True-Blue Cowboy - Vicki Lewis Thompson Page 0,61
it off.”
She stared at him. “Are you saying you’ll always—”
“Yes, Eva. Yes, I will.” Snatching his shirt from the bedpost, he stomped out of the room and took the stairs two at a time. He was out the door and down the walk in a few seconds, but like a fool, he slowed as he reached his truck. Stopped to put on his shirt.
She couldn’t come after him stark naked. She’d have to put on a bathrobe. He rounded the truck and climbed in. Sat there, watching the screen door. It didn’t open.
A soft glow from her bedroom window meant the candles were still lit. How could she stand it? Why hadn’t she blown them out? Was she expecting him to come back, apologize and ask to start over, minus the I love you bit?
He couldn’t take it back. Wouldn’t take it back. But damn, this hurt. She didn’t have to say she loved him. Or even admit she was starting to, although she was. But to suggest that all he had to do was locate a fertile woman and fall for her… ouch.
Maybe she thought that’s how love worked. Had she ever been in love? Sure didn’t sound like it. Truthfully, he’d never been in love until now, either. It had taken this ginormous emotional attachment to Eva to show him what the genuine article looked like.
It wasn’t an easy thing to deal with, this business of love. Yeah, alert the press on that one. It wasn’t like hundreds of country songs hadn’t brought that message straight to his truck’s radio. He couldn’t say he hadn’t been warned in that way, too.
He glanced over at the door again. She wasn’t coming out. And he wasn’t going up to that candlelit room. Might as well drive back to the bunkhouse. By now the guys should be asleep. Just as well. He didn’t want to talk about it.
Hell, he’d rather not live it, either. But like he’d told her, he couldn’t just turn it off. He loved her now and he’d likely love her as he was taking his last breath.
He buckled up and turned the key. Nothing happened. What the hell? Oh. He stared out the windshield at the faint evidence of headlights shining on the pavement—the headlights he’d left on when he’d walked away from the truck, desperate to hold Eva.
He switched them off, for all the good it would do. Where was his phone? Not on the dash. Please don’t let it be in her house. He ran his hand over the passenger seat and connected with it. Even had enough juice to make a call, just barely.
Rafe was going to love being dragged out of bed to come rescue his ass. He sent a text. SNAFU at Eva’s. Truck battery DOA. Assistance please.
The reply was immediate. C U soon.
He rolled down the window to get some air and unbuckled his seatbelt. Leaning against the headrest, he closed his eyes. That routine lasted two seconds.
Bolting from the cab, he stood on the pavement, hands on his hips. Walking around would be better. Except his boots felt weird without socks. Putting on socks when he was wearing jeans was a royal PITA, though.
Leaving the door open provided a measure of privacy. Grabbing the armrest for balance, he pulled off his boots. Then he shucked his jeans and laid them on the seat.
He’d tugged on one sock when Rafe’s truck rounded the corner. The guy must have been doing eighty to make it that quick. He pulled on his other sock and reached for his jeans.
Rafe slowed and switched on his high beams. Then he cut the lights and pulled alongside. His window slid down. “Did she run you out with a shotgun, Nicholas?” His voice sounded choked, like he wasn’t finished laughing but was trying to control himself.
“I left on my own.” He put on his jeans.
“In your tighty whities? Not smooth, bro.”
“I—oh, never mind. I didn’t think you’d get here so fast.” He zipped up.
“I can take a turn around the block.”
Nick sent him a look and buckled his belt.
“Let me get situated.”
“Thanks.” While Nick tugged on his boots, Rafe pulled to the far side of the street and swung wide as he came back around. After aligning his truck’s front bumper with Nick’s, he shut off the engine and climbed out. “You decent?”
“At what?” He reached under the dash and released the hood latch. “If we’re talking about making intelligent decisions, the answer is no.” He closed