“You’re eating another cookie,” I accused.
His head came up and his eyes did a full body scan before he said, “Duchess, you were up there a year. I didn’t have another cookie, I’d starve to death.”
I’d made it to the bar and put my hands on it. “I wasn’t up there a year.”
“Felt like a year.”
“It wasn’t a year.”
His eyes did a full face scan before he said in a softer voice, “Though, it was worth it.”
That voice and his words made me feel funny in a way I wasn’t willing to explore.
Therefore I said, “Can we go?”
He grinned before he replied, “Yeah,” then he put the rest of the cookie in his mouth and dropped the mail.
“Do you know where my coat is?” I asked.
“Closet,” he answered, going to the dining room table and nabbing his leather jacket off the back of one of the chairs.
I walked to one of the doors under the loft, guessing and guessed right. There was a big storage room, some hooks on the wall, lots more man stuff. My tan, shawl collared, belt cinched at the waist, falling to the hip, cashmere coat was on a hook. I grabbed it and shrugged it on, flipping my hair over the collar as Max stood at the opened front door.
“You look like you’re gonna meet the queen,” he said, giving me an indication that even toned down I might be a bit more fancy than the normal Colorado mountain town look.
“You don’t meet the queen in jeans,” I explained, walking through the door and cinching my belt.
“You would know,” he muttered.
I swallowed back a growl and headed to the Cherokee.
He flashed open the locks but didn’t come around and open my door. This didn’t surprise me. He didn’t seem a door opening type. Neither was Niles. Then again, Niles didn’t drive, didn’t know how, never bothered to learn and it didn’t bother him that he couldn’t. Firstly, I could drive and when we went somewhere together I did. Secondly, he could take a taxi to a train and you could take trains most everywhere. Then, once you got there, you could take a taxi to where you were going. Any town, even small ones, had more than just Arlene at Thrifty’s.
I pulled myself up into the cab, settled and belted in.
“I’d like you to call Arlene and lift the boycott on a taxi for Nina,” I told him once he started up, did a swift, somewhat hair-raising, three point turn and headed down the lane.
“You goin’ somewhere?”
“I might wish to and, without the keys to the rental that would be difficult.”
“We’ll see.”
“We won’t, you’ll call her.”
“Not big on women tellin’ me what to do.”
“Max –”
“Or anyone,” he finished and I turned to him, incredulous.
“You’re not big on women, or anyone, telling you what to do but you’ve essentially stolen my car and told the only taxi service in town not to give me a ride, which is, in essence, telling me what to do.”
“In essence,” he agreed pleasantly.
“I… I…” I stammered, “I don’t even know what to say.”
“Then don’t say anything.”