Page 14 of Stick Around,
After a minute of struggling, she managed to get her foot in but couldn’t pull it up fully. She stood anyway, wobbling slightly as she put weight on it.
“Well?” She grinned, balancing with one hand on the display shelf.
“You look like you lost a bet with a bad country music video.”
Her mouth dropped open, then she burst out laughing. “Wow, you really don’t like these boots.”
“You’ll be worried the whole time about getting them dirty. Plus, they are twice the price of a regular pair.” I didn’t know what her financial situation was, but she was a teacher, so I doubted she wanted to spend a lot of money on boots she’d get horse crap on.
“You have a point, and honestly? Theyarea little loud.” She sat back down, tugging uselessly at the half-on boot.
Without thinking, I crouched in front of her, one hand steadying her calf while the other gripped the heel of the boot. Her skin was warm under my palm, soft in a way that made something stir low in my stomach.
Quinn’s breath caught, and our eyes met briefly before I looked down at the boot as I pulled it off. I was suddenly very conscious of my hand still on her leg.
I stood quickly, scanning the shelves. “Try these.” I grabbed a pair of medium-brown boots with teal stitching details, basic riding heels, and good ankle support.
She accepted them with a dramatic sigh. “Fine, but only because you asked so nicely.”
I knelt again, guiding her foot into the boot. I let my fingers linger against her skin a fraction longer than necessary before releasing her and standing up.
She stood and took a few experimental steps. “They’re comfortable.” She seemed surprised.
“They’re meant for working.” I watched her walk a circle around the bench, her movements becoming more confident with each step.
“Shockingly not horrible.” She examined her reflection in the mirror. “Though they’re a far cry from my Lisa Frank dreams.”
“Your ankles will thank me later.”
She turned to face me, and the corner of her mouth lifted. “So you’re saving me from myself, is that it?”
“Someone has to.” The words slipped out quieter than I meant, and before I could stop it, a smile tugged at my mouth.
She stared at me for a moment, something unreadable crossing her face. “You should do that more often.”
“What?”
“Smile. It makes you look...” She trailed off, then quickly turned back to the mirror. “Less grumpy.”
While she checked the fit from different angles, I pretended to examine a display of leather belts, suddenly unsure what to do with my hands.
She decided to get the boots and packed them in the box before we headed out of the shoe section. As we got into line to pay, Quinn made a detour to a spinning display of novelty socks, letting out a delighted gasp when she found a ridiculous pair.
“Look!” She held them up triumphantly. “It’s a chicken riding a tractor!”
“Essential ranch wear,” I deadpanned.
“I’m getting them.” She tossed them onto the counter with her boots.
I took the bag once she’d paid, and we left the store and walked across the parking lot. Our hands brushed accidentally, and the brief contact sent an unexpected jolt up my arm. I shifted the bag to my other hand, creating distance between us.
Something had changed during this trip; some invisible boundary had shifted, and I wasn’t sure what to make of it. I told myself it was just my relief that she hadn’t insisted on those ridiculous turquoise boots. All it was was an appreciation for a practical choice.
But as she climbed into my truck, I knew that wasn’t true. And that was a problem I wasn’t prepared to face.
La Cuesta came first. It had to. And Quinn Porter, with her chicken tractor socks and her ability to make me smile when I least expected it, was a complication I couldn’t afford.
Chapter 5
