Page 37 of The Bodyguard
I breezed past him and boldly walked into the house. I waited for a dog to come barreling out of some room to greet me. I don’t know why, but I always assumed Garrett was a dog type. A big, loveable, dopey dog seemed right up his alley.
But the house was quiet.
“This is the living room as you can see,” he said, coming up behind me.
“No dog?”
The look he gave was confused. “How did you know about Champ?”
See? I knew Garrett. Sometimes I tried to tell myself it was all fantasy when it came to him. That I didn’t really see him or know him as a person. But I did. It was bound to happen when you made someone the object of your obsession.
“Where is he?”
“Champ passed a few months ago. Right before your dad, actually.”
“I’m sorry.”
Garrett nodded. “Lived a good life. I basically grew up with him. I was giving myself some time to…I don’t know, honor his memory, I guess. But I’m thinking I’ve got a puppy in my future pretty soon.”
“Puppies!” I said, clapping my hands. “Mother never let us have any pets. She insisted it was because I was allergic, but I’ve never had a reaction to any animal I’ve ever been around. And there was this cat...”
The one that was killed because of me.
“You had a cat?”
“He wasn’t really mine. He just let me feed him for a while. Anyway, I don’t want to talk about that.”
“Okay, well, let me show you outside. The house isn’t much, but the one thing my dad did not scrimp on was the back deck.”
I followed him through the living room and past the kitchen. Off the kitchen was a large sliding door that opened out onto a large brick patio. Garrett hadn’t been kidding. There were a fireplace and a grill pit. A gas grill. Lots of sturdy furniture to hold up against a heavy Texas storm.
But the best part was the view. Land. Land as far as the eye could see. That was Texas.
“Have a seat and I’ll get you something to drink.”
I was about to sit down when I thought about what I had made this afternoon. “Oh! I left something in the car. Let me go get them and I’ll be right back.”
I made my way through the house and back out to the driveway. I opened the backseat door and pulled out the plate of cookies. I’d gone with chocolate chip because I thought Garrett looked like a chocolate chip kind of a guy. And since I had been right about him having a dog, I thought that was a good sign.
I came back in carrying my plate while he was pulling wine out of the refrigerator. I could see he had the chicken already coated with sauce and ready to be grilled. And he’d taken the macaroni salad and potato salad out of the containers and put them in bowls.
In other words, he’d made an effort. I was glad, then, to have taken the extra time with my hair, despite what he’d said, and glad, too, I was contributing something to this dinner.
“Cookies,” I announced as I set the plate down on the counter.
His eyes lit up. “You made cookies?”
He obviously hadn’t watched a lot of episodes ofCowboy Princess. Hate baking was a common event on the show.
“I did. Give them a try.”
He pulled off the tinfoil I had used to cover them and took one. He bit into it and the groan he made was slightly sexual and smoking hot. On par with watching him eat a potato chip. I was used to people going crazy over my baked goods. It was part of the fun of hate baking. No, I couldn’t eat it, but I loved watching other people’s reactions. I wasn’t, however, used to getting turned on by it.
Do not get aroused by him! Do not!
“Holy shit that’s good.”
I smiled. I couldn’t help but be proud.
