True-Blue Cowboy - Vicki Lewis Thompson Page 0,26
fine. Mighty fine. His tight shirt revealed the smooth ripple of his shoulder and back muscles as he maneuvered the trunk around the curve of the staircase. Snug jeans helped her determine that his quads and glutes worked perfectly, too.
Nick had turned out to be eye-candy, just as her friends had predicted. Even though he’d sat in her chair at the salon multiple times, she’d been blind to his attributes, maybe because she’d been focused on CJ.
Musicians make perfect lovers. Aunt Sally had said that dozens of times. They have rhythm and style. Even better, if they’re good enough, they go on tour, giving you days, weeks, months of time to do your own thing.
Her aunt’s recommendation had been reinforced every time she’d treated them both to another country music event. Invariably, Eva had picked the blond performers as her favorites. She’d developed a type and CJ had fit that type.
Nick did not. But tell that to her damp panties.
He neared the bottom step. “Where to?”
“The living room, please. I dusted the bottom, too, so you can put it on the rug.”
“Got it.”
“While you’re icing your head, I’m going to have you sit in one of the wingbacks. They’re roomie.”
He chuckled. “Are you implying I’m too large for the rest of your living room furniture?”
“I want you to be comfortable.”
“Appreciate it.” He walked into the living room, set down the trunk on the area rug and glanced around. “This is nice. But you’re right to put me in one of the wingbacks. I might break that loveseat. Or get permanently wedged in one of those side chairs.”
“The furniture’s stronger than it looks, but it wasn’t built with you in mind. Have a seat while I get the ice pack.”
“I’d like to look around, instead.”
“Okay. I’ll be right back.” She hurried into the kitchen.
“These lampshades are amazing,” he called out.
“The Tiffany ones?” She pulled a gel ice pack out of the freezer and wrapped it in a kitchen towel.
“The ones made of stained glass. I don’t know what they’re called.”
“That’s a Tiffany-style.” She walked into the living room where he was examining one of the floor lamps. “I’m not sure if they’re authentic or a knockoff, but I don’t care. I leave them on, even in the daylight, because they’re so beautiful when they’re lit.”
“That seems like the whole point, to have light shining through them.”
“That’s what I think.” She handed him the towel-wrapped gel pack.
“Thank you.” He pressed it gingerly against his temple.
“How does it feel?”
He grinned. “Cold. Very cold.”
“Smart-aleck.” She gestured to the nearest wingback. “It’ll probably work better if you sit down and relax.”
“I’m fine.” He remained standing and continued to survey the room. “I like that picture that’s hanging over the loveseat. Did it come with the house?”
“No. It’s mine.” She could demand that he sit down, but maybe it didn’t matter that much. “It was Aunt Sally’s favorite, one of the few things she kept out of the estate sale. Assisted living is expensive. She needed the cash.”
“The woman in the picture looks so happy.”
“That’s why Aunt Sally loved it. She said it symbolizes the joys of freedom.”
“Freedom from what?”
She hesitated. He’d asked the right question. Should she get into it? Then again, she’d almost kissed him a few minutes ago. Yeah, she should get into it.
“What the other people in her life expected of her. When a doctor told her she was unlikely to have kids, she ditched the concept of marriage, too. “
“Not everyone is cut out for it.”
“Her family couldn’t accept that. She was supposed to get married and drive herself crazy trying to give her parents grandchildren. She stuck to her guns, though. Stayed single, had a great career as an interior decorator.”
“And she raised you.”
“At that point, it was only the two of us left in the family and she couldn’t bear for me to go into foster care.”
“And your parents?” He said it gently, as if he didn’t want to offend or cause distress.
She glanced at him. “You’re careful with people, aren’t you?”
“Now I am. Wasn’t always.”
That touched her. “I’d just turned two when she took me in. I barely remember my folks, which is probably a good thing.”
“Abusive?”
“Not intentionally, at least that’s what Aunt Sally told me. If she chose to soften the story, I don’t mind.”
“Understood.”
“My mom had me late in life. Like Aunt Sally, she’d been told pregnancy was unlikely so I was a big surprise. Aunt Sally called my parents fragile. I’d use the word flaky.