Then, don’t ask me why, but I whispered, “Because you’re being so nice to me.”
For a second, before he could hide it, his head jerked a fraction and his face changed. I didn’t get a chance to read it before it went away and his eyes went perfectly blank.
What I could read scared me, in a lot of different ways.
“Has someone not been nice to you?” he asked and I could tel his voice was careful y control ed.
“Let’s just go.”
He watched me for a while, one arm stil wrapped around my back. Then, he let me go. I thought he was going to give in, but I was wrong. He leaned over, slid an arm behind my knees and grabbed my shoulders then he lifted me up.
“What are you doing?” I kind of screamed, throwing my arms around him to hold on.
“We’re takin’ a carriage ride,” he said, carrying me while climbing into the carriage.
This was no mean feat as I wasn’t exactly dainty. Uncle Tex toting me around was one thing; Uncle Tex was Paul Bunyon come alive. This was plain crazy.
He settled me in the seat without apparent effort and sat beside me.
The driver rushed to his perch and we took off.
“There’s just no shaking you, is there?” I asked Hank, my tears gone, I was beginning to feel… I didn’t know what I felt.
Hank pul ed me into his side. “Nope,” he answered.
I crossed my arms and tried to pretend I wasn’t feeling whatever it was I felt. Whatever it was felt nice and I couldn’t give in to it; I had too much to lose if I did.
Then I looked up at him. “Is my makeup ruined?” He looked down and smiled. “Yep.”
Shit.
* * * * *
I fixed my makeup the best I could with the bandana and my hand mirror and we rode through Denver. After awhile, I settled into Hank’s side and relaxed. I couldn’t help it, he was solid and warm. Denver was beautiful as I watched it passing by on the clop and the carriage rocked soothingly. Even the most tense, stressed-out neurotic would have relaxed.
After another while, Hank’s hand came to my chin, he tilted my head up and he kissed me.
It didn’t take awhile for me to kiss him back, I just did, right away.
He was a great kisser and, on close inspection, I realized he had a bottom lip that even rivaled Springsteen’s.
That shot straight through my heart and my soul.
“Boy, am I in trouble,” I whispered, looking at his mouth.
His hand went to the side of my head. “Yep.” Shit.
* * * * *
I sat in Hank’s 4Runner watching the streets rol by as he drove me to the hotel.
The date was over.
I was trying not to cry again.
It was the best date I’d ever had. It could even be the best date in the history of the world (or at least it had to make the top ten).
I wanted another one just like it. I wanted a dozen of them. I wanted a lifetime of them.