Page 20 of Careless Hope

“Maybe I’ll put in my bid. I can do it all, you know,” he said, shooting a cocky smile my way.

“Oh, um, that’s great. I can’t build anything.”

“You don’t need to when I’m around.”

“But we just met.”

Sutton kicked me under the table and I coughed in reaction. This wasn’t going well. Even I could tell that. But Jason just kept smiling.

I had barely gotten my breath back when I caught another cowboy from the group heading our way. He ambled over with the kind of confidence that comes from a lifetime of never being told no. His gaze, a clear, piercing blue, locked onto mine as he approached.

“Evenin’ ladies,” he drawled, tipping his hat—a real one, this time—in my direction. “Don’t let this guy take up too much of your time,” he said with a laugh, clapping Jason on the back a bit too hard. “Would you allow me to buy you a drink? And, if I may say, your hair is about the prettiest shade of auburn I’ve ever seen.”

The compliment should’ve been nothing but sweet, but it landed like a calf trying its first unsteady steps—awkward andunexpected. It tangled up my thoughts and tripped my tongue.

“Uh, thanks,” I managed, feeling my cheeks flame like the dying embers of a campfire. “I mean, sure. A drink sounds nice.”

My voice was a stranger to me, high-pitched and unsure, so unlike the measured tones I used in the office. Why was it that I could face down medical emergencies with calm precision, yet flounder under the bright lights of social niceties?

“Great!” he said, with a smile that likely charmed the socks off most people he met. “What’ll it be?”

“Um, just a rum and diet coke. With lime, please.” I added the last part hastily, as if that twist of citrus somehow made my choice less dull.

“Coming right up.” His wink was meant to be conspiratorial, but it only deepened the blush that I could feel spreading across my freckled skin.

“Can I get you something?” he asked Sutton, almost like an afterthought.

She waved him off and took a sip of her beer, but sent a look of annoyance my way.

“I’ll come with you,” Jason said, joining his friend.

As they sauntered back to the bar, I stole a moment to breathe. The Dusty Barrel continued its lively hum around us, the clatter of glasses and bursts of laughter acting as a backdrop to my little drama. I wanted to sink into the woodwork, become part of the sturdy foundation of the place—a silent observer rather than the observed.

But that’s not what this was about.

“Whew,” I sighed to myself, pressing a cool hand to my hot cheek. “Get it together, Caroline.”

“You’ve got this. I take it you’re not really feeling either of them?”

“I’m not even sure how I feel, I’m too overwhelmed at the idea of trying to flirt.”

“Well, don’t worry about it. Just think of it as practice. If you make a connection, great. If not, you gain some experience.”

“Fair point.” I dabbed my top lip, which had developed a dew of sweat.

The return of my wayward cowboy with the promised drink cut short my pep talk. Jason seemed to have lost interest and stayed at the bar with the rest of their group. I accepted the glass with a tentative smile, hoping the coolness of it would seep into my palms and banish the awkwardness that seemed determined to cling to me like burrs on a wool sweater.

“Thank you,” I said, as he settled across from me, all easy charm and twinkling eyes. “That was very kind of you.”

“Kindness is easy when it’s for a beautiful woman,” he replied, his tone smooth as buttered biscuits.

“I didn’t catch your name?”

“Brent. And yours is?”

“Caroline.”

“Beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”

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