Page 30 of Cowboy's Last Stand
She suddenly wished Jason wasn’t here, making her feel these things.He had no right to be in her house, looking so goddamned domestic and being friendly with her son, who was starved for male attention.
“I put a load of laundry to wash,” Jason said.“Is that all right?”
“Yes,” she said, filling her favorite coffee cup.She took it out to the porch because she needed space.The air was fresh from last night’s rain and heavy with the promise of more precipitation to come.Her hair would be impossible to tame.
Jason didn’t follow her outside.He sat at the kitchen table and ate breakfast with Marcus.She saw that he’d already fixed her mailbox.It was sitting on a brand-new wooden post, the aluminum hammered back into shape.His industriousness annoyed her the same way his hot body did.She sipped her bitter coffee, unable to dispel the mental picture of his hard-muscled arms, tattooed with a tender tribute to his mother.
There had to be something wrong with him other than his indoor sleeping phobia.Maybe he was married.What kind of single, unattached man did the dishes without being asked to, interacted with kids easily, and fixed whatever needed fixing?
She speculated on his mysterious vibe for a moment, trying to pinpoint the problem.He seemed like he wanted to atone for something.He’d acknowledged the attraction between them, but he hadn’t acted on it.What was he hiding?He’d avoided talking about his past.He claimed to be broken.She assumed he had PTSD or a similar issue because she didn’t see any physical shortcomings.The accident had left him with a fear of enclosed spaces.
He emerged from the kitchen after breakfast with his own coffee cup.He was wearing a long-sleeved shirt now, like he’d sensed her discomfort with his attire and attempted to cover up.“You’re not a morning person.”
She noted that he leaned against the porch railing instead of sitting with her.“How did you guess?”
He smiled but said nothing.
“You’ve been a busy bee.”
“I tried not to wake you.”
“You didn’t.”
“Do you have to work today?”
“No.The library’s closed.”
“You work at the library?”
“That’s my main job.The bar is only on weekends.”They were part-time gigs, and she needed both to pay the bills.
She studied his feet as she finished her coffee.They were strong feet, as well-made as the rest of him, and they gave proof to the claim that he’d walked a thousand miles.She saw the evidence of blisters that had healed into faded red marks.Her gaze rose to his hand, with its scraped knuckles, and then to his bruised eye.She wondered if there was a darker reason behind his willingness to come to her defense at the bar.He’d risked serious danger on her behalf.Maybe he got off on physical pain.
“Are you sure you want to take me out in public?”he asked wryly.
“Do you feel up to it?”
“I feel fine.Ilooklike I just got out of jail.”
She chuckled at the apt description.
“When is this dinner?”
“Six o’clock.”
“I don’t have any nice clothes.”
“That’s fine.It’s casual.”
He arched his bandaged brow.“People will think we’re a couple.”
“So?”
“Will your friend Wade be there?”
“He might be, but Billy won’t.”
“Hmm.”
