Page 59 of Any Cowboy of Mine
“I’d say,” was all he could get out.
“I’m sorry for that, I just couldn’t stop myself. I meant to do it last night, but… well, you know. I’m sorry for that, too.”
“Don’t apologize for either. I’m sure you have a reason, and any time you want to greet me like that is fine by me.” He’d released her from any guilt before he heard her out, but he realized even as he said it, he meant it. Something inside him knew, in the same way he’d always sort of known Julia wasn’t right for him, that Sophie was. She’d never do anything to intentionally hurt him. Still, he wanted to know what had taken Sophie away last night, and with her ex to top it all off.
“Well, we can definitely come back to the kissing, but first, do you mind if we talk about last night? I feel like I owe you an explanation at the very least, an apology if you’ll have it.”
“We’ll see if the apology is necessary. But yeah, let’s talk.”
“Do you have an office in those fancy digs?”
Brad smiled. “I do, but I have a better idea. Do you want to follow me, or carpool?”
“Carpool, obviously. Anything I can do to help save the environment,” she said, and winked at him. Her mouth twitched with humor and desire when he grabbed her hand, feeling like it was the right thing to do in the moment. He was more than half hard now that her thumb rubbed up and down his hand like he’d done to hers the first night they’d spent together. It was hard to believe it was only a week ago that he’d been reintroduced to Sophie. This imprinting of her body, her laugh, her touch on his psyche was all-consuming.
Brad opened the door to his truck for her and helped hoist her in, though her taut thighs and toned shoulders argued she was strong enough to easily have jumped up herself. It made him want her even more. If she didn’t seem so bent on explaining herself, he would happily and hungrily take her in the bed of the truck, frigid winter air be damned. This woman threatened to sink him with the weight of his feelings. Even in the times of doubt they’d shared, he felt more alive with her than all the years he lived with Julia. That had to count for something.
In no time they were back at the farm in front of the garage. Brad ran to let Sophie out of the truck, only to find that she’d beaten him to the punch and was already walking towards him. He shifted to the side so she couldn’t easily notice the bulge in his pants that grew with each touch or interaction with her, no matter how minor.
“Am I about to be let into the lair of the elusive crime novelist, Bradley Connors?” she teased. She playfully nudged his shoulder, and he smiled in kind.
“Not so much elusive, as no one seems to understand where Montana is unless you mention Yellowstone.”
“Isn’t that in Wyoming?”
“Try telling tourists they got it wrong,” he quipped.
Sophie laughed, and he remembered his solemn promise to himself to do anything he could to make her that happy, always. Now, though, that promise held a different, more significant meaning. She was everything he’d looked for, had written into his femme fatales and female protagonists, and she was here, in the flesh and better than anything his shoddy imagination could conjure up. So he’d been a hypocrite with Steve and Jackie.
There were worse things to be.
Penske came running at them, his tongue lolling alongside his mouth. Sophie gushed over him, rubbing his ears and belly while he lapped at her heels, something he normally didn’t do unless the person was an engine.
“Traitor,” Brad muttered good-naturedly, secretly relishing the fact that the woman he was in love with got the vote of approval from his folks’ dog.
“He’s so sweet,” Sophie said, in a voice most women reserved for babies. “Is he a herder?”
“A mutt, actually. We got him from a farm down the road a few miles. Their dog, Penny, got herself in a bit of a delicate situation from a vagabond dog, and we offered to take the pup off their hands.”
“Aww, that’s nice of you. Poor girl.”
“Nah, she’s a bit of a floozy. She’s had two other litters from random dogs that passed through.”
“A scandal,” Sophie teased, nuzzling her nose against Penske’s.
“You have no idea. Wanna head up?” he asked her. She nodded, but he could tell she was reluctant to leave Penske behind.
“Go on, now,” Brad said, nudging Penske along. The dog looked at him like Brad had sold him off but moseyed back along the side of the garage. Brad would drop by his favorite lounging spot under the cottonwood out front later with an elk antler to make amends.
He led Sophie up the stairs, opened the door for her, and followed her in, watching as she took in the living room with an appreciative eye. He’d never been one for decorating, but he did have a sense of what he liked and what he didn’t, and his home, even a temporary one, reflected that. He was proud that after eight years with Julia, he could mine the depths of who he was, who he’d been, who he wanted to be, and apply that to his writing and decorating.
“I love the red accents,” she said, “how you’ve found the complementary colors to place nearby. It’s perfect, really.” Brad blushed at the compliment. She moved slowly through each room, touching small knickknacks that held importance to him, but that otherwise looked like generic flair—a rabbit carved from red jade his sister brought back from her honeymoon in Thailand to remind him of the “pet bunny” they’d caught when they were kids; a red and turquoise set of arrowheads from a trip to Arizona with Chris when they were in college; a cherry-colored model car with white racing stripes he’d built with his dad in the second grade. Each one she handled with the love and attention he would have given them, and he cherished her in that moment for her unspoken understanding.
When she got to the Vikings mug on the counter, she smiled, her eyebrows raised in an unspoken question.
“Yeah,” he said, “I’m a huge fan of the underdog.”
“That’s one thing, but Minnesota’s taken that to a professional level.” He tried to force his lips and eyes into a scowl, but it was impossible around her.
