Page 50 of A Sunny Sweetheart for the Cowboy

“Then what? You’re scaring me.”

She was scaring herself. “It’s my mom. She… she overdosed.”

Weston sucked in a sharp breath. “Oh, man. I’m so sorry. Is she…?”

“She survived, at least so far. But I should probably go.”

He touched her arm. He touched her arm! Two days ago, she’d have been in seventh heaven. Now, she knew it was probably a bad idea.

“I’ll pray for you. For her. Again, I’m kinda rusty on that, but I’ll try.”

Paisley turned toward him. “Why are you being so nice?” The words came out more a sob than a question.

“Hey.” He draped an arm over her shoulder and shifted a little closer. “I understand messes better than just about anyone. And, well, I guess you’ve kind of grown on me. That’s why it matters if you forgive me for being such a jerk.”

That did it. All the pent-up emotion from years of being her mother’s daughter, of being the daughter of a man who’d never once shown his face — everything spewed out in a rush of ugly crying.

Ugly crying all over Weston’s T-shirt while his strong hands rubbed her back.

This was not how it was supposed to go. He was supposed to have fallen for her months ago, last summer maybe, or not at all. Certainly not when she didn’t even know which way was up.

Chapter

Fifteen

What was going on here? Weston stiffened as he realized he was cradling Paisley Teele in his arms as though they were something to each other. Not only that, but he’d instigated the hug, knowing full well she was going to blubber all over him. She’d already started before he’d pulled her in.

Did ‘just friends’ hold each other like this? Maybe girls did. Guys? He tried to envision Jude bawling on him — and him being okay with it — and no. Definitely not.

But holding Paisley felt somewhat okay. It was dangerous to consider it more than okay. After all, she was traumatized over the situation with her mother, which maybe meant Weston was taking advantage of her.

She must have sensed him pulling away because she straightened, and his hands dropped to his sides. He’d turned toward her when he’d reached for her, and he could still feel the heat of her body.

“You okay?” Dumb question, Kline. People who were okay didn’t cry for like five minutes. Or ten. No one was counting.

Paisley hiccupped and swiped at her eyes. “Yeah. No. I got your shirt wet. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.”

She peered at him from puffy eyes. “Don’t be so nice.”

Ouch. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

“Nothing.” She let out a shuddering breath.

Color him confused. “I might read a lot, but nobody ever told me I had a good imagination. You’ve been in my space for the past year. Now you don’t want anything from me?”

“I shouldn’t have pushed you.” Her fingers twisted together in her lap.

“Back to that, are we?” He covered her hands with his, stilling them. “Maybe God used you to get through to me. Ever think of that?”

She huffed a shaky laugh. “I’m nothing much for Him to use.”

“Me, neither. But it seems He can work with anything.” He looked down at their joined hands. Why had he done that? Seeking her out, hugging her, holding her hands… he was acting like she was his girlfriend. But now, after an entire year where he’d complained she was stalking him, now she was running scared.

He studied her, but her eyes were downcast, too. He squeezed gently, and her gaze flew to meet his. “What are you afraid of? Me?”

Paisley opened her mouth to respond but shook her head and pressed her lips tightly together. “I’m afraid of me, not you.”

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