Page 11 of Claimed By A Cowboy
“Whatever is in that pretty head of yours,” he whispers, his mouth close to my ear as he bends his head. “Do not listen to it. Whatever you were thinking just now, I better not see you thinking it again.”
“How did you know I was thinking something bad?”
“Because your eyes, honey,” he murmurs, his hand coming round to cup my chin, tipping my head back on his chest. “They shine bright like the sunshine. Just now, they went dark like the night. I don’t like it.”
There is a hell of a lot more going on behind those words than I am ready to think about. I stare up at him for a moment, holding my breath. He smiles and bends his head. I sigh when he presses a kiss to my forehead.
“Now come on, let me show you how to eat like a cowboy.”
Wylder holds his hand out to me, and I stare at it for a moment. Then I slip my hand inside his. Our palms press together, and another sigh escapes me. I don’t know if this is part of my“day with a cowboy”but if it is, I did not spend enough.
Leading me down the sidewalk a little, he stops at a diner. It is the most adorable place I have ever seen. The first thing that strikes me is the vibrant red neon lights illuminating the sign out front.Gilda’s Place.
Inside, I take a moment to admire the place. The black and white checkered floor and red vinyl booths exude a vintage charm I admire. Wylder leads me past the swivel stools at the counter to settle us into a booth. An aging waitress with a big smile and bigger hair drops us some menus and tells us to take our time.
“Everything looks amazing,” I state, looking at the choice of burgers, fries, and old-fashioned onion rings. “What is the best thing here?”
Wylder watches me for a moment, his teeth tugging at his bottom lip. I flush because something seems very sexual about that look, paired with that move. His brow hikes up and he laughs when I hide behind the menu.
“Double cheeseburger. With fries. And a chocolate shake.”
“Well, I want that, then. It sounds divine.”
When the waitress comes back, he gives our orders and the menus to her. We sit across from one another in the very last booth. There are a few others here, but I feel alone with him. As if it is just the two of us, here on a fun date together.
If it is a date, I don’t do well with dates. Neither does he, if I am being honest. We sit in a tense silence after we order. A silence that lasts until our food arrives. At least then I can shove delicious fries in my mouth.
“You don’t have a home,” he finally speaks, his words sounding like an accusation.
Eyes flying across the table at him, I swallow hard. I take a sip of the soda the waitress brought with the food. I want to start in on the shake, so I have an excuse to avoid his question. It’s not a topic I like to discuss.
“No, I do not. I grew up a little in Sunset Springs.”
“What about…I mean, what about parents? No brothers or sisters?”
“Well,” I take another long sip of the sweet soda, sighing. I look at him for a long moment, wondering what I can trust him with. Wondering why I even want to tell him any of my story at all. “About that. If I had them, I never knew them. I am an honest to God orphan. Dumped at a safe haven when I was a baby. I uh…I had several families over the years, I suppose, just none that wanted to keep me.”
His fists clench on the table, his burger and fries forgotten. In fact, he has not taken a bite at all yet. He just watched me eat. Is that a kink? Watching a girl feed her face, is that hot for some people? If so, I am in the wrong business because this girl loves food and could make a fortune.
“Hell, so you were in the system your whole life?”
“Yes, I was. I aged out at eighteen. Got myself a passport and hit the dusty trails,” I tease with a smile that fades fast, and a wavering voice that does not hide my sadness.
“Jesus, honey,” his voice breaks, his fists shooting across the table. They grab my hands and I let him hold both my little hands in his huge ones. “I won’t say I am sorry, or I understand. That is bullshit people say to make themselves feel better. How long have you been alone, Wynn?”
That question hits me right in the chest. I cannot answer it. How can I tell a man I will know for one single day that I have always been alone? Even when I was with those families, I was so alone I ached with it. I cannot tell this man the truth about me.
“Wylder,” my voice sounds tinny, empty. “All I know is being alone.”
We sit in a round booth and his big body slides across the faded vinyl, fitting close to mine. I don’t even notice I am crying until his hand cradles my cheek, his fingers wiping the tears away. His lips touch the top of my head and I curl into his hard body, letting myself have the moment.
There is no talking after that. We sit there together, his big arm cradling me to his side, eating in silence. It is not the tense, loaded silence we started with, however. It is a peaceful quiet. The kind you share with people who get that you don’t always need to fill the space with words.
Wylder pays for our meal and keeps me close to his side as we head out to his truck. He loads me in the truck, moving my bags to the back. I am perfectly capable of buckling myself in, but I do not stop him when he does it for me. Lingering in the space of the open door, he just watches me for a moment.
He takes his hat off his head, setting it atop mine. He grins when he gets it just right and I tilt my head back, posing for him. His hand cradles my face again, and I realize he has touched me this way half a dozen times since we met. Not suggestively or improperly. Gentle, lingering touches that say more than I think either of us could find the words for.
“Come on, cowgirl. You paid for a day with a cowboy, I am going to make it worth every single cent.”
