Page 5 of The Rancher's Pregnancy Surprise

His lips twitch at my continued silence. "Am I really that hard to trust?"

I turn to face him then, really look at him. Despite his arrogance, there's something magnetic about him that draws me in. Something dangerous.

"You don't need to take it personally. I'm like this with everyone."

"Since when?"

There is no way I'm going to answer that.

"Two weeks ago?" he persists, his voice softening in a way that makes my defenses waver. "A month? A year? I'm guessing this isn't how you've always been."

His expression turns serious. "Did someone hurt you? Is that why you're keeping everyone at arm's length?"

Because he's already figured it out, blast it.

"Stop talking like you know me—"

"I know I don't," he says evenly. "But at the same time, it doesn't exactly take rocket science to guess what's turned you into a prickly little thing."

Why can't this man be more polite and less intuitive?

"It will just be the two of us for 26 hours—"

His words take me by surprise, and I find myself cutting him off as I ask, "How do you know that?"

"I think you were still sleeping when the driver made some announcements."

Huh.

That sounds perfectly reasonable, so why am I once again thinking that all of this feels like one giant setup?

"We don't have to be friends if you don't want to," Mr. More-Intuitive-Than-Polite cajoles. "We don't even have to exchange names. The only thing I ask is that we can at least be civil—"

Growl.

His words come into an abrupt halt at the sound, and a sharp frown creases his forehead. "When was the last time you ate?"

I can't remember. With everything that happened, food has been the last thing on my mind.

He's already walking to the back of the bus while speaking, and my stomach growls anew as he stands next to the vendo. "What do you want? You can check the menu on the seat monitor."

Oh, thank goodness, oh my, yum...

My mouth starts to water as I consider the array of dishes that the onboard selection has to offer.

"Can I, um, have the lobster mac & cheese?"

"What else?"

"Just that."

"What do you want to drink?"

"Just w-water, thank you."

He comes back a few moments later, and the scent of my microwaved lobster mac & cheese is absolutely divine. He goes back to his seat and pulls out the seat tray. He's paired a can of apple-flavored soda with a juicy-looking Philly cheesesteak for himself, and for the first several minutes, the two of us eat in relative silence.

The warmth of the food spreads through me, and I realize just how hungry I've been. How empty. Not just physically but emotionally too.

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