climbed into his truck and pulled out from the service station, careful not to spin the tires or do anything that would be enough to get the authorities alerted.
Then he turned and headed down Main Street, slipped into the parking space at the back of Hope’s shop and steadied himself with a few calming breaths.
What the hell difference did it make that Clay handed him a line or two? The taunting was deliberate, like schoolkids prodding each other. There was nothing in it. He and Hope were only just starting to date—there was no way they could have talked about everything. And fighting over the mention of a raffle? What the fuck was he thinking?
Matt grabbed a few wet wipes from the glove box and cleaned up, grimacing in the mirror. He was going to have a swollen cheek at the least. He stared at himself, remorse and uncertainty in his eyes.
This wasn’t about any bloody raffle. Clay seemed determined to grind against the rawest parts of his soul. Matt hated that it was true—he hadn’t been able to hold Helen. No matter how hard he’d tried. Damn if he’d make the same mistakes with Hope. But…
The trouble was he didn’t know what mistakes he’d made that had caused Helen to leave. He had no idea what mistakes he was making this time that would break him and Hope apart. And yet here he was, unable to stop himself from following after her like some lost little puppy.
She was at the sewing machine when he made it into the shop. Her happy greeting slipped into dismay as she rose and came over to gently touch his face. “Matt, what happened? Did one of the horses kick you?”
Not even close. He’d like to think Clay was more comparable to the asses they owned. “It’s nothing. I just have a couple minutes. Wanted to say hi.”
All his earlier plans for an extended seduction would have to wait. He didn’t want that to be the first thing he did after getting into a fight with Clay.
“Well, hi, I guess. I’d say it’s good to see you, but you look like shit. You going to be okay?”
He nodded. Then, casual-like, slipped out the question. “So…what’s up with the raffle?”
She frowned for a second. “The raffle? Why? How did you hear about it?”
Matt stepped closer. “Is this something you’ve been working on? Something I can help with?”
“Well, I guess so. I didn’t think you’d be interested.” Hope shrugged. “Frankly, I didn’t mention it since I knew the timing is bad. And it would mean you and your brothers—”
“Is Clay doing it?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Is this another one of your cock-fight things?”
If he’d been ten, Matt would have kicked at the ground and hidden his hands behind his back, the instant guilt that hit was that strong. But now at thirty, he’d learned to fake it a bit better.
“Not really.”
She glared.
“Kind of?”
When she laughed, he figured he’d dodged a bullet.
