Page 87 of My Cowboy Freedom
“New around here, aren’t you?” She propped her elbow on her arm and rocked back and forth. “You haven’t been in before. I’d remember.”
“Sky makes an impression, all right.”
“Hardly.” Our eyes locked just a little too long before Rock’s lashes lowered.
Earlene asked, “Where you from?”
I tore my gaze from Rock’s to answer. “Abilene, originally. But I lived here when I was a kid. My father worked the Rocking C.”
“Sky’s just started,” Rock told her. “He’s learning to cowboy like his dad.”
“Oh, isn’t that sweet? What did your dad say when you told him?”
I picked up another sugar packet to have something to do with my hands. “He passed when I was a kid.”
“Oh. Sorry, hon.” She reached out and rubbed my shoulder.
Rock eyed her like she was getting on his last nerve. I wondered why.
“My dad’s been gone a while,” I said. “I was lucky to have him as long as I did.”
“Well, that’s an attitude of gratitude for you. I’ll get your food right up. Be back soon.” She strode away, a little extra bit of action shaking her hips. I appreciated her enthusiasm, but I couldn’t stop looking at Rock.
He fidgeted, splaying his hands out on the table and then folding them. Rubbing them together. “Elena wants us to go to the Christian Singles Mingle.”
“That’s the Bible study group you told me about?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll go if the boss says it’s okay.”
“Really?”
He seemed surprised by that.
“Will the good Christian folk of Bitterroot be okay with having a desperado like me around?” I spoke lightly, but it could be a big problem. I expected it to be.
He hesitated. “I can’t say for sure.”
It figured he’d be hesitant to answer.
On the inside, I’d learned to question every interaction from every angle. Was Rock really interested in being a friend? Or was he interested in fucking me, with the side benefit of using me to get back at his parents? At Chandler? At all the folks from his church who treated him like he’s less than?
I thought on this, because that’s what you have to do to survive.
But I hoped he just liked me.
The waitress brought our food and warmed up our coffee. The rancher’s breakfast was pure bliss: a platter of ham and sausage and bacon and eggs. Red-eye gravy and homemade salsa and pancakes so fluffy and light, that when I stuck them with my fork I figured they would deflate like syrupy whoopee cushions.
Neither of us talked while we ate. Either I was starving or the food was just that good. When I was satisfied, I wiped my mouth with my napkin and gave my stuffed belly a pat. Rock laughed.
“What?”
“C’mon.” He picked up the check, got up, and I followed suit.
“Mark what I owe you and as soon as I get my first check, I’ll pay up.”
“My treat today. Welcome to Bitterroot.” He showed me his pretty white smile. “And on account of you had to deal with family drama.”
