From This Moment On - By Debbi Rawlins Page 0,34
and stock a cooler. But then Nikki wasn’t just any woman, and he had offered her a shoulder to cry on.
“Hey.” He moved closer. “Nikki?”
She looked up with wide watery eyes. “What are you doing here?”
He smiled and pulled out a chair.
“I know you live here. I just thought you’d be out in a pasture somewhere.” She wiped her cheek and sat straighter.
Damn, but he still couldn’t tell if she’d been crying-crying or laughing-crying. Either way he wanted to pull her into his lap and put his arms around her. He didn’t care that Hilda was watching, but Nikki might. “You okay?”
“Yeah, fine.” She shoved her hair back, wincing when her fingers pushed through a tangle. “You missed Rachel by a few minutes.”
“She lives here, too. I’ll see her.” He leaned over and used his thumb to wipe a dark smudge from her cheek.
She jerked away. “What are you doing?”
He held up the evidence on the pad of his thumb. Makeup, probably, and he didn’t know why that made him think those were real tears but that’s what he concluded.
“Better not be here to cancel on me,” he said, and her gaze darted to Hilda. But he’d been careful how he worded it so no harm.
“No.” She dabbed under her eyes. “I know Jamie’s away for a few days so I stopped by to see if I could cover for Rachel so she can go see Matt.”
He wiped his hand on his jeans, not sure what to do. With Hilda there it was hard to talk. “Is that where she went?”
Nikki frowned. “Oh, Rachel. Yes, but she may not have left yet.”
Trace shrugged. “I was just wondering...”
“Did you have lunch?” Hilda asked.
“An hour ago. In the bunkhouse with the boys.”
“So now you like Chester’s cooking better than mine?”
“Come on...” He grinned. “You don’t believe that, Hilda. You know you’ve ruined me for any other woman. Or I should say cook.”
Chuckling, she washed and dried her hands. “I’m making bean and cheese burritos if you want one. But first I have to check the clothes in the dryer.”
He might’ve believed her had she gone in the right direction. “What’s going on, Nikki?”
“Nothing.” Her brows lifted, and her eyes widened just enough to fake surprise, but he wasn’t buying it.
Leaning forward, he slid a hand behind her neck and pulled her face toward him. Her stunned expression looked real enough now. “Were you crying?” he asked, and brushed his lips across hers.
“You must’ve been out in the sun too long,” she murmured, but didn’t retreat. “You can’t do this here in the kitchen.”
“If Hilda or Rachel or my mom walked in right now, think they’d be shocked?”
“Yes, I do. I’m shocked.”
Trace smiled and used the tip of his tongue to dampen her lower lip. “Tell me the truth.”
“About?”
“Everything.”
Nikki’s warm sweet breath slipped out, tempting him to do more exploring. “Dream on,” she whispered, her lips lightly moving over his.
He applied more pressure, making it a real kiss, until it started getting out of hand. “I’d settle for the reason you were crying.”
She pulled back, sighing. “I wasn’t crying, really. I was a little...tense...and Rachel made me laugh, and then I couldn’t stop. You know how that is.... Sometimes laughing and crying sort of blur together.”
“Is it about Wallace?”
“Jesus, it wasn’t about him.” She jumped up, and he caught her arm.
“Wait. Don’t get all bent. I just wanna make sure you’re okay.” He held on to her while he got to his feet.
“I’m fine. I’m always fine.”
“You don’t have to stand on your own all the time, Nikki.” He ran his palms down her bare arms. “You’re not alone anymore.”
She stiffened. “What does that mean?”
“People here care about you.”
Her chin came up, and her gaze locked on his face. A hint of challenge glinted in her eyes. “Who?”
Trace hadn’t expected the question and it stopped him. “Matt, for one,” he said. “Rachel. Hilda. Jamie.” Nikki kept staring at him. “Sadie.” He touched her cheek, wondering why he was having trouble including himself. It wasn’t as if the L word would come into play or that she was asking for a commitment. And he did have feelings for Nikki. Her small sad smile got to him. “And me. I care about you.”
“You don’t have to say that.”
“I know I don’t.” He finger-combed her hair, massaging her scalp and watched her lashes flutter, then droop. “If I hesitated it was only because I figured how I felt was understood.”
“That’s lame.”
He smiled. “I know that, too.”
“You’re