Page 47 of Destined for the Cowboy

And then she reached out and put a gentle hand over his tense ones. “I’m not very good at this anymore,” she said, almost shyly, a demeanor he never would have expected from her.

He shook his head. “That was a hell of an apology.”

“I don’t mean that. I mean…I don’t know how…I haven’t…”

He was still staring at her, because now she was sounding like he imagined he did half the time. Uncertain. Unsure. And that was something he never would have expected from her. And she seemed to realize it, because her mouth—that luscious, tempting mouth—twisted slightly.

“I’m very out of practice being around someone I really like,” she said finally. “Someone I could…more than like.”

His breath jammed up in his suddenly tight throat. And suddenly things she’d said were tumbling through his mind. When she’d jokingly called him Hephaestus, and said the Greek god description would fit. When, after the trip to see theMustangs of Las Colinas, she’d said it was a darned near perfect day. At the cemetery, when she’d said the originals would be proud to have a man like him stand as they stood.

And she’d been the one to tell Rylan he was perfect to do the buckles. She’d praised his rough hands as working hands, the kind they needed more of.

She’d said his mother hadn’t been good enough for him.

…an amazing human being like you.

He was more than a little stunned, and completely without words now. So instead he did the only thing that seemed right.

He turned his hand slightly, and wrapped his fingers around hers.

Chapter Twenty-Four

“Ireally amsorry I was so sharp,” Tris said as she met his gaze. “It just stung so much, both that you were treated that way and that it mattered at all to you what that…that woman thought. If she was capable of thought at all.”

He kept his hold on her hand, and she was glad of it, for the warmth but especially the contact. She’d seen the flash in those green eyes of his when she’d betrayed her feelings, telling him he was someone she could more than like. She didn’t want to read too much into a simple look, but something in the way he was looking at her now enabled her to go on.

“Do you really feel that way, Logan? That what she did somehow makes you…less?”

He lowered his eyes and was silent for a long moment, staring down at their clasped hands as if he’d never seen anything like that before. He started to pull away, but she held on, remembering what he’d said about his hands, these strong, working hands, being too rough to touch her.

Finally, he spoke.

“I…did. When I was little.” He looked as if he was sorry he’d even answered her, but he kept going, with a wry twist of his mouth. “Hard not to when the other kids are calling you Dump, short for dumpster.”

She made a little sound, not quite managing to stifle the pained gasp that rose to her lips. As a teacher, she knew how cruel some kids could be, but that didn’t make this any easier to hear. She quickly lowered her gaze to the table. And their hands.When she thought she could without the gleam of tears in her eyes showing, she looked back up at him.

“Is it too much to hope you trounced them when you weren’t so little anymore?”

His head raised sharply. He stared at her as if shocked. Then, slowly, he smiled. And it relieved the tightness in her chest. “That isn’t very teacherly of you,” he said.

“No, but it’s honest. I hate bullies.” She tilted her head as she studied him, wondering if she dared say what she was feeling. “On the other hand, perhaps I shouldn’t be so vengeful since they were part of what made you who you are.” She threw caution to the wind and went on. “And I quite like who you are.”

There was a moment when he didn’t speak, but his fingers tightened around hers. He looked down again, as if drawn to stare at their hands. Then, in a tone she’d never heard from him—low, rough, almost husky—he said, “Be careful.”

“Of what?”

“Of making me think things I shouldn’t be thinking.”

“What things, and why shouldn’t you?”

“Things I’ve never had and never will.”

Driven by an urge she suspected was more than a bit reckless, she shifted her hand, moving her fingers around to the underside of his wrist. She pressed slightly, until she felt the strong—slightly rapid, or was she kidding herself?—beat of his pulse.

“You’re still alive,” she said softly. “You can’t say never.”

His head came up again. “Is that how you feel?”

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