Page 178 of Lost Then Found
I shrug, half-grinning. “Nothing too bad.”
She stares at me, completely deadpan, and it makes me want to laugh—this look, like she’s waiting for me to dig my own grave. I can’t help it.
“It’s educational,” I add. “History.”
“Boone!” she says, smacking my shoulder. “He’stwelve.”
“He’s twelve and deeply committed to cowboy culture,” I counter, grabbing her hand before she can pull it away. “Besides, my sisters were watching too. They’re well-trained. They’ll do the whole hands-over-eyes thing when it starts to get dicey.”
She mutters something under her breath that sounds like “unbelievable,” but she doesn’t let go.
I tug her a little closer, brushing my thumb over her knuckles, trying not to smile too much when she lets me. “You’ve never let him sleep over anywhere before, have you?”
She shakes her head, and her voice drops. “Nope. It’s weird. Like…Iknowit’s fine, but it still feels wrong. I keep thinking I’m forgetting something important.”
“You’re not,” I say, quiet now. “You’re just a good mom.”
Then I lean in and kiss her—nothing rushed. Just enough to remind her I’m right here. When I pull back, she’s still close, still holding on.
“You ready to go raise a little hell?”
She grins and nods, and I lead her outside into the early evening lightwhere Lucille is waiting in the driveway. I open the door for her and help her in, my hand on the small of her back. Her skirt rides up as she climbs into the seat like it’s got a personal vendetta against my sanity.
I immediately start praying for strength or a distraction or a well-timed thunderstorm. Anything to stop my dick from getting hard.
No luck.
By the time I shut the door and circle around to the driver’s side, I’m already in the middle of a full-blown internal crisis.
She buckles her seatbelt and looks around the cab like she’s expecting a crime scene. “I’m…weirdly impressed. It’s clean.”
I glance over. “You say that like I’m usuallynotclean.”
She rolls her eyes. “Please. I remember this truck in high school. Pretty sure I stepped on a ketchup packet and a condom wrapper in the same ten seconds.”
I snort. “Wow. Thanks for that visual. And by the way?Youwere the one who left chili cheese fries in the cupholder when I let you borrow it.”
“Absolutely not,” she says, already yanking open the glovebox, rummaging through napkins and old receipts. “That was all you—”
She freezes. Gasps.
“Oh my god.”
She holds up a sun-bleached Dixie Chicks CD like it’s the Holy Grail. “This ismine!”
I glance at it, then back at the road. “Nope. That’s mine.”
She gapes at me. “Boone! You once said they sounded like ‘music for cowgirls with trust issues.’”
“Yeah, and now I date one.”
She cackles, holding the CD to her chest. “IknewI left this in here senior year. It’s mine.”
“You left it,” I say. “Abandonment equals forfeiture. It’s the law.”
“Not a real law.”
“Truck law,” I counter. “My cab, my CD. Very official.”
