Westin grasped the top of it. Stopping her from her shutting the door and escaping.
“How are you?” he said, in a low voice that the other guys couldn’t hear.
She tried to look everywhere but at him and his eyes, or his shoulders, or his chest.
“Fine.” It came out as a whisper. How embarrassing. She lifted her chin and met his gaze head on. “Thanks for asking. Looks like you’re keeping busy. Better eat that food before it gets cold.”
But he didn’t move, his gaze somehow keeping her captive. “I don’t think that food’s gonna cool down anytime soon. It’s gotta be ninety degrees out here.”
Her gaze betrayed her then. It strayed from his eyes, to his shoulders and chest. “Um, at least.” She swallowed. Then she saw the bruising on his shoulder. “That looks rough.”
He glanced down, then shrugged. “Just part of rodeo.”
Well, if he didn’t care, then she wasn’t going to care for him. “I should go.”
He nodded, and she slipped into the driver’s seat, but his hand was still gripping the door.
“I was right pleased to hear that you’re continuing with the barbeque sauce,” Westin said. “Kellie told me—hope you don’t mind.”
Silvia could only shake her head.
He continued as if he had all day to make conversation. “I guess the distributor meeting went well?”
Right. That. “Yeah, it went better than I had expected. He’s, uh, putting money into supplies and everything.”
Westin’s mouth curved.
Dang. She loved that smile of his.
“Good news, darlin’,” he said. “I’m not surprised. Your sauce is amazing, and everyone should be able to enjoy it.”
Darlin’. She’d told him not to call her that. Of course, it was probably an inborn habit of his. Reality slammed back into her. She wasn’t going to be swayed by pretty talk from a good-looking cowboy. “Thanks again. I’ve really got to go.”
Westin stepped back and touched the brim of his hat.
Silvia pulled the door shut, then tried to focus on backing up without looking at the cowboy standing in the middle of the parking lot, gazing after her. As she drove back to the café, her hands shook. She was over Westin, she was. She just had to remind her heart of that fact.
“Mom took a fall,” Cheryl told Westin on the phone.
He closed his eyes, and the worst-case scenarios tumbled through his mind. “What happened? Did she break anything?”
“She was carrying tomato starts out to the garden and slipped on the porch steps,” Cheryl said. “They did an x-ray at the ER. Her ankle is broken at the very least, and the ER doctor said she’ll need surgery. Without an MRI, he wasn’t sure about the ligaments. We have an appointment with an orthopedic surgeon in a couple of hours to make a decision.”
Westin exhaled. “Is she in pain?”
“They gave her something for it,” Cheryl said.
“All right.” Westin looked over at Ryan and the crew, who were nearly finished painting the ticket booth. “I can look up flights right now, but the next one won’t leave until tomorrow morning if I want only one connection.” He knew this from experience.
“Don’t you have a rodeo or something? I don’t really know when her surgery will be.”
“There’s always a rodeo,” Westin said. “I can pull out of the upcoming one. I don’t want to leave everything to you.”
“I’m fine, West,” Cheryl said. “And Mom will be fine, eventually. You don’t need to come all the way back again. You were just here.”
Cheryl could handle it, he knew that. But staying here just didn’t sit right. Surgery wasn’t anything to sniff at. Besides, Cheryl had her kid, and her husband had crazy working hours. “I’ll look up flights all the same. Keep me posted, please.”
“Will do,” Cheryl said.
“Can I talk to her?”
“Of course,” Cheryl said. “Hang on.”
A few minutes later, his mom’s voice came on the phone. “Did you hear about my gymnastics stunt?”
Westin chuckled. It was just like his mom to turn it into a joke. “Aren’t you too old for gymnastics?”
“Haven’t you heard that sixty is the new forty?”
Westin smiled. “Next time you miss me that much, just tell me I need to stay longer.”
“Funny, son. But don’t you dare come back,” his mom said. “Cheryl is stressing me out enough.”
“Is that right?”
“Sit here, Mom; put your leg up, Mom; drink this, Mom; do you need help to the bathroom, Mom? It’s exhausting.”
Westin laughed. “You did the same thing when I broke my arm in sixth grade.”
“Well, you were a rambunctious little boy who wouldn’t sit still, and the