Page 11 of The Cowboy's Second Chance Bride

The door flung open, and Cal Beckett stepped inside, the words he’d been about to say falling away. He stared at me. He blinked once and then again, his mouth ajar.

My heart stuttered, tripping over itself, then righted and resumed its pounding, only quicker this time. All the times I’d pictured this moment, I’d never imagined the power of the feelings that were slamming into me with hurricane force. I was glad I’d been leaning on his desk.

He was just like I remembered but nothing like I remembered, all at the same time. Whatever he had gone through in the last twenty-four hours had left him looking beat-up. He sported a black eye and a split lip, and though I couldn’t see any sign of it—which told me it probably wasn’t that bad—I knew he’d been shot in the arm.

If I looked hard, closing one eye and squinting with the other, I could see the Cal who’d braided my hair when we watched TV and massaged my feet after a long day. He had the same features: the same dark-blue eyes and chestnut hair. But this Cal was taller and broader and looked meaner. My Cal had been quick to laugh. This guy looked like he hadn’t laughed in years. And he was standing so stiff and straight I thought maybe he had a stick up his ass. Across his face flickered short-lived emotions, and had I not been watching, I would have missed them; he’d swiped them away so fast.

I raised a brow. “Cal.”

He pointed to me. His shirtsleeve was rolled up and showcased a tanned, heavily corded, muscular arm. This Cal was solid power. He was oversized and could easily be described as having a menacing presence.

His face flushed red, and in a deep, gravelly voice, he said, “No. No. No.”

ChapterFour

SABRINA

Your first response is to say no, and you’re angry? Like what the hell, man? No to what? To just seeing me? I’m the one hurt here, not you, so this no doesn’t make sense.

I smiled, showing him his words hadn’t bothered me. When I’d told Morgan I didn’t recognize this guy, I’d been right. Whoever this guy was, he was not a happy person.

I pointed at his face and made small circles with my finger. “What happened there?” He didn’t need to know I knew.

“I was shot and had to apprehend the suspect single-handedly. He didn’t go willingly.” He pressed his lips together and gave me a quick scan.

Then he pointed to me, then pointed to the door—the universal sign for get out. I considered showing him a universal sign I knew.

Another guy, one with wire-rimmed glasses and a day’s worth of facial hair, came in behind him. “She’s our matchmaker. She’s here to help. Cal, this is?—”

“I know who she is, and she needs to leave.” He stuck his hands in his pockets. By the bulk they made, I knew they were fisted. “Sabrina, you can’t be here,” he said curtly.

That wasn’t what I’d been expecting. I’d wanted him to be more shocked. Or surprised. Or embarrassed. Instead, he was angry.

Well, guess what, bucko? I’m angry too. I narrowed my eyes.

He stepped back to the door and yelled down the hallway. “Citra, get Michael to take Ms. Holloway back to… wherever it was that he picked her up from, and make sure she isn’t seen.”

Make sure she isn’t seen? What the actual…? There was so much to unpack that I didn’t even know where to start.

Cal looked back at me. “You’re leaving, and you’re leaving now.”

Just one stinking minute, buddy. This was supposed to be my moment. I was in charge of when I left, and I hadn’t gotten what I’d come for. Plus, I was being paid to be here.

I was about to tell him so when the glasses guy ushered Cal out of the room and slammed the door behind them. I glared at the door. He hadn’t seen me in ten years, and he couldn’t even muster a civil response to my presence. He jilted me. What right does he have to be angry?

I fumed, my mind racing with the many ways I could murder him. Morgan Barker had said he wasn’t easy to get along with, so maybe his staff wouldn’t care if I took him out. But not before I gave him a piece of my mind.

The odds of getting that chance looked slim, the odds of getting paid even slimmer. Shoot. Now I was disappointed.

Cal was nothing if not stubborn. That clearly hadn’t changed over time. He was not going to let me keep this job.

I pushed off the desk and went to grab my purse. I was a step away when I turned back to his desk, a lovely old heavy mahogany piece with a glass top. It had been put there to protect the wood surface, but I knew the glass had another purpose.

There was really one thing left for me to do before I was whisked away. I wanted this job more than I wanted closure. From my purse, I retrieved an erasable white liquid chalk marker. I uncapped the tip as I moved to stand behind the desk, pushing his office chair out of the way.

Then, on his desk, I wrote the reasons he should keep me for the job. I listed three things I’d observed about him, none of them flattering. Each would be a hindrance to building customer trust.

Because I knew it would challenge him, I wrote, You can behave one of two ways. Your choice. I drew a picture of a donkey with an arrow from the words, and then I drew a rocket for the launch with money signs and stars all around it. I finished it with an arrow to the words.

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