Page 11 of A Cowboy's Twinkling Lights Lasso
She climbs out of the truck without a word and slams the door shut. Her floral dress whips in the winter breeze and her boots slap angrily against the pavement.
Shit.
I resist the urge to slam the steering wheel and instead shove open my door with extra force.
I laid it on too thick, too fast, and in front of the entire event committee. What the hell is wrong with me?
My boots hit the ground and even my long strides don’t get to the door before she lets it slam in my face.
Double shit.
Inside, I follow the clatter of metal, the crinkle of plastic, and the sound of boxes dragging along the floor. I round a corner and see her ripping plastic wrap off a tightly secured eight-foot skid before wrestling an awkward jumbo plastic candy cane.
“Let me help you.” I reach above her.
“No. I have it.”
“You don’t have it.” I catch the top of a second candy cane that almost lands on her head. I place my other hand firmly on her backside.
“I do not need your help. You’ve helped plenty already today.” She spins. Her front brushes mine, and she flattens her back against the decorations to distance us. It doesn’t work. We’re locked tight, and I won’t budge.
“I’m sorry.”
Her mouth clamps shut, and a whirlwind of emotions plays in her eyes.
I seize the opportunity. “I got ahead of myself. I saw you, and all the good sense god gave me flew out the damn window. I hadn’t intended on delving into any of that, and sure as hell not in front of an audience.”
She presses her lips together in that adorable way as if she wants to appear mad, but she can’t. “Being the target of gossip in this town was the one thing I didn’t want to happen. You know that and made me the bullseye.”
“That wasn’t my goal.” My fingers tighten around the plastic candy cane I hold above us to keep from touching her. “You do something to me. You always have.” I also didn’t intend for these words to come out in a low, husky growl, but here we are.
“Oh, don’t worry. The entire town knows I do something to you, and now everyone is wondering why Thorn Slater is all wide-eyed over Freak Frame Flora—”
“Hey now, don’t call yourself that—” My free hand reaches for her, and she slaps my hand away.
“No. We’ve done enough touching. This entire weekend is going to revolve around the townspeople watching, wondering, and debating our past to figure out what they missed.”
“It’s none of their damn business.”
“You made it their business!” Her cheeks flush with her outburst.
“What can I do to fix this?”
“Stop telling everyone you miss me and that you plan on stealing my heart, or marrying me, or anything that involves me.”
“Alright. Done.” I don’t promise not to unload all my ten-year-plus pent-up feelings to her.
“No touching.”
“Hands to myself.” I stuff my free hand in the pocket of my denim.
Her face softens with relief. “Thank you.”
She shouldn’t have to thank me. Good lord, I shouldn’t have put her in this situation.
“And help me load your truck so we can finish our display sooner than later.”
I smile. “Absolutely.”
