Page 32 of Daring the Defender

I end up choosing several outfits, all more weather appropriate and a bit more casual than what I brought with me from Texas. I’m sorting out what I’m going to keep and return to the rack, when I spot a dress included. It’s floor length and a dark emerald green with ruching up one side. There’s a long split down the leg, that even though it’s not that revealing, feels scandalous. I shove it out the curtain and say, “What’s this?”

From the comfort of the chaise he replies, “A dress.”

“This is neither warm or anything I’ll have a reason to wear.”

“True,” he admits, “but it’s sexy.”

“I don’t need se–” I swallow back the word, “anything like that.”

“Why not?” he sits up. “You never know. If you don’t wear it while you’re here you can take it back home for your engagement party or whatever.”

I look at the dress in my hand. It’s barely two scraps of fabric held together with a little ribbon. “I could never wear that to an engagement party,” then add quietly, “not that there’s going to be one.”

Reid stands, a line slashed through his forehead. “What does that mean?”

I take a deep breath. “I called David this morning and told him I wanted to take a break. A real one.”

His eyes flick down to the ring and I drop my hand out of view. Baby steps.

“That’s big news,” he finally says. “You handling it okay?”

“I’m fine. Better than fine, actually.” The words ring hollow. I’m not upset, it’s just weird.

“Good,” he says, tone unconvinced. “Did I… or our talk last night, did that have something to do–”

“The decision to break things off with David was mine and mine alone.” I cut him off and shove the dress at him, then gather the other items I plan on returning to the rack. I pile them all in his arms. “Take those, please, while I get ready. I know you need to get back.”

I duck back into the dressing room before he has a chance to reply, and by the time I come back out in the new sweater and jeans, he’s got his elbows on the counter, talking to the sales girl. She’s cute, with pink streaks in her pale blonde hair. “Friday night,” I hear him say, “after the game, at the Manor.”

“I’ll think about it,” she replies, picture perfect cool.

He grins and then straightens when he sees me. I quickly pay and meet him at the door.

“The only thing I didn’t find was a coat,” I tell him. “Afghan excluded.”

“No worries.” He hands his jacket back. “You can wear mine until you find something better.”

“You sure about that?” I ask, aware that the sales girl is watching us closely. “What if Axel,” or anyone else, “sees.”

He shrugs, and wraps it around my shoulders. “If your brother has a problem with me making sure his sister doesn’t freeze to death, then I’ll deal with it at the time.”

I’m not sure what it says about me that I feel more comfortable underneath the weight of Reid’s jacket than anything else I tried on today, but I’m too worn out to fight it. I took some big steps today and I’ll call that a win.

Even if I have to go against everything I believe in to accomplish it.

10

Reid

I’ve always suspected it,but after the last hour with Shelby I know for a fact, I’m a glutton for punishment.

I blame Axel. He never should have told me his sister is off-limits. It’s like waving a red flag in front of a bull and expecting him not to come running. Despite my reputation as a ‘good guy’ I’ve always had a streak of defiance. Ask my foster parents–the seven homes I was in before the Wilders took me in. In home number three, Mrs. Williams told me not to touch the cookie jar after baking a fresh batch of peanut butter chocolate chip cookies. In home number five, Mr. Case told me not to mess with his tools, yet left the hammer on top of the chest. And in number seven, The McMurry’s made it clear the computer was for “family” only, but stupidly left the security password as 1234, making it impossible to resist.

Shelby Rakestraw is like all three of those, but smells good and has an innocent, don’t mess-her-up vibe that is increasingly hard to resist. Especially while wearing my jacket.

“Where are we going next?” she asks, arranging the bags on the floorboards. “Didn’t you say you had an errand?”

Damn. I was hoping she’d forgotten that.

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