Page 49 of Westin

“My father’s dead,” I say.

She studies me. “You look like you didn’t care for him.”

I shrug. We go over a bend and around a corner, where the road narrows and I pump the brakes a little.

“I liked him fine,” I say.

Her lips purse. “No you didn’t.”

“He was a hard man to get to know,” I say, after a short pause. “My mother is a good one, like your Nana. She made my childhood good.”

“Does she look like you?” she asks.

“Not so much,” I say. “Tell me something about your family.”

Honestly, she could read the phonebook out loud and I’d listen. I just want to hear her soft voice.

“Nana always made me wear a hat in the summer,” she says. “My hair used to be white by August. Nana got three straw hats: one for the house, for the barn, and for the pickup so when I forgot, I’d have an extra.”

“You have pretty hair,” I say, wishing I had more eloquent words.

She bites her lower lip. My eyes drop to her mouth. The truck swerves and I right it, forcing my attention back to the road.

“Watch yourself,” she says.

“You got me distracted, darling,” I say.

She’s blushing, the pink making her handful of summer freckles stand out. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re taking me out to compromise me, Mr. Quinn.”

I slide my hand over her knee, bare skin on my calloused palm.

“Oh, that right?” I say.

She clears her throat, tossing back her flyaway waves. “Does it bother you that you’re so much older than me?”

That makes me pause for a second, but I keep my face impassive.

“No, not much,” I lie.

She doesn’t need to know about my baggage yet. There’s a long silence as I pull the truck down the last hill and shift it into park. We’re at the edge of the swimming hole, dusty earth around the wheels. The creek trickles, filling up the rounded basin surrounded by brush and trees.

Everything smells like summer. I never want it to end.

I glance over. She glances back. Her throat bobs.

“Why me?” she whispers.

I get out of the truck, circle it, and open her door. She turns sideways, bare legs dangling down. I lean over her, caging her in.

“Because you’re so fucking sweet,” I say, bending in to kiss her mouth. God, she’s soft all over. “And I can’t sleep for thinking about you.”

She tangles her hands together, picking at her thumbnail. Brown eyes, soft like velvet, fix on me.

“Really?” she whispers.

“Why do you think I keep coming back?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know.”

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