Page 45 of My Merry Mistake
He doesn’t.
Instead, he pulls in behind me, gets out of his Jeep, and walks right inside my garage. I push my door open before he can touch it. “I’m home now. Look, I can even open my own door,” I say.
He chuckles at that, and I add, “Your services are no longer required.”
He pulls out his phone and makes a call, I assume to somebody back at Dallas’s house. “Yeah, she’s home.”
I roll my eyes as I grab my bag and get out of the car, closing the door behind me.
“Yep. All right, I’ll tell her.” He looks at me, and I shake my head, hoping to convey that I’m not going to listen to whatever they tell me to do.
But after he hangs up, he says, “That was Poppy. She said to tell you they love you and they hope you get a good night’s sleep.”
My shoulders drop. Oh. I wasn’t expecting that. It shouldn’t affect me—I mean, of course they love me. I’m their sister. But it catches me off guard. The simple reminder that I’m not alone.
I start fishing in my purse for my house keys, just to avoid letting him see my glassy eyes. The door isn’t even locked.
“They’re good people,” he says. “Makes me miss my family.”
I pull my keys out and lift my eyes to his. “You have siblings?”
He nods, and a slight chuckle escapes. “Oh,yeah. I have a big family. Five brothers and two sisters.”
My eyebrows raise in surprise. “Seriously?” I think about it for a second. “I can totally see that, actually.”
He laughs. “Buncha crazy ranchers in?—”
“Montana,” I say. “I remember.”
He nods. “I’ll see them at Christmas, so?—”
I go still. “Are you the youngest?”
“Youngest brother,” he says. “Rowe’s the baby, though.”
“I feel sorry for your sisters,” I say, shaking my head. “So many brothers.”
“Be sorry for the guys who try to date them,” he says.
“Believe me, dating is worse when you have sisters,” I bemoan.
He laughs. “I bet.”
All at once, I want to know more. “I don’t know anyone else from Montana.”
“Have you been before?”
I shake my head. The overhead light of the garage door clicks off, leaving us standing in the dark.
Dark room, hands on my hips, long, lingering look—my mind is at it again. I push the memory away, but the feeling from the kitchen returns—light, heightened senses, nerves on edge.
“Well, you’ve got an open invitation,” he says. “Anytime you want to see it for yourself.”
“I’m not sure I’d know what to do with myself in Montana,” I say.
“I can think of a few things.”
The air turns thick, and I try incredibly hard to ignore the flutter in my chest.
