Playing With Fire (Tangled in Texas #2) - Alison Bliss Page 0,33

said he would burn my house down…with me inside.”

He blinked at me, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Then lightning flashed in his eyes. “Those little bastards,” he said, shaking out of my grip. “Stay here. I’ll be back after I have a few words with them.”

But I knew that was a lie. He wasn’t going in there to do any talking. No, he was going in there with every intention of beating the hell out of them. I could see it in his stiff posture and the way his teeth gnashed together in anger. But I couldn’t let that happen.

I jumped in front of him and put my hand on his chest. Like that did any good. He glared at it, pushed my hand aside, then picked me up and physically moved me out of his way. I was no match for his strength. It was the equivalent of me trying to stop a speeding train with my bare hands.

As he strode briskly away, I panicked and blurted out, “My mother died in a fire!”

The grief and sadness must’ve registered in my voice because he stopped in his tracks and looked back at me. A dull ache gnawed at my insides, dredging up an emptiness I hadn’t felt in years. His withering stare softened and his eyes flooded with compassion and understanding. That was the moment the dam broke wide open. Tears dripped freely onto my cheeks and I wiped at them, smearing the painful memories down my face. Apparently it was enough to convince him I needed him to stay more than he needed to defend my honor.

Silently, Cowboy returned to me. For a moment, he just stood there with his eyes closed, as if he were willing himself to settle down. When he opened them, something else had taken the place of the anger. Something closely resembling sympathy and understanding. “Is that why you’re scared of fire?”

I bit my lip to keep it from trembling as another tear rolled down my cheek. I nodded slowly.

Bridging the gap between us, Cowboy pulled me into his masculine arms. At first, I tried to push away, not wanting his pity, but he wouldn’t allow it. He drew me back to him, and within seconds, I surrendered to the security of his strong hold, burying my face into his chest as little hiccupping sobs burst from my throat.

“Okay, just breathe.” He smoothed one hand over my hair, then settled it on my lower back. “Slow and easy. Like this,” he said, using his other hand to place mine against his chest, allowing me to feel the rise and fall of his even breaths.

He held me comfortably, giving me time to calm down, while he probably contemplated which one of the Barlow boys he was going to punch in the face first. Because when their screen door banged against the jamb again, Cowboy whirled around fast, fists clenched, ready for a fight.

Mandy Barlow had stepped outside on their porch with her short, blunt brunette hair and perky nose. She looked straight at me, her eyes registering concern, then flicked a glance at Cowboy. “Is everything all right?”

“Apparently, your brothers get off on threatening women.”

“Oh God. I’m sorry,” Mandy said, shaking her head. She directed her attention back to me. “Don’t listen to them, honey. They’re all talk…well, mostly.” She offered a small non-committal shrug. “They may not use the sense that the good Lord gave ’em, but I’m sure they were only trying to scare you.”

“Well, it worked,” Cowboy said, his tone shifting from sour to downright caustic. “Give them a piece of advice for me, Mandy. Tell them that if they come near Anna again, they’re going to answer to me.”

Mandy bit her lip. “I don’t think—”

“Tell ’em,” he demanded. “Because if this happens again, we’re going to see how they fare with someone a little closer to their own size.”

She looked like she wanted to argue, but instead, she nodded silently and went back inside.

Cowboy slid his arm gently around my shoulders and softened his voice. “Come on, darlin’.” He kept me tucked firmly against his side as he walked me home.

I was relieved he was no longer going after the Barlow boys, but hoped like hell Mandy didn’t actually tell her brothers what Cowboy had said. It would be the equivalent of beating on an active beehive with a short stick.

Once we cleared my front door, I let out a sigh of relief. Just being back